#pocket scribs

[pocketpencils]

An additional Mei as I avoid actually making a background

[circeyoru]

Unwanted Soul = Requested

[Yandere!Alastor x Owner of his Soul!Reader]

The Request

Part 1 (here) — Part 2 — Part 2.5 (ask) — Part 3

You weren’t a powerful Overlord nor were you the weaker ones to have their souls owned by other demons to survive in this hellhole. You’re merely capable enough to get by your everyday life. Like always, you’d stay clear from any of ongoing battles or powerful demons that were out and about. Your keen 6th sense to pinpoint potential dangers was always your go-to during your outings

You kind of treated Hell as your paradise to shut-in in your room and read all the comics you want plus watch all the TV shows you want. You were one of the rare demons that get connection to the Earth realm where you can enjoy the guilty pleasures you spend your days doing. Of course, your death was a suicide as you saw no life ahead of you

But you really really should have stayed in that day. It started out as any other day in Hell and you were on your way to the usual supermarkets for the junk food and drink you love. Normally, it was uneventful, until you caught sight of a dying demon, no, ‘wounded’ would be the right word since demons would only demon by angelic blades, even you knew that. Still, the demon was heavily wounded

It must have been a good few minutes since you caught weaker demons attempting to take advantage of the weakened demon as easy prey. You immediately took out your notebook, scribbing a phase before tearing it out and blow on it lightly. The page turned to white sparkles before taking shape of a row of angelic spears around you, it launched at the weak demons before they could do anything to the wounded one

You took went to the wounded demon quickly as your spears faded to nothing after doing its damage. You held his limb hand and closed your eyes, visualizing your cozy apartment and the ground swallowed the two of you up. In the blink of an eye, you were back home, sighing in relief

Not even a moment, you were knocked to the ground and pinned down by your shoulders and thigh. You struggled a bit before you realized it was the wounded demon that was pinning you down with radio dials for eyes

Without thinking, you reached into your coat pocket and took out a piece of paper, slamming it onto his face and blew at it. The paper faded to nothing but sparks then the demon stilled before closing his eyes and slumping forward onto you. Unconscious. But you invited someone you shouldn’t have into your home

This had to be Alastor, the Radio Demon

You grimaced, eying Alastor on top of you sleeping like a harmless deer. You thought of throwing him back out into the streets, but you didn’t exactly have the heart to. You came to the conclusion of healing him as fast as you could then sending him on his merry way! Yes!

Noooo!!! Why is he still here!?!?!?!?!?!?!??????!!!!!

“My dear, you really should be taking more care of your diet. This is hardly filling or healthy for you.” Alastor eyed the cup noodle you were about to open up like you were holding trash “But it’s fast and gets my hunger sated.” You eyed back, “It’s not like I’m feeding you this. I cook for your meals anyways…” You continued roaming around the kitchen, rubbing a fork, and setting a timer for your food. Ignoring the closeness of Alastor. “As long as it doesn’t concern you, it’ll be fine. I’ll treat you better since you just healed up. These are my own indulgence.” “And I appreciate your hospitality, dear, truly, I do. The matter at hand is your consumption!” Alastor grabbed your precious cup noodle lunch away, “I shall take over your meals from now on.”

Yes, you have fully healed Alastor and he’s back to full health. No, you didn’t tell him to stay. In fact, the moment his wounds were all healed, you showed him the open door, waiting for him to leave. He didn’t exactly let you make him leave. He said he was staying to repay your kindness, but all he was doing was inserting him into your afterlife and really making it Hell

At first, he praised your unique power to summon anything you write with a gentle blow, especially the part where you put him to sleep the first time. Then he urged you to make a name for yourself, but you really just want to shut yourself in your room and indulge in your time-wasting hobby. You told him off and shut yourself in your room, but he would just appear through the shadows and apologise, saying he’d leave the matter

When that whole business was done, Alastor got worse. You’re positive some other demons would love to be treated this way, but you’re just weirded out. It started out small, Alastor making meals like he said, shifting your schedule to a healthier one. Then taking care of your needs whenever you are about to do something. Even as simple as getting a glass of water

Then it escalated to touches. A handholding here, maybe he’s lean into you while reading. Or he’ll lay next to you in your own bed. Shift closer to you while on the couch. Stare at you while you were busy reading manga or watching animes and shows. Plus you could feel him staring at you while you sleep from the shadows even though you told him not to

But the most unnerving thing was when you would go restock on your food and other supplies. Alastor being the gentleman would carry and pay for your stuff. That you’re used to and didn’t care since either way, you had your methods. It was what happens during the two of you walking

“Alastor…” You hugged your coat tighter as your lips pressed together tightly from the scene, your eyebrows furrowed from the tense situation you were in. You had just left the shop to get new books and volumes, only to be met with such a sight. “What…” “My darling, your timing is perfect.” Alastor threw away the torn body of what used to be a demon. The street was covered with a layer of thick red and black blood. Hellborns and sinners alike were all brutally ripped away by the fearsome Radio Demon. “These pest dares to look at you wrongly, surely they deserve a good, limb pulling.” He walked over to you with his ever-present smile, offering his clean hand. “Shall we head home, My Doe?” You feel yourself tense as you firmly told him, “Just because they stare at me a little long and spat out rude remarks, it’s not an excuse or reason to torture them like this. I’m… I don’t exactly mind unless they attack.” Alastor grabbed your hand and kissed it, “Dearie, why give them the chance to harm you when I can prevent it? You can name and point fingers, I’ll be your killer.”

Trapped was what you felt at home and anywhere, as long as Alastor was there, you didn’t like it. Those sweet romantic gestures and attention from him that you would only see in your books and shows left a bad taste in your mouth. 

At the 4th year, however, something changed. Alastor sold his soul to you as the ‘last’ act of pure devotion and loyalty to you. Since the contract was all by your rules, you made use of it

Limit Alastor’s powers because it scares you how much he could do and the destruction he could cause. Forbid him from devouring or owning souls because he does it so easily when he thinks you were wronged in any way. And most importantly, forbid him from disobeying your words, whatever they may be, that way, you can finally have peace

How Alastor was still able to be this unnerving, you didn’t know and you didn’t want to know. Somehow, the contract was something like a declaration that the two of you were romantically involved with ecah other? If it made sense. It didn’t, really

Alastor still stayed with you because he had told you a long time ago that his home was destroyed in a brutal battle, hence why you found him that battered. So you offered yours. You did manage to set some firmer ground rules with the contract’s help. Like no entering your room or throwing away your junk food

Though Alastor still plays a big part in your life just because. You had wanted a lover before, but Alastor had proven how bad a relationship could go, and you two didn’t even established anything! You love fiction, fiction is life or afterlife. You can just drown yourself in the world of fiction and never leave

That’s the basis of your power. It’s like summoning through writing and the faint blow from your lips. You have to be aware of the components though, the hardest to summon was definitely the angel spears. It was the day after extermination and a spear was stuck into a demon, you were curious and took it back with you. You studied it and tested it out, knowing its strength and limitations before actually attempting to summon it. Works well enough, since it was easy to study

In the blink of an eye, 7 years had already passed. While Alastor was out on buying new ingredients for your celebration dinner of surviving another extermination, you caught the Princess of Hell and her promotion on the ‘Happy Hotel’. A place that welcomes anyone, a place that gives anyone a chance. It sounds lovely, but you didn’t have the mentality and energy to help out

A foolproof plan came to mind. You could, no, should send Alastor there. He loves entertainment! He wouldn’t be bored there! The hotel is much bigger and there’s more people there for him to hang out with. Plus he would definitely get a room there since he’s going to be staying. Even when he disagrees, because you just know he would rather stay by your side, you can use the contract as a last resort

“My dear!” Alastor greeted the moment he came back from his little shopping. He gave you a peak on the crown of your head when he walked past you, then headed to the table to place the bags of items down. “Did you hear about that ridiculous plan the Princess told in the picture box? Hahaha! It’s sure to fail! No way in any universe would just a silly and childish thing happen! No, sir!” “I want to help her with it, it sounds like a good plan. It’s better than annual exterminations.” You spoke while coming over to check the things Alastor brought. “But you know I’m more of a home person and not the go-out and help-others type.” “Exactly, dearie, we need not care for such fantasy.” Alastor nodded along. “That’s why you’re going in my place.” You stated firmly without blinking or shifting in your spot, at the growing static, you looked up to see Alastor’s eyes turned to radio dial. Very rarely are those directed at you since he swore he’d never do you harm or wish you harm. “You’ll go and help the Princess to make it a success.” Alastor’s eyes shifted back to normal, narrowing as he asked, “Till how long, my dear?” You had to control yourself to hide a smile as you spoke, “For as long as it takes of course. You can’t rush redemption, right? And it’s the first of its kind too.” The static grew again, you knew Alastor was getting annoyed with such a wish (order) from you. “But this would take a long while. I’d be returning to check on you, yes?” “Oh, no. Can’t interrupt your work.” You said, carrying your pile of snacks to your little comfort corner and dropping it with huff, there was a skip in your step as you returned back to the table. “You can’t come back here nor see me when in the service of the Princess. Well, you can see me when I’m the one to approach you or call for you, that’s the only exception.” Alastor would have a frown on by now if it weren’t for his insistence on the power of smiles, “Who would take care of you? Who would watch over you? Who would tend to you? Who would protect you while I’m gone, sweetheart?” You laughed, “Don’t be so dramatic. I can handle myself. It’s just like before I met you,” You didn’t miss the radio crackling like it broke connection, “But this time, I have you as a backup should I need.”

Making Alastor leave you wouldn’t have been possible without the contract and the fact that his soul was yours to control. Very pushy but you had to do what you had to, it was all to regain that quiet and isolated shut-in life you love. Never have you missed the silence in your home and the void of a watchful gaze all around you

You squealed and smiled brightly, “Time to chill and laze around!”

Oh how the Radio Demon was fuming as he made his way to that ratchaed hotel. He shouldn’t have let you know of such a news. If that inferno picture box was broken, then you wouldn’t know. No, you have your phone, so that makes no difference. Maybe it was the fact that that cannibal chef was gone that Charlie had time to promote that idea of hers? 

This would be his first appearance since 7 years ago. He kept his presence gone from the public eye just to hide his connection and fancy towards you. If demons knew you had his soul, who knows what danger you’d be in? He can’t let that happen to you. No, you were the kind soul that saved him and gave him a place to belong. Truly belong

Never had he felt such a sense of comfort around someone so lazy and chill. The fact that you were average but powerful in your right that you humble yourself to blend in with others. To live your afterlife as you please and like without a care in the world. So long as your interest was sated

He just couldn’t help but want to be yours. You deserve it, after all

But now. Now he had to provide his attention and care to some princess’ dream! What joke is this?!

Were you sending him away because he wasn’t strong enough? You limited his powers to see if he could still be as strong as before. Was that the reason? What other demon held your attention? As far as he knew. You have no interest in forming connections. He was the first one you actually cared for and hosted your home for! You don’t even own other souls and you’re strong!

He was your only one. Only!

In front of the hotel, he knocked rhythmically, waiting patiently for the door to be opened and for him to introduce himself. He’ll show you. “Hel—” The door closed shut in his face before it opened again, “-lo!”

His ears twitched as he heard the ruckus inside. These souls don’t deserve your time and attention spent on them, he’ll deal with the problem like always and return to your side. He’ll show you just how powerful and cruel he is and can be

The door opened again and he introduced himself with his plan in mind. “Alastor! Pleasure to be meeting you, princess. Quite a pleasure!”

Note: I really really didn't mean to do this so long... I could have put it into 2 parts, but I was too lazy to. There was actually some more I wanna add, but then it will be a literal essay. Anyways~ How you like this one?

Circe Y.

Other Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist:

@aconfusedwonderland

@crowleysthings

@donustellaron

[jiubilant]

what do you think little aduri’s first impression of avrusa and sinderion was…

"And this," says Sinderion, leaning with a grin across the shoulder-carriage bench, "is Asplenium regelliam."

The toddler on Avrusa's copious lap stares, cross-eyed and scholarly, at the sprig of green tickling her nose. Then she squishes her face with a thoughtful gurgle.

"Yes, indeed," says Sinderion with utmost solemnity, "it's named for the estimable Chivius Regelliam, whose work has proven invaluable to we who crawl through hedgerows in his wake. Very good."

"Don't listen to him, sprout," says Avrusa, raising her eyebrows. "Never crawled through a hedgerow in his life. I did all the field work." She bounces her new charge, winning a giggle, then peers with mock severity into her face. "What's A. regelliam in the vernacular?"

Little Aduri gives her a rapt look. Then she reaches up to pull Avrusa's lip.

"Ouch," says Avrusa, amused. "Nirnroot, that's right—ouch."

The shoulder-carriage jostles through the City of Gems on bright and crowded streets, bobbing around foot-traffic like a boat. It has windows. Avrusa tries not to look at them. Outside, the city brims with light and noise: the rattle of pushcarts, the sizzle of frying scrib, the shouts of the chairmen bearing them from her father's squalid palace to the rooms they've rented over the market-square. Not cheap. Nor is the chairmen's fee—but the child can't walk, Avrusa reasons, and Sinderion will be two hundred and ninety next week.

And her father, she thinks, bitter as wormwood, has willed the sprout some pocket-change.

Sinderion, replacing the nirnroot in his bottomless bag, looks sidelong at her. Then—with that awkward, punctilious insight of his—he takes her hand.

"I'm all right," Avrusa rasps, then clears her throat. "Will be." She shakes her head, struck with amazed grief—how suddenly it comes and goes, like the gusts of ash that had once rolled through Ald'ruhn. "He used to keep such a clean house. More than clean."

Her mentor's hands had been lively, once: scribbling notes, sketching lectures in the air, flicking her fingers when she held a pestle wrong. Now they tremble with the simple strain of squeezing her hand. "Orderly?"

"Yes." She looks with bewilderment at the toddler—her half-sister, for gods' sake, two hundred years younger than herself. "And he—n'chow, Sinderion, he was older than you. I just don't understand—"

The shoulder-carriage bucks. Avrusa finds herself doing several things at once: clutching the toddler to her chest, cursing, kicking out a leg to keep Sinderion's bag from flying into him. It crunches. The ungrateful old twig cries out and swats her knee. "You harridan, my retort!"

"Bother your retort—"

"My flasks!"

"Were you planning to brew elixirs," demands Avrusa, righting herself, "here in the sedan—"

Aduri giggles again. Sinderion's grin reappears, as it always does, like an ancient light sputtering on. "Funny, are we?"

Avrusa sets the squirming toddler on her knee. The sprout is scrawny, she thinks with a frown. She smells sour, milky; she'd screamed and kicked the maid who, an hour or so ago, had shoved her at Avrusa with a desperate smile. Avrusa had understood them both. Part of her, she thinks, had wanted to kick something, too—had wanted it ever since she set out, across countless leagues and second-guesses, to fetch home a child she hadn't known existed—

The toddler puts her hand in her mouth. "Bah."

"That's right," says Sinderion, the old cellar-dweller. "Species Plantarum is our art's most inviolable text."

Their new pupil takes her hand from her mouth, studies it academically, then puts it back. Something in Avrusa's chest moves.

"Excelsior," she says gruffly, and tickles her sister's skinny ribs. "I'll read you some."

Aduri laughs. The sound is bright and sweet as a nirnroot's chime.

[tastesoftamriel]

Hello Talviel,

My brothers were both fortunate enough to attend the College of Winterhold before the great collapse, (unfortunately I was too young) and they tell me that in it's day Winterhold was home to some wonderfully unique Dunmeri-Nord fusion cuisine, and they've often expressed regret that they were too wrapped up in their studies to experience it while they had the chance. I was wondering if any recipes may have survived? Even if you can't help me, I'd like to thank you for taking the time to read my letter, and I wish you well.

-Azuri Savrenar

Dear Azuri,

Dunmeri-Nord fusion cuisine as we know it is best preserved on Solstheim today, and is also prevalent in pockets of Skyrim like Windhelm. While the food of these two Provinces bear very little in common, combining the two works surprisingly well.

Whether it's horker and ash yam stew or scrib rosti, there are so many fun and delicious combinations of flavours when the two cultures meld.

Some of the most notable Dunmeri-Nord dishes I can name off the top of my head include roast elk with shein and comberry sauce, smoked slaughterfish with saltrice porridge, goat cheese and guar gratin with ash yam mash, and pea and kwama egg soup with scrib bacon.

Hopefully this gives you an idea of where and what to eat! Best of luck! ~Talviel

NB: You can read more about Dunmeri fusion cuisine on page 125 of my worldbuilding compendium and Tamrielic fusion food here!

[wellthebardsdead]

Clockwork heart pt31

Part 30 here

———

Wyrm: *in the Radiant Raiment, quietly standing still as the previously short and abrasive Endarie fits him with some clothes and gradually softens towards his naturally sweet and gentle nature* I like this, it doesn’t feel too tight or loose, I can actually move my arm!

Endarie: *outwardly her usual self but inwardly excited for the challenge of fitting around a prosthetic* yes, I can see how less skilled tailors would fail to account for such a complex and delicate system of mechanisms. *slides the robe off of him* and as promised it’s free of charge. It’s the least I can do as an apology for my sisters antics.

Taliesin: *leaning against the wall dressed in a fancy outfit, holding the wabbajack and trying to hide a literal pelvis in his bag* Oh truely it’s no bother. It was certainly worth the trip across town. And Um, I understand. That inquiry might take a little longer than a few days. Correct?

Endarie: yes yes. *helps Wyrm down from the platform she had to raise him up on to meet her height* You’ve given me the measurements I needed however if you don’t have the time to linger around the city and wait for their completion I can have them delivered.

Taliesin: Ah, that would be best given the- uncertainty of what the events of the following weeks might be. Have them sent to Urag Gro Shub at the collage of winterhold.

Wyrm: please?

Endarie: *heart melting at how polite the dunmer is* Very well I’ll have it arranged.

Taliesin: *nods finding it endearing how Wyrm doesn’t fully understand the sharpness and undertones of altmeri conversation, mistaking a statement without without pleasantries or imperial manners as rude or abrasive* Good, we’ll return in a few days. *steps back towards the door and opens it up waiting for Wyrm*

Wyrm: *smiles up at Endarie as he walks by* thank you ma’am! *hurries to taliesins side and walks out with him*

Endarie: hm. What a cute young Mer.

Taarie: His boyfriends not bad looking either~

Endarie: gods there you go trying to wreck another home. *lifts the special request note with measurements out of her pocket* hm. Do we have any silk crescent needles left? It’s been a while since I’ve made ballet slippers.

*meanwhile*

Nerevar: *staring at the note quietly as voryn finalises organising rooms for them* …

Voryn: *walks over to him as he descends the staircase* I saw him.

Nerevar: *pockets the note* Upstairs?

Voryn: balcony. He’s definitely the prince of the dominion but-

Nerevar: but what?

Voryn: he’s… unguarded. Completely unguarded.

Nerevar: what?!

Voryn: I’ve sensed every corner of this entire inn. Not a single trace of a spy, a guard, nothing. And if he does have guards and they’re disguised as the drunks at the bar- *grimaces watching one of said drunks vomit over the floor* they’re- awfully convincing in their act.

Nerevar: *sighs* what should we do?… wait for Wyrm?

Voryn: I… I think we should. He… *steps away from him and slowly glances out up to the balcony to see the high elf seated there still, leg bouncing with visible anxiety* … *walks back to nerevar* I don’t think he’s a threat…

Wyrm: whose a threat?

Voryn: *jumps and spins around to see Wyrm standing behind him* Gods even out of your armour you’re a sneaky little scrib. I’m this close to tying a bell to your braid!

Wyrm: *snickers* sorry.

Nerevar: *chuckles* Our rooms have been organised. I take it everything went well, you look- different.

Taliesin: *hands Wyrm the wabbajack as he tosses the hip bone in the trash* Dont ask.

Nerevar: I- where did you get- and the pelvis-

Wyrm: oh a crazy wood elf gave it to me and asked me to find his master for him, we were already going up there so Tali could show off an outfit for the high elf ladies at the clothing store and we had to sneak into a haunted part of the blue palace and I fell into an oblivion portal and played a few games with sheogorath! He was very nice. Then when I came out I had this cool staff and- *reaches into his bag pulling out a whole wheel of cheese and a strawberry tart* this!

Voryn: I- How did you- you were gone for only a couple hours and-

Nerevar: *grinning past his concern with an amount of pride only he could understand having experienced much the same in his time as the nerevarine* That’s all the time it takes for something interesting to happen. At least neither of you got hurt.

Inigo: Erm- speaking of getting hurt.

Everyone: *turns to see inigo standing there trying not to laugh and beside him, an extremely pissed off swordsman with red splotches all over his face and a swollen eye*

Voryn: WHAT. HAPPENED?!

Kaidan: *points to inigo* Ask. Him.

Inigo: *snickering* he was flirting with the young lady at the potion shop and taking too long. We promised to meet back here in only a couple hours but it’d be all day at the rate he was going. And when he ignored me reminding him I threw a fungal pod at him.

Kaidan: gobshite.

Inigo: horn dog.

Voryn: *sighs and rubs his temples* just- sit down the 3 of you, order some lunch, a drink or just- do something and don’t draw attention to yourselves please. *turns to face wyrm before looking at nerevar* …

Nerevar: *nods and pulls out the note* He’s upstairs… are you sure you want to meet with him?

Wyrm: *takes the letter and looks at it for a moment* has… Delphine’s contact turned up yet?…

Nerevar: *shakes his head* not a wood elf to be seen.

Wyrm: *looks back at the letter before nervously taking taliesins hand* I don’t know… how to address him or what to do?

Taliesin: *smiles and squeezes his hand* I’ll come up with you.

Nerevar: us as well. If he wants to try anything, knowing potential war with morrowind is on the table change his mind…

Wyrm: *nods up at him before letting go of taliesins hand and walking up the stairs, the three following behind him cautious of any potential negative outcomes ahead as he crests the second floor and freezes in place* …Wow.

Caryalind: *glances up from his book, spotting the unusual dunmer first, then the note in his hand second* Ah I see you got my- *pauses watching as Taliesin steps into view, followed by the head of the 6th house now mourned, and the literal king of morrowind* -Letter.

*a few hours later*

Kaidan: *swelling finally gone down enough for him to see out of his eye again* They’re taking too long… this whole situations making me uncomfortable.

Inigo: are you sure it is not the rash that is making you uncomfortable?

Kaidan: I’m being serious inigo. They’re up there with the literal son of the dominions overlord. What if he finds out about the soul of lorkhan? Or the fact he’s sotha sils reincarnation?

Inigo: I… I know my friend im just trying to lighten the mood. Im sure it’ll be okay.

Kaidan: say that to the scars on my bac-

Wyrm: all done! *hops down the steps and bounces over cheerfully* Guys this is Caryalind! He’ll be joining us on our trip!

Kaidan: *looks over and chokes on his ale* fock he’s cute-

Inigo: what was that my friend~?

Caryalind: Ah hello there.

Kaidan: Fock off.

Caryalind: And… off to a great start I see. Great.

Nerevar: Wyrm, he’s here.

Wyrm: *turns around to see nerevar gesturing in the direction of a wood elf in the corner* oh u-um. C-Caryalind?

Caryalind: *looks at him, then at nerevar, then over at the bosmer, then back at him before it suddenly clicks* Oh- were enacting the plan now? Right- yes-. *follows after Wyrm and nerevar, joining them at the bosmers table*

Wyrm: hi um, our mutual contact sent me.

Malborn: I? You. You’re the one she sent? Either of your companions here I can understand but you?

Wyrm: y-yeah I get that often.

Malborn: *sighs* fine just- give me whatever you need to sneak into the party okay?

Wyrm: that’s, kind of the thing though. There’s been a change of plans. I won’t need to sneak anything into the embassy because-

Nerevar: *gestures to Caryalind* Well be the ones sneaking, him, in.

*that evening*

Delphine: I cannot believe you! I cannot believe this is actually happening! You railed me to the ground about how much ‘shame I bring the blades’ and you’re here working with the literal prince of the al- *shuts up as the point of Nerevars blade touches her throat*

Nerevar: At this point Delphine. I trust him more to keep my son alive. Then I do you. One more word out of your mouth in disagreement and we’re leaving. The whole reason we are here is your paranoia, And your paranoia alone. *pulls his blade back, sheathing it and handing it to voryn*

Voryn: *glares at Delphine before pulling nerevar into a soft kiss* Come back safely… I’ll be waiting with the others…

Nerevar: *nods* I’ll bring him back alive… I promise… *turns his gaze back to Delphine for a moment* And for your sake… You’ll want to hope. Wyrm finds something worthy of you wasting our time… *climbs up into the carriage with Caryalind* let’s get going…

Caryalind: *nods and fixes his cape over Wyrm a little more*

Wyrm: *dressed in his guild armour, downing an invisibility potion, ready and praying he’ll survive on his own and wishing Taliesin was with him* teacup…

[omiramotakiart]

Shit I write at mignight and probably will draw if I have the time: The First Council: Reality Show Edition

Interviever: Master Voryn, what are your thoughts on the First Council?

Voryn: My sweet Nerevar is the only good one. He is my sweetest Moon and Star, my beloved, my champion, Azura's most specialest boy who deserves Nirn, a kiss on the cheek, the forehead and a cookie. No more questions.

Interviewer: What about Almalexia?

Voryn: Do not get me started, I respect the grind, the powermoves, the girlboss moments, but taking my Moon and Star? My Sweet Nerevar? Honey you don't even want your mer, don't be greedy. Also the nerve of coming to my House and insult my glam, the only overly dramatic, extra, over compensating thing here are those pauldrons of her, big enough to shelter all of Vvanderfell.

Interviewer: And what about Vivec?

Voryn: That kid's possessed. Azura help him or Boethia take him, Mephala have mercy on him, I don't like him, bad vibes all around, who enters a room and begins talking about how each corner opens a portal to a pocket realm of light beings that demand a kiss for the end of times? I tell you who: Vivec. I don't even want to know what that means.

Interviewer: Sotha Sil?

Voryn: Weird, the most tolerable but I don't trust him. Always staring, nodding, taking notes, never says a word and when he does it depresses me all day. He has murder in his eyes and not in the fun way. Spends all day building machines with clocks, why clocks anyways? Has a cog collection too, found him once at 3 in the morning putting fish on his bread next to scrib jelly and downing it with sujamma.

Interviever: ...Is there someone you like?

Voryn: ... Alandro is fine.

Interviewer: And about the Dwemer?

Voryn: Kagrenac's gangrene sounding name and Dumac's inhability to see the guarshit that goes on in his domain—

[lostcybertronian]

Yancy and y/n with "that's a lotta cupcakes"

Yancy's first day of parole.

Tags: @darkstache-iplier @cookieface678 @storm337 @sketchy-scribs-n-doods @pixelenchanter @itsjustkyss @darkiplurrr @darksaceofshadows @moonysmayhem @xpouii @projectwkm @sororia04s @purple-anxiety-blog @rabbitsartcorner @chromacryptid @tried-my-best @skatle-skootle-demon-noodle

Prompt: “That’s a lot of cupcakes.”

    Yancy took his first step outside the prison wearing brand new clothes; a tight-fitting white t-shirt, blue jeans, and a leather jacket. Gone were the black and white-striped prison uniforms, gone were the shackles, gone were the miniscule prison cells. Yancy had applied for parole and been approved, and now he was a free man.

    And he’d done it all for you.

    You grinned at him as you tugged him along, all but sprinting down the sidewalk and onto the cracked pavement that hadn’t been replaced since Yancy had been committed, laughing as Yancy nearly stumbled over the curb in his attempt to keep up. 

    “Hey-” he managed, out of breath, but grinning. “Slow it down, sugar!”

    “But we have so much to do!” To his massive relief, you reached your car, fumbling in your jacket pocket for your keys. He took the opportunity to peer through the windows, fascinated by the stack of rectangular boxes sitting in your backseat. Every pastel box was stamped with a pastel cupcake sticker. “Are those cupcakes?”

    You nodded, pleased, and finally unlocked the car, motioning for him to get in. “I ordered them a week ago. They’re for the party tonight.”

    “That’s a lotta cupcakes, doll.” Yancy’s grin was easy but his eyes were wide as he got into the passenger seat; it’d probably been a couple decades since he was in a car. “How many people are we feeding?”

    You put the car in drive and pulled out of the parking lot. “Everybody.”

    Yancy went quiet, and you knew he was thinking of Bam Bam, and Tiny, and Sparkles McGee, parts of his “everybody” that he’d left behind at Happy Trails Penitentiary. 

    You reached over the center console and took his hand. “Be happy. They’re happy for you. And we can still go visit them.”

    “Promise?” Yancy looked at you, and your heart twisted at the hope in his eyes.

    You squeezed his hand and smiled. “Promise.”

[roleplayingay]

Silence, my brother

TES Summerfest 2023 | Day 4 Mortal/Sanctuary Summary: The Night Mother calls upon Kovan, again and again.

It’s 580 of the Second Era.

Redoran Kovan is 25.

He is sitting on the table by the corner, face obscured by a hat and the shadows. A Tribunal forsaken bar in the worst part of a small town far enough from Ald’ruhn that nobody would recognize him.

Still, discretion was best when dealing with unpleasant matters.

Through the door comes a scrawny looking dunmer, about the same age as Kovan, wearing old looking clothes. A middleman for sure, someone who nobody would miss if things went wrong and the necessity to erase any traces of the job came to be. He seemed hungry. Or anxious. Either way Kovan ordered a meat pie for the two of them, for at least it would give the man something else to occupy his mind enough so he would stop looking around and making them look suspicious. Along he asked for a sujamma shot with scrib-jelly, a pleasure he often liked to indulge. 

Once the man’s stomach had been filled and his mind calmed, he took from his pocket a crumpled piece of paper and handed it to Kovan. Had Redoran Kovan been older, he would have hesitated. He would have questioned the need for such a level of precaution.

He didn’t know who the Telvanni he was doing this for was. No name or face attached. Just kill the Redoran Councilor as asked, and Kovan would be rewarded with help getting a higher position on the House hierarchy. 

Had Redoran Kovan been older and wiser, he would have hesitated at the idea that a faceless and nameless House Telvanni member was hiring his services through a middleman, who knew nothing about the job, whose only purpose was to deliver to him a note with further instructions to murder a Redoran Councilor.

But it was 580 of the Second Era. Kovan was 25 and foolish.

He read the note, drank his shot, and left the bar to do as told.

It’s 582 of the Second Era.

Kovan is 27.

His hand bears the mark of an exile, and he can’t step foot in Morrowind ever again for fear that a Morag Tong spear will pierce his throat in broad daylight. He is hungry, and tired, and sleeping on the streets of Anvil. The Three Banner War is raging on, but he could not care less. 

He has no money, he can’t find food, he is on his breaking point when he decides to break into a noble’s house. 

It goes wrong, as it often does. As it did back in Vvanderfell. So he finds himself standing over a body, blood in his hands, a knife on the noble’s chest. The guards don’t see as he flees the scene. They never suspect anything. 

It’s 582 of the Second Era

Initiate Kovan is 27.

The guards did not witness his act, but Sithis did.

He wielded the blade in the name of the Dread Father, as the Night Mother demanded.

And as the war and the Daedric Crisis spilled blood all over Tamriel, so did he. A promising assassin, that he was. The contracts kept coming, the streets were painted crimson.

In the Sanctuary he found his family. A new one to fill the hole left by his exile. He helped Hildegard with her lycanthropy. Drank with Kor and Cimbar. Trained with Tanek. Heard Mirabelle and Green-Venom-Tongue’s stories. 

Until Cimbar was dead on a torture table.

Until Mirabelle was killed by the Black Dragon

Until Green-Venom-Tongue succumbed to his wounds.

He was young, and foolish, and none the wiser.

He couldn’t believe his eyes as he watched the memories. As Lyra betrayed the Dark Brotherhood to become the Black Dragon. Kovan understood the pain of losing his family, but the Dread Father ordered the purification, and Sithis’ word was law. 

They survived. His hands were stained with Lyra’s blood, but what remained of his family was alive. 

Until the Daedric Crisis finally caught up to him, and with a dagger to the chest, Kovan found himself in Coldharbour.

It’s 433 of the Third Era.

Kovan thinks he is about 800 years old.

He isn’t sure.

Time passes differently in Oblivion.

The first days out of Coldharbour are the hardest. His skin is still returning to its normal dunmer gray. Instead of dead, soulless gray. Eyes are still sunken, but now they are red again, though a bit dull. His hair never went back to being black.

He looks old. He feels old.

Martin understands him. Martin sees him. He can never tell Martin of what he has done through his life, but Martin is aware enough to sympathize with his dark past.

Mehunes Dagon looms over the horizon, haunting every second of their days. Kovan won’t be a hero, but he can help. 

In Martin’s arms, Kovan finds his redemption.

In his embrace, he finds peace.

In his quest, he finds purpose.

On his death, Kovan’s world crumbles.

The portals are gone. Dagon has been defeated. The statue of a dragon stands in the temple.

Five days later, they find him again. 

They track him, disturb his sleep, give him the same blade he wielded before.

In the Dark Brotherhood, Kovan finds purpose again.

In the Blade of Woe, he finds the extension of his very being.

In the Sanctuary, he once more finds family.

In the words of the Night Mother, he finds solace.

It’s 434 of the Third Era

Silencer Kovan no longer cares about how old he is.

The blood of his family drenches his clothes. Their bodies lay cold on the floor. Dead. Every single one.

The Black Hand is no more. Their lives taken by him.

Lucien hangs from the ceiling of Applewatch.

The whispers of the Night Mother echo inside his head. She knew. She recognized him. She called for his soul to work by her side once more.

With negligence and deceit, she recalled the only living person who saw what Lyra went through. She allowed a rat to infiltrate the Brotherhood. She allowed for Kovan’s hand to wield the blade that wiped most of the Brotherhood off the map of Cyrodiil.

It was all planned, of course. 

Everything went as she wanted.

Kovan screamed into the void that was the night sky. The tears ran down his face, his throat hurt, his voice stopped. 

With disgust, he held the Blade of Woe in the same hand he used to kill.

With hate, he threw the blade into the sea.

It’s 201 of the Fourth Era.

Sheogorath walks through the forest that surrounds Falkreath. The mist is dense, the air is heavy.

He approaches the door, runs a scarred hand over the skull that decorates the door.

The whisper is clear inside his mind.

What is the music of life ?

“Silence, my brother.” The Daedric Prince answers.

[atypicalacademic]

tagged by @aria-i-adagio to find flowers, shell, mirror, in my WIPs!

Tagging @memaidraws , @cumbiazevran, @dumpsterhipster @wild-houseplant and @ollifree for the words: pride (or proud), fire, quiet

Flower(s)

from my Morrowind fic, Hallowed Ground

For many years since, Alsal would know home as the scent of drainwater and wilting roses. It was little more than wishful thinking, a patch of dirt potted on the betel-stained parapet. But they tended to it as they would a child, feeding it crushed scrib and water before they left at dawn and when they staggered back past midnight, fingers bleeding into the damp mud.

When the flowers came in, hardy and lilac, with small petals closed as a tulip or a teardrop, Kaleya held them all in suspended cradles of magic so they hovered beneath the ceiling like living stars.

Alsal had never heard her laugh before. A high, girlish bell-chime of a sound that belonged to somewhere else.

Mirror

Also from an unnamed Morrowind one-shot

“These are authentic.” Putting down his lenses, Jobasha stared at them. “This one stands impressed, friend.”

Alsal flashed him a winsome smile. “Anything for you, brother.”

He rolled his eyes, counting out from his cash box. “Keep the sugar. This one has had his fill for the day. Mind the Ordinators on your way past. Jobasha’s should give you no trouble.”

“Why- oh.” That bitch of an alchemist must’ve tattled.

“I can fuck my way out of that.”

Jobasha snorted. “If you are certain.”

Alsal paused to check themself in the mirror, considering. “I am.” Serjo’d pay right off his own pockets so he could keep meeting them in austere training quarters where portraits of his Lady wouldn’t chide him with baleful eyes. He always looked so sombre when he left, the fetcher, never meeting their eyes but throwing a sheet over them with a half-mumbled “Almsivi watch over you.”

Justice never sleeps.

They could laugh just thinking of it.

Shell

from a lil gift I'm concocting for @cumbiazevran

“I promised him.” Mesmer whispered. “I promised him I’ll be back.”

Mamá brushed her hair back and pressed a seashell into her palm. “I did, too.”

The shell bit a groove.

Mesmer held it’s emptiness to her ear, sand pooling between her toes.

Her own blood roared like the ocean.

Run, Silvaine.

Just run.

Living was a tightrope with every slip sinking her nails into its fraying notches, every grasping finger of the abyss beneath another scar on her skin, another line of ink to frame her arms, her face, her chest.

But Maker, Mythal, not yet, not now when her feet had just begun to learn solid ground.

Rialto vanished into thin air. Her limbs were spiderwebs of pain.

She woke up sobbing.

[violet-of-the-stars]

Around an hour a two later, Or 3 days in Scribbly's world, Another note fell to someone else's feet.. That someone happened to be..

Scribs themself! They definitely were not expecting a note today, I mean, who even sends notes anymore? Well pretty much nobody in her world, that’s for sure.

“Hmm, I don’t think anyone I know could’ve sent this. Oh no, this must’ve gone to the wrong person! And all the important stuff is blurred too, that’s a weird coincidence..”

“This doesn’t feel right. This feels almost like some weird, twisted foreshadowing…”

Scribbly decided, just for now, to stick the note in their coat pocket. And maybe eventually they’ll find out who it’s from, or who it’s for, or actually just anything about it honestly.

[pocketpencils]

She got a new sword! Good for her!!

[severalowls]

Mournhold's premiere human statue EXPOSED after scrib found in pocket

[if-you-fan-a-fire]

“‘Mother’s Dead, So Is Joe,’ Boy, 9, Finds 2 Fatally Shot,” Toronto Star. February 4, 1942. Page 3. ---- Youngster Keeps Silence Three Hours Then Breaks News to Brother ---- WILL IS FOUND --- Special to The Star Delhi, Ont., Feb. 4 - ‘Mother is dead. So is Joe. Joe is on the bed with a gun between his legs.’

Nine-year-old Herbie Herter had found the body of his mother, Mrs. Alexander Herter, 35, with a bullet through the back of her head, on the jitchen floor of their home. A sweater she had been knitting was clutched in her hand. In another room he had seen Joseph Fulop, 48, who employed his mother as housekeeper, lying dead in a pool of blood. Sobs wracking his body, Herbie trudged a mile and a half to the village of Walsingham Centre, and went into the general store. For three hours he hung around the store until his older brother, Walter, 13, came in at 4.30 on his way from school. Then Herbie blurted out the first word of the tragedy that leaves him and his four brothers and sisters motherless. Their father is in Alberta.

‘I was too scared to say anything,’ Herbie sobbed later.

Boy Heard Shouts The boy told police that Fulop, a Hungarian widower and prosperous owner of two tobacco farms, had sent him on an errand to the barn. He heard shots and rushed back. Police believe Mrs. Hertier, of Russian birth, was shot from behind as she sat knitting in a chair beside the stove. They deduce Fulop than went to the bedroom and turned the .22 rifle on himself, with the muzzle to his mouth.

Police learned Fulop then went to a hotel in Tilsonburg, 12 miles away, last Saturday, and on sheets of the hotel’s notepaper scribbed his will. In his pockets police found the will, parts of which would be made out with difficulty, and other pieces on which the dead man had scribbled ‘at great length.’

On one sheet, police said, was written: ‘If I have to go, it would be better for her to go, too.’

Police did not reveal contents of the will, but stated that in it Fulop had ‘expressed the hope the Allies would win the war.’

‘Got Along Fire’ ‘We all got along fine,’ police quoted young Herbie, ‘but Mr. Fulop drank sometimes and then there were quarrels.’ Fulop and his mother had not been quarrelling when he was sent to the barn, he told police. Neighbors, police state, said Fulop had been drinking the past two days.

Living at the house are Fulop’s two sons, George, 16, and Louis, 18, and Emma Hertier, 16, who works at a neighbor’s farm, and Walter and Herbie. Two other daughters of the dead woman, Freda, 21, and Alma, 18, are working in Hamilton police report.

Coroner E. W. Zumstein of Delhi announced no inquest will be held. Provincial Constables Rex. Caverley of Simcoe and Kenneth McLay, Delhi, investigated.

[punkcherries]

idea for a passenger who just really likes cowboys thats it theres nothing else going on with him

[flaaffy]

filbert, you’re driving me mad!! also current in-game me vs what i wanna look like :’)

[kikis-writing-world]

XXX-Mas

Pairing: Max Phillips x F!Reader

Word Count: 4.7k

Rating/Warnings: 18+ SMUT AHOY! Misogynist/sexist names in an office setting, unprotected sex (Especially in December, gift wrap your member!) alcohol mention, blood mention (very briefly.) Enemies to Lovers vibes, because Max is an asshole.

A/N: This came to me months ago when @scribbledghost​ was talking about which of the boys would gift a sexy advent calendar for Christmas. I knew I wanted to have this out during the holidays, so here it is! Thanks for letting me write out my thoughts on it, scribs!

Summary: Max Phillips - Vampire, HR Nightmare, and unfortunately your boss - somehow rigs the office Secret Santa gift exchange.

You shuffled into your boss’ office along with your coworkers, ready for the monthly pep talks he liked to give. His office wasn’t small, or at least it didn’t seem it until the entire office tried to fit in. You were all gathered on one side while he stood next to the big whiteboard on his wall.

“Okay people,” he addressed the group, making some of them chuckle. It wasn’t that good of a pun as far as you were concerned. Vampires were still people. Sort of.  “You know why we’re here.”

He turned his back to write Christmas on the white board. That was not what you’d been expecting.

“What do we sell?” He asked the company. Various mumbled answers came in, listing the products you sell, to seduction, to love-

“Dreams.” He purred. The few that had answered that way perking up with pride. “We sell dreams. Whatever it is that they’re dreaming for - happiness, completion, love,” he winked at you, making you cross your arms over your chest and roll your eyes. “That’s what we sell. And people are desperate for their dreams to come true at-” he tapped the white board twice with his knuckle. “Christmas.”

“People are desperate at Christmas, they get so…” he trailed off, holding his fists up in front of him as he searched for the word. “Materialistic.” He settled on. “Happiness, love. At Christmas, more than ever, they mean things. These idiots are practically begging to spend money. We just need to convince them to spend it with us. Convince them into thinking that all of their dreams will come true this Christmas, like a fucking Hallmark movie, if only they buy a-” He paused, freezing in place for a second. He looked down, snapping his fingers as he tried to remember.

“Scrub daddy.”

“Shake weight.”

“Pocket Fisherman.”

“FatBurn MX”

“Yes.” Max cut off the chorus of answers coming in from your coworkers. “All of those.” He seemed disinterested in the actual products, which you figured was true. He couldn’t care less what the company sold, as long as it could be sold.

“We need everyone and their mothers to think the key to a successful Christmas is at their fingertips. Grandma won’t get drunk and spout her racist beliefs. The one they’ve been pining for will finally love them back! No fighting on Christmas.” His voice amped up, wiping a fake tear away and pouting as he mocked all the things people traditionally wanted for Christmas.

“Now, last month’s sales came in just under 600k.” He turned to the whiteboard, marking down the number. “That’s not bad, but we can do better.” He paused to glare at Steve, one of the salesmen known for pulling in bad numbers. You didn’t feel bad for Steve being singled out. He’d do better if he actually tried to sell and didn’t spend all his time hitting on Suzie or playing solitaire.

“I want to double it.” Max stated, making a few people gape at him. “I know,” he held up his hands, shushing the disbelieving murmurs. “It’s ambitious, but I think we can do it. You know why? Because I believe in all of you.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as he tried to work his charm again. “Some of you, more than others, are working so hard.” He paused, tucking a finger under Clara’s chin. She giggled and blushed before he moved on. “And I know, you want to make me proud.” He winked at Helen. “Plus, corporate has authorized that if we hit 1 million in sales, we get to throw a Christmas party.”

Cheers of approval echoed through the office, Max clapping and nodding along. “Yes, that’s right! The more we sell, the bigger the budget they’re going to give us. More food, more drinks.” He chuckled. “So get out there and sell!”

You watched your coworkers march out of the office like an army ready for battle. You had to hand it to him. He might be an incessant creep, but he could certainly deliver a pep talk.

“What’s wrong, sweet cheeks?” He asked, noticing the sour look on your face.

“Pretty sure corporate already approved the Christmas party based on the office memo that went out last week.” You challenged, hands on your hips.

“Then I guess I’m lucky no one reads those, huh?” He teased, bringing a finger up to his lips. “Shh, it’ll be our dirty little secret.”

“That is the only dirty little secret I plan on ever sharing with you.” You rolled your eyes.

“Well, I’m glad you’re willing to be so open about our relationship.” He hummed, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Shall we tell your parents over Christmas dinner.”

“In your dreams.” You scoffed, swatting his hand away from your face.

“I can assure you, sugar tits, your parents are not involved in my dreams about you… but you do call me Daddy sometimes.”

“You’re disgusting.” You shuddered, turning on your heel to storm out of his office. You could hear him laughing all the way back to your desk.

---

“Secret Santa!” Elaine sang as she rounded your desk, shaking a little bucket in front of her. You looked up at her, holding a finger up for her to wait as you finished a sale. She waited, semi-impatiently, before you hung up the phone.

“What is it?” You asked, looking up at the cheerful woman. You would have thought being dead would dampen some of her joie de vivre considering she wasn’t exactly vivante anymore.

“Secret Santa!” She repeated in that sing-song voice, holding the basket your way. “The whole office is playing.”

“Oh.” Your eyebrows perked up. You couldn’t remember the last time you were part of a secret santa. Sure, there were people at the office you didn’t particularly like, but chances were you’d get someone you could stand.

Elaine shook the basket at you and you dug in to grab a piece of paper. “Check to make sure you didn’t get yourself.”

You opened the piece of paper, giving her the clear when you saw that you hadn’t picked your own name. You’d gotten Alan, another salesman who worked a few desks down from you. He was an alright guy, you’d be able to find something for him pretty easily.

Elaine cheered quietly and headed to the next victim. You tucked the piece of paper under your keyboard and got back to work.

No need to get me a present babycakes. Just seeing you around the office in those tight skirts is present enough.

You scoffed, looking up from your monitor. You weren’t surprised to see Max staring at you through the open door to his office. He winked when you caught his eye. You glared and typed back furiously

I’m not getting you anything.

The next message came in almost instantaneous.

Nude? I can work with that.

You’re disgusting and I'm screenshotting this for HR.

---

The elevator doors opened and you nearly didn’t recognize the office. There was tinsel and garlands on all the walls. Greenery seemed to hang from every light on the ceiling. Carols played softly through speakers spaced throughout the office. A Christmas tree was twinkling in the conference room. None of this had been there when you left work earlier today - a half day, on account of the party. You had to hand it to vampires, they could really move when they wanted to.

There was a big red bag opposite the elevators, a sign instructing to put in the secret santa gifts. You dropped in your gift for Alan - a silly mug you thought he would like that said “Mondays Suck and So Do I” with vampire fangs on it and some fancy candy you overheard him saying he liked - and joined the rest of your coworkers.

You were expecting a lot more resistance to the festivities, but you supposed the free alcohol (paid for from the supposed corporate party budget) was a good enough incentive for everyone to enjoy themselves. You got yourself a drink, knowing that with this group it was likely to run out quickly.

An arm slid around your waist about an hour after you arrived, and you didn’t need to look to know who the arm belonged to.

“Having a good time, sweet cheeks?” He purred, breath tickling your neck from the proximity. Instead of his usual pressed, bespoke suit, Max was wearing a truly garish Christmas jacket. The piece still fit him to perfection, and the material felt expensive as he pressed against you, but the pattern of reds and greens was tackier than any ugly sweater you’d seen at the party so far.

“Don’t make me report you to HR again, Max.” You warned cooly.

“Please,” Max laughed. “I turned Clara last week, she won’t do anything.”

You scoffed, trying to push his arm away from your hip but he wouldn’t budge.

“You’re avoiding my question.” He sang.

“I was, yes.” You spat, but it only made him laugh again.

“Bah humbug.” He teased, mimicking your voice with an exaggerated pout. “Maybe a Christmas bonus would turn that frown upside down?”

“You’re disgusting.” You huffed, turning away from him. It was the most space you could get between the two of you with him holding you firmly in place.

An envelope appeared in your vision. You turned to look at Max, who was watching you, waiting on you to take it. 

“Congrats, sweetness.” He hummed as you took the envelope from him. “Top sales of the quarter.”

You plucked the envelope from his hands and opened it. Inside the envelope was a cheque, addressed to you from the company. The amount made your eyes bulge.

“Max, this is-”

He cut you off with a click of his tongue. “You earned it, slugger.” He gave your hip a squeeze before dropping his arm. Before he moved away however, he trailed his nose up your neck. “You smell fantastic, by the way.”

He was gone, chatting up someone else before you even had a chance to retort. You felt your face heat slightly. Not because of the smell comment, you’d definitely heard that one from him before, but because of the complement of your sales. You were used to Max hitting on you, but an actual compliment on your work ethic was nice to hear. Especially a compliment that came with monetary value.

You shook it off - Max and the pride growing inside your chest - as you decided you needed more alcohol.

You had a pleasant buzz by the time Elaine started rounding everyone up.

“Who’s ready for Secret Santa?” Elaine sang as she walked through the office. “Come on, everyone!”

You and your coworkers gathered around. There weren’t too many groans of annoyance, the punch doing its job of putting everyone in a holly, jolly mood. You’d had two cups of it yourself - or was it three? Oh no, was it four? You weren’t drunk, just not quite as put out to be at work on a Friday night as you had been before.

“Is everyone here?” Elaine asked, turning back and forth to take in the circle that had formed around her in the middle of the room. “Excellent!” She clapped.

You barely had time to wonder where the red bag of presents was when the door to Max’s office swung open loudly.

“Ho, ho, ho!” Max bellowed as he joined the group, sac over his shoulder and red Santa hat on his head both matching his ugly suit. It was nearly funny, if you were being honest. “And I’m not talking about, Suzie.” He teased. 

Most people chuckled, Suzie included. It was no secret she had slept with a large percentage of the office, male and female. Now that HR was on the side of the devil your boss, you could only assume those kinds of jokes would go unpunished.

Max reached blindly into the bag, pulling out a poorly wrapped gift and reading the name on it. The first present went to Catherine, one of the other humans in the office. She was gifted a nice scarf, no doubt due to the fact that she always whined about how cold the office was.

A few more presents went out, people seeming happy with what they were receiving. People tried to guess who had been their secret santa based on what they got. The wrapping was usually a good indicator as well - a gift stapled into scrunched-up newspaper was likely not from the arts and crafts queen of the office, Mathilde. 

Max managed to make it about him, joking that he knew his employees well with a wink, even though you all knew he wasn’t actually the person who bought the gifts. You almost didn’t realize as he was handing you a gift, mostly because he had called you by your actual name and not some pet name for a change.

“Thanks.” You mumbled, trying to ignore the sparkle in his eyes. You were sure he was just enjoying being the center of attention as he played Santa. You took the present from him, noticing that it was wrapped immaculately. Your name was scrawled elegantly on the tag. You looked up, trying to notice if anyone seemed particularly interested or excited, but no one’s face gave anything away. 

You tore into the paper, watching as the box below was revealed. You flushed as the brand name was revealed on the front of the box - a well known and expensive lingerie brand.

“Well? What is it?” Asked one of the guys on the other side of the room.

“Yeah! Let’s see!”

You groaned, thinking about how you hadn’t had enough to drink to deal with this, and turned the box so everyone could see. A lingerie advent calendar - “12 days of thrills and frills.” You didn’t know if you were mortified or impressed it was actually in your size. Catcalls and whoops rang through the crowd and you wished the floor would just swallow you up.

“That’s an expensive brand.” Suzie chipped in, “I had my eye on that but Bryan wouldn’t buy it for me. Luckily Steve did.” She giggled. “Day 6 was a personal favorite.”

“Santa can’t tell if that’s a naughty or nice present.” Max leered with a laugh. You glared at him, ready to turn the embarrassment into anger directed his way. He must have sensed it as he quickly pulled the next present from the bag. Everyone turned their attention to the new recipient but your hands wouldn’t stop shaking, nor would the heat leave your face. You barely held yourself together for a few more presents before quietly slipping away, locking yourself in the bathroom. 

You stood in the quiet room taking deep breaths and dabbing a cool towel on your face to try and calm down. The box sat on the counter, mocking you. Words like seduction, sexy, and sensual covered the box. It was absolutely humiliating to have gotten that in front of all your coworkers. Honestly, there was only one person you could think of that would have the absolute gall to do something like this.

You left the bathroom, embarrassment flaring into anger once more as you watched Max chat as he crossed the room. He was heading into his office, and that gave you the perfect opportunity to confront him. You stormed in after him, slamming the door shut behind you. The loud noise didn’t seem to bother him at all.

“How did you do it?” You demanded. Max turned to study you, infuriatingly calm, as he took off the santa hat.

“Do what, swee-”

“Rig the secret santa! I know this is from you!” You yelled, holding up the gift. 

“You don’t know that.” He chuckled easily, ignoring your anger. “That’s why it’s secret Santa.”

“You are disgusting!” You threw the box at him, your ire only growing as his heightened reflexes let him catch it easily.

“Isn’t it rude to regift, sugar tits?” He gibed, looking over the box. “I don’t think they’re my size.”

“How did you know my size?!” Your voice squeaked as you remembered that yes, if you so desired to try on the frilly, laced panties, they would fit perfectly.

Max tossed the box onto his desk before he held his hands out in front of him, closing an eye and tilting his head. “I have an eye for these kinds of things,” he smirked as he sized you up.

“You admit it!” You accused, pointing at him.

He gasped dramatically, bringing his hand up to his lips in mock surprise. “Oops. Cat’s out of the bag.”

“I-I,” you stuttered, body shaking. It felt like flames were licking at the side of your face. “You are by far the worst boss I’ve ever had the displeasure of working for!” You hissed.

“Well that’s a little dramatic.” He mocked, rounding his desk.

“I… I fucking hate you!” You continued, barely resisting the urge to shove him as he approached you.

“No you don’t.” He chuckled, the sound bubbling from low in his chest.

“Yes I do.” You raged, hands shaking with the effort to keep yourself in check.

“Oh really?”

In barely the blink of an eye, Max had you pressed up against the wall. The wall that had been at least 5 feet away just a moment before. His hand was on the back of your head, cushioning it from colliding with the drywall, his other arm wrapped around your waist to press you close to his chest.

You gasped, your arms reflexively coming up to cling to him as you tried to catch your balance from the quick movement, your human equilibrium completely destroyed by the sudden movement. One arm was wrapped around Max’s shoulders while your other hand was fisted in that awful holiday jacket he was wearing.

“Seems like you hate me,” he drawled sarcastically, raising an eyebrow.

“Fuck you.” You spat, although the shock of being moved across the room had taken some of the venom out of your voice.

“Gladly.” You felt his smirk as his lips pressed harshly to yours. You hummed in surprise at the forceful contact. The arm around his shoulders slid down to his chest, fully intending to push him off… all you had to do was push… just a little shove… why were you kissing him back?

The kiss was rough, all of your pent up anger over the months of inappropriate behaviour guiding you. Your teeth clicked against his as your tongues battled for dominance. He bit your bottom lip, making you gasp and moan. He moaned deeply in return when the coppery taste of blood infiltrated the kiss.

He crowded you against the wall, your bodies pressing together from knee to chest. You could feel his firm muscles under his shirt moving as his hands explored your body. He gripped your hips tightly, your skin tingling with a delicious sting.

“Max,” you moaned against his lips. You were sure you meant to say his name forcefully, more as a warning, but your resolve was almost entirely faded at this point.

He responded by releasing your hips to push your skirt up your legs. He pressed his leg between yours, your breath stuttering as his thigh pressed against your center. You could feel his own desire grinding at your hip.

You threaded your fingers through his infuriatingly perfect hair, surprised at how soft it was. Between being undead, and how coiffed it usually was, you weren’t expecting it to be so silky to the touch. You tugged gently on the strands, making Max groan into your mouth.

There was a sudden ripping sound. It took until the sting settled in your skin for you to realize he had just ripped off your panties. You shivered as the cool air reached your flushed skin, not to mention the reminder of just how strong Max was. He had ripped the fabric clean off your body without even trying. Your hips bucked against his leg, whimpering into his mouth. You needed more.

His fingers parted your lips, making you gasp at how unnaturally cold they felt. Your head fell back against the wall as he explored, spreading your wetness. You panted, trying to catch your breath as his fingers circled your clit.

“Fuck.” He groaned. “So wet. And warm.” He praised as he leaned in, nuzzling your neck. You jolted, a small part of your brain still fearing the vampiric side of the man currently fingering you. He chuckled, low and dark, as he licked the exposed skin of your collarbone.

“Don’t worry. I already ate.” He teased, but nipped your skin nonetheless. He didn’t bite hard enough to break the skin, just enough to prove his restraint.

“You’re an ass.” You huffed.

He hummed noncommittally as he kissed along the neckline of your dress. He pinched your clit, making you jolt against him with a loud moan. You immediately released his hair to slap a hand over your mouth. You didn’t need your coworkers hearing what was happening.

Max laughed gleefully, rubbing himself against you as his fingers moved to probe at your entrance. His cool fingers entering you sent a chill through your whole body. You rocked your hips as he pushed in and out, your hip grinding into his erection.

A growl from Max was the only warning you had before you were suddenly transported across the room again. You gasped, trying to gain your bearings as he bent you forward over his desk. “Stop doing that!” You growled. Your core ached from the loss of his fingers. You gripped the edge of the desk for balance, and to attempt to control yourself.

“I’m not sorry,” he sassed as you heard him unbuckle his belt. “I’m impatient. You’re lucky I waited this long.”

“Well hurry the fuck up then.” You demanded, rocking back to press your ass against him.

“Shit-” he hissed, flipping your skirt up and out of the way to watch your bare ass wiggle and grind into him. You heard him groan at the sight, enjoying it for a moment until he moved away. His hands bumped into you as he finished removing his pants.

His cock pressed between your legs, hard and thick. He thrust slowly, letting it glide through your lips. You groaned impatiently at the unsatisfying drag, writhing your hips in an attempt to tempt him further. It worked, his thick head notching against you. You bit your lip as you felt him press forward.

You almost didn’t hear his groan over your own as you adjusted to the stretch. It was incredible. He paused for the briefest moment, collecting himself before he pulled back.

He thrust into you hard. You couldn’t stop the cry that escaped from your chest as your eyes bulged. His hands gripped your hips as he snapped forward, your whole body swaying with the effort. You knew the fronts of your hips would have bruises where they connected with his desk by the time he was done. You couldn’t be bothered to mind.

You whined and moaned as he fucked you, hands scrambling over his desk as the tendrils of pleasure sparked through your body. You started pushing back, meeting his thrusts. The sounds of skin on skin echoed through the small room, mingling with the wet sounds of his deep thrusts.

“So tight-” He groaned, his voice wavering. “Knew you’d have the perfect pussy.”

“God, shut up.” You begged. You hated him, but mostly you hated how good this felt. Max Phillips talked a big game so you half expected him to be all bark and no bite (figuratively speaking. As a Vampire, you knew he had bite.)

His hand was around your neck, pulling you to stand against him. You gasped and moaned as it changed the angle of his thrusts. You honestly couldn’t tell if your eyes closed or rolled back in your head as sparks of pleasure surged.

“God, even with my cock deep inside you, you’re still feisty.” He growled into your ear.

All you could do was whimper. The pleasure was too much. His voice was too much. His hold on you was too much.

“Yeah, that shut you up.” He gloated, licking the shell of your ear. He tightened his hand, not fully cutting off your air supply, but warning you what a vulnerable position you were in. Your walls clenched around him, making him chuckle gleefully.

“Ooooh, she likes it.”

“I told you to shut up.” You breathed, stuttering in your attempt to get the demanding words out in spite of the pleasure rolling through you.

His hand tightened. You struggled to breathe. Your hands shot up to grip the hand cutting off your air, purely out of reflex. Your vision turned white as you came. Hard.

Max groaned, a long drawn out sound as he felt you cum around him. He kept the hold on your neck for a few seconds before releasing you. You fell back to the desk, gasping for air between the lack of breath and the powerful shocks racking your body. You could hear yourself moaning wantonly as your body spasmed.

Max gripped the desk beside your hips. He pistoned into you, chasing his own release as he felt your body squeeze him. You could hear him muttering quietly, but you couldn’t make out the words. Blood was rushing in your ears. Skin slapping skin. Splintering wood. All you could do was whimper and take it, feeling your orgasm stretch on as he fucked into you.

He finally seized up behind you, stilling with his hips pressed flush against you, cock buried as deep as it could. You weren’t sure if the noise he made was more of a moan or a roar as he filled you. It was warm, a startling contrast to the coolness of his body even after his exertion.

He collapsed, his chest to your back, bracing himself with an arm against the desk over your shoulder. He was panting behind you as your breath just started to return to you.

“Holy shit.” He laughed, his voice airy and amused. Not a tone you were used to from him. It almost made him sound human. Not even in a “not a vampire” way, but more like “not a smarmy asshole” kind of way.

You didn’t know how to respond. Your own mind swirling as everything that just happened came back to you. Your boss, the one person you hated most in your every-day life, had just fucked you senseless. With all your coworkers one room over no less. And if you were being honest with yourself, you’d do it again in a heartbeat.

Max pulled out of you, making your toes curl in your heels. You were surprised they were still on. Evidence of the encounter dripped down your inner thighs. You were about to stand when his hand pressed lightly between your shoulder blades, holding you down. Something silky trailed up your thighs and over your sensitive skin. You flinched, despite the gentle touch.

“Stay.” He ordered, the fabric between your thighs and the hand on your back disappearing. Something fell to his desk beside your head. You turned to see the pocket square he’d been wearing, bunched up and covered in your combined juices. That must have been what you felt cleaning you.

His hand was on your ankle, lifting it. You obeyed the silent request feeling your foot slip through something. He repeated it with your other leg. Soon, he was sliding panties up over your hips. The lacy fabric was soft as it hugged your ass. You could feel the lower half exposed, a cheeky style of panty. He caressed your ass, obviously admiring the sight before him, before a sharp slap landed on your cheek. You jolted against the unexpected sting. He laughed, pulling your skirt back down over your legs.

You stood, trying to keep your balance despite your legs being a little shaky. You didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeing just how fucked out you were. He handed you the damned advent calendar that started this whole encounter. The first little window had been opened and was now empty. That explained the lacy panties currently hiding under your dress.

Max smirked at you, the same smarmy grin that he always wore when he wanted to get under your skin. However, the mussed hair, the wrinkled suit, the kiss swollen lips and the sated, relaxed edge to the grin all made the look a little less annoying than usual.

“On Monday, you can show me what’s behind door number two.”

Tagging: @wickedfrsgrl​ @din-damn-djarin​