#flick inkwell

[constellation-trolls]

undefined

[romantichomicide95]

“keep your eyes open, look at me”

ft: levi ackerman

warnings:18+ no minors

4.5k follower drabble event

the room seemed to shrink around you, heady dizzy and cold wood pressed against your ass. levi’s office, usually tidy and orderly was now a messy canvas of discarded papers and overturned inkwells. your body trembled underneath him, one leg propped on his shoulder as his cock hit that spot inside your gummy walls that had your body shake, legs a gooey mess.

he loved the way you responded to his touch, how he could have you come undone for him because he fucked you so good. he wasn’t an arrogant man but the way you always begged him to touch you, eyes pleading as your hands dig into his shirt every time you wanted him admittedly sent a spike to his ego.

so when you came into his office, practically begging for his cock, who was he to deny you such pleasure? especially when the idea of having you spread out on his desk, cock buried inside that perfect pussy of yours made his body itch with need.

his grip on your waist was almost brutal, rough fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. he leaned down, his teeth grazing the skin of your neck as he nibble his way down to your nipple, tongue darting out to lick around the sensitive bud. his eyes move to yours and he watches as your own roll back with every flick of his muscle against your peak.

levi’s usually stoic expression was replaced by one of pure lust, eyes never leaving yours as he comes back up to watch your face contort in pleasure. your walls tighten around his cock, hands digging into the cold wood as he reaches between you to roll your clit between his fingers. he knows exactly the right pressure, exactly the right way to touch you that turns you into a mess.your eyes close and you throw your head back as you feel your impending orgasm.

levi’s hands tangle in your hair, yanking your face forward. “keep your eyes open.” he growled “look at me.”

you whimper as his command, but obediently open your eyes meeting his gaze. a look of satisfaction swept across his cold eyes as his fingers continued on your puffy clit. “good girl.” he says as he increases his pace. his hand tightens in your hair, tilting your head back so he can get a good look at you as he feels your pussy twitch around his cock. “that’s it, wanna see that look on your face as i make you cum.”

[thebiscuitlabryinth]

[prev]

For some reason, Pure Vanilla's dreams always take place in memories. The situations may be different, and the details may be blurred and absurd, built from a collection of fragmented moments spanning his life, but the locations themselves are always familiar.

That's why it is significant, glaringly so, when he finds himself somewhere he doesn't recognise.

It isn't a small room, but it feels smaller because it is hedged in by the dark shapes of bookshelves and chests. A large desk is nestled to the left, and a window sits ahead, clearly large but covered by a thick curtain. It leaves the room swarmed with shadows that seem to watch and breathe, hardly fended off by the feeble efforts of the desk's waning candelabra.

It makes viewing the room difficult. If he had his staff with him, Pure Vanilla would have cast some light, but he hasn't had it in his dreams for a while now, so he makes do with the meagre light he has. It is enough to realise that the room is a mess, the desk chair tipped over with books, scrolls, papers and quills, many of them looking like they were snapped, strewn about haphazardly. There's an inkwell on its side on the floor, spilling the abyss everywhere and soaking into the floorboards and loose paper.

The new location makes hope spark within Pure Vanilla, but it is dampened slightly by the uneasiness born from the visible disarry. "Where..?"

"This is my old study." As expected, Shadow Milk's voice swirls around the room to greet him, and a moment later, he emerges from the nothingness of the pitch-black corner, the edges of his silhouette blending into the darkness.

He doesn't look surprised or irritated at the sight of this time capsule of a room. No, his face is blank, verging on bored, as it often is when relics of his distant past crop up. It is a welcome sight, if only because Shadow Milk has a tendency of being more seriously receptive to questions when he wears that expression.

"What happened to it?" Pure Vanilla asks quietly, his voice bouncing back loud in his ears anyway. He doesn't move from where he is standing, a little wary of disrupting the mess on the floor before him.

Shadow Milk doesn't have the same hesitation, walking all over the littered documents with his arms folded leisurely behind his back. He peers down at them with a lazy gaze, but his voice and smile is light when he responds. "Oh, nothing interesting! I was just terrible at organisation, I'm sure you've noticed."

Well, being more receptive to questions doesn't mean he answers them honestly or in any kind of straightforward manner. The fact that Pure Vanilla is here already feels like enormous progress, because whether Shadow Milk made a conscious decision to meet here or not, his relative calm now must mean that he is willing for Pure Vanilla to see this, even if he isn't willing to explain its history.

Besides, Pure Vanilla isn't entirely oblivious. He has seen scenes like this before, and he can connect the dots himself.

Shadow Milk steps into the ink puddle and drags the abyssal liquid across the crumpled papers – a clearly intentional move, because he isn't bound by gravity unless he chooses to be – as he continues to scan the mess without a care in the world. He pauses at the edge of the candlelight's reach, squinting as he bends at the waist to get a closer look at a stack of bound papers.

Then, he lights up, dropping down to sit on the floor as he picks the papers up with both hands. He sits on the line between the fading candlelight and the hungry shadows, sinking back into the darkness like it is natural, but his eyes are all bright and his smile feels more genuine.

"One of my playscripts!" Shadow Milk announces, almost sounding giddy as he flicks through the pages with an air of fondness he doesn't quite manage to hide. Then, as if he can't help himself, he puffs his chest out a little and starts proudly explaining, some of his extra eyes flicking over to glance at Pure Vanilla. "I had dozens of these lying around. I never had the time to stage any of them myself, but they were extremely popular back then. That's to be expected, since I was the best wordsmith to grace Earthbread. Still am, to this day!"

In the dim, still moment that follows, stretching long and precious, Pure Vanilla doesn't see the Beast of Deceit before him. He doesn't even see the brilliant scholar, the Virtue of Knowledge, not quite.

What he sees is a Cookie, whole and complex and alive and beautiful, and his heart pangs, softly.

Pure Vanilla feels drawn to him, to the glimpse of something real and present, the current evolution of the past that lays abandoned around them, the past he has grown fond of in stolen glances, and suddenly he is moving. He carefully picks his way across the room, which isn't easy with the mess and the dark, but he manages, tiptoeing around ink and paper.

"It's their loss, to not have my genius plays anymore." Shadow Milk sighs dramatically as he begins to leaf through the script more carefully, silently reading it line by line. An edge of bitterness peeks through his tone. "Nobody knows how to appreciate good artistry these days. What more can you expect from little mindless fools?"

When Pure Vanilla sinks into a kneel beside him, Shadow Milk's extra eyes all gravitate towards him inquisitively, even as his main pair continue to soak in the script. The pressure of them drapes over Pure Vanilla like a cloak as he clasps his hands together in his lap, taking a moment to mull over his own words.

"...Perhaps you should try having a more open mind." He says finally, not unkindly. Shadow Milk stops, still as a statue, before turning to face him with a concerning crack of his neck that, despite knowing his habits by now, still makes Pure Vanilla wince.

"Huh?" The sound is flat and loud, too loud for the shrinking boundary of the study, and it is obvious he is offended.

"I've been thinking about you a lot recently, and your situation." Pure Vanilla admits, something placating lacing into his voice as his attention lingers on that beloved playscript to avoid meeting Shadow Milk's sharp eyes. "Have you ever considered the possibility of your imprisonment ending amicably?"

"Huh?" Shadow Milk repeats, his voice more abrasive as his patience dwindles. He heard him perfectly fine, Pure Vanilla is sure, but he must want an elaboration.

"You seem to think the only chance for your freedom is to escape by force." Pure Vanilla explains, glancing up to take in Shadow Milk's face, his brows furrowed and mouth an unreadable line. "But I'm sure a compromise can be made to some degree. The things you have done are too severe to be settled by an apology alone, but- but if we can agree upon a system of redemption and rehabilitation, then–"

Shadow Milk cuts him off with a wild bout of laughter that rips through the study like a clap of thunder, hunching into himself as he unceremoniously drops the script. He tries to cover his too large grin with a hand, his many eyes pinning Pure Vanilla in place with the frantic look crystallised within them.

"You're joking!" Shadow Milk forces out through his stubbornly smiling teeth, voice gravelly and rattling with traces of laughter just short of hysteria. "Do you even hear yourself? No, no, you must be joking!"

"Not at all. I wouldn't joke about something like this." Pure Vanilla insists, seriousness plain on his face as he shifts to face him fully, a little concerned by the reaction. "Good punishments are meant to teach a lesson. As long as you are willing to learn from it, I don't see why your imprisonment couldn't be renegotiated."

The laughter gives way to a cold silence, and Shadow Milk's eyes narrow as he grits his teeth in a half-scowl, hand still obscuring half his face. "You're serious." He says slowly, words dripping with disdain. Then he huffs, shaking his head as his voice takes on a more playful tone. "Don't be silly, I've told you not to overthink things so much. Besides, the Witches," and here, his attempt at playfulness falters under a charged growl, "would never entertain something like that. Cowards, all of them!"

Maybe Pure Vanilla is reading into things, overthinking just like Shadow Milk accuses him of doing, but he can't help hearing a note of hurt in his voice. The fact he brought up the Witches so quickly speaks volumes by itself, and sorrow and pity bubble together in Pure Vanilla at the thought of what Shadow Milk must view as the greatest betrayal.

"...I don't think they'll mind." Pure Vanilla says after a moment of consideration, folding his hands in his lap. "The Witches rarely interfere with the lives of Cookiekind – at least, not since I was baked. Even when you broke the Seal and escaped briefly, they showed no signs of interference."

"Cowards." Shadow Milk mutters again with a tight, sardonic smile. "Afraid of reaping what they've sowed. Of course they don't dare to show their faces anymore!"

Pure Vanilla frowns slightly, but chooses not to comment, glossing past that to deliver his point. "That means the terms of your continued imprisonment solely relies on the Faeries and White Lily, now."

"Yes, yes, yes, do you think I don't know that?" Shadow Milk huffs again, waving an impatient hand as he leans back against thin air. "And? Are you going to, what, appeal our case to our great and wise Guardian?"

"Well, yes, that is the idea." Shadow Milk blinks owlishly at him as if that was a surprise, and Pure Vanilla adds sheepishly. "Not immediately, of course. There are more pressing matters at the moment, and I don't want to add more stress to her shoulders." Then, quietly, more to himself. "...She's going through enough as it is."

The look Shadow Milk gives him is complicated, far too complicated to parse in the sparse lighting. When he speaks, it is weighted with disdain and disbelief. "That's actually your plan?"

"If you're willing to consider it seriously." Pure Vanilla's reply is sterner to express his own determination, a little frustrated by the lack of cooperation, but when Shadow Milk remains visibly suspicious, he softens again and sighs.

Of course he's supicious. Nobody has tried to lend him a helping hand since his fall from grace. To be forsaken like that would make anyone somewhat jaded.

"...Remember what you told me? We are the same." Pure Vanilla begins patiently, keeping his voice calm and soothing as he shifts a little closer to him. "We just fall on opposite ends of the same spectrum. I could fall to darkness, but it is just as likely that you could return to the light."

"Yes, and didn't I tell you that was a stupid thing to say?" Shadow Milk muses mockingly, head lolling too far to one side for his neck to still be intact. And yet, he was playing along, the whole of his attention resting on Pure Vanilla with a sense of intruige. That was enough to encourage him.

"You did, but you also told me that people change, didn't you?" Pure Vanilla continues steadily, not hindered by Shadow Milk's lazy rebuttal. "I understand you meant that Cookies can change for the worse, but quantifiers always exist in pairs, so the opposite is also true. Cookies – you can change for the better."

The flickering candlelight makes the colour of Shadow Milk's face murky, accentuating his flat expression as he straightens his head back on his shoulders with a dull crunch. His eyes burn like shooting stars as he says slowly, overpronouncing each syllable, "Possibilties are never guaranteed."

"Guarantees leave no room for possibilities. Similarly, an endless imprisonment leaves no room for change and growth." Pure Vanilla argues back mildly, and in an attempt to connect with him, he finds himself reaching out for Shadow Milk's hand. He clasps it gently between both of his, pulling it closer to his own chest as Shadow Milk's expression momentarily shutters in surprise.

"You've been abandoned for a long time, and I'm sorry about that." Pure Vanilla murmurs, head leaning closer to make sure Shadow Milk can hear him as he warms his cold, dissolving hand between his palms. "You have done awful things, and you needed to be stopped, but it is cruel of them to bury you alive without any chance to redeem yourself, to condemn you to stagnation."

Shadow Milk doesn't interrupt. His eyes rest squarely on their joint hands, and he makes no attempt to pull away, despite his intial surprise. His expression betrays nothing.

"I know you reject the idea on grounds of impossibility, but I truly believe you can change for the better." Pure Vanilla smiles down at their hands, voice warm and earnest, and it is the truth. He looks up, making sure to meet Shadow Milk's bright, bright eyes to convey his sincerity. "I believe in you. More than that, I care about you."

The word comes out a little shy, but not hesitant. He is making a point – trying to show that even if Shadow Milk may feel like he has been abandoned to rot, that doesn't have to be the truth.

Shadow Milk breaks his stony silence with a click of his tongue.

"You care too much about too many things." He retorts, a taunting lilt filtering into his voice as the corners of his mouth curl upwards. "That doesn't mean much. It just makes you a fool with a bleeding heart."

"And that doesn't make any of what I say less true." Pure Vanilla replies easily, projecting confidence. He refuses to let Shadow Milk scare him off now. "I really do care about you."

He hesitates for a tense second before moving one hand to cup Shadow Milk's cheek, to show him in actions. Shadow Milk stiffens under the touch, but relaxes in the next blink, baring too many teeth in a lopsided grin that dances along Pure Vanilla's palm, still vaguely mocking.

"Really?" Shadow Milk drags the syllables out, pressing his face into Pure Vanilla's hand as his narrowed eyes never waver from him. The darkness creeps over his shoulders, the protection of the old candelabra gradually shrinking. "Why, I didn't think you could be such a flirt!"

"I mean it, wholeheartedly. You can always tell when I lie, you must know this is the truth." Pure Vanilla insists and insists, because it is all he can do, a strange desperation starting to form, now that he can imagine a peaceful solution so clearly. He grips Shadow Milk's hand tighter, but the hand on his face remains carefully gentle. "All I want to do is help you, if you'll let me."

It is important that it is a choice Shadow Milk makes, and not something forced upon him. It won't work if it is forced. Still, as Shadow Milk's eyes grow lidded, Pure Vanilla suddenly can't bear to watch anymore.

"So please," he whispers as he closes his eyes, body leaning forward with the weight of his urgency, "can I...?"

There is a beat where there is stillness, and then Shadow Milk lets out a soft laugh, barely more than a breath. Pure Vanilla feels him move forward, fingers brushing his dough as his hand falls away from his face, and then– then–

Then their lips meet, and his mind goes blank.

The kiss isn't gentle. It isn't harsh or aggressive either. It just is, and just as quickly, it isn't again.

Pure Vanilla's dough is burning when Shadow Milk pulls back, his chest warm like the bowels of the oven, his stomach swooping in pleasant and sickening loops. Overwhelmed as he is, it is horribly difficult to open his eyes, but he is compelled with a need to see his face.

Unfortunately, even when he manages to force his eyes open slightly, there isn't much to see. The candelabra is quickly going out, its retreat inviting in a darkness that Pure Vanilla cannot see anything in, let alone the details of a face. The only proof that Shadow Milk is still there at all is the feeling of his hand in his, and the familiar presence of his gaze.

"You can try," Shadow Milk answers from the darkness, a teasing smirk audible in his words, "if you really think you can convince the Guardian of something as elusive as mercy."

Pure Vanilla nods quietly, certain that Shadow Milk can still see him even if the opposite isn't true, his tongue unable to find words quick enough to answer verbally.

When he wakes up, far later than he usually does and well behind schedule, his face is still glowing with leftover heat. He presses his cheeks into the cool surface of his pillow, and feels something in him settle, satisfied.

I can save him.

[next]

[thegildedbee]

Box: May 2 Prompt from @calaisreno

“You wished to see me,” Mycroft says, looking not at John, but down at his own left hand, where his thumb is rubbing across the fingers curled into his palm, making clear that the sentiment is not returned.

“No,” John replies, impassively.

“And yet,” says Mycroft, making a sweeping gesture with his right arm, ending with a careless flick of his hand in John’s direction, “here you are.”

“Well-spotted. There’s that famous Holmes intellect at work.” John shrugs his shoulders with eloquent disdain. “Needs must when so many devils are doing the driving.”

Mycroft lifts the corners of his mouth in an insult of a smile.

Each man looks the other in the eye, unblinking, the hands of the three-tiered gilded clock on the mantel the only moving objects in the room. After a moment it is quarter past the hour, and the timepiece – which John would have been unsurprised to learn had belonged to a Qing dynasty emperor, were its current owner to share the information – softly chimes.

John leans forward, pressing his fingers into the edge of the massive Victorian partners desk behind which Mycroft sits.

“Sherlock is not dead.”

Mycroft slowly shakes his head. “Not so, Dr. Watson. Are you telling me that you do not believe the evidence of your own eyes and hands at the physical damage sustained by Sherlock's body?”

“And yet there is evidence otherwise," John counters.

“I do hope for your sake that you have shared your thoughts with your therapist or another medical professional, so that you can receive the care that you so clearly need.”

“Petty taunts, Mycroft. No need to unsheath the rapier if there’s no danger in sight.”

“I am a busy man. Do get to the purpose of your visit so that it can be concluded. That is, if there is a purpose, beyond letting time pass as you sit here engaging in fantasy?”

John sits back, and nods. “Very well. I want to be assigned to help protect Sherlock as he engages Moriarty’s network.”

Mycroft scoffs. “Were that even true, there would be no reason for me to acquiesce to such a request.”

“To prevent the release of the evidence I have to the contrary. And it's not a request. It is a demand."

Mycroft arranges his features into a simulcram of pleasantness. “And what evidence would that be?”

“I have no desire to reveal my hand on that score just yet. Not until I hear the word 'yes'.”

Mycroft purses his lips and picks up a fountain pen and points it at John's chest. “It would be unwise to engage in threats, Dr. Watson. I can press a button and have you detained in an instant, therefore placing any mythical information under lock and key as well.”

John snorts. “Not my first rodeo, Mycroft. If I don’t give a particular signal three hours from now, the evidence will be released to the press. From multiple sources.”

In a deliberate motion, Mycroft inserts the pen into a repurposed bronze inkwell. “And what if, in releasing this alleged information in a misguided attempt to soothe your distress, you should increase any danger to Sherlock, and the effect would be to cause him harm? What then, doctor?”

“With all due respect, Mycroft . . . if Sherlock is dead," John smiles, "then the release of my information will have absolutely no effect at all. None whatsoever."

“Do not box me in, doctor. You will regret it.”

“Oh, I have regrets, but that is not one that will be added to the list.” John narrows his eyes at the man opposite, and then says briskly, “Time to demonstrate your diplomatic skills, Mycroft -- time to negotiate. Chop chop. End of story.”

......................................................... @calaisreno @totallysilvergirl .........................................................

[m-jelly]

Chapter 1

Thank you @ladycheesington for the perfect banner <3

Vampire Levi x fem!reader

Victorian era like world, vampires, secrets, romance, falling in love, vampire lore, sexual tension, possessive Levi, protective Levi.

Story: Romance blooms quickly for you when you move to the big city. The mysterious Lord Ackerman sweeps you off your feet, but the two of you hold back your romantic and sexual desires due to unspoken fears. Something is off about the city once night falls and the secrets it holds are the reason why you both hold back. When Levi reveals he is a vampire, the two of you embark on a passionate loving romance and he opens a whole new and hidden world to you. As the two of you find bliss in each other, the vampire Queen of the city is not happy. Determined to keep her favourite pet as hers, she tries everything to get rid of you and tighten her loosening hold on Levi. The two of you must face many odds together and must make some big choices in order to remain together or lose each other in a tear and blood-filled mess.

This chapter: First meeting with Levi, the mystery of the city and what you do. Another meeting with Levi, rising romantic tension and a possible love rival.

Part 2

The flame crackled as it danced atop the candle. Hot wax trickled down the white candle and gathered on the brass holder. A loose strand of hair had escaped the hold you had placed it in. The hair lightly caressed and tickled your neck. The tip of your pen scribbled away on your paper as you focused on the open books before you. Time was ticking and the point where you needed to return home due to safety was almost long gone.

You grew up in a nice town, but city life was calling. As an educated woman, finding your way and getting a job where you could flourish was hard. Countless men turned you away or asked you to work for them only if you did something dirty. Mr Callahan was the only person who had offered you a job and meant it. However, you had your reservations.

Mr Callahan had warmly welcomed you about two weeks ago into his records and bookshop. All you did was ensure records were correct and up to date and conduct research for people who requested it. Everything was nice and you jumped right into the position, but there were a few strange things. You were warned about staying too late after work. You accepted it at first, but as the days went on it seemed that Mr. Callahan was giving you work to get you to stay longer. The time deadline was being tested.

Everything went strange when a man entered the shop three days ago. The man was in all black and wore dark glasses. His skin was white, his hair was white as snow and lightly tussled back and reached the lower part of his neck, it was slightly long and would feel perfect as you run your fingers through. When you moved past this man as you worked he just stared at you as if you were some sort of rare creature. They both went to a private viewing room for work which resulted in you staying around a lot more.

With an aching neck, you raised your head and looked over to the old clock to see it was six in the evening. The sun would be slowly setting soon due to winter getting closer. Your spine and neck cracked slowly when you turned and cast your eyes out the window to see the lamplighters doing their rounds.

You placed your pen in it’s inkwell and rose from your seat. The wooden floor creaked under your small heels as you made your way across the office to check on Mr. Callahan. You tapped your knuckles against his private office but heard no answer. No answer came, so you opened the door and peered inside to see that the place was empty. Mr. Callahan has cleared his desk for the night and left you all alone in his shop.

You were so irritated but also concerned. You raced around the building and made sure you were packed up and ready to leave. You flicked your cape around you and dragged on your gloves to fight the cold night air. Anxiety nipped away at your heart as words of warnings about the night fluttered through your head. You needed to get home as fast as possible.

The door softly slammed behind you. You twisted the key in the lock and released a sigh. The air was just cold enough for you to see your breath. It was strange for the city to be so empty, but it seemed that most people had hurried home about an hour ago. You turned on your heels and began walking as fast as you could down the road.

Your heart raced in your chest as people started to shift out of side roads. Rumours were floating around the city about monsters coming out at night. Werewolves, ghosts and even vampires were said to be around, but you tried to keep your head down and ignore the silly stories. You just got home after work, locked the door and read a book before bed.

“Hey, pretty thing!” A whistle broke the silence causing everyone to look over at you. “Slow down and come play!”

You yanked your hood up on your cape and began to almost run through the street. Home was calling you and you needed to get far away from the people who walked the streets at night. Even the police seemed to abandon this city when the sunset. The sun had almost gone, you had just a bit of a pink and orange glow to light your way.

“Come back!”

You turned on your heels and went to cut down an alleyway but a cold shiver consumed you. A woman had her back pressed against the wall as she panted and moaned in pleasure. A man slowly lifted his head from her neck to show puncture marks from two teeth. Blood oozed from her wound and trickled down to her breasts. The alleyway was too dark for you to see the biter, but the blood on their teeth glistened. Their eyes locked onto you and glimmered as they took you in.

Run.

Your brain spoke but your body remained unmoved.

Run.

The woman was released and the dark figure moved closer, their smart shoes tapping on the cobblestone path.

RUN!

Your body rebooted and strength returned to you. You turned on your heels, sprinted across the road, and past the men who catcalled you. Your lungs burned as your corset squeezed them. Running with a corset was torturous on your body, but the fear of the unknown consequences of being caught by the beast in the alleyway drove you.

Small stones crunched under your small heels as you reached the small park. A fog had rolled in from the river causing visibility to be difficult. You slowed down as you tried to catch your breath. The oil lamps had been lit in the park, but it was dangerous to be in the light. You were like a rabbit being hunted and the lights were making it easier to be caught.

You just needed to cross through the park and down a road to get to your home. You reminded yourself of your route to try and calm your heart, but it was beginning to become too much. A sob had caught in your throat. This city was supposed to be your future and now you were learning the true horrors of it.  You wanted your parents. You wanted to be home. You wanted to be sharing a cup of tea with your mother while wrapped up in a blanket.

A scream caught in your throat when a gloved hand covered your mouth. Your life began to flash before your eyes as you were dragged from the path and into the darkness of the park. Your back collided with a large. Your eyes struggled to adjust to the darkness, so you could not see the man keeping you in place.

Though your body was consumed with fear, something about this mysterious man aroused something within you. Even though he had grabbed you so suddenly, his touch was gentle. His natural scent mixed with a light dash of cologne was enchanting to the senses. The warmth from his body was comforting and your once-racing heart was beginning to slow.

A deep voice danced from the man’s lips as he whispered to you. “Those men followed you. They’re dangerous.”

“Th-thank you.”

He caressed your cheek as he took you in. You were so beautiful to him. “Forgive me for scaring you in that alleyway, but I was with my blood donor.”

You gulped hard. “Blood boner?”

“Your eyes did not deceive you. I was drinking her blood.”

“Vampires are real-.”

He covered your mouth and hushed you. “Not too loud. They are close.” He glanced at the path before looking back at you. “Are you new to this city? Weren’t you warned about the night?”

You nodded and waited for him to move his hand before you whispered. “My boss Mr. Callahan did warn me, but it seems these past few days he has been purposely making me stay longer.”

“What changed?”

You nibbled your lip. “A man with long hair like the colour of snow came in. He wore all back with white skin.”

“Tch, that fucker.” He groaned. “Forgive my sharp tongue.” He pressed his body against you as the men walked past talking about you. He watched them closely, made sure they gave up their hunt and turned around and returned to the street you came from. “I’m assuming you are going through the park.”

“Yes.”

He moved back from you. “You are safe to continue on your journey home. Try not to go out this late again for your own sake. You may not meet someone as nice as me again.”

You bowed your head to him. “Thank you so much for your help. I am sorry for inconveniencing you.”

He blushed a little. “Tch, there is no need for this. I wanted to help you. Go home now. I will watch from a distance to ensure your safety.”

“Thank you.” You hurried away. “Goodnight!”

He waved to you. “Night.” He waited for you to be further away before walking into the light on the lamps. Levi released a long sigh before raising his gloved hand and inhaling the scent you had left behind. “So cute and sweet.”

It was strange for Levi to become attracted and attached to someone. He knew very well he wasn’t going to part from you so soon. He wanted to see you again. Levi was very aware of Mr. Callahan’s place and was going to make sure to visit. Levi ran a trading company and owned a lot of businesses. Levi was a high-ranking pure-blooded vampire, so he held a lot of power in this city. Paperwork, records and books there at Mr. Callahan’s would help him out, but the main reason for going would be seeing you again.

Levi released a long sigh and felt shit that you had seen him in such a primal state as he fed from his donor, but he needed blood after beating a few rogue and dangerous vampire groups. Levi had gotten a few scrapes and needed to heal up, thankfully he had a donor close by. All his donors had been fully checked because Levi valued cleanliness. He was going to make sure that when he officially met you, he was going to be dressed in his best clothes and he would hide his vampiric ways from you for just a short time.

He knew he should leave you alone and be on his way, but he couldn’t help himself. Levi stuck to the shadows as he followed you through the park and reached your sweet home. He hummed in thought as he leaned against a wall while you unlocked your front door. It was clear you were still nervous and on edge, but there was something else to you. There was a hint of wanting, of need, of arousal. Levi was rather moved by your desire for him, but you were holding back.

He stared at the top window as a light came on, he was glad you had gas lighting in your home to keep the rooms lit. His heart raced like never before when he watched you in front of your bedroom window. He felt like a pervert as he kept watching you remove your dress to reveal your underdress and corset. A growl rumbled from him when you released your hair and let it down.

Levi pulled away from the wall as he felt dirty for watching you. He was determined to keep you in his life.

Mr Callahan stared hard as you moved around the shop. He released a long sigh before approaching you with a gentle smile. Yesterday he left work early and made sure you had things to do that would cause you to stay behind. The white-haired lord from the other day wanted to have you alone, but it appeared that did not happen. So, Mr Callahan needed to arrange something again.

He called your name and gave you a reassuring smile. “Are you all right? I believe you stayed late last night.”

You paused a bit and felt yourself flush at the mysterious man last night. “I did. I left just before the sunset and managed to get home.”

“Did you meet anyone?”

You hugged your books. “I met a nice gentleman who helped me home. Was I supposed to meet someone else?”

He perked up. “Did he have white hair?”

You shook your head. “No. The gentleman I met was not like the white-haired man who was here before.”

“Well, I am glad you were safe.”

You bowed to him. “Thank you, sir.”

Both of you turned to the front door as the bell dinged. A heat rushed through your body as you felt a strong attraction to the guest. Mr Callahan felt a shiver consumed him as he gazed at a very important man in the city enter his shop for the first time.

He wasn’t too tall, but a nice average height. He was dressed in all black with a top hat on his head. Small black sunglasses rested on his nose to hide some of his silver-blue eyes. His raven hair framed his pale face. His lips were slightly pink and kissable. The smart shoes he wore shined from the perfect polish on them. Leather gloves gripped his hands and made them look perfect. He held the top of his cane and tapped the bottom against the floor.

Mr Callahan hurried over to Levi. “Welcome, Lord Ackerman.”

Levi hummed at the old man. He dragged his eyes away and stared at you. He moved past Mr. Callahan and approached you. He reached up and tipped his hat to you. “Good afternoon, miss.”

You blushed as you gazed at the handsome man before you. There was something so compelling and alluring about him. You chewed the inside of your lip a little as you battled your emotions. “Good afternoon.”

He removed his top hat. “I am in need of some papers and books. Would you assist me?”

“I uh…” You gulped hard. “I can do that. I must inform you though that I am fairly new.”

He smiled and showed off two slightly pointed and sharp teeth. “I have full faith in you.”

“Thank you.” You turned. “Come with me then to a private room and we’ll talk.

“Wonderful.” He walked with you to a private room. He reached over and opened the door for you allowing him to lean in close and deeply inhale your scent. “I appreciate the help.”

You walked in first and set your things down. “I am happy to help you, Lord Ackerman.” You pulled a chair out for him. “Please, take a seat and relax. Would you like a cup of tea?”

He nodded. “I am fine for now, but thank you for offering.” He referred to the seat next to him. “Please, join me so we may talk.”

You took the seat right next to Levi as it was the one he was referring to. A blush made your cheeks hot and the warmth of the man next to you was intoxicating. “So, what is it that you would like to research?”

“I am interested in a few things.” He placed his hand in his blazer’s breast pocket, retrieved a piece of paper and presented it to you. “I have compiled a little list.”

You opened up the paper and scanned the page. “I can do that.”

It was hard not to be entranced by you and how you looked, talked and spoke. Levi was enamoured by you and the divinity of your beauty, scent, voice and intellect. Every moment you worked together was a blessing and pleasurable. As the books piled around the two of you, you both worked hard and gained the information Levi wanted. Often Levi found himself gazing at you as if you were this work of art that was produced by some goddess and was only for his eyes.

It was hard to focus with Levi so close to you. His scent was enrapturing. There was this supernatural pull between the two of you as if a divine line was linking the two of you. Forever tethered together through your hearts and fate. When you caught slight glimpses of his dazzling eyes your heart soared in your chest. Though his smiles and light chuckles were rare, they were all the more a blessing to the eyes and ears. Levi was a mystery you wanted to solve and he also thought the same about you.

You released a small yawn. “Forgive me. That was rude.”

Levi gently caressed your cheek with the back of his hand and fingers. “There is no need for such words. I have stolen much of your precious time today.”

You smiled and leaned into his touch as your body and mind craved more contact. “It has been rather enjoyable though. I am sorry for taking much longer to help you with your research. Mr Callahan would have been faster.”

He retracted his touch. “If I desired my arse to be kissed, I would have gone to him. I needed fresh eyes and a delicate precise touch. That is why I sought you out.”

“You’re too kind.”

“Most people would disagree with you on that.” He slowly ran his finger under your eye. “You should get yourself something to eat and drink.”

You nodded. “I will. Would you care for anything?”

“A tea. I will add something to it.”

You frowned a little before watching him pull out a flask. “Alcohol?”

He shook his head. “No, it is a medicine.”

You gasped as your heart went out to Levi. “Are you unwell?” You leaned closer and placed the back of your hand against his forehead. “You are slightly cold to the touch.”

Levi closed his eyes as he enjoyed your touch. “I am always cold. I have low blood pressure.” He opened his eyes and smiled at you. “This medicine helps with it. I am well, do not worry.”

You lowered your hand. “If you insist.” You held your breath as you shift to your feet. Bodies close to each other. You got a closer inspection of Levi. A warmth spread over your cheeks as you locked eyes with Levi as he gazed over the top of his glasses at you. “I will get you that drink then.”

Levi tore his eyes away from you. “I am grateful.”

Nerves bubbled in him as he remembered your gaze. He was always so cautious with looking someone in the eyes without his glasses to create a barrier. The eyes of a vampire when looked deeply into captured most people in a deep trance. Most were willing to do anything for that vampire. He dragged his sunglasses off and placed them on the table. It was clear that you were not strongly moved by his vampiric gaze as your affection for him appeared before you locked eyes.

The light tap of the tea tray broke Levi’s thoughts. He gazed up at you and smiled sweetly. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He unbuttoned his coat and peeled it off his body to reveal the form-hugging suit under. He retrieved his flask and poured the blood into his tea. “Are you enjoying the city life?”

The intensity of his gaze made your body burn with desire. Words failed you for a brief moment. It wasn’t Levi’s eyes that had you hypnotised, but it was everything about him. “I am. Though, I must say it is rather scary at night.”

“It can be.” His actions were graceful when he collected his teacup and sipped from it. “I could provide protection if you allow it.”  

“Provide protection?”

The seat creaked as he shifted closer to you. His alluring heat and scent mixed and made your body vibrate. His kissable lips parted ever so slightly. “The police here are not adequate at night. I would be happy to provide my assistance.”

You hummed a little laugh. “Are you proposing something?”

“I just wish to return the kindness you have shown me today.”

You retracted from Levi and faintly smiled as your heart stung. “There is no need. I’m just doing my job.” You signed off on the last of the papers and pushed them over to Levi. “Here is everything for you.”

Levi frowned as you rose to your feet. “Are you leaving me?”

“Of course, you have no need for me.”

A loud scrape filled the room as Levi’s chair dragged across the wooden floor. He stood before you hurt by your sudden declaration that you were leaving. “Have I offended you?”

You shifted to the door but Levi blocked your escape. “You have not, but there is nothing much left I can do here for you. Do contact me if you desire more tea though.”

Levi knew there wasn’t much he could do, so he moved away from the door and accepted his loss. There was something deep within him that wanted to possess you and have you as his, but you wanted to leave and he knew very well he shouldn’t force you to stay. He bowed his head as his mind raced at all the things he could say or do.

He clenched his fist tightly as he fought his emotions. “I will call upon you if I need you. I will miss your company.”

You bowed your head. “How kind, Lord Ackerman.”

“Levi, please.”

You gripped the handle tightly. “I will see you soon, Levi.” You left the office and felt the reassuring and comforting aura leave you. A long sigh escaped you once you were outside the private room. You made your way through the hall and back out the front. “Would you like a drink, Mr Callahan?”

Mr. Callahan gave you a weak smile. “I am all right, my dear.” His brow creased as he studied you. “You seem troubled.”

“I have a lot on my mind.”

He placed his hand on your upper back as guilt consumed him. Although he had spoken to another Lord with white hair who craved you, the guilt of it all was suffocating him. He was conflicted because he wanted to protect you but he feared what would happen if he did not comply with this man. If he didn’t do as the man commanded, then he would go to the vampire Queen of the city. The Queen was someone to be truly frightened of.

Mr. Callahan smiled at you to give you a little comfort. “You know the young handsome gentleman with white hair?”

You chuckled. “You seem to bring him up often.”

“Well, that’s because he was rather taken by you.”

Your heart swelled. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” He moved closer to you. “It must be lonely in this city. You only have me as a friend. I am not telling you to court him, but perhaps you could meet him and spark up a friendship?”

You contemplated it for a moment and weighed up your situation and decided that it wouldn’t be so bad to get to know the white-haired man. “Very well. I will meet with him.”

“Wonderful. I will inform Lord Lucius Demont that you wish to meet.”

Lord Lucius Demont had a rather fitting name for who he was. Lucius meant light and Demont meant one who was filled with desires. He was a man of action and took what he wanted when he could. He was graced with good looks from what you could remember. Icy blue eyes with delicate long lashes would entrance anyone who would look into them. A strong jawline was complimented by his plump lips and pale skin. He was rather tall with broad shoulders and covered in muscle. His hands were large but in the good way that people wanted gripping them with prominent veins. His white hair wasn’t short nor was it long, but it was in the middle. His hair was styled messy that went down his neck and reached the base.

It didn’t take too long before the man himself entered the shop. He had such a commanding presence within the room. Black sunglasses rested on his nose to hide his icy eyes. He scanned the room and landed on you. He closed the door and moved over to you. Each step he took towards you made both your hearts race. He placed a large gloved hand against his pec and bowed slightly to you.

Levi had instantly sensed there was a rival pure-blooded vampire near. He moved to the door and spied on what was happening. Levi felt anger bubble away inside him as he watched Lucius introduce himself to you. It was well-known how smooth Lucius was with women and he had many running around him little a gaggle of geese. However, it was becoming clear that Lucius wanted you more than just another follower. He was a dangerous man to be around because of how close he was to the deadly vampire Queen.

You fiddled with your dress for a moment as you felt nervous. With Levi, you were comfortable and happy around him with some naughty desires but with the man before there was something not fully right, as if your gut was telling you to be careful. You wanted the floor below you to swallow you up so you could hide. You were tired and confused and you just wanted to disappear.

Lucius smiled a little. “Forgive Mr Callahan, I believe he has been rather pressuring towards you due to my mentioning that I was rather taken by you.”

You hummed a moment in thought. “I was put at risk one night due to working late. I understand that you both wanted to arrange something, but I do request that if you have desires towards me you talk to me instead of arranging things behind my back.”

“Allow me to say sorry by taking you to dinner.”

The thought tossed around in your head for a while before you made a choice. Loneliness had made its home in your heart and there was this longing within you to be wanted by someone and it seemed that someone was before you. “I suppose I could go, but I would much prefer a lunch as the night here concerns me.”

Lucius took your hand in his and placed a delicate kiss against your fingers. “I shall take you on that lunch date tomorrow.”

“I am off work that day. So, I shall meet you at the park near here.”

He raised his head. “Of course. How about at twelve?”

You bowed your head. “Yes.” You looked over at Mr Callahan. “May I leave early?”

Mr Callahan smiled softly. “Yes. You have been overworked. Go home early and I will see you in a few days.”

You retrieved your outdoor cloak and made your way over to Levi’s private room, which he hastily retreated into. The door creaked as you pushed it open. A divine scent filtered out of the room and wrapped around you. No matter how much you fought it, it was hard to deny the fact that you were attracted to everything that was Levi.

Levi was standing to the side so he was close when you walked in. He softly said your name causing you to look up at him. “I heard you coming. Is everything okay?”

You hummed at him. “I am going home. I just wanted to let you know as I have been with you all day and I did say I would come running to help you.”

“Well, I am finished for the day. So, I would like to walk you home.” He moved closer to you. “Only if you allow it.” The cloak slipped off your arm as Levi removed it. “If you told me to leave you alone, I would.”

You lowered your head. “That is the issue though, Lord Ackerman.”

Levi was speechless when you looked up and returned his gaze. His vampiric powers gave him the ability to move people and yet in this moment, he was moved by you. “Issue?”

You nodded. “I am unable to tell you to leave me because I don’t want you to. I desire your presence and yet I barely know you. I feel as if something is binding us together.” You placed your gentle hand on his chest. “Like there is a string binding us.” You retreated from Levi. “Forgive me. I am assuming so much.” You dragged your hood up to hide a little. “You may escort me if you wish.”

Compelled by your words and the feelings within him he could not stand by and let you walk away. Levi firmly wrapped his hand around your upper arm and squeezed. With a gentle tug, he returned you to him. “Wait a moment and I will go with you.”

You moved over to the table and looked over the papers and books on it. “Were you able to get what you needed?”

“For now, but I will return often as my view is rather nice.”

“View?” The realisation hit you causing your heart to race. “Oh, thank you.”

He pulled on his outdoor attire and turned to you. “I wish to use this room tomorrow. Would it be all right to leave everything as is?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.” He raised his arm slightly as an invitation for you to take it. “Shall we?”

You wrapped your arms around Levi’s presented one and allowed him to escort you. A sweet smile spread across your lips as Levi moved with you through the building. Luckily for you both your guest and boss were nowhere to be seen, so you both could leave the building without anyone pestering you. It was a comfortable quiet between the two of you as you walked together with the sun setting behind you. This time you had plenty of time before the nightlife came.

It was clear to Levi how desperate people were to get out into the streets tonight. He could sense the tension in the air. Something was up with this city, it was as if people’s hunger and arousal had been intensified. Levi needed to get you home as soon as he could to ensure you were safe. The two of you had only met on two occasions, one of those you weren’t aware of, and spent all day today together and yet there was something so comfortable and right about you walking together and him protecting you.

It occurred to Levi that he knew where you lived, but he wasn’t supposed to. So, leading you to the park was the right thing to do but would also be suspicious. “Please, lead the way to your home.”

You glanced up at Levi. “Through this park and a bit further and we will reach my home.”

“I will protect you.”

You hummed a sweet laugh that was music to Levi’s ears. “I have full faith in you.” A thought plagued your mind as you made your way to your home. “Lord Ackerman?”

“Levi, please.”

You gasped as you felt slightly embarrassed at the thought of being so informal with a customer, but it was his request and you wanted to get closer to him. “Well, Levi…”

“Yes?”

You pondered upon your thoughts. “Why are you showing me such kindness? Is this unique to me or is this the same kindness you show others?”

Levi came to a stop outside your home. “It is unique to you. I have not cared for nor taken a fascination with a person before.” He caressed your cheek with his hand. “There is just something out you I find so compelling.” He retreated from you as a familiar voice in his head warned him about getting so close to a human. “Rest well and I will see you soon at the shop.”

A strong blush burned your cheeks when Levi’s lips lightly pressed with the back of your hand. “You too, Levi. Rest well.” You reached over and lightly touched under his eyes. “You seem tired and troubled.”

He backed up from you and knew he needed to draw a line between the two of you. He was torn. He wanted you so badly, but being together would put you in great danger. The Queen has an obsessive and watchful eye on Levi. For your safety, it was best that this relationship remained a business one even if you both felt something much stronger.

Levi tipped his hat. “Goodnight.”

You clutched your chest and shyly waved as Levi parted from you. “Goodnight.” You too had similar feelings to Levi. This city was dangerous and you were only new here. There was a worry in your gut that being involved with Levi or Lucius would mean harm would come to you. Being involved with either would mean crossing into the world of night, and from what you had seen so far the nightlife was the dark face of the city. No matter how much you told yourself to stay away, your heart just kept longing for Levi.

[dimicul]

inkwell

simon reads your letters from home.

> no NSFW, just a small scrap i wrote after a headcanon i read :)

He’s read it about a hundred times.

Gloved fingertips tremble against the crumpled paper, withdrawing a breath sharply. You’re waiting for him downstairs, he knows he only has a few minutes to spare, but he reads it anyway. Drinks the words in, flipping and twisting the scribbled letters in his head.

At first, he’s a little suspicious. You didn’t show him the letter, and made no effort to mention it. Simon wasn’t one to meddle in your private business, after all, he was familiar with secrecy. But a letter? From your Mum? When he had brought it up gruffly, you paled a little and mumbled about it being some sort of phone bill.

For one, he paid for the damn thing.

He found it on the bed. Well, sort of. Simon had eyed the paper poking out of your leather handbag, pausing with furrowed brows. He wasn’t even sure why he stopped to take it out, but next thing he knew he’s locked the bedroom door and unfolded the paper carefully, eye-black slipping over the words. For a moment, Simon rests his neck against the headboard and allows himself to drown into the comforting words.

I really hope all is well. Farley misses you lots! The living room doesn’t feel the same without you.

A fumble, a crinkling of paper - his heart is in his throat as he skims over the sheet.

Hope Simon’s taking care of you. He’s a good man, I know he is. A gentleman, that’s what your uncle had said. You seem happier.

Simon almost wants to scoff - so many moments of sitting beside your mum, innocent conversations exchanged between the two, his hands shaking hers. Same bloody hands that kill for a living. Strangle, hurt. Mark. Defile. He wonders, what your mother would think of the sins carved into his legs, his arms. The staining of red on almost every piece of clothing he owns. He wonders what his own mother would think.

The realisation dawns on him slightly, back straightening so his shoulders broadened. He pauses, glancing towards the door.

Either way, I love you lots. And Dad does too. You’re going to have to write back quick, he’s quite worried for you. Thinks you’re gonna ‘lose yourself’ in the US. Told him he was a nutcase.

He reads the first few words again. I love you lots.

“I love you, Si.”

A guttural groan, bone flicking in his jaw. He reads it again, and again, and once fucking more till the words echoe a little more like his own mother’s.

Simon imagines it’s his own mother writing back.

“I love you lots, Si. Write back quickly, they’re waiting for your stories in Mazrah. Joseph is absolutely smitten over the Lego Set you got him.”

“Dad’s worried about you. Thinks you’re gonna lose yourself in the US.”

“I love you, Si. We miss you.”

The door opens. Simon isn’t one to nervously putter about, but he jerks his shoulder back, head lifting to meet your gaze. You frown a little, the white around his whiskey irises contrasting starkly against his balaclava.

“Got the reservation, at last,” You chime, walking into your room to peer at the closest mirror. Simon’s fucking sweating it, the letter still trapped between his fist. He hopes to God you take an extra few minutes to fuss over your hair or something -

“What’s that?” Voice sharp and soft, like a flowery sting, Simon’s head snaps up to you again, a little jolted. You narrow your brows, arms crossing over your chest. The letter in his hand, slightly stricken expression, tense shoulders - it all clicks.

“You’re reading it?”

“Wha’s it look like?”

You laugh a little evenly. “No need to be so defensive, just asking.” You pause and Simon swears he wants the ground to swallow him.

“She misses you, y’know.”

He says nothing.

You take that as a cue to purse your lips and speak anyway, turning to run a hand through your tousled hair. “Won’t stop calling too. Asking me how I am, how you are.”

His grip tightens on the letter but he wordlessly lets go of it, the crinkled white flat against the bed. ‘Course she was asking, always bickering and fussing. He thinks maybe there’s where you get it from, the thought causing him to pause for a second.

“Do you wanna write back?”

“Not my letter, love.” He remarks, reaching for the boots by the side of his bed. A pang hits your chest, brows sloping again. Sometimes you worry for your boyfriend. This was partly why you don’t want to show him.

It was more a way to protect him. You weren’t completely blind, you saw the way he shifted in his seat when your Dad had clapped his shoulder with a comment of appraisal, nothing but admiration in his eyes. You saw how his expression narrowed a little cautiously, eyeing the uncles and relatives beside the BBQ who were chatting happily to the kids on their ankles. You took note of how softer he looked, those same unreadable eyes glazing when your Mum fussed and crooned over the scars on his hands.

“No, ‘m being serious. You should write back. I’d know for a fact she’d pin it up and everything.” You say softly with a half eye roll, watching him through the reflection of the mirror as you pinned up your hair. Simon tied his boots slowly, movements a little lagged.”

Silence again. “Well, just letting you know you can write. I get her WhatsApp messages can be a lot, but, I’m sure she’d love it.”

Your words settle into the air. Simon is tensing his jaw over and over, a little frustrated at his lack of initiation. But it was different. It was all foreign to him. How could he tell you he had memorised the damn letter word for word? That he wished it was his own mother speaking back to him?

“Mum used to write.” Simon grumbled a little. You eyebrows raise into your hairline.

“‘Bout my nephew. An’ home. Kept them all. Till they burned at base, obviously.” He adds, his tone quiet but coated in familiar sorrow. When you look at him, you knew. Simon’s eyes held waters of pain, a depth of understanding for it.

Fingers curl around the laces lazily. You don’t say a word, neither of you do.

“She’d be proud of you, Si. I know damn well she would be.”

He thinks you’re lying for shit. That you’re sugar coating the truth in a layer of false hope, and he’s not sure what’s worse, the fact you’re lying or the fact he believes it. Simon allows himself, just for once, to be misguided. He didn’t know his threshold for pain, but the searing hot shame pouring over his heart right now is punishing.

You’re smiling. Soft, demure, inviting. You’re smiling at him, looking almost blessed with damaged goods, wide eyes deep and knowing. His fingers twitch, itching to hold you in his palms.

Fuck it, he thinks. He’ll write back.

[gringoths]

"Snape?" Harry asked before he cleared out of the man's office.

"Professor," he hissed.

Not wanting to fight, Harry turned around and swallowed his pride. "Professor Snape, did you know my parents?"

His nostrils flared in poorly guised rage as he slammed the quill into the inkwell. "Mr. Potter, did I or did I not just lecture you on the importance of minding one's own business?"

"You did, then? I-"

"Leave my office at once unless you want to suffer the full effect of a face-swelling charm."

That sounded... Unpleasant. Harry was half-way tempted to just turn 'round and be done with it, but the burning in his chest wouldn't let his feet move. As it was, they seemed to be firmly glued to the dungeon floor.

"Was my dad a bully?" he blurted out.

Professor Snape snarled like he always did when James Potter was brought up. His eyes flashed with a hatred so bright Harry flinched backwards. "Your good-for-nothing father was not a bully. He was the bully, Potter." He spit out the word like venom and his face twisted harder for it.

With a flick of the man's wrist, his office door slammed into Harry and sent him sprawling to the cold stone below. He took a second to process that he was, in fact, not victim to sudden puffiness, before he scrambled to his feet and ran out of the dungeons.

He had a lot to think about.

[moonwalker94writes]

Woollen

“Love?” He knocked softly on the door to the study. “I brought you a cuppa. Remus?”

Sirius opened the door when no answer came. He stepped into the room to find endless rolls of parchment sprawled over the floor and desk, a tipped-over inkwell bleeding a pool of black over most of it, now dripping quietly onto the rug. The fire in the hearth was reduced to embers that were glowing faintly in the dim evening light. Another cup of tea stood cold and abandoned to the side.

Amidst all of this was his husband, hunched over the desk, almost entirely lost in the folds of his woollen jumper. His face was hidden in the crook of his elbow. He was snoring. It was adorable.

He considered letting Remus sleep for a while. The gods knew he needed it. He had walked in on Remus sleeping on various surfaces around the house these last few days. Sirius knew his lanky frame would not take this position too kindly, though.

“Moony?” He nudged the other man lightly, startling him, and Remus looked up at him with bleary eyes. A quill was stuck in a sea of unruly golden curls, there was a smudge of ink on his nose, and a bit of drool clung to his chin. It was bloody endearing.

Remus glanced out of the window into the dark of the night and groaned softly. “What time is it?”

“It’s gone 10. Have you slept long?” Sirius vanished the spill of ink with a flick of his wand.

“Too long,” Remus mumbled as he sorted through the mess on the desk. “I need to get on with these papers.”

“You need to go to bed, love.”

“I need to find my damn quill, love,“ Remus snapped.

Sirius flinched, then plucked the quill from Remus’ hair with a huff. “Here,” he said, tossing the quill on the desk.

Remus had the decency to look ashamed as he ran a hand over his face and gave Sirius an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to jump down your throat.” Remus hooked his fingers in Sirius’ jeans pockets and pulled him into his lap, wrapping his arms around him, and Sirius leant into the warmth of Remus’ chest.

“It’s ok,” Sirius said. “I know how hard you work. Too hard.” He reached up to wipe the spittle from Remus’ chin and captured his mouth in a soft kiss. “But you need sleep. I’m serious.”

“I know you are,” Remus smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his tired eyes. Sirius could see the dark rings even in the dull light.

“Will you go to bed, then?”

“I really should get on—“ Remus started, only for Sirius to shut him up with another kiss.

Sirius ran a hand through Remus’ hair and tugged on it slightly, granting him access to Remus’ throat. He grazed his teeth over the sensitive skin, nosing his way up through Remus’ heavy beard. “I’ll let you jump down my throat in a fun way if you come to bed with me now…” Sirius whispered against his ear.

Remus pulled back, mock-scandalised. “Sirius Black, are you trying to lure me into your bed with vulgar promises, you minx?”

Sirius wagged his eyebrows and gave his bottom a little wiggle. “Is it working?”

“…yes.”

He kissed Remus again, urgently, and with heat and fire now.

“Then I am.”

Written for @wolfstarmicrofic.

[mrs-sharp]

The Eyes of Graphorns

Chapter 4 of my Aesop Sharp x Professor mc fanfiction.

Read part 1-3 here

tw: angst, mention of pain and death

(but also a little fluff towards the end - I guess)

Summary: MC tells Sharp she has uncovered a black market for goblin artefacts in Scarborough. And there's another secret she reveals to him.

Chapter 4 - The Renegades

The next day, Aesop Sharp stood outside the office in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. After climbing the last step, he raised his hand and paused. Should he really be here? Was it appropriate to visit his former student so late on her first day? He had a good reason, yes, but now that he was standing in front of her door, doubts crept in. But then he shook his head vigorously and decided to knock. On the other side of the wooden door, Elaine looked up from her desk. The sun had already set, and she had lost track of time while preparing for the lessons for the next few days. She ignited a fire in the fireplace with her wand and called out, "Yes?"

The door opened, and suddenly Aesop Sharp was in her office. It was strange to see him in a different office than his own.

"Good evening," he greeted her politely, looking around. The room looked different from Dinah Hecat's time. Shelves lined the walls filled with books, potions, and ingredients. Some shelves were stacked with loose papers, inkwells, and feathers from birds he didn't recognize. Between the shelves, strings were stretched, hanging herbs and roots for drying. Everywhere he looked, he discovered items and objects he had never seen before, some apparently from distant lands, including masks, maps, amulets, clay vessels, and other curiosities he couldn't name.

"Professor Sharp, what can I do for you?" she asked, although she knew the reason for his late visit. Elaine stood up to greet him.

"Well, I wanted to ask how your first day of school went."

"Oh, well, it went quite well, I think. Today I discussed Boggarts with the third years."

There was a moment of silence in the room.

"Well, the reason I'm actually here-"

"Why don't you sit down?" Elaine offered, conjuring a second chair to her desk with a flick of her wand, on which a candle holder illuminated a stack of books and parchments.

"Thank you. We didn't talk about it yesterday, as we were so abruptly interrupted, but you mentioned that you were in Scarborough?"

Elaine noticed him shudder at the name of the place where he had carried out his last assignment for the Ministry. She had also noticed yesterday that the name caused him discomfort. She wanted to address it, but at that moment, Professor Black had inexplicably appeared and stated that he could not tolerate his teachers still being in the corridors at such a late hour, with classes scheduled for the next day.

Elaine nodded and decided to get straight to the point. "I uncovered a secret black market for Goblin artefacts."

Elaine paused briefly before continuing, "We found a hidden storage room in Scarborough full of Goblin artefacts and an empty repository, similar to the one under Hogwarts. The artefacts were partially enchanted with dark magic. They are mainly used as weapons, as Ranrok did. The storage room must have been in use for some time. I..." Elaine paused briefly before hesitantly reaching into her coat pocket. She placed an Auror badge on her desk and slid it over to Sharp. He recognized it immediately. It was the badge of his deceased partner.

"I found this in their hideout..."

"But, what? That can't be. You mean... the smugglers in Scarborough?"

Elaine nodded.

"They didn't just smuggle shrunken heads. That was just what the Ministry was supposed to believe. I persuaded the Ministry to reopen the case. Ranrok had already gathered followers long before he pursued me. The smugglers from Scarborough worked with Goblins, who had turned away from Ranrok. They are an organized group and call themselves 'The Renegades.' They abducted or killed Ranrok's followers to obtain the artefacts and then sell them. They also smuggled metal from the mines to make their own repository. After Ranrok was defeated, they continued until today. And now they are after me again. They believe that through me, they can obtain more dark magic to fill the new repository and produce new artifacts. That's why the Ministry wanted me to go into hiding. Then, this summer, I happened to meet Professor Hecat, and when she told me that she wanted to resign from her position... I took the opportunity."

Aesop Sharp was lost in thought for a while.

"But how? Why do the Renegades believe that they can obtain dark magic through you? Just because you can see traces of ancient magic doesn't mean you practice dark magic."

Elaine ran a hand through her short hair and thought.

"Come. I think I need to show you something."

She got up, walked past Sharp, and stepped into a corner of the room behind him. It was only now that Sharp noticed a Pensieve standing there. He followed her and watched as she drew a silvery thread from her temple with her wand and let it slide into the basin. Her appearance had something graceful and dignified, momentarily causing Sharp to forget why he was here. The melancholy in her gaze, the scars on her face, the short hair, all gave her a unique beauty that overwhelmed him.

"Please," Elaine said, gesturing towards the Pensieve. Sharp approached it and lowered his head into the cool liquid.

-

Sharp saw Fig and Elaine standing in Fig's office, talking.

"Rookwood is working with Ranrok," he heard Elaine say, "and they want... me."

"Then they want what we found in Gringotts," Fig replied.

Then he saw Elaine and Fig standing in front of the four large picture frames he had seen below Hogwarts when he entered the underground caves with Elaine, but this time they were not empty. In one of the portraits, an older wizard was visible.

"You must pass four trials…"

The scene changed, and he could see Elaine and Fig observing Ranrok and Rookwood.

"Bring me the child…"

Then back to the room with the portraits, this time with more frames filled. Elaine asks, "What did Isidora extract from her father's chest?"

"Pain…"

The last scene seemed to be the day of the Battle of Hogwarts.

"Did Isidora absorb the pain? I don't understand, how could she derive power from it?"

"I wonder that you ask about your power?“

“There is a powerful Goblin who wants to use this power for himself…"

Finally, Sharp hears the woman's voice again: "Just because you can dispel the darkness doesn't mean you should always do it..."

-

Sharp was brought back to the present and looked at Elaine.

"I don't quite understand, what does this mean? Who is Isidora?" Sharp asked puzzled. He couldn't believe what he had just seen.

"Isidora Morgenach. She was a professor at Hogwarts. She could also see and use traces of ancient magic like me. She had the repositories built and filled with ancient, dark magic. That's why the Renegades want to find me. They believe they can force me to produce this dark magic for them so they can create new weapons."

Elaine pressed her lips together briefly. After a short pause, which Sharp also noticed, she continued, "I don't know exactly how they make these artefacts and what powers the dark magic has, but... whoever survives their attack must live with a curse forever. And... with the chronic pain it causes."

She looked at Sharp's leg and avoided his gaze. Elaine swallowed. She felt Sharp's thoughts racing as he looked at her. Gathering all her courage, she looked up at him: He had an equally sharp and alert as well as hopeless look in his eyes.

"You... You mean to tell me that you knew all along what kind of magic cursed me and you didn’t say anything?" Sharp seemed tense. It was as if something in him was breaking that he didn't know was there. As if a connection between Elaine and him has been destroyed that had never existed. Elaine remained silent. She had feared this moment since she knew she would return to Hogwarts.

"So you do possess ancient magic, like Isidora. You share her abilities... If she could extract pain, then..." he began hopefully. Elaine looked at her trembling hands. The right time to tell him the truth had long passed, but she had to do it eventually – preferably before she got too used to his presence, in case he decided to turn away from her permanently.

"I know what you're getting at. I won't do it," she interrupted him curtly but firmly. Sharp jumped up and slammed his fist on the table. Elaine didn't flinch. She had already anticipated what would happen. Sharp was about to lose control. Elaine couldn't bear to look at him anymore. She ran her fingers over the notches in the wooden table they were sitting at. The pendulum of the grandfather clock ticked heavily through the silence.

"You don't know what it's like," he retorted, his voice trembling, "to wake up every day and realise what happened in the past is still paralysing you. Not knowing what you're worth to the wizarding world and then the pain..."

What was he talking about? She had been back at Hogwarts for a day, and he behaved like a whiny, bitter man dependent on the pity of others. He had never talked to anyone about it in his entire career, and now he was making a fool of himself. Elaine looked away so he wouldn't see the tears in her eyes.

"Look at me!" he suddenly shouted. He couldn't hold himself together anymore, not after what Elaine triggered in him. "You knew all along, you know the cure, and you said nothing? Do you even care at all what I have to endure day after day?" Now Elaine was slowly losing patience.

"Do you really think that I don’t know what you're going through?" she snapped at him. Sharp fell silent. In the three years he had taught her, he had never witnessed her losing control. With her left hand, she unbuttoned her shirt sleeve, pushing up the fabric and revealing her right arm – it was covered with burnt skin, forming a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt, shimmering reddishly. Sharp recognized it immediately. He has carried the same scar on his leg for years. So that was the reason why she had changed so much. On her first day, he had already noticed that something couldn't be right, that she was in pain, and that she avoided his gaze. He fell silent, his face taking on a sad expression as Elaine's words poured out. She no longer bothered to hide her tears:

"Do you really think I wouldn't know what it feels like? I've been travelling the world to find a cure for you! Because I couldn't bear to see you suffer even back then. I didn't want to return to Hogwarts until I had found at least something. That's why I didn't write to you. That's why I was afraid to come back. After a year, when I still hadn't found anything, I became an auror, to at least bring down your attacker, and I would have succeeded if there hadn't been a spy who betrayed us. That's why I didn't want you to know about my return. I came back with the same pain you suffer everyday and with the knowledge of having failed."

At the last sentence, she turned away from him and wiped her face with her left sleeve. Elaine took her coat from the chair, threw it over her shoulders, and stormed out. Sharp stood frozen in the room, feeling lost. He waited for the second door in the classroom to close, but the sound didn't come. Sharp slowly walked into the room where Defense Against the Dark Arts was taught. Hecat's dragon skeleton still hung from the ceiling and looked even more menacing in the torch-lit room than it already did in the daylight.

He found Elaine at the front of the room. She stood motionless in front of an old wooden cupboard that Sharp had seen before. He knew what was inside. Sharp approached Elaine and stood behind her. She didn't turn around, but he knew she felt his presence. She always did. With a trembling hand, Elaine silently opened the cupboard door. At first, nothing happened. Then Elaine broke the frosty silence. There was an insecurity in her voice that Sharp had never heard before, not even after Fig's death: "I didn't know what form he would take. Back then, I always saw Fig's corpse, but today..."

Elaine stopped herself as a tall figure emerged from the cupboard and staggered towards her. Sharp took a moment to realize that it was himself approaching Elaine. Was he the thing she feared the most? She had mentioned being afraid to write to him, but...

However, upon closer inspection, he noticed that the second Sharp had a strangely absent expression. His lips were twisted into a grotesque smile, and his eyes... They were empty. They weren't sad or desperate; they lacked any emotion, and a white mist in them seemed to stare directly into his soul, trying to extinguish all life from within. Elaine turned to face Sharp, looking at him. Her reddened eyes and the fear in her gaze weighed heavily on Sharp. Elaine now spoke a little calmer, but still sobbing: "Isidora didn't just free people from their pain, but from any emotions. They all turned into soulless shells."

Elaine paused briefly before silently and without turning around, transforming the Boggart into a few colourful streamers and sending it back into the cupboard.

After a moment of silence, she took a step towards Sharp and looked deep into his eyes. The blue of her eyes overwhelmed him, and although he had just been angry with her, he now felt an unusual attraction emanating from the fragile hint of trust in her gaze. They just stood there in silence for a while, and then, Elaine did something he hadn't expected: she touched his hand. Sharp breathed in briefly and barely audibly. Her touch tore him apart internally – it was the most gentle and tender touch he had felt in decades. Yet it felt like a farewell. Elaine continued softly: "I can't take the risk. You mean too much to me."

Then, she turned around, left her classroom, and disappeared into the darkness of the castle.

Chapter 5 - Elaine's Laughter

[constellation-trolls]

[mehoymalloy]

look into me - Grace/Medusa

Stray Gods Prompt Week - Day 2

Also can be found HERE on AO3 as the second chapter of a nine chapter work; comments and kudos are appreciated!

Medusa was reluctantly getting used to being looked at. It seemed that at any given moment, Medusa could find Grace's eyes on her—caught on a flicker of light bouncing off her jewelry, tracing a line of golden embroidery on her hood, even straying to her snakes, eyes crinkling when one would slowly extend toward her, tongue flicking out to taste the air for her presence. The worst part—the most wondrous part—was that Grace looked at Medusa without fear. She truly looked at Medusa. Not around her—no flickering eyes or askance glances. Not into her—no wide, frightened eyes forced to hold her gaze. Grace always looked at Medusa—purposely and languidly, lingering like she was admiring a beautiful statue, with no worry of becoming one herself. All too often Grace even went so far as to directly seek Medusa's gaze. Honey irises would dive into the shadowy inkwells of Medusa's eyes, searching for the sickly, sulfurous sparks of her pupils without hesitation, and it made Medusa squirm. It made her want to recede into herself—shrink away from that fearless gaze and cower in the dark. But she was learning to meet Grace's gentle gaze, and in the reflection of those pretty eyes, Medusa was starting to see what the other woman had seemingly known all along. There was no monster to be found behind Medusa's gaze.

[rokasai]

Animal Crossing MBTI

ISTJ - Ace, Admiral, Alli, Avery, Boyd, Brewster, Butch, Canberra, Cashmere, Cesar, Chief, Dobie, Greta, Groucho, Kabuki, Lloid, Murphey, Quinn, Rasher, Renee, Rolf, Sable, Snooty, Soleil, T-Bone, Tom, Tortimer, Velma, Violet, Vladimir, Walt, Weldon, Yodel

ISFJ - Alice, Aurora, Ava, Bessie, Cally, Carrot, Champ, Chelsea, Clara, Cranston, Daisy-Mae, Deena, Digby, Don Resetti, Dora, Ellie, Emerald, Eunice, Gala, Gayle, Goldie, Jambette, June, Kiki, Leilani, Lolly, Lucy, Maggie, Margie, Medli, Mitzi, Nan, Olive, Paolo, Peaches, Pete, Sally, Skye, Stella, Sunny, Sydney, Sylvana, Tia, Tommy, Valise, Vesta, Willow, Zoe

INFJ - Bertha, Carrie, Celia, Chevre, Daisy, Fauna, Felyne, Flurry, Gladys, Ione, Katrina, Luna, Marcie, Merengue, Moe, Molly, Muffy, Nate, Olaf, Pekoe, Pelly, Poppy, Rhonda, Robin, Savannah, Yuka

INTJ - Baabara, Blanche, Camofrog, Farley, Francine, Frillard, Gloria, Hippeux, Leopold, Mathilda, Opal, Raymond, Rodeo, Wolfgang, Wolf Link, Zell

ISTP - Angus, Apollo, Astrid, Bruce, Charlise, Curt, Cyrus, Del, Fang, Genji, Ike, Jacques, Kapp'n, Kicks, Lobo, Peewee, Rocco, Rooney, Roscoe, Rowan, Spike, Static, Tammy, Viche, Wilbur

ISFP - Al, Alfonso, Anchovy, Beau, Beppe, Betty, Blanca, Bones, Booker, Buzz, Candi, Carmen, Chabwick, Clyde, Coco, Cole, Drago, Drake, Egbert, Elmer, Erik, Flo, Flossie, Gulliver, Harvey, Hopkins, Jacob, Joey, Kidd, KK Slider, Labelle, Leif, Lucha, Mallary, Midge, Monty, Nosegay, Ozzie, Pashmina, Phyllis, Prince, Puck, Quillson, Roswell, Spork, Stu, Tasha, Teddy, Tucker, Wendell, Wisp, Zucker

INFP - Annalisa, Bea, Benjamin, Biskit, Broccolo, Celeste, Chester, Clay, Cube, Dizzy, Etoile, Flick, Franklin, Hugh, Katie, Kyle, Lily, Lucky, Maple, Marty, Megan, Melba, Papi, Patricia, Pudge, Ruby, Saharah, Serena, Wade, Wardell

INTP - Barold, Big Top, Blathers, Bow, Cephalobot, Chow, Claude, Derwin, Doc, Filbert, Graham, Hans, Hornsby, Klaus, Pascal, Petri, Punchy, Raddle, Ribbot, Rodney, Sandy, Sylvia, Tex, Walker, Weber

ESTP - Agent S, Antonio, Axel, Bam, Billy, Bree, Buck, Claudia, Coach, Costeau, Cyd, Eugene, Faith, Frank, Giovanni, Hambo, Hamlet, Harry, Hazel, Hopper, Inkwell, Jay, Katt, Ken, Knox, Kody, Leonardo, Lopez, Lyman, Mac, Mira, O'Hare, Peck, Phoebe, Pierce, Plucky, Quetzal, Reneigh, Roald, Rocket, Rory, Rudy, Samson, Sheldon, Shinabiru, Snake, Sprocket, Sterling, Stinky, Tiansheng

ESFP - Agnes, Amelia, Anicotti, Bangle, Belle, Benedict, Bianca, Biff, Bill, Bonbon, Boots, Bud, Caroline, Champ, Cherry, CJ, Colton, Curly, Dom, Drift, Flash, Flip, Freya, Frobert, Fuchsia, Goose, Iggly, Jitters, Keaton, Kevin, Kid Cat, Liz, Lulu, Maelle, Marcel, Mott, Pango, Patty, Pave, Penelope, Poncho, Porter, Rilla, Rio, Rod, Scoot, Sly, Sparro, Tad, Tammi, Tank, Truffles, Tybalt, Wendy, Zipper T. Bunny

ENFP - Anabelle, Audie, Aziz, Bella, Bluebear, Boomer, Bunnie, Cheri, Chrissy, Cookie, Curlos, Deli, Flora, Freckles, Gabi, Huck, Jeremiah, Ketchup, Leila, Lionel, Maddie, Merry, Nibbles, Niko, Pate, Pietro, Pinky, Pippy, Pompom, Rex, Rosie, Sasha, Shari, Sherb, Simon, Snowtyke, Sprinkle, Stitches, Tabby, Tangy, Twiggy, Winnie

ENTP - Bob, Carlo, Chadder, Cobb, Dr Shrunk, Ed, Grams, Gruff, Gullivarr, Henry, Jack, Julian, Marshal, Norma, Redd, Shep, Snowboy, Toby, Tom Nook, Woolio

ESTJ - Boone, Chip, Copper, Croque, Cupcake, Elise, Elvis, Frett, Gaston, Gonzo, Grizzly, Hamphrey, Hank, Iggy, Jane, Leigh, Limberg, Lyle, Marcy, Marlo, Miranda, Monique, Naomi, Octavian, Otis, Oxford, Pancetti, Penny, Petunia, Pierre, Portia, Resetti, Ricky, Rollo, Snowman, Sue E, Sven, Tarou, Tiara, Wart Jr

ESFJ - Apple, Becky, Bettina, Bubbles, Chai, Cleo, Diva, Filly, Friga, Gigi, Harriet, Isabelle, Joan, Kitt, Kitty, Louie, Mabel, Marina, Mint, Nana, Olivia, Orville, Paula, Peanut, Pecan, Peggy, Piper, Puddles, Purrl, Queenie, Reese, Snowmam, Timmy, Tipper, Tutu, Ursala, Victoria, Vivian

ENFJ - Azaelea, Bitty, Blaire, Deirdre, Dotty, Eloise, Felicity, Frita, Gwen, Jingle, Judy, Julia, Kaitlin, Lottie, Meow, Moose, Phil, Phineas, Rover, Shino, Whitney

ENTJ - Ankha, Annalise, Beardo, Boris, Broffina, Chops, Cyrano, Diana, Gracie, Rizzo, Tiffany, Timbra, Twirp, Vic

npcs and villagers. names are organized alphabetically.

data collected from personalitylist(.com), personality-database(.com), and others. I didn't change much so this is mostly a collection of other people's opinions. ymmv as far as which type's vibes a character has.

this list includes characters from several animal crossing games; the characters in the chart images are from this tierlist of new horizons villagers.

chart for npcs: (used this tierlist as the base)

[cheeriecherrymain]

The Bottom Of The Inkwell [Chapter 8]

Pairing: Viktor x fem!Reader Chapter Rating: T Chapter Warning: sudden traumatic health issues regarding parents (also a mention of the reader vomiting in response) Proofread: no beta we die like men Chapter Summary: You accidentally offend Viktor in the aftermath of kissing him. You have another heart-to-heart with your mother, though it doesn't seem to help much, because in the following days, you can’t sleep. And then you’re hit with the worst news of your life.

His lips are warm and soft against yours. His hair is soft on the tips of your fingers, when you slide them down his jaw to the back of his neck. He’s tense for half a moment, your sudden actions catching him by surprise. But he eventually melts into it, shyly kissing you back, reaching for you with curious, wandering hands…

And then you realize what you’ve done.

You pull away from him at the speed of light, so quick that you throw off your balance and topple backwards into the arm of the couch. You don’t even register that he’d been seeking you out - trying to touch, trying to pull you close.

The only thing you can feel is shame.

Viktor had bared his heart to you - told you that he was in love with someone he’s known for most of his life! He’d trusted you as a confidant, as a friend, and what had you’d done?

You’d kissed him!

“I’m sorry!” you utter, staring at him with wide eyes, frozen in place. “I’m so sorry- I shouldn’t have- I didn’t mean- gods above.”

He has the audacity to look disappointed of all things, as if you haven’t just personally affronted him! Slowly settling into his previous sitting position, dropping his outstretched arms back to his sides - you almost wonder if he’s angry, with the way his brows pull together in confusion.

In consideration.

In thought.

You want to cry, with how utterly perturbed he appears. 

“Please don’t let this change anything,” you nearly beg, pushing yourself back into an upright position. “Viktor, please, you’re- you’re one of my best friends. I don’t want this to ruin us-”

“Ruin?” he murmurs, his gaze flicking away from where he stares a hole in the floor, up to your face. “You…think it was a mistake?”

His tone breaks your heart; sullen at the realization that you hadn’t meant to kiss him, as if he himself were the mistake to be made, and not your unwarranted actions.

“Not like that!” you try to explain. You extend your arms towards him for half a second, before you think better of it and wrap them around yourself. “I just- you said that you love someone, and then I- I-”

“I don’t want this to change our friendship,” You warble, peering at him with pleading, tear-filled eyes. “Just because my feelings are all over the place, doesn’t mean you have to leave or- or that I’ll make things weird!” 

Viktor all but deflates as the words leave your mouth, slouching against the back of the couch and letting his head fall sideways to rest on his shoulder. You can’t tell exactly what he’s feeling - whether from his unreadable expression, or your spiraling anxiety, you’re not sure.

“I’m not…upset,” he finally says. “Nothing you’ve done could possibly change the fact that we’re friends. Nothing.”

You nod quickly, blinking away your tears. You know you should feel relieved by the sentiment; you know you would in any other situation.

“Right. Okay,” you mumble, pushing yourself off the couch. “We should probably head to bed. We still have work to do tomorrow, and it’ll suck if we’re tired.”

You bid him a swift goodnight before he can say anything else, skittering out of the room and disappearing into the darkness, completely unaware that he stares after you with hurt and confusion, and longing.

—

The following morning, your wake from a tumultuous sleep. You can’t remember what you’d been dreaming about, but as soon as you crack your eyes open, you’re acutely aware of how rapid your heart is beating.

You’re slick with a thin sheen of sweat, and your blankets are strewn all across the bed - some even having fallen off to lay completely on the floor, in an undignified messy heap.

You end up having to take several minutes to measure your breath, inhaling and exhaling slowly to try and slow your bristling anxiety. It eventually works, allowing you to finally rise and start your day, but you can’t help noticing the uncomfortable prickle at the back of your neck.

—

It worsens as you progress through the day. Tickles at the base of your skull while you make breakfast, worsens when Viktor comes into the room and asks what you’re making; lingers all throughout the pleasant conversations at the dining table.

You try your best to act normal, and not let anyone know just how weird you’re feeling. Your father doesn’t mention anything, nor does Viktor - they’re too busy conversing about the project you’re working on, anyways. 

Your mother says nothing on the matter either, quietly peeling an orange while she listens to her husband enthuse about what you’re making. There’s something in her gaze, though, the way she peeks at you from the corner of her eye in the most knowing manner.

She’s polite enough to not mention it when you’re in front of the guys, but the moment you’re alone together, you know she’s going to pounce.

—

Unfortunately, you can’t really avoid being on your own with her, no matter how much you want to avoid her prying questions. She hounds you and Viktor to pose for measurements as soon as you’ve cleared the dishes from the table, ushering you both into the other room to leave your father to the rest of the cleaning.

She’s nothing but professional with Viktor, and makes quick work on him once she whips out the inch tape.

It’s when she shoos him out of the room that you know you’re done for.

“So,” she begins, stretching the flimsy device across your shoulders, “What changed between today, and yesterday?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you reply, hoping that she’ll catch onto the fact that you don’t want to talk about it.

You’ve never known your mother for her lack of curiosity, though.

“Darling, please,” she sighs, like she’s impatient by your reluctance. “You’re acting like you’ve suddenly forgotten how to move your body, and Viktor has been staring after you like you’ve kicked him. What happened?”

You pout for a couple moment, internally cursing her observation skills. You know that she wants you to share more of your life with her - that she wants to know you as a person - but the way she’s always egged you on is…nothing short of infuriating.

But at the same time…

What if it helped?

She’d been so open with you the day before, about her early life and where she came from, and about why she’d pushed you so hard. She’d apologized, even.

And it’s not like you had anyone else to talk to. Not about this.

“If I tell you, you have to promise not to meddle,” you say, shooting her a withering glance when she sputters in offense.

“Meddle?” she blurts. “Meddle!? Dear, I don’t-”

“Mama.”

She pauses.

You stare.

She sighs.

“Fine,” she mumbles. “I won’t meddle.”

You smile.

But it falls as soon as you start thinking about the night prior.

“I kissed him,” you admit, your gaze falling away from hers; in shame, in guilt, in anxiety. “Last night I couldn’t sleep. I made a cup of tea, and I was watching the snow fall in the dark. Turns out he was awake too, and we…sat together for a while. And we talked about stuff we’ve never talked about before.”

Your mother writes down a few of your measurements. “Nighttime conversations are always the deepest ones,” she says wistfully, “It’s easier to bare your soul when you’re not worried about being seen.”

“Tell me about it,” you huff, crossing your arms. “I’m more comfortable around him than I’ve ever been around anyone, and I still sometimes feel like I have to…”

You trail off, tightening your grip around yourself.

“Anyways, we were talking about- how do I even explain this? He was telling me about a person he loved, someone he’d known for a long time.” Your bottom lip wobbles the more you recount the events of the night. “He just- he was saying it with so much intensity, looking at me like I was the one he was talking about, even though that’s impossible.”

“So I kissed him,” you finish, dejected. “I kissed him, even though he was talking about someone else. I made a complete idiot of myself, and I’ve fucked our friendship up! He says it’s fine, he acts like it’s fine, but it! It’s not! It feels different now, and it’s my fault!”

A soft hand on your cheek draws you out of your spiral, pulling your attention away from your past actions and into the present. The warmth of her palm on your skin, the gentle pad of her thumb as she carefully wipes away the tears as they fall.

“I’m sorry, honey,” she says, drawing you down onto the little couch beside her. “Emotions are complicated, and messy, and unpredictable. And sometimes they hurt.”

“I know,” you sniffle, “I know, I just never thought I would have to deal with them!”

Her brows knit together in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“You were always talking to me about finding me a husband and marrying me off,” you say, shrugging. “You said you’d wait until I finished school, but…I dunno. I guess I figured I’d be stuck with someone I didn’t care about, and then I wouldn’t ever have to worry about genuine romance. Or love.”

Her face contorts into one of the most horrified expressions you’ve ever seen her wear. Tears welling in her sunken eyes, she takes your face in both your hands and stares at you.

“Why would you think that?” she whispers, pulling you close. “Your father and I - we always wanted you to have more, but we- we would never-”

“You always talked about setting me up!” you interrupt, squirming until she releases her hold on you. “You talked about introducing me to people as soon as I was old enough!”

“We’d never force you into anything,” she protests, “Especially not a relationship. When we talked about setting you up with someone, we meant- gods above. We meant we’d introduce you to someone we thought you would get along with, in hopes that you might at least expand your horizons and make a friend.”

A friend…

The word echoes in your mind as you process what exactly your mother is saying, dread seeping into every crevice of your being.

She wasn’t trying to marry me off, you realize. She wasn’t trying to get rid of me, she was trying to make sure I wouldn’t be alone…

“I’m so sorry we gave you the impression that we wanted to send you away,” she mourns, tenderly wrapping her hand around yours. “Darling, I can’t imagine the stress you’ve been under - the fear you’ve had to face, when expressing yourself.”

You deflate under her touch, as if all the strength you possess is suddenly siphoned from you. All the years of putting on a brave face and holding your head high, biting back your feelings in order to appease the parents that you so readily believed would sell you out at their first opportunity.

“I don’t know what to do, Mama,” you cry against her, hiding your face in the crook of her neck.

Her touch is slow and deliberate, stroking along your hairline and down your temple. “It’ll be okay,” she tells you, “No matter what happens, it will be okay.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” you argue. “Every decision I make seems to screw something up! I’ve wrecked my relationship with Viktor, and he’s one of the only friends I’ve ever had. What if I do something, or say something, and I ruin my relationship with V, too?”

The thought comes out of your mouth before you have the chance to catch it.

“Who’s V?” your mother asks, and when you say nothing, she asks again, “Sweetheart, who’s V?”

Reluctantly, you begin to explain your story. 

How you’d found a fancy pen as a child, which happened to have some kind of magic tied to it. How it allowed you to write back and forth with someone else - someone who possessed the other half of the set.

You tell her all about V, and how you’d helped him when you were just becoming friends; how you’d subsequently found your passion in machinery and invention, how he’d been your shoulder to lean on all throughout the years, how you’d fallen in love with him despite not knowing what he looks like.

How you’d both been accepted to the academy, though he hadn’t been ready to reveal his identity to you.

How he now wanted to meet you face to face, at the winter gala.

And how scared you are that you’re going to do something to mess this up, too.

“What if he sees me, realizes who I am, and wants nothing to do with me?” you cry, wiping your face on your sleeve for the umpteenth time.

“Then it’s his loss,” your mother assures, rubbing circles into your back. “You’re kind, you’re compassionate. And sweetheart, you’re brilliant, just like your father. If this V somehow doesn’t already know that, then he’s not worth your time. If he’s judged you without even knowing you, then you deserve better.”

“I can’t lose him,” you sniffle. “He’s my best friend - I don’t know what I’d do without him.”

And then, she asks a question that baffles you more than you wish it would.

“Are we still talking about V? Or are we talking about Viktor?”

Silence permeates the room. The only sound you hear is the deafening thunder of your heart, as her inquiry sinks in.

“I…” you squeak, with a minute shake of your head. “I…don’t know.”

But your mother seems to know, as she fixes you with her usual coy smile.

“You’ll figure it out eventually, darling,” she comforts. “I know you will.”

You nod, still not quite believing her sentiment, but taking it anyways. You stand quietly and brush yourself off, fixing your hair and straightening your clothes, checking in the mirror to make sure it’s not too obvious that you’ve been bawling your eyes out.

Only when you reach the door and set your hand on the knob, does your mother pipe up again.

“And for the record, sweetheart, I don’t think you’ve wrecked your friendship with Viktor,” she says, hiding a smile behind her hand. “Quite the opposite, in fact - I think you’ve made him question his feelings for this mysterious other person.”

You frown.

“Give him some more time, Y/N. Not all men are as in touch with their feelings as your father is.”

With another nod, you slip out the door and shut it behind you, leaving your mother to her own devices while you head back downstairs to continue working on your project.

—

Throughout the rest of the weekend, you and Viktor manage to complete the entire trial of your final project. 

It has a lot of flaws, as it is: the resin encasing the diode takes far too long to set, as well as the aesthetic bulb to help diffuse the light. The base is too tricky to mold by hand, though it functions much the same as it would on a standard light would.

You briefly toss around a few ideas to perhaps work with glass instead of molded resin, which you suppose could work, if either of you could find a glass blower willing to work with you.

How hard could it be? Viktor had asked, and your only reply had been to fix him with an unenthused look.

Still, the outlook is favourable. Regardless of all the kinks that needed to be ironed out, it’s done.

You’re able to head back to the academy without a single worry on whether you’ll be able to finish on time, with just enough hours left in the day to read over your homework and get a good night’s sleep.

Or in your case?

Read over your homework, and then lay on your bed in the dark, praying to be struck down by a rogue meteor; a theme which continues over the next few days.

Each consecutive class becomes more and more difficult to pay attention to, and you know you’re slipping - you can feel the exhaustion gnawing away at your brain, and your patience. 

Like earlier in the year, when you’d overworked yourself to the point of becoming ill, it starts with a lack of attention. Which then slowly morphs into a headache, the less you sleep.

By Wednesday, your vision is fuzzy and you’re having a hard time keeping your eyes open, no matter how much coffee you consume. Viktor is a mirror of his former self - looking like he wants to say something, but not entirely knowing if he has the right to. 

Why would he? you remind yourself. You fucked up your friendship by kissing him.

You’ve been trying to take your mother’s words to heart - her assurances that Viktor is just sorting out his own feelings and being awkward in the meantime - but between your inability to find a moment of peace, and the oncoming migraine, you’re having a hard time with it.

It’s bad enough having to listen to your professor drone on and on about things you’d learned months ago.

You’re tempted to just leave.

“Miss Y/N, if you’re going to sleep in my class, I suggest you pack your things and take the afternoon off,” the sharp tone comes from the front of the lecture hall. Your head snaps up from where you’d momentarily set it in your arms, while a couple people giggle at the back of the room.

“Sorry,” you mumble, blinking hard to regain some of your focus. “Busy schedule, is all.”

Your professor sighs, in a way that makes him seem more disappointed than angry.

“It is as I said, Miss. If you need a day off-”

A knock comes from the entrance to the room, drawing everyone’s mocking attention away.

You put your head back into your arms, thankful for a moment to yourself, however small-

“Isn’t that one of your uncles?” Viktor whispers suddenly, setting his hand on your arm.

Your rouse from your doze in an instant, your snapping to where he touches you, and then to the door.

Sure enough…your uncle?

“What…”

“I saw him in a photo your mother had displayed on the mantle,” Viktor tries to explain, but you quickly shush him, patting at his hand. Every ounce of tiredness is suddenly expelled from your body, energized by the spike of adrenaline.

What is he doing here? You wonder.

Your professor nods in the doorway, then turns to you and hastens over.

“Pack your things, Miss. Your uncle is here to collect you,” he says in a hushed tone. Then, as he begins to turn away, he pauses, “Don’t worry about the rest of your classes for the day. I’ll inform your other professors that you’ve taken family leave.”

Family- what?

You share a worried glance with Viktor, and quickly begin packing your books up. They barely fit into your shoulderbag anymore with their sheer number, but you manage to squeeze them all in there.

“I’ll see you later,” you whisper to your friend, patting him on the shoulder as you pass him by and exit the classroom.

Only once you’ve shut the door behind you, do you turn to your uncle - your favourite uncle, if you had to choose. The youngest of your father’s older brothers, and the one he was closest with: the two of them spoke weekly, and got together every month or so to have lunch.

“What’s going on?” you ask him, as he gently loops his hand around your arm, and tugs you along.

So quick, you’re basically running in order to keep up.

“Uncle- what’s going on!” you repeat.

He doesn’t answer you for the entire journey through the academy. Silently pulls you along until you’re out in the snow, away from the student body and whatever prying ears might be lingering nearby.

“Your father is in the hospital,” he tells you solemnly, finally loosening his grip on you. “He had a heart attack when we were out this afternoon - the doctors…”

You feel like throwing up.

“He needs surgery to correct the problem, but it’s not without its risks.”

The more he speaks, the more you know you’re going to vomit.

“They advised me to fetch you and your mother - she’s already on her way there.”

You pause just before you set foot off the school grounds, marked by a tall, well-trimmed line of coniferous shrubs.

Lovely, when covered in puffy white snow.

Less lovely, when covered in the remains of your breakfast.

[calehenituse-brainrot]

Cale putting his fingers in your mouth and getting you to suck on them while you cockwarm him because you're getting a bit too loud while you try and shuffle around on his cock to get any little bit of stimulation because you've been sitting there for hours but if you keep quiet for a little while longer while he gets his paperwork done and be a good girl you'll get exactly what you want and ride him until you're a babbling crying mess. After all, he lives to please his sweetheart

im speechless holy shit

warning : nsfw content

Nothing gets him off better than you squirming on his lap, warm velvet walls sucking him in and throbbing around him. His pants are slowly being drenched by your cum with you constantly trying your best to be subtle with grinding on his cock.

"Stop distracting me," Cale hissed, setting down his quill to the table and grabbed you by your thighs, holding you down from trying to bounce on him. Your skin was warm and slightly sweating from having been put on edge for hours.

"Mhmm, C-Cale," you sighed, leaning down to try and kiss the man. You looked absolutely frustrated, eyes watering, and sweating. With that look on your face, there was no way Cale wouldn't let you to kiss him to satiate a bit of your sexual frustration.

"H-hah, hahh, Cale, please," you murmured against his lips when Cale grabs you by your ass, pulling you closer to him. He moved you up and down a bit and hears the relieved sigh that came from your lips.

You leaned back until your back hits the edge of Cale's desk, using the desk to prop yourself up. You slowly move your hips, showing to Cale where you're both connected.

Cale set his hand on top of your clit, lightly flicking the bud and soaking his fingers with your cum. He pulls you back to his arms, pushing his cum-slicked fingers into your mouth.

"Suck on them," he ordered you to. "Be quiet and wait for me to finish, then I'll fuck you on this desk. That's what you wanted, right?"

You looked up at him through your lashes, wet with tears. Cale smiled, feeling your tongue swirl around his fingers first before you begin sucking on them.

"Good girl," he praised, grabbing his quill again before dipping them into an inkwell, continuing his work, accompanied by your muffled moans and the slight squelch of his wet pants whenever you try to move. "Just keep me warm for awhile. You can do that, can't you?"

You nodded, tears streaming down your face from the frustration.

You had to sit and wait for him, cunt filled with his cock so deliciously but clit being left untouched. Your pussy kept on dripping from arousal and all you can do is suck on his long fingers as he does his paperwork.

Only until he was done did he let you to finally move. He pulled his hand from your mouth and let's you begin to grind on his cock, clit brushing against his clothes.

"C-Cale," you moaned into his ear, beginning to bounce a bit to provide Cale some relief as well.

Cale begin to pepper your face with kisses, feeling your walls tensing and the way you'd grind your clit quicker against his clothes. You finally came, walls throbbing and pussy becoming more slippery for him. The orgasm after hours of waiting sent you to cloud nine, your legs trembling and body sweating.

"Are you done?" He murmured sweetly to you and you nod, giving him a peck.

Cale pushed you on to his table, moving his hips and slamming it onto yours that it had you nearly moaning so loudly that you're sure any servants that's passing by would hear.

"Hahh, ahh, Cale--"

You nearly ran out of breath whenever Cale would slam into you, hand that was previously in your mouth rubbing your clit furiously and having you squirting and begging for mercy.

"Cale, please, please, please--!"

Your eyes are rolled to the back of your head when you feel yourself came undone, quickly followed by Cale bursting into you, warmth spreading in your abdomen.

Cale pumped what's left of him into you before pulling out, letting you lay on his table with legs spread, pussy swollen, and cunt dripping with his load.

[draconic-ichor]

Tarnished Threads, Golden Stitches

Morgott/female tarnished

Part 2

Warnings: strong language, sexual themes

Summary: Hester accepts the job and settles into her new life.

Feedback appreciated, 18+

Part 1

An offer she couldn’t refuse…she’d be a fool to. The morning felt rushed and blurred, the other seamstresses helping to get her presentable and pack up the few items that were truly hers.

Their words of excitement and encouragement kept a small flame of courage alive in her breast the whole journey: from flagging down a wagon, being led into the grand castle, all the way to her signing the contract upon a fancy desk.

She pulled her hand away, looking down at the wet ink that mirrored her name. The man across the desk noticed the slight tremble, flashing a smile.

“At ease, dear Lady.” He soothed.

“Ah, yes.” Hester nodded, placing the quill into the inkwell, “I apologize.”

“No need.” He stepped around the desk, going on, “I am Head of Staff, any and all complaints or communications you may have are welcome through myself. Allow me to show you to your space.”

The man gathered up a book of papers, leading her along.

As they went, the man pointed out important locations or areas of historical interest. Every corner and crack oozed with antiquity.

They came to two stained glass doors, the glass made up of shifting shades of greens made to look like twisting vines.

“Here we are!” He smiled, opening up the doors, “This is where you will do most of your work, a place to meet and to take orders as needed.”

Hester gasped.

It was bright, hanging plants and a mural of tree branches twisting around the space gave it a lush feeling.

Half the room was completely covered, floor to ceiling, with shelves specially built to hold bolts upon bolts of fabric. More colors than Hester thought possible dazzled before her, a plethora of patterns to follow.

The other end of the room was illuminated with Erdlight from ornate glass doors leading to a small balcony. Pine counters and a large work desk lined the free walls, the counters holding dozens of drawers with supplies.

It was truly fit for a royal tailor…or a seamstress.

She slowly turned, taking it in.

“If you desire any materials that are not currently on the inventory list, you will have to have them either approved or requisition them yourself.”

“I can’t see myself ever wanting again…” she breathed, turning slowly to take everything in.

“One would be surprised, once the freedom of creativity is allowed to wander.” He smiled, looking over his papers.

“Your quarters are through that door, just there.” He pointed, “I hope they are not too quaint. You will be expected to keep both areas clean besides the sheets, which will be replaced weekly.

“Meals are served for staff at 8, but you are welcome to prepare your own food from the secondary larder. The washing facilities are on the base floor as well.”

Hester nodded, taking in the wall of information.

“Ah yes.” The Head of Staff tilted his head, turning more towards her.

“I will extend to you the same warning given to all staff of the fairer sex.” His voice dipped a bit more serious, “You would do well to perform any duties in the presence of the King swiftly and without provocation, do not speak unless spoken to and leave the Lord’s wing as soon as your duties are completed.”

Hester turned towards the man more, brows knotting.

“H-Has his Lordship,” she swallowed, “raged against his staff?”

“Well.” He looked down, “His Lordship, the King, is mostly reclusive and passive whilst in the castle.” Sharp eyes flicking back up to meet her gaze, “But one can never be too careful with…his kind.”

The last words sank like a stone in her gut, Hester frowning but biting her tongue.

“And it would be a great loss, to be without a tailor once more.”

“I’m sure.” She nodded curtly.

“Well.” He closed the book, “I’ll leave you to settle in. Congratulations.”

“Thank you.”

~

She took the rest of the afternoon settling in and familiarizing herself with the space. Laughter bubbled up when she looked at the ‘quaint’ room for herself, it being the size of three of the seamstress quarters at the old shop. Her meager items hardly made it feel like home, yet.

Walking down to the kitchens a sound caught her wandering ear. Two maids were arguing in the hall outside the servants dining hall.

Hester’s steps faltered.

One looked hardly out of girlhood, with blonde hair put up in braids, the other was much older.

“Please, you’ve heard the stories!” The maid begged, “I don’t want to go.”

“Wants are for the rich.” The older one scolded.

“Please, ma’am.” The girl trembled.

“Just take the tray to him and leave.” She instructed, “Simple.”

Hester padded up, overhearing the whole ordeal. “What is the problem?” She asked curiously.

The older maid huffed, “The previous serving girl ran off. And this new lass thinks herself too good to deliver a simple tray.”

“I’ll deliver anything to the furthest part of the castle. Just don’t send me to him.” She sniffed, looking down.

“Him?” Hester echoed.

“The girl’s head was filled with stories.” The other sighed, tired of the same thing, “The commoners love to gossip.”

The girl’s eyes were glassy.

“I can take it.” Hester offered, “I've no fear of the King.”

She looked up, relief washing over her young face. “Thank you, thank you, Ma’am.” She stammered, handing over the tray. Her relief was quickly replaced with guilt, “Be careful…they say omen eat maidens.”

The older maid made a loud scoff, taking the younger’s ear, “Speaking daft. I wasn’t sending you on the tray, now was I?!” As the younger yelped, the maid turned a finger towards Hester, “It’s all well and good to offer help, but will you step in again tomorrow when this little flower refuses?”

“It’s no trouble.” Hester gave a weak smile.

“No trouble.” The maid huffed exhaustively, rolling her eyes and taking the other away.

Hester had to ask the guards for directions to the Lord’s study, only getting lost twice on the way. Soon the heavy door stood before her and the realization of what she agreed to sank into her gut.

The head of staff’s words echoed around her head as she shifted the tray to her hip. Hesitantly she raised a hand to knock upon the oaken door.

“Thou may enter,” Came a deep voice.

A shiver ran down her spine, twisting the large knob.

Everything in the study was made much larger than commonly seen: the desk just as massive as its owner, the shelves were built so high Hester would have to fetch a ladder to reach them.

Even with the desk's larger build, the King still sat upon the floor to comfortably write, his tail lazily swaying behind him as he wrote. Hester swallowed, watching him for a long moment.

His quill seemed to be a flight pinion from a great eagle, scratching away at the parchment before him.

“Leave thou tray just there.” He shifted just enough to point at a worn table.

The words spurred her back into the present, quickly placing the tray down, backing away to smooth out her skirts. A shifting of cloth and a groan could be heard behind her.

Hester wheeled around, being overshadowed.

Morgott stood to full standing glancing down at her, an unreadable look in his golden eye.

Hester scrambled to the side, waiting quietly as the King crossed the space in two steps.

He lifted the lid with a hollow sound, revealing a bowl full of some type of dry grain. Hester took a step closer, curiously. Taking the kettle, Morgott poured boiling water into the bowl, eye flicking up to watch the other. It was quite usual for the staff to make swift exits from his presence; her curiosity and lack of fear towards him was refreshing.

Carefully replacing the lid onto the bowl, he gestured to the empty seat across the narrow table.

Hes blinked, the offer taking a moment to sink in. Once her mind caught up, she hastily sat down, cheeks flushed after being caught staring.

Morgott watched her for a moment before his gaze shifted back towards the tray. Picking up the cup, he poured more water from the kettle into it, placing it before Hester shortly after.

She could smell the brewing tea, looking from the cup to him. “My Lord, this was yours?” She pointed out the obvious, not moving to take the cup.

“Henceforth, tis thine.” He spoke plainly, “I am without the means to offer a guest proper accommodation, currently, so mine own cup will do.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but quickly remembered her place. It would be rude to refuse hospitality, she concluded, reaching for the cup. Morgott watched her, how her lips pursed to blow away the steam.

He turned away, pacing back to his desk.

“My Lord?” Hester asked.

“Hm?”

“Will you not eat?” A note of worry in her tone.

The omen held up two fingers, adding without turning, “Takes a few minutes to prepare…”

Hester’s curiosity piqued even further.

Morgott folded a letter, placing it down before dripping wax then stamping it with his seal. Placing that to be sent out in the morning, he filed a few things away, padding back to the table after.

He gingerly lifted the lid from the bowl, very aware of Hester intently watching his every move, to reveal a bowl of soft fluffy grain, cooked and hot. Morgott stirred it up a bit to make sure it was all prepared, spoon clinking against the ceramic as he did so.

Sitting down heavily on the floor, as he was at his desk before she arrived, he finally began to eat. Hester sipped her hot tea, feeling out of place.

Morgott was wholly unused to casual guests, so did little in the way of conversation, he was quite content to eat in silence.

“My Lord?” She finally spoke, asking, “What is that?”

Morgott finished his current mouthful before answering, “Frumenty.”

“Iv never seen it made in such a way.” She frowned, that dish being a staple to the lower class.

“It would grow quite cold when brought to mine study from the kitchens.” He explained, “So larger batches are made ahead, then dried…it allows mineself to reconstitute the meal at mine leisure.” Gesturing to the kettle, “Tis all that is needed.”

She nodded, listening. Taking another sip from her cup she thought.

Odd…that the King chooses peasant meals when even his staff eat better…

Almost hearing the cogs move about her mind, Morgott’s gaze flicked up to her, chewing slowly. He tilted his head a bit, expectantly.

“Oh…” Hester looked at the table, voice soft, “Is that all you ask of, for a meal, my Lord?”

“It suits mine needs.” He answered briskly.

She nodded, not wanting to pry further.

The rest of the meal went by swiftly and in silence. Morgott stood, placing the items used back onto the tray neatly. He held out a large hand to her expectantly.

“Oh!” Hes nodded, gulping down the last mouthful of tea before handing over the cup.

It was neatly placed with the rest, Morgott then going back to his desk. He diligently began to settle into work once more, tranquil and quiet.

Hester stood, carefully pushing in the chair, before taking the tray in hand. Not wanting to disturb anymore than she already had, she attempted to escape.

“Mine Lady.” Morgott’s voice came.

Hester paused, tray holding open the heavy door.

“If thou wishes to share mine table in the future, I ask thee brings thine own meal as well.” He instructed, a warmth to his words.

She nodded, feeling hot, “Yes, my Lord.”

~

Hester quietly entered the kitchens, by this time things were quiet, most of the staff finished their duties for the night.

The older maid sat a ways away at a table worn down by many hands, finally sitting down to a meal herself. “Returned at last, and didn’t get gobbled up I see.” She chuckled.

“His Lordship was quite content with the Frumenty.” Hester nodded, taking the tray to the wash in.

The woman nodded to that, “He sticks to bland things…easy meals.”

Hes paused the faucet, asking, “Why?” She honestly didn’t expect an answer, simply her curiosity bubbling over.

“Unwell, after such an upbringing.” The answer came quietly, “…can’t stomach what we grew accustomed to. Be patient with him.”

Hester nodded, hands dipping into the hot water to begin washing, mind full.

“I don’t question him, his choices make our lives easier to tell the truth.” The old woman went on, “Especially since maids are so hard to keep.”

“He wishes me to dine with him, if I deliver food again.” Hester confessed, an odd feeling in her stomach. There was a long stretch of silence causing her to drop the bowl back in the water to twist around. She caught the maid giving her a knowing look. “What?” Hester smiled nervously.

The maid gave a showy shrug, taking another bite of food.

“Is it wrong?”

“Do you fear him?”

“Should I?” Hester retorted.

She shrugged again, “If your heart feels no fear, then it is no one’s place to tell you what is wrong. Your King asked of you.”

“…that is true.” She nodded, looking into the sudsy water.

“The life of the serving class is short.” Her voice brightened a bit, “Do not dwell on worries, dear.”

Hester gave her a weak smile, “I’ll try.”

*Frumenty: was a popular dish in Western European medieval cuisine. It is a porridge, a thick boiled grain dish—hence its name, which derives from the Latin word frumentum, "grain".

[alex51324]

Episode 4 Rewatch

I'm wondering why Crowley is so much more enthusiastic and encouraging about Aziraphale's magic act in 1941 than he will be a few decades later in the lead-up to Warlock's birthday party. When he says "It's demeaning," does he really mean, "Actually I'm still kind of traumatized from that time I almost splattered your brains across half a dozen showgirls"? (Or did he just not entirely realize how hopeless Aziraphale is at stage magic until they're in the magic shop?)

It is kind of interesting that Aziraphale mentions the derringer in the hollowed-out book and then it's never heard from again. I'm not convinced that every single loose end is A Clue about Season 3, but there is a very famous saying vis-a-vis the tendency of guns that were mentioned in Act I to go off in Act III. If nothing else, it's a reminder that we haven't actually seen Act III yet.

The magic-shop keeper tells Aziraphale that his life is worth more than 7 pounds, five shillings. In the previous episode, a fresh body was supposed worth 7 pounds, even 8. Not sure if that's important. (While I'm wandering off into the epileptic trees, I'll note that once Crowley adds the additional 20-pound note, they're coming perilously close to thirty.)

When Aziraphale fails to turn the turnip into an inkwell, and Crowley, from the wings, does his little flicking gesture, he's trying to change it, so that the crowd will stop booing Aziraphale! (I initially thought he was poking the miracle-repelling field, but that's not it--he doesn't know about that yet, and also, Furfur later says that the miracle block covers the whole theater.)

On a related note, when Crowley tries to help Aziraphale with his turnip miracle, doesn't the visual effect look just a little bit purple?

I looked this up specially--the first commercially available instant camera was in 1948, so FurFur's demonic Polaroid is, as he says, state of the art.

(Is his name actually FurFur? I don't completely trust the subtitles on that one.)

It's a nice touch that Hell has tamperproof evidence envelopes, but then doesn't actually seal them.

Also in the "kind of weird" department: why do we have Nazi zombies in this? They aren't really a plot-bearing element; it would be easier to just have Furfur investigate for himself after getting the tip from them. Is it just because it's fun to see gross and embarrassing things happen to Nazis? I'm not arguing, but I do wonder if there's going to be a third version of this flashback in Season 3.