#Craft Front office Elegance

[interiorergonomics]

The Impact of Front Office First Impressions

Investing in a custom-made reception desk is about more than just aesthetics.

Actually, it's about creating a strong, positive first impression that resonates with everyone who enters your office.

Demonstrate a commitment to quality and professionalism through a thoughtfully designed reception area, you can enhance your brand image and build stronger relationships with clients, partners, and employees alike.

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Can't get the whole "Do you think you'd kill for me one day ?" "Yes, of course I will my darling" out of my head, but make it the Papas x their most devoted ghouls. Basically murder ghouls offering very morbid gifts to the Papas. They like it.

TW for morally grey characters - both Papas and ghouls - blood, kind of body horror, I guess ? I think it is. It might be a bit disturbing, so. Read with caution.

Earth bringing a beautiful bottle to Primo's office one day, something definitely meant for rituals, a masterpiece of carefuly crafted glass, full of a dark red liquid. Too dark to be wine. He simply sets it on a shelf, under the First's cautious eyes, and in an instant, Primo knows.

"Won't it...coagulate, or...I don't know, dry, rot ?" he asks from behind his desk, setting his glasses down in front of him. Earth smiles, adjusting the bottle so that the light catches it just right.

"I made sure it won't."

Primo smiles when the ghoul takes his hand and presses a kiss to the ring he's wearing.

"Take care not to drink it, your body wouldn't like it much."

Primo cocks an eyebrow.

"You gift me a full bottle of blood - human, i presume - and I'm not even allowed to drink it ? How very tragic."

Earth's chuckle rumbles in his chest.

"You can only wish to be a vampire, but, do not act like this isn't a power trip for you. Having someone's blood displayed in your office. Being able to admire its unique color."

Primo's smile widens.

Secondo looking up from his work, carefully setting the ancient book he's restauring on the side when Alpha leans against the doorframe, hands behind his back.

Once he's sure he has the former Papa's full attention, Alpha steps in, setting something on the desk, between Secondo's hand.

It's a paperweight, the kind he loves, heavy half globe of glass, in which is trapped a curiosity ; Secondo has a growing collection of those.

It's the first time, though, that an eye is staring blindly at him from within its transparent confine. A beautiful shade of brown, that eye, rich and deep, with flecks of gold ; Secondo leans closer to examine it.

"Fascinating," he comments, "you know me too well."

Alpha grins, rounding the desk to stand behind Secondo's chair, massaging his tense shoulders as he whispers against his ear.

"Took me a while to find the color I wanted, I know you have a thing for that kind of brown eyes."

Secondo hums, turning the paperweight this way and that, letting light bounce off it, projecting rainbows on the wall. It will definitely have a special place on his desk, so that Secondo will be able to gaze at it whenever he wishes to.

Alpha kisses the corner of his mouth, almost reverently, and Secondo puts the paperweight down, letting his eyes flutter shut.

Omega helping Terzo dress one morning, but just as the former Papa is about to move away, his ghoul tugs on his sleeve, shoving something in his hand.

What the rosary is made of is, Terzo immediately knows. The beads, the inverted cross, they're an ivory white that is quite impossible to mistake for anything other than it is.

By the way Omega hooks his chin on Terzo's shoulder, arms wrapping around his middle, the former Papa has no doubt it's important for him, that gift.

"It's lovely, my dear ghoul. Did you make it yourself ?"

Terzo really means it. The piece of jewlery is delicate and elegant, something he'll wear with pride.

"I did. I'm glad you like it."

A pause. Terzo takes a moment to bask in Omega kissing up his neck, before he slips the rosary around it.

"Should I ask who's bones I'm wearing ?"

Omega chuckles, face now burried in his hair.

"You know better. All that matters is that you look fantastic, wearing someone's bone."

Terzo does, so he simply smiles, admiring how the necklace rests on his chest in the mirror, sinking into Omega's embrace.

Dew, wordlessly slipping a bracelet around Copia's wrist after practice. He looks down, surprised, as the ghoul lingers, hovering at his side.

A thin chain, trinkets dangling from it, mostly tiny coins with infernal symbols engraved on them and....oh. Teeth. Well, they sure look healthy.

Copia takes to examinate them, tests the point of a canine, pleased to find it still sharp, humming under his breath.

"That's quite the work you've put in, Dew, thank you. It's beautiful."

The fire ghoul takes Copia's hand, turning it until he can kiss the inside of his wrist.

"I figured you'd like it. They're perfect, aren't they ?"

Copia takes another teeth between his two fingers, holding it up for further inspection, smiling at how flawless it is.

"They sure are. Wish I had that kind of dental care, eh."

Dew snorts, tail gently squeezing Copia's hips, who let himself be pulled in the ghoul's side.

[jukeboxsweethearttt]

Sweet Carolina

0.Preface

Mayor!Rafe Cameron x Lawyer!Fem Reader

Thank you so much @starfxkr and @twdrose for helping me think of this !!💋

chapter song:Sweet Carolina|LanaDelRey

Power and desire always found a way to intertwine in Rafe Cameron’s life. Ruling as the governor of North Carolina. At 53, his life is a meticulously crafted facade of success and stability, anchored by his loveless marriage to the not so elegant Claire Cameron and their two young egoistic daughters, Elizabeth and Charlotte.

In the office just two buildings down from his, Lies Twenty-Seven year old Y/n Y/L/N the high-profile lawyer that everyone wants on their case. known for your brilliance in the courtroom and notorious love for the nightlife. You’ve gotten a reputation not just for your legal prowess, but also for your dangerous attraction to married men—a flaw that adds onto your already scandalous persona.

From the moment you stepped into the legal spotlight, Your path and Rafe's became dangerously entwined. Your connection was immediate and electric, setting the stage for an affair that was as inevitable as it was explosive. The secret meetings are fueled by an undeniable chemistry, the thrill of the forbidden romance making each encounter more intense.

The lines were blurred, Was he your sugar daddy? You clearly didn’t need the money. Was he just another one of the many married men you’ve fornicated with? Maybe but you always felt more from him maybe he was your one true love.

When the two of your worlds collide again, the sparks fly. Meetings are clandestine and filled with raw, unfiltered passion that threatens to blow up your carefully curated lives. The stakes are high, and the thrill of secrecy only fuels the fire. But whispers and rumors travel fast, and soon one leaked voicemail and a scandalous video of your encounters hit the public eye. The affair once a delicious secret is now headline on the local news, putting reputations and careers on the line.

As the scandal unfolds, political enemies and ambitious rivals circle like vultures, ready to exploit your downfall. The media frenzy and public scrutiny are relentless, turning every whispered rumor into front-page news articles. The power dynamics shift as alliances are tested, loyalties questioned, and dark secrets come to light.

In the shadowy corridors of power, where trust is fragile and loyalty is a game, Rafe and Y/N's scandalous romance spirals into a whirlwind of passion, betrayal, and chaos. Every secret rendezvous, every whispered promise, now has the potential to destroy everything they've built.

And just when it seems like things couldn't get any more complicated, a new twist emerges—one that could change everything. A lie,missed period, a hidden test, a plan and the faintest whisper of a pregnancy cast a shadow over their already tumultuous affair, hinting at consequences neither of them could have ever anticipated.

Welcome to a world where power and passion collide, where darkness and desire reign, and where every juicy secret has the power to unravel their lives. In this high-stakes game of lust and ambition, nothing and no one is safe.

[retrograde-tonic]

The TWST Dorm Leaders Catch You…

Repost: from Sept. 2022 from my old blog; Anarchy-Archives. The post did well enough that I thought I should put it back up here and reshare it <3

GN reader who’s artistically trained. The boys catch you immersed in your craft, whether that craft is painting, cooking or dancing…

Heartslabyul:

Painting the rose garden on canvas. It was the perfect afternoon. Classes were still in session except for yours; Crewel had let your class out early when someone’s potion exploded. You got off unscathed, so you wandered into Hesrtslabyul’s rose garden with your art supplies, fully intending to paint a portrait of Grim but with the lovely ambiance as background, when a lone rose bush caught your eye. You immediately sat down adjacent to it and set up your canvas, mapping out all of its details. You had completed a couple roses so far and were fully immersed in your craft, not realizing classes had let out, when you heard a voice behind you…

“My, what do we have here?” Riddle stood behind you. You gasped, nearly dropping your brush. Riddle stood over your work, looking impressed. “I had no idea you were so talented. The shade of red translates perfectly from real life to canvas. I might like one of my own, do you take commissions?” You nod, smiling. Riddle explains he would love a painting to capture the unbirthday parties he hosts. “You don’t have to draw all the guests, but the decorations and the rose garden would be lovely. Of course, if you don’t mind.”

Savanaclaw:

Gymnastics. It’s a sport, yes, but it’s also an art in its own right. It’s something you grew up with, so it’s something you go back to when you have a bad day. Tumbling is a fantastic workout, and rhythmic gymnastics with music in the background always fills your soul. You were perfecting some of your favorite tumbling passes in an extra room of the Savanaclaw Magift Stadium. You added in some elegant twists and turns, alongside the back-handsprings and front-flips. You finally landed a pass you liked, and were only interrupted when they said…

“Oi, herbivore. What are you up to?” Leona was leaning against the doorway, looking sleepy. You give a light chuckle and explain that you were tumbling. Leona raises an eyebrow; “I didn’t know you could do that.” You nod, explaining that you put years of practice into it, and that you do it when you’re stressed. It’s better to keep up the craft. Leona smirks and then stifles a bit of a yawn; “You woke me up from my nap, but what you’re doing is vaguely interesting. I wouldn’t mind watching for a bit. Go on, impress me.”

Octavinelle:

Singing. It was past closing time in the Mostro lounge, and you were helping Azul clean up. Azul, Jade and Floyd were locked in Azul’s office, and you had taken to wiping down the tables. You began to hum as you worked. Your humming became slightly louder, your voice echoing off the walls of the empty room. Enjoying the sound of your vibrato in the room, you add lyrics in; now singing at a decent volume. You were exclusively focused on your vowel shapes and your work on the tables until you heard someone clear their throat behind you, making your song come to an abrupt halt…

“Well, this is quite the surprise.” Azul was standing a ways away from you, smiling big. You thank him, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks a bit. “I didn’t know you could sing so well. You’re clearly trained.” Azul steps up closer to you and adjusts his glasses. You nod, explaining that you had had lessons in the past, and that it’s something you’ve practiced for many years. His face lights up so fast and so bright when he hears that, you can practically see the Madol-signs swimming in his eyes. “You know, I would love to have you perform here at the Mostro Lounge. May we make a deal?”

Scarabia:

Cooking. You had helped Jamil bring supplies to the kitchen while he was off tutoring Kalim. While you were there, you noticed the perfect set of ingredients to make your favorite dish. It was a quicker one, but flavorful nonetheless. You get to the prep work, chopping the vegetables with ease using your perfected knife skills. You heat up the pan and toss the veggies in, sautéing them with a plethora of spices. The alluring smell of the aromatics must have drawn someone in, because they startled you when they said…

“It smells soooo good in here!” You whirl around, cooking spoon still in hand, and greet Kalim’s massive smile. You thank him enthusiastically, matching his energy. “What are you making?” He steps up to peer into your pan. You explain what you’re making, and that it’s your favorite; “I could make enough for multiple people, if you’re interested.” Kalim’s eyes light up. “That would be awesome! I can have Jamil poison test it, even though I know you won’t do anything to hurt me. He can have some too!” You chuckle lightly, thinking about Jamil’s distaste for Kalim enjoying cooking other than his own. “I’ll have to go fetch him! And thank you for cooking! I can’t wait to try it!”

Pomefiore:

Dancing. It was early in the morning, and you were alone in Pomefiore’s ballroom. You couldn’t decide what to do for your workout, so you threw in your earbuds and put on some music to dance to. It was a bit early for more energetic dances, so you put on a playlist of any song with 3 beats per measure, and you began waltzing. Well, sort of. It was your own version of a waltz, with a lot of ballet influence. It was very free flowing and it spanned the entire room. Jumps, spins, dips…whatever your heart desired in the moment. You hadn’t performed in years, but your body still knew how to glide over the floor. You danced your heart out for some time, until you saw a figure standing in the doorway from the corner of your eye…

“My my, I didn’t know you could dance like that.” You stop dancing abruptly, dropping your arms to face the man in the doorway. Vil stands there, smiling as he speaks. Facing him entirely, you shut your music off, returning his glowing smile and accept his praises with ease. “If only Epel could move like you do…” he sighs, entering the room. You give a polite chuckle; “I’ve been doing this for years, so…” Vil scoffs lightly and clicks his tongue as you apparently state the obvious. “I can see that. What other styles of dance do you know?” he inquires. As you go through the styles you know, he steps up and takes your hand; “will you dance with me? I’ve been looking for a dance partner, and you seem to be the perfect fit.”

Ignihyde:

Animation. You were huddled in Ignihyde’s lounge, staring daggers at your device. You had worked on this animation for about a month now, but something wasn’t adding up. You gripped your drawing pencil in between your teeth as you stared at the animation, slowing it frame by frame. You flipped the canvas back and forth, and then you caught it. The blinking was uneven and unrealistic. You announced your victory with a little excited screech, which must have tipped them off…

“Animating again? For that new game series?” You look up from your device to see Idia standing above you. “Can I see?” You nod and play the animation. Idia’s eyes instantly light up. “Wow, talk about some S-tier stuff!” You smile and thank him. He asks you to play the animation again and again, seemingly analyzing each frame. “I’ll have to show Ortho! He’ll love it! If…if that’s okay with you?” His excited confidence falters a tad, but he regains it when you smile; “I would love to show him! You’ll have to call him over!” He grins, appreciating your acceptance. “You’re so lucky you’ve been working on that project! I can’t wait to play it when it’s done!”

Diasomnia:

Playing a classical instrument. This was your escape. You love what you do, and every time you find yourself completely lost in the music. The rooms in Diasomnia are lovely in terms of echoing acoustics. Not so great for practicing and being critically aware of your raw sound, but great for an ego boost. Today, you had decided to pull out a piece by Clara Schumann. One you hadn’t played in a while. Midway through, the tempo changed; adagio, it said, and you fluttered your eyes closed. Your fingers remembered the section well, and they took over while your eyes were closed. Your passionate playing echoed off the walls until you heard the door open loudly…

“I haven’t heard that piece in years.” Malleus’s shadow stood in the doorway, a faint smile on his face. He sounded quite nostalgic when he spoke, and he spoke slowly; “Schumann, huh?” You nod, confirming his guess. He enters the room silently, and steps closer to look at the music. “You have good taste,” he eventually says, reading the music silently to himself. You smile, and thank him. “We should play a duet sometime,” you offer. His face lights up at the request, and he accepts graciously; “I would love to hear your music blend with mine.”

[starsomens]

Know Your Place.

Warnings: Language, strong themes, slight voyeurism (?), fingering, dirty talk, possessiveness, slight breeding mention at the end,

"if you are here in this room. it means you have what it takes." Noah speaks to a handful of young men. New recruits were brought in, trained and tested. 10 new recruits passed and are having their first briefing with the head of the organization, Noah Sebastian. Tall, covered in tattoos, intimidating, intelligent, filthy rich, and powerful in everyway. He was known to be someone you don't fuck around with. He'd have you gone in a matter of hours, no traces, evidence or memory left behind.

As soon as he stepped into the room his presence was felt strongly. Their hairs standing on end, frame stiff, and fully aware. He grabs the folder on his desk and doesn't bother to look at them. He leans against the front of the heavy wooden furniture. The dark red carpet and dim lights making the atmosphere all the more adrenaline inducing. He read off names and each one makes themselves known.

"A pair of you will be assigned to a head of certain duties. There are no room for mistakes," he said letting the folder fall on to his desk, circling the desk and coming to sit down "Make sure you pay attention and perfect your craft. Understand?"

"Yes sir." they say in unison.

"Although you are all assigned specific tasks you all have one universal responsibility here and that is-"

"Noah, I was finally able to find those documents you needed- oh sorry were you busy?" you said stepping into his office not knowing he had newbies. He shook his head and waved for you to come over. you wore a simple btu elegant black dress with a boat neckline that came down to about your mid thigh. You come in front of his desk and place the files down. Of course unknown to you the new recruits had wandering eyes and a few blushed at your beauty. Who could blame them? You were truly breath catching, stealing all eyes wherever you go.

Noah however, did not like it. Especially from his new recruits staring at what was his. His jaw clenches and he gets an idea

"Princess" he calls in a much lower tone "Come here." he called patting his lap. With a shy smile you sway your hips and walks around the desk, letting your fingers glide over the furnished wood. You take a seat and his hand instantly places itself on your ass and the other slips just under the hem of your dress. His eyes locking with each of the new men making a clear statement.

She. Is. MINE.

His nose nudges your jaw, already knowing what he wanted. His large hand slithers over your body and up to your jaw as his lips capture yours. It wasn't a peck or a simple kiss. This was a deep, sex inducing kiss. His tongue slips past your lips and dances with yours. He leaves your lips and kisses the corner of your jaw and wanders down your neck. He knows they're still in the room, he wanted them there, he wants them to know their place.

They work for him. You were off limits. You were his alone.

One had tried to turn to leave and Noah stopped him

"Ah. I haven't dismissed you." he side eyes them still hovering above your neck. "You leave, when I clear you." his face turns from your neck and scans over the line of men, his other hand caresses your thigh and slips under the fabric every now and then. Your hand traces up his chest to cup the corner of his job and you bring his face half way to your lips. Kisses traced from his temple and down to his jaw

"As I was saying before," he continues as his hand continues further up your dress. His fingers playing and grazing with the edges of your underwear "This is my wife. One of your top priorities is to ensure her safety. You let even one hair on her head come close to danger, I will personally strangle you..." He had a straight face despite his fingers running over your covered clit.

You turn your face to come close to his ear "Noah.." you whine "here?" you whisper shyly to him. It's not that you minded but you knew how he felt about you, and fingering you in front of his subordinates? It's not like it was the first time but sometimes you had to check to make sure it's what he wanted

He turns his towards you and whispers "They want to look at what's mine, then I'll give them something to look at." he smirks looking at one specific man.

"Carter," he reads a last name, the young man steps forward. Try to keep his composure and his eyes on Noah. "You were the top performer in this group, which means I'll be assigning you as protection for Y/N whenever she leaves the house without me."

"yes sir." he said in a small but clear voice. After Noah looks down at the paper on his desk Carter steps back in place, the silence in the room was deafening. Noah simply reading the paper over while you looked like you were struggling. His hands had slipped past your panties and into your pussy. You walls clenching around his long digits. You had no idea what it was about this that turned you on so much.

Maybe it was the possessiveness? How assertive he was? The audience you had? Maybe it was just Noah being himself, letting every new comer know who you were, and who you belong to. Your mouth fell slightly as his fingers curl within you, brushing against your sweet spot. You were more than sure they could see how your chest rose and fell. You hide your face in Noah’s neck, and you could practically hear the smirk on his face.

“Next, Johnson, Lee, and Peters. You’ll be under supervision of Jolly anything having to do with operations” he briefly explains. “They’ll be waiting outside for you” once he was done speaking the recruits walk out one behind the other and shut the door. 4 down, 6 to go.

The heel of his palm pressed against you clit sending shivers through your being. You bite down on your lip, suppressing the moan being held in your throat. Fighting the urge to rock against his hand. He took notice in the way your breathing changed, so he withdrew his his finger and plunged them in once again. You could help the whimper that slipped out. Noah for one loved it.

“Santos, Garcia, smith. You’ll be under supervision of Folio, any and all firearms are overseen by you lot” another 3…just three left.

One recruit in particular had shifted a bit in stance. Noah is very observant and he had seen something that truly pissed him off.

“So, Myers…..see something you’re enjoying?” Noah’s eyebrows knit together as he leans back in his cushioned seat. The springe whine against the weight, his hands stop, still inside of you. Your head comes up and you try to keep a straight face, try to regulate your breath. Looking over at your husband you cousins help but squeeze around his fingers. He may have been scary and intimidating but goddamn did it make him look sexy.

"N-no sir!" he answers

"Seems like you have a bit of interest in something in this room..." his fingers pump in and out again. Making a 'come here' motion your head lulls back to rest and hang on his shoulder. No longer hiding the fact he was pleasuring you. "That something is out of the question. Do you understand that?" he asks as his eyes burn holes into his, his deep dark hues staring into the depts of his soul. Scaring him to his core.

"Yes sir." he answers trying not to break under his stare. Your hand flies to Noah's wrist as you could feel your orgasming approaching. You head flings back into his neck, you body trembling at sensation, a coil was forming in the pit of your stomach. Tightening more and more with each curl of his fingers and eat rub of his palm. Your clit was throbbing and your walls were clenching around him. Your juices coated his hand just the way he liked

"You and the rest are under Nick, he'll explain his department" he scowled letting the paper fall back on his desk

"Yes sir!" they answer

"Now get the fuck out." he tells directing his full attention to you. His lips finding your again in a deep sensual kiss. Your dress rolls up to sit on your hips, your legs and panties now exposed to him.

Just before the door can shut Noah calls out "And Myers."

"yes sir?" he answers cautiously

"Keep your eyes off my wife." he warns making a final thrust that pushes you over the edge. Your moans fill the room and leak into the hallway. Your finally cum and leak over his fingers, those same fingers coming up to his lips, giving them a lick "you clear."

The door shuts and he looks at you trying to catch your breath. His softly smirks and comes down to kiss your head

"Did that feel good princess?" he asked you littering your skin with kisses, very satisfied with his performance.

"Y-yes..but you could have waited" you pout at him

"Oh don't be mad at me princess" he scoots towards the desk and lifts you on to it "now tell daddy how he can make it better. Anything my queen desires" he offered with a kiss to your knee

"mmm...well maybe I do want something," you smile as your heel comes up and rubs against his bulge with the flat of the red bottoms.

"Does my good girl wanna get fucked on daddy's desk" he smirks against your lips as his body slots between your legs, grinding against your pussy

"Mhm," you nod spreading you legs further for him "please Noah...need your cock, inside." you lean back onto your elbows and wait patiently for him

"Anything for you princess" he unbuckles his belt a sharp grin spreading on his face "gonna fill that pussy up, nice and full." he large hands rest on your knees and spread your legs gazing at his favorite view for the night.

「✨Taglist✨」 @lilhobgobbler @cncohshit @vir-tual @tdopomymind @concretenoah @misspygmypie @fvckmeorchokeme @lust-for-sacher @thescarlettvvitch @cind6547 @itsmrsfuentes @purple-lili @ima1986 @feralfornoah

[generallyhux]

Extra Lessons • Professor Tom Riddle

Summary: Professor Riddle gives his favorite student a lesson in Occlumency

A/N: NFSW, originally posted to AO3

Enjoy! :)

*******************************************************

October 1955

Grading papers was Tom Riddle ’s least favorite task as a professor. If these were the students that were to go out and become the next generation of the Wizarding World, they were all doomed. Hardly any of them could comprehend the difference between the Expulso and the Reductor Curses, and their attempts at describing hexes were laughable.

His original design in getting the position was, of course, to seduce Hogwarts’ young minds and accentuate the power of dark magic. Instead, he found that there was not one single specimen in this castle that he would even consider worthy of his time and expertise.

Except for her.

Riddle looked down at the essay he was currently reading. The penmanship was elegant, letters looping together in a way that was just begging to be read. Her essays were the only ones worth reading, the only ones that would ever receive his praise.

Everyone called her Kitty, though she always used her full name on his assignments - Catherine Carr. A seventh-year in Ravenclaw and the top of her class, she excelled at everything. Her knowledge on most subjects was beyond those above her in both experience and age.

He, however, had much he wanted to teach her. He knew that she could be useful to him someday, but to ensure she was up to par, it wouldn’t hurt to mold her into the witch he needed by his side. Riddle had to test her - prove that she was truly made of sterner stuff.

He knew just the way to do that.

At the conclusion of his next lesson, he waited for most of the class to exit. Kitty still sat at her table near the front, gingerly placing her books into her bag as she often did.

“Miss Carr,” Riddle said, “would you mind staying? There’s something I have to discuss with you.”

She nodded, “Of course, Professor Riddle.”

He led the way to his office with Kitty following a few paces behind, ringing her clammy hands behind her. To her understanding, Professor Riddle had never asked for a student to stay behind.

Entering the small office, he offered Kitty a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk. The room itself was dark, lit by a few candles, but the young witch could make out some titles of the books that littered the room and stuffed the shelves against the walls. She was only a little surprised to find most of the material covered in these books was very dark magic.

Now seated at his desk, Riddle looked at the girl across from him, but her eyes couldn’t seem to meet him.

“You are a very bright girl,” Riddle started. “Perhaps more intelligent than anyone I have taught before.”

“Thank you, sir,” Kitty said. Her pale complexion turned slightly pink at the compliment.

Riddle continued, “Your OWL scores were impeccable and it is my understanding that upon your graduation, you wish to work for the Ministry.”

Kitty nodded, unsure of where this was heading.

“As a seventh-year, you are preparing for your career and I want to aid in that preparation.”

“In what way?” Kitty asked.

“Are you familiar with Occlumency?” Riddle replied. He paid special attention to the way her eyes lit up at the word.

“It’s the act of closing your mind against external forces,” she stated. Kitty had read many books on the subject, but performing the mental block was something beyond her capacity.

“Not only is it useful, it is a rare and difficult skill. It is not a part of the curriculum, but I believe you to be an inquisitive witch and would prefer to teach you in a way I see fit.” Riddle’s words rolled smoothly off of his tongue.

This was not true, but she would never know; this was for purely selfish reasons. Catherine Carr was the first student in his five years of teaching that displayed signs of dedication to the craft. Perhaps she was a little too innocent at the given time, but he could mold her into the witch she ought to be.

He was aware of the impact he had on these young students - the female ones in particular - and Miss Carr was no exception. Riddle noticed the way her lips formed a small smile when he called on her to answer challenging questions and how a tinge of pink dusted her pale complexion when he praised her swift responses.

She was rendered speechless at her professor’s offer, but hastily accepted the opportunity with a graciousness that almost made Riddle feel something like guilt. But nothing she could have done would stop his efforts now.

He sent Kitty on her way with some mind-blocking exercises to work on and scheduled their first session for the following week. Tom’s eyes followed her down the corridor until she turned from view.

Lust was not a trait Riddle had though he possessed. In his post-Hogwarts years, he had found himself in the company of a few young witches that turned into little more than one-night stands. He considered his wild oats to be sowed; the presence of Miss Carr stirred something deep within him, however.

It disgusted him to think he was no better than any other man, desiring a younger woman clad in a short skirt. But she was different. She was rather plain, he thought, but her intelligence made her incredibly desirable.

A week later he was sitting at his desk when the soft knock came at the door.

“Come in.”

Kitty entered the office, fidgeting slightly with her wand. “Good evening, Professor.”

“Good evening, Miss Carr. You may have a seat,” Riddle motioned to the armchair in the corner of the room by the bookshelves and the young witch sat down.

He continued, “I hope you have been working on the exercises I taught you, they’ll prove very beneficial as I begin prodding into your mind.”

At that, Kitty shivered slightly. Prodding into her mind? She knew what Occlumency entailed, but what if he found… those thoughts?

Yes, she was the brightest witch in her class and yes, she thought herself above the dating scene of Hogwarts, but who hadn’t had a crush on their teacher? And who hadn’t had thoughts of doing scandalous things with their very young and attractive professor?

“Let us begin,” Riddle said. “Legilimens!”

Unsurprising to Kitty, he was able to perform the spell wandlessly and therefore she was taken off guard when she felt him flood into her mind. All attempts to clear her thoughts were thwarted by his presence.

An 11-year-old Kitty sat on a stool in the Great Hall as the Sorting Hat was placed on her head. Almost in an instant the hat cried out, “Ravenclaw!” The Hall erupted into cheers and the young girl giddily made her way to her house’s table.

A few years later, she was seated in the courtyard working on homework when a gaggle of girls in her class scurried by. They were giggling quite loudly over something Kitty was not privy to. However, any question she had was answered when the new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor crossed the courtyard and the girls were once more wracked with squeals and red faces. Kitty, too, found the appeal, but she did her blushing in private.

The scene shifted forward to her sixth-year where Kitty found herself in the library scribbling out the final sentence in her essay with a sigh. She rubbed her bleary eyes, careful not to transfer any of the ink from her hands to her face. Suddenly she felt a pair of eyes on her and looked up to meet Professor Riddle staring deeply from across the way. She was slightly taken aback from the attention, causing her breath to catch in her throat and her cheeks to flush a dark shade of red. This was not lost on her professor who began to smirk before swiftly exiting the library.

Once more her surroundings blurred around her and focused on the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Kitty was sitting at her usual spot near the front hanging on to every word spilling out of Professor Riddle’s mouth. Her head rested in her hand, eyes not moving from Riddle ’s form. She didn’t notice she was gawking until her friend sitting next to her gave Kitty a quick nudge to her arm and her attention shifted to the exam on her desk.

Riddle was jolted back to his dimly lit office and in an uncharacteristic move, he leaned back on his desk for support. Clearly Kitty had not done her best at blocking him from her mind, but after viewing the last memory, she had forcefully casted him out.

Kitty appeared out of breath and flushing a deep shade of crimson. While she had never mastered eye contact, Riddle noticed she refused to look up at him.

Feeling he needed to exploit the poor girl even more, he pressed on. “I could feel you shutting me out near the end which is a step in the right direction. This time, I’m going to push even further.”

“Please, sir,” Kitty said quietly, “I don’t think I can do any more.”

Riddle smirked, “Why ever not, Miss Carr? What else would I see if we continued?”

Kitty’s mouth went dry. What was he insinuating?

He continued, “That last thought was very interesting. May I ask why that was significant to you?”

“Erm - I don’t remember what it was,” she lied. Abruptly standing up from the chair, she slowly walked towards the door. “Thank you, Professor, for the lesson, but I really should be going now.”

As she reached for the handle, Riddle silently flicked his wand and the door locked before she had the chance to open it. In two strides he was across his office and facing Kitty which prompted a squeak from the girl.

“I think we have something to discuss.”

“P-Professor Riddle,” she stuttered, flushing even deeper.

Riddle grabbed her wrists and held them above her head. He was usually much better at composing himself, but seldom was he in a position of such control; he was beginning to feel something stirring within himself. Something that would not be contained for much longer.

“What’s wrong, Miss Carr? Isn’t this exactly what you wanted?”

She was trying to respond, he noticed, but nothing was coming out. He was a great deal taller than her and when he looked into her eyes, he saw how dilated her pupils were. Kitty was aroused and there was nothing she could say that would deny it.

The young witch let out another pathetic mewl, but it only strengthened Riddle ’s desire for her.

“Please, sir.” It was barely a whisper, but he clung to her words.

“Please what?” Riddle asked. His empty hand was now cupping Kitty’s neck, thumb rubbing against her pulse point slowly. Her heartbeat was rapid.

“I need… I need…”

“What do you need, Miss Carr?” Riddle practically purred in her ear.

“You, sir.”

That was all Riddle wanted to hear. Within a second his mouth was on hers, parting her lips with his tongue. She tasted sweet - bubblegum. He was briefly reminded that she was barely seventeen. And his student.

The most wonderful noises were escaping Kitty’s throat and melodically filling the dim office as his mouth traveled to her neck making sure to suck hard on the most sensitive parts. Riddle flicked his wand once more, wordlessly placing a silencing charm on the room to keep her sounds from getting out. Perhaps it was juvenile, leaving the trail of dark purple marks on her previously unblemished skin, but the thought of her looking at them and being reminded of who made them was exquisite.

Riddle led them back to his desk. As if she were a doll, he picked her up by the waist and placed her on top, nudging himself between her legs. His mouth was attacking hers now with such force that when they broke away, her lips were red and puffy. Kitty’s eyes were wide - frightened, almost, as if her mind was catching up to what was happening, but Riddle, sensing her discomfort, simply stroked her cheek with a warm hand.

“What’s wrong, kitten,” he tutted, “I thought this is what you wanted?”

At that, her hips practically bucked forward, making contact with his throbbing member. His hands snaked down to grab at her exposed thighs. He hadn’t noticed how far her skirt had ridden up during their interaction and he couldn’t help but let out a groan at the sight of her exposed milky-white thighs gripping his waist.

“Please, sir! I need you inside of me,” Kitty begged as her professor continued to grind into her warm center.

Riddle silently agreed with the girl, but he wasn’t done playing with her just yet. He wanted to hear those sweet sounds spilling from his favorite student’s lips a little while longer - wanted to hear her whine and beg for him.

“Oh, my sweet little kitten,” he moaned, “you’ve been so patient - so good for me. Perhaps you deserve a treat.”

Slithering up her smooth thighs, his fingers latched around her panties, slowly dragging them down until they fell to the floor at his feet. He leaned down to inspect her core and felt his stiff cock throb even more than before. A dusting of hair covered her swollen folds which were covered with a sheen of arousal. He gave her a quick kiss to the mouth before gently laying her down on his desk.

He parted her lips and lazily rubbed circles on her mound with his thumb, causing Kitty to release another explicit moan.

“Oh, Professor,” she whined.

Looking up at her he raised his eyebrow quizzically, “What do you want, my pet?”

He began to make quicker loops around her pulsating clit. All she could get out was, “More!”

As he himself wanted a release, he obliged her request and got to work. Replacing his thumb with his mouth, he sucked and licked at her center, his supple tongue moving in rhythmically. Once again, the sounds coming from the young witch were obscene, causing Riddle to keep at his pace.

After a few minutes, he let his tongue slip into her tight entrance, groaning at the thought of being inside of his favorite student - his little pet. Hungrily he lapped at the wetness gushing out of her.

“You’re being such a good girl, aren’t you?” Riddle hummed into her and spread her legs even further, “Keep those legs open for me, kitten.”

“Oh, sir, I’m gonna - I’m gonna-”

Riddle removed himself from Kitty’s center which elicited a cry of displeasure from the girl.

“Not yet, my pet,” he chastised. “Not before I’ve had my fun.”

He made quick work of removing her blouse and skirt before undressing himself. His large member sprang free from its constraints making Kitty’s eyes to widen in disbelief and her face reddened.

Her small hand reached out to take a hold of his cock and the contact alone made Riddle’s hips jerk involuntarily.

Riddle stroked his student’s cheek once again before slipping a thumb between her still swollen lips. Her tongue swirled around the digit and she looked up at her professor unsure.

“That’s right, my kitten,” Riddle nodded, “Get on your knees for me.”

The young witch obliged, kneeling in front of him and tentatively opening her mouth to let him in. Riddle hissed at the contact from her warm, velvety mouth. His fingers tangled themselves into her hair and he brought her head further down on his cock.

He continued to pound into Kitty’s throat mercilessly, relishing the slight choking noises that came with it and the tears that formed at the corners of her eyes. He felt himself getting close and pulled out before he could spill into her.

Riddle pulled Kitty up from the floor and unceremoniously bent her over his desk, exposing even more of her pale and unmarked flesh which he quickly palmed with a groan. Her whining was getting louder and her legs parted as an invitation, thighs wet with her slickness.

“What do you want, my sweet pet? Hmm?” Riddle cooed into her ear, giving her earlobe a nibble.

“You, sir,” she whimpered, “I need you.”

Riddle let out a chuckle, “And what do you need me to do?”

“I want you to - I need you -”

“C’mon, you can say it,” he murmured.

Her voice was barely a whisper, “I need you to fuck me, professor.”

That was all Riddle needed to hear. He reached down to collect Kitty’s juices and pumped his pulsating cock a few times with her slick. Lining up with her entrance he gave a tentative thrust, but her entrance was so tight he wasn’t able to get more than the tip in.

“So tight for me, kitten,” Riddle growled in her ear. “Is this your first time?”

She squeaked out an answer that Riddle took as an affirmative.

“I need you to relax for me, alright? Can you do that?”

Kitty gave a shaky nod, “Yes, sir.”

Gently pushing in further, Riddle bottomed out in her tight hole. His hands were grabbing her waist so hard he knew there would be bruises. He couldn’t believe how wet she was; the wet squelching noises and their loud moans that echoed in his office was like a symphony to his ears.

His hand slithered up from her middle to clutch her throat, forcing her to look up and make eye contact. Her mouth opened to let out a moan and he spat in it; her eyes rolled back in her head from pleasure.

“Oh - fuck - you’re being so good for me,” Riddle panted. He was teetering on the edge of coming and while he may be taking advantage of his young student, he wanted to at least make sure she came first.

She was clenching on his cock, getting close to the edge as well. While he wanted to savor her a little longer, he wanted to fill her pussy with his seed.

“Your cunt is so tight,” Riddle grunted. His free hand went to cup her sex and started to rub circles around her clit once again.

“Professor,” she cried, “I’m gonna come.”

“Come for me, kitten. Come on my cock.” Riddle’s thrusts quickened, helping her get to the point of release.

Within seconds her orgasm took over and Riddle felt her spasm all over his cock which sparked his own peak. Together their fluids mingled together and he collapsed on top of her, peppering light kisses on her shoulder.

He removed himself from her center and magicked them clean. Conjuring up a glass of water, he sat Kitty down on the armchair and helped her drink from it as he stroked her hair.

Riddle was the first to break the silence, “You were wonderful, Miss Carr.”

Though he had seen every part of her and had just been inside of her, she still had the decency to blush at the notion.

“Erm - thank you, Professor,” she mumbled, “for the lessons.”

“I think we may need to cover more material next week,” he smirked. After a few moments of letting the young witch catch her breath, he led her to the door, hand on the small of her back. “Have a good evening, Miss Carr.”

“Goodnight, Professor Riddle,” she smiled before leaving for her dormitory.

The young professor sat back at his desk, staring down at the surface where moments earlier he had been defiling his even younger student.

Riddle let out a sigh and went back to grading papers. He supposed if she was unwilling to turn to the Dark Arts, she would at least be a pleasant companion to keep around

[hometoursandotherstuff]

The Dabney House is an 1857 Greek Revival mansion in New Orleans, Louisiana. It has 6bd. 5ba. and is listed for $2.395M having been raised $100K.

The center entrance hall. 

In the sitting room is an original fireplace and windows that go right down to the floor.

The dining room features the same fireplace as the sitting room and both rooms are off the central hall.

The renovated kitchen is simple, but elegant and features a fireplace.

More casual sitting room with a game table.

There’s a nice pantry and a stepdown to what must have been a scullery. A service window is still in place, but it looks like it’s been made into an office or craft space.

Here’s an elegant little TV room with a beautiful fireplace.

I’m not sure if this is a main bd. Like some homes, all the bds. are basically the same size.

Beautiful en-suite has an original stained glass window. 

The secondary bd. is the same size and also has a matching en-suite.

This room has the pretty windows. 

And, this one is plainer, but does have its own en-suite.

Another beautiful bath.

There’s a large flexible space in the finished attic with beautiful exposed brick walls.

Very nice laundery room.

The 2nd fl. terrace in front of the house.

The grounds are beautifully landscaped.

And, look at this cute little apt. in the back.

Plus, there’s a 2 car garage. 

https://www.captivatinghouses.com/2022/10/17/1857-dabney-house-for-sale-in-new-orleans-louisiana/

[kintsug1kitsune]

welcome to the library [short story ; no cw]

"Welcome to the Library, dear guest."

The doll at the front desk bowed dutifully. It was wearing the Library's fine black longcoat, suit and tie, and its brown porcelain body was delicately powdered with makeup.

"Uh, hey." 92 Jagged Edges was a rather small and squat woman, brown-haired and plain, with many scars, wearing only a haphazardly-tucked button-up shirt and jacket, and worn slacks with combat boots. "Thank you. I'm here on behalf of--"

"Firmament," the doll answered, bowing again. "The Director knows. She will be coming to greet you…" Its head canted up at thin air. Jag followed suit, but slower, perplexed.

And then, in a warping of that air, there appeared another doll.

No. It looked false and mechanical, joints and all, but its flesh was darkness, about 170cm tall--shorter than Jag--pooled together into a figure neither dark nor light, humanoid but not human, wearing a far more embroidered Library robe, bismuth thorns and flowers, and a tie with a special clip: roses, a tome, a sword, and a singular "I" marking it. The sheer aura, as if the Library around them bent to accommodate her…

"Hello there." She smiled, all fangs, two magenta eyes--no, far too many eyes, it was hard to tell--under the broad brim of a Witch's hat, veiled. "I heard a representative from Firmament Corporation was coming. Thought I'd welcome you in. I am the Library Director, Cynithe."

The petitioner took a gulp and bowed politely, herself. "Ma'am. 92 Jagged Edges, intelligence officer, Firmament Corp. Call me Jag."

"Jag," the Witch tasted. "Good name. Wonderful. What can I do for you, Jag?"

"I'm here for a book. Uh--obviously," she chuckled, trying not to let sweat bead down her forehead.

"Yes, I expected as much," Cynithe smiled, as if she was sharing a joke.

"Heh. Yeah, I'm looking for the specs on a certain weapon." She paused a moment. "…The mirror-splitter."

"Oh, I see." The Director hummed and tapped her chin; her gaze betrayed nothing, empty beyond belief. Hungry. "Why? Is Firmament going to war?"

"We have reason to believe Raze Corp's going to employ it."

"…Walk with me."

Not thinking for even a moment of refusing the Director's vast will, Jag followed as they began walking further into the Library's halls. It was better-crafted than anything she'd seen in in human-made lands; elegant pillars lined the walls, strips of pure light illuminated everything in comfortable gold. The ceiling was far overhead, the floor was fine stone, and soon the hallway out of reception emptied them onto a vast balcony.

A ring--layers of rings--overlooked the Library's grand center, a massive tower crossed with bridges and stairways, railings hewn with flowery designs. It was, for all its greatness, very empty; dolls went here and there, a few patrons of different kinds milled and searched, some seemed engaged in conversation, and yet others were reclining on one of the many red couches, smoking, drinking, laughing. But for its size--it was quiet, serene, even, if not a little eerie.

Jag whistled low. "Nice place you've got."

"Thank you," Cyn said, "I do think I look lovely."

"Ah, right--the Director is the Library itself. Or, that's what I heard," she hurried to say.

"You heard right," she nodded back, leaning on the near rail to watch everything. "I am the Library, the Witch of the Endless Night."

"I see. It's an honor to be, uh… in you?" Jag frowned a bit and followed her lead, leaning on the railing.

Cyn laughed, a sound like a thousand mortals being cut down and church bells shattering. "You're welcome, love. Now. Do you know what a mirror-splitter is?"

"Vaguely," she answered. "I've heard it's some sort of weapon." The Director hummed, "Potentially. It's inspired by witchwork, a device that is capable of slicing through possibility. It can render divinations of the future, as it was intended to do, or… it can cut possibilities away."

"I… see?"

"Imagine that you toss a coin." Cynithe flicked her claws and an ancient nickel medallion appeared amidst her fingers.

"Uh, a coin. Right, that used to be used as money." Jag watched curiously.

"Yes. Now, it can be heads," she showed one side, "Or tails," and showed the other. "When I flip it…" She used a thumb to launch it into the air--caught it, and slammed it over onto the top of her other hand. "Now, it can be either heads or tails, and we don't know which."

"Right, I see."

"But if I were to use a mirror-splitter, I could cut the possibility of it being tails. Do you understand? There would be no choice but for it to be heads, in any reality."

"…Huh."

She let the coin out--tails, as it happened--and let it vanish into darkness. "If used on a living being, it could force them to be only one thing. It could force a singular outcome for their existence. Or, it could erase all possibilities of their existence at all."

"That… Nobody should use that. If anyone made that, it could destroy free will forever. Let alone people--the implications as a weapon…" Jag gripped her hair and shook her head, eyes wide, frowning.

Cynithe looked understanding. "Mhm. And your employers want it."

She shot her gaze up to the Director. "No-- I can't let them have it. I can't let anyone get ahold of it. Fuck my job."

"Good, you understand the problem. Do you have a head for books, Jag?"

"--Uh?" She cocked an eyebrow. "I guess? I'm in charge of gathering and organizing company intel. I do my share of paperwork, filing, and that shit. Wait, are you offering me…?"

"Not a job," the Witch shook her head. "A position with me, here. You know you cannot return empty-handed to Firmament."

"Pft, they'd cut my heart out and burn it just to make a point," Jag spat.

"And neither of us want you to return to them with the schematics for a mirror-splitter."

"No…"

"Work with me. Become a Librarian, and we will recover the mirror-splitter plans from Raze Corp." The many-eyed stare affixed to Jag was empty… but still far from as vile as the looks in her managers' eyes.

She nodded. "Sounds like a plan, Director. Let's get to it."

Cynithe smiled.

"Welcome to the Library, Jag."

[corgate-epistolary]

May 12th, 624

(Transcript under the cut) (Read on Ao3 HERE)

[Delivered to Corgate May 14th, 624 – Received by Elowen Vance on May 14th, 624)

[Front of Envelope: Letter was mailed in a brown craft paper envelope tied with natural twine, addressed to:

Elowen Vance Corgate Post Office May 12th, 624

With the return address of:

Eris Mirrows 87 Lancedragon Strt. Avalon

In the top right, there is a sticker depicting a black engraving-style steaming cup on a white background, below which is the word “BONJOUR”.

Back of Envelope: The letter was sealed in mottled grey-pink & green sealing wax, with a wax seal depicting a crescent moon surrounded by orbital shapes & stars.  Letter was tied with craft twine, with a small treble clef & key tied to the cord.

Interior pages: Written on light brown paper.  It is lightly, almost invisibly, lined with slightly darker brown lines.  The writing is tidy, slightly rounded print in black ink.]

May 12th

Dear Miss Vance,

I trust this letter finds you in good health and spirits.  Once again, I find myself most agreeably surprised to receive your correspondence so promptly.  I assume your next letters will be farther apart but know that I am delighted that you are enjoying the countryside and the ruins.  Your descriptions render it all rather enchanting.

I have no doubt Khali would have loved to accompany you and run around the forest and shores.  It seems he is missing you dearly, as he stares and whines at the door everyday around the hour you would come get me for lunch.  I cannot help but wonder if it truly is you he longs for more, or the delightful bits of your meals you so discreetly offered him from the table.  It may delight you to know that I finally had him groomed and he now cuts a most dashing figure - all gleaming with a newfound elegance.

The groomer’s attendant, a rather chatty individual, took [scratch out - him] it upon himself to analyze my character based on my familiar, going on and on about supposed traits I must share with his idea of a scary canine. Do I strike you as fierce 

[end of page 1]

May 12th

and protective, dear Elowen? Because certainly I must be, according to him. To a rational mind, these words are no more than quaint superstitions akin to the tales of women branded as witches for keeping a crow as their familiar; or the ill fortune said to befall those bonded to a black cat. How do you think he would’ve read me if I had presented him with Astrea, or better yet with Malice?

Though I would not want to bore you with the tales of my many companions, know that they most dearly miss your presence in their lives. I can feel their discontent at your displacement quite vividly. I have brought Astrea to your apartment in my assiduity to take care of your home garden and she even spared your lowest-hanging plants. That is to say how tragically sad this whole ordeal makes her. She and Cephei do share a penchant for dramatics.

As per your express request, I ventured to the university library to delve deeper into the lore of the region you are assigned to and to uncover what is currently known about long-lasting magic. For the latter, I had to enlist the assistance of Mg. Equlee, as most of these documents are beyond my clearance as an agent. 

[end of page 2]

It seems you are venturing into rather perilous waters if the necessary documents require such attunement to the Weave. Fortunately, Mg. Equlee, always eager to assist, drafted a summary of the knowledge contained within those parchments for me to peruse safely. He also expressed, at length, his displeasure at how such works remain inaccessible to those outside the field of magical studies. I fear he may one day wage war against the Council in pursuit of a more egalitarian field… Luckily, I managed to divert his attention with your tales and by reading your letter, prompting him to return to his own projects.

I hope this has not raised your hopes too high, but alas, Mg. Equlee’s extensive summaries have not revealed anything that would be of use to you. Numerous experiments have been conducted in recent decades to create a type of magic that would outlast its caster; however, none have succeeded, no matter how gruesome the process. The most that has ever been achieved was to channel a spell through the caster’s own blood, with the effects lasting mere minutes beyond the caster’s death—until their blood had dried. You would be

[end of page 3]

May 12th

correct in assuming this experiment was conducted well before the establishment of the Ethics Committee. Since then, no further breakthroughs have been made.

Regarding the folklore of Corgate village and its surroundings, I have come across a few tales that seem pertinent to your case study. I will draft a summary of my findings and have it sent to you at the earliest opportunity. With any luck, it will reach the post office before your return to Corgate, and you will have the pleasure of discovering everything simultaneously.

Before I leave you to immerse myself in these documents, I would like to inquire about your thoughts on training Valberry to make the journey to the ruins. The postal system, while convenient, often results in delays between our letters, and I fear that an urgent matter might go unaddressed for too long. I would feel much more at ease if one of my own were by your side, ready to fly to Avalon should you find yourself in need. It would take a few weeks to train him properly, and I would require your assistance—mostly in providing him with treats when he arrives—but it could prove invaluable in the future.

Let me know your thoughts.

Awaiting your reply,

Eris Mirrows

[cutiecorner]

A Gift

Fanfic • agere • Caregiver! Alfred Pennyworth, Regressor! Bruce Wayne • AO3

Babybat fic I did real quick last night!! Big fan of incorporating Bruce's autism into his regression, so there's a lot of that here. He's just a lil guy!! He loves trains!!

“Would you like to go in there?”

Bruce was snapped out of his trance by a gentle call. Bruce had been looking through a store window, completely entranced by the display inside. The cold wind biting at his ears, the snow falling on his cheeks, it all melted away as soon as he saw it. It was, in a word, magnificent.

“What? I - No, we should get going,” When Bruce turned back to Alfred, Alfred wasn’t there. He looked back in the window - the butler was already in the store chatting up the clerk. A look wouldn’t hurt, he supposed.

Bruce, against his own will, instantly got butterflies when he went to the store. He felt like a kid in a candy shop, but the goods were much better than sweets. He was surrounded by shelves and shelves of brand new, beautiful, trains.

Model trains lined every wall, many making loops around the perimeter that he craned his neck up to see. He couldn’t help the gleeful smile that spread across his face. Bruce loved trains. Ever since he was a boy and he helped his father set up their decorative train set for the holiday party, he was in love. They were so beautiful to him, he loved knowing every moving mechanism that made such a powerful machine go so far - and the models were no different. Even better, by a certain measure. They were lovingly crafted at a teeny tiny size, perfect to pick up and inspect all the little details.

“Are you going to look around, then?” Alfred made him realize he hadn’t left the doorway. He immediately shuffled in, paying no mind to his dripping wet coat while marveling at the whole store. He walked in excited strides, shoving his hands in his pockets to keep himself from handling all of the merchandise. The temptation was great though, as they all stood in neat rows to be marveled at. Bruce bounced up and down on his toes. He gasped,

“Hey Alfred, come over here!” Alfred came over with a smile, making work of Bruce’s wet coat while his ward rambled about one of the models in front of him.”

“This is the Bachmann HO 50556 USRA Switcher - isn’t it beautiful? It was made in this bright green and red because it was the ‘north pole’ line for christmas. We used to have one remember? In the office?”

“Yes, dear boy, I do remember that one,” There was a fond lilt in Alfred’s voice, considering how often he’d heard about that particular train in Bruce’s youth.

“Oh and this one here is an Athearn Genesis, and this one is a … a…”

Bruce trailed off, looking wide eyed at the display he just spotted in the back. No thought toward the end of his sentence, he gravitated to it, mouth practically agape.

It was a beautiful winter wonderland, with a little town and a ski slope and a water tower. There were children sledding, post workers delivering letters to santa, and best of all-

“A Raton Train locomotive…”

Bruce’s eyes twinkled as he lowered down to the level of the train. He rested his arms on the stand, watching wistfully as the train made its rounds through the elegant little town.

“What have you found there, Master Bruce?” the fondness had doubled in Alfred’s voice, as Bruce sat on the floor and stared like he was a little boy again.

“It’s a Raton Alfred! They’re so wonderfully made, look at that gold finish! I always loved the old locomotives, and this one is just gorgeous. Oh my goodness,” Bruce got even closer to the little train, “The details in these cars! There’s a dining car and a luggage car and… wow. Wow!”

“That sounds lovely, sir. How you could see into those little cars while they’re moving I’ll never know,” Alfred chuckled.

Bruce sprung up and looked around for the clerk. He walked up to the counter, suddenly feeling a little shy. He tried his best to look at the clerk’s face and not where he fidgeted with his sweater.

“Um, excuse me… could I, um, could I please stop that train over there? It’s um, to show my dad.”

“Of course,” The clerk smiled, “little switch on the underside of the table.”

“Thank you!” Bruce practically ran back to the table, ducking under to find the switch.

Alfred’s attention hit a wall at “to show my dad”. To show my dad. To show my dad. He repeated the phrase in his head, looking back down at his giddy son.

"See Alfred, look!" Bruce carefully picked up one of the cars and showed it to Alfred.

"Oh, that's just lovely, darling." Bruce flushed under the praise.

"Would you like one?"

Bruce looked back to the set with wide eyes, then back at Alfred.

"Like - Like the whole thing? The whole set?"

"Yes, dear boy. One of the many perks of being a millionaire," Alfred joked. Bruce couldn't contain his joy, his muscles tightening as he curled inward and flapped his hands with a huge smile.

"Oh really Alfie, really? I can keep it?" Alfred's heart squeezed. "Yes of course - If it's available?" Alfred asked toward the clerk, who nodded in agreement.

Once all the parts were packed and loaded into the car, Bruce couldn't keep but hold the locomotive box in the front with special care. He curled his arms around it, holding it tight to himself like a teddy bear. Bruce happily rocked back and forth, reading every bit of text on the box as they drove off.

"Well, that was lots of fun wasn't it, dear?" Bruce nodded and hummed in response.

"Um Alfred can, um can we put it up when we get home? In the living room where we used to?"

"Of course," fond warmth overtook the both of them as they remembered the holidays with Martha and Thomas. Alfred was on the lookout for signs of Bruce's mood turning, it often did when reminded of his parents. But the turn never came, Bruce continuing to rock and rattle off facts about his new toy all the way home. A wonderful gift, indeed.

[interiorergonomics]

Choosing the Right Reception Desk Designer and Manufacturer in Dubai

When choosing the right designer or manufacturer for your custom-made reception desk always strive to achieve a functional and aesthetically pleasing piece that meets your unique needs.

How? By thoroughly researching, reviewing portfolios, considering experience, and prioritizing effective communication, For sure, you'll get the best among the available craftsmen. Combining this will result in a reception desk that enhances your front office elegance and reinforces your brand identity.

[immobiliter]

@apocryphis sent: "thank you for dropping by, furina. i was keen on finding a moment today in what i suspect will be a packed schedule for you..." the iudex has heard of clorinde's and navia's plans for their former archon - and far from him the thought of taking any time out of this very special programme indeed, but, he dares hope they will all forgive him a brief moment of selfishness. after all, all he wants is a moment of privacy to deliver his own gift for her in person. "i have something i wished to give you in person. just a moment..."

the iudex rises from the sofa and steps towards his office, upon which a small, square package carefully wrapped in blue and white rests. with a gentle (perhaps even pleased) smile, he returns to his guest, takes seat at her side once more, and hands her her gift - one of a somewhat special nature. "when thinking about what to gift you for your birthday, i remembered your many lessons about the meaning of fashion, clothing, and jewelry over the years - here is to hoping i applied them correctly, after all this time."

upon opening her gift, furina will find a brooch, in the shape of a lumitoile, just a little bigger than a coin of mora; its heart carved out of the pristine nacre of beryl conch, and adorned with intricate patterns made out of small, polished and glimmering transoceanic pearls, all held together by an elegant silver frame. "i must give credit where credit is due - while i may be the hand behind this brooch, the melusines insisted on helping me gather the finest materials to craft it." he dutifully reports. "and there is something else... please, go ahead and instill a fraction of hydro power in it."

and as furina does, the heart of the brooch glimmers; and a soft, delicate music begins to play gently at their ear. neuvillette's smile grows softer. "and this would be a gift from scylla... a fragment of a memory from ancient remurian times and their famous symphonies. it can only be played by fueling this brooch with hydro elemental energy of vishap or dragon origin... such as your vision." a gift from dragonkin, for fighting for five hundred years for them without even knowing it. a gift of gratitude, and of friendship, and acceptance. "happy birthday, furina."

        “ Of course. ” Furina smiled warmly at him as he rose from the sofa, casting her gaze idly around his office as she waited for him to retrieve her gift — unchanged, as always, but no longer a place that evoked in her such a debilitating sense of panic that she couldn't so much as walk through the door. No longer was the Palais Mermonia her gilded cage, a place she could only associate with the painful memories of centuries past. Now, it was a place she could come and go from as she pleased, a place where she could still find her Iudex hard at work — and while she no longer barged in uninvited these days, he was still always pleased to see her. “ You've been at my side for nearly every single birthday of mine — all the ones I can remember, at least. I couldn't possibly break that tradition. ” Though this year there were no speeches, or parades, or eleventh hour tempers on display because arrangements hadn't matched her exacting standards. “ I'm still trying to decide if I should call this my five hundred and... twelfth, I think? — uh, five hundred and something birthday, or my... first birthday. You know, seeing as I'm actually a year older this year. ”

       It was perhaps a strange thing to be happy about to those who did not know what the true significance of this day was, but she knew Neuvillette understood.

       As he returned to sit beside her, handing over his gift, Furina smiled fondly to herself. An initially challenging, though always extremely attentive, student, she had no reason to doubt the contents of the small, square box in front of her — thoughtfulness had always been something that Neuvillette had excelled at, in her opinion. Still, nothing could have quite prepared her for the intricate, detailed nature of the brooch that she unwrapped her package to reveal. She recognised the shape at once: a lumitoile, one of her favourite creatures populating Fontaine's beaches. Slowly, she ran her thumb over the shape, quietly marvelling at it for a moment. “ You made this, Neuvillette? ”

       His next instruction, surprising as it was, gave her his answer. Cautiously, Furina held the brooch in her open hand and closed her eyes, willing a small, controlled amount of hydro power to the surface of her gloved fingertips ( as she herself had been taught in return for her own efforts all those years ago ). She was rewarded by the start of a gentle melody, emanating from the small object in her hand. Furina turned to Neuvillette. Scylla. Remuria. She recalled Neuvillette telling her about Petrichor and the secrets contained in the seas beneath it not so long ago. Hydro elemental energy of vishap or dragon origin... such as your vision. Her eyes widened, realising just how deeply personal a gift this was. Not just from Neuvillette, but from one of his kin that she'd yet to even meet. A gift unique to her, the first to have been granted a hydro vision not from Celestia or via their edict to the Seven, but from a dragon sovereign.

       What had been done here in Fontaine for all of the dragons in Teyvat, the shattering of the order wrought down by her divine half, was purely accidental on her part... but had not gone unappreciated, it seemed.

       Words surely could not do such a gift justice, not with the rush of emotions that had currently rendered Furina a little speechless. She carefully placed the brooch and its box down on the empty sofa space beside her, before reaching up and wrapping her arms around Neuvillette's shoulders, pulling him into a hug. She expected him to tense a little in her embrace — after all, affection like this had never been their way, not in five whole centuries. But that did not mean that it couldn't be their way forward now, human as she was, finally unburdened by her last devastating secret as the two of them were. Either way, she needed him to know. “ Thank you. ”

[catt-nuevenor]

Story Setting - Anadora & Abelyn

Extrovert

The ferring draws to a stop outside the grand edifice, the drive hops down from their seat, and the butterflies in my chest begin to flutter once more. Aldmirham feels so very far away.

Their hand finds mine in the dark, and gently threads our finders together.

"Remember to breathe, Darling," Ana/Abe murmurs.

The smile is there in their voice, the shadows of the ferring hide it, but I can still feel its warmth.

"Is it too late to back out?"

They stroke their thumb over my knuckle. "No, not yet. We can go back to my Fæder's if you wish."

Harrold's quiet disappointment presents itself to my mind, the doubt his eyes would hold if I wasted this opportunity after coming so far. That and having to explain to my little one why Ana/Abe and I are back so early.

"No," I sigh, my shoulder's sagging. "Just... help me not make a fool of myself?"

Ana/Abe's gloved hand cups my cheek, turning my head till I can just about find their eyes in the gloom. "You're my guest, it's a part of my duty to see you have a wonderful night. I won't leave your side, I promise."

On our first meeting, in the front room of Erda's shop, fleeting yet fond, I would have never imagined I'd be sat here with them. Not before the grand entrance of Eadoccaburh's Guild Hall, not dressed so finely, the skill and craft of the Weaver's Guild, and what's more, Ana/Abe's father in every stitch.

How the Tíd has turned.

A light tap sounds upon the ferring's roof. Our driver wants our decision. Ana/Abe lifts our joined hands and asks, "Together?"

"Together."

The Guild Hall is neutral ground, a meeting place where all the guild's and traders in the city can meet and discuss business without showing favour to another establishment. It's grand, bold, and hopelessly elaborate, a web of meeting chambers, offices, and archives, wound around a central hall with a single bell tower rising from its heart.

The early Blostma breeze nips at our heels as we descend from the ferring, hurrying us up to the lantern-lit doors, into the waiting gaze of a young man and his list.

He politely asks for our names and the names of the Guilds we represent. I let Ana/Abe do the talking.

"Your Guild Bebeódend is speaking with Freá Dægfinn, at present," the young man explains, giving us each a respectful bow. "They should be towards the southern portion of the hall."

Halfway down the polished corridor beyond, as soon as we are out of earshot, Ana/Abe whispers, "Don't worry, we don't have to attend to any of that. The lad was likely just trying to be helpful."

I let out a heavy sigh. "Good, I don't think I could stomach Guild negotiations right now."

They squeeze my hand. "Nor I, but we're not here on behalf of the Guild, we're here to enjoy our evening."

The corridor ends in a wide stone archway, intricately carved and painted with murals of golden fields and swaying reeds. Our coats and gloves are handed to three arnlings in the liveries of the city, and they scamper into a side-room to be neatly stowed away.

We pass beneath the arch and the gentle swell of music greets us as the narrow corridor gives way to the hall, its expanse and grandeur breathtaking.

There is clearly a division between those doing business and those seeking pleasure, and the split is distinctly uneven. Along the southern edge of the hall, in intimate clusters of pointed shoulders and hunched necks, stand those on task from the guilds. No doubt many a contract and alliance are being forged in their midst, sweetened with the mead and cider of the city.

Along the north, east, and western side of the hall the groupings are freer, the expressions cheerful and bright, the echoes of laughter and chatter a constant bubbling beneath the surface of sweet music coming from the small staging at the centre. Around the stage there is dancing.

Elegant couples sweep and pivot in time to the strings, their feet tapping the shining floor in time to the patter of the drums. It's quite sedate compared to the dances in Aldmirham, but there is far more co-ordination here, everyone is working towards the display entire, the eddy and flow of bodies in sweeping motion.

"Peyton/Peidyn would hate this," I chuckle, half entranced by the twirl of the dancers, guided only by the light tug of Ana/Abe's hand.

"Most likely. As would Louis/Leila. I think Lars would enjoy it, though."

"Perhaps. It is far more his rhythm."

"What of you?" Ana/Abe asks, coming to a stop beside three narrow windows that look over the Guild Hall's gardens.

"Me?"

They bow/curtsy, their beautiful clothes a sweep of midnight blue, flowing about them. "Would you care to dance, my darling?"

I glance over to those already in motion, and the dreary creep of inadequacy taints the sweetness of Ana/Abe's gesture. "I don't think I can dance like that."

"Would you like to?"

I nod, my mind conjuring Ana/Abe and I in place of a particularly dashing couple as they sweep past where we stand.

"Then, if I may?"

Ana/Abe's voice guides me back, and directly into the loving embrace of their arms.

"Everything can be taught, my darling, if a willing teacher can be found."

My throat is dry, my hands damp, and my face burns as my oh so willing teacher begins to mould my posture to the first position with naught but gentle caress.

"Are you sure?" I ask softly, beginning to see the attentions of those around us catch and come to rest upon us.

Ana/Abe hums, lifting my chin with their fingertips until our eyes meet. "Together, remember?"

"I remember."

"Then let us dance together, my darling. I'd wish it no other way."

---

Introvert

I didn't expect Ana/Abe's father to have a garden. The narrow court and close-knit web of workers always conjured up cobbles and bricks when they've talked about it in the past. It's smaller than Peyton/Peidyn's, narrow, the rear cut across by access to the garden of the neighbours.

Ana/Abe's hand is everywhere, in the twist of every vine, the placement of every herb and flower. They haven't been back here in many months, but it's clear their father strictly adheres to their original design for the space. The affection between the pair can only be understood in little pieces like this. It isn't loud and boisterous like that between the Starlings, or snarky and sweet light Lars and Louis/Leila's is. Ana/Abe and their father find their affections in the quiet of the workshop, and the peace of their little garden. It's come to be enough for them.

Harrold treats me kindly, but he's wary, watching my words and actions closely lest I show sign of planning to hurt his daughter/son. I wouldn't, I couldn't, and I hope he's coming to see that. Time and Tíd will tell, I suppose.

"Here," Ana/Abe says, placing a cup into my hands before they take the place on the bench beside me.

"Thank you."

I sip the sweet tisane within, though the detail of it slips away as Ana/Abe leans in close to my side, into an easy intimacy that makes me both sleepy and wonderfully content.

We sip and sit, letting the distant bustle of Eadoccaburh's streets rumble on in the distance, folding ourselves away in the pocket of green behind the house Ana/Abe grew up in.

"I think he likes you," they say after a time, a distant bell chiming over the rooftops to bring in the last hour before sunset.

"Your Fæder?"

Ana/Abe nods.

"How can you tell?"

"He wants to see some of your work. That's an old Guild tradition. If someone isn't worth your time, you don't bother, but if you think they have potential, the first thing you look at is their craft."

"Potential..." I echo, glum. "That's better than nothing, I suppose."

Ana/Abe kisses my cheek. "Even if Fæder never gets beyond that, he'll accept you."

"You sound awfully certain about that."

"I am. He knows how much you matter to me."

Can they feel the heat in my cheeks, I wonder? Their smile does seem awfully knowing...

"I'm glad we came," Ana/Abe says, taking my empty cup and placing it beside theirs on the smooth flagstone beneath the bench. "But I'm looking forward to going back."

My little one misses the cat, I know that much, but I think they've enjoyed seeing a bit more of the city, and they also seem to have utterly charmed Ana/Abe's father. Yet another parental figure to utterly spoil them, as if there weren't enough of those already.

Ana/Abe laughs softly when I share my thoughts, adding their own observations to mine.

"He'll miss us all when we leave," they say, plucking a stray leaf from my shoulder as it settles there from the tree above. "But can always come back here to visit. There's a home here, but it isn't really mine any more."

"Then, do you know where yours is?"

"With you," they say, kissing the corner of my lips fleetingly. "Tíd changes and perhaps that will too, but right now, my darling? I'm happiest when I'm with you."

---

Quick little dictionary for folks on a few of the terms here, since I got a bit more into the stories terminology and lore than I'd planned.

Tíd - Tide Think of it as synonymous with time, but also associated with the sea. Where we might say Time and Tide wait for no one, folks in the Four Shores would say simply Tíd waits for no one. The reasons are a little complicated to go into here, but thems the basics.

Fæder - Father Just reviving some basic Old English here, nothing fancy.

Ferring - Carriage Fully enclosed like you would see in a Jane Austen adaptation but simpler. They're used as a form of road transport within and between the main cities, slower than a horse, but more comfortable.

Blostma - Spring Again no frills to this one.

Bebeódend - ... The simplest explanation I can give for this is that they're the Guild managers. It's their job to keep the members fed, watered, housed, and stop them from coming a foul of any other Guild in the city. Leaders, but with restricted powers.

Freá - Sir/Mr/etc In Eard (the realm in which Myrk Mire takes place) an individual is first introduced with their preferred gender of address. Freá Dægfin is Mr Dægfin, just as Lars would first be introduced to a stranger as Freá Lars, while Vyla would be Freó Vyla, and Pin, a non-binary character from the TBT project, would be introduced as Léof Pin.

I think that's everything, comment if I've missed something, or if you'd like further discussion.

---

Image courtesy of Alessia Cocconi on Unsplash

[kse22chili]

Eldritch being.

As Jim Morrison says "Nobody remembers your name, when you're strange." it reminds me of the times I felt strange.

Now, let me explain; it wasn't because I was alone or felt lonely, I was gorwing up. I was a rider on a storm; specifically experiencing "youth". But, why did I feel strange? And, was I the only one who felt strange?

No, there was a plethora of children playing, feeling strange and fighting for freedom not knowing what was waiting for them at the end of the day.

Why we felt that way, I'm not certain, but I will clarify. Investigating this case is quite arduous. There's a storm following my every single step. I move to the right, it is there, behind my head, staring into my soul and haunting my mind. I go to the left, it is there, beside my ear, making me deaf to every other noise in the background and my thoughts are silenced.

And, I feel strange. Because, we all are strange. Men are wicked; they abandon you at the weirdest situations of your life, stabbing you in the heart and leaving a dirty smell to the point of your nose, significantly abusing your sensitive parts.

Now, was I really strange? Certainly, yes. Because, like I mentioned before, we are all strange. Rain falls on top of our heads, water engulfs our very being, flooding into our eyes and hardening our eyelashes. But, we still embrace it. We claim that we love it. Aren't we strange?

Bizarre, abnormal. People, in fact never wanted to talk to me; I apparently seemed "unfamiliar" (an elegant way to say to a person who is strange). Even my name comes from a word in Greek "xeno" = strange.

It's interesting how these people who dared to think of me as someone abnormal, were all some ignorant things, useless and with no talents. They were all jealous little worms, that liked to act dominant in front of a person who knew how to value time.

Matter of fact, I valued time. I still do. But, I had a façade; I was an innocent, docile and quite girl who always nodded and never raised her voice. I was hiding the real me. The strange version of me.

I embrace fear. I'm attached to danger; the one that makes you feel light and free. The adrenaline that you feel when you trespass the limits. What limits you might say? Every single thing that even comes to your mind.

I feel it in my bones; the rage and the fear combined together crafting chaos around me. And it all grasps. It all stongly tightens around my neck, making me gasp for air. I prefer being strange. I want to value time to pass my entire life into oblivion. I don't really have to worry about having a boring, office life; I'm addicted to thrill.

So, am I a stranger?

Well, if I were with a gorup of "normal" people then yes I would be a stranger; they are all the smame: dark and lizards. They crave for a bit of dominance and money. Time for them doesn't exist, instead they embrace impulsiveness. Aren't they monsters?

I'm alluding to a realm full of masks that hide in their inside an excess of hate and evil personalities, and try guessing what surrounds these outrageous beings? Other masks, but strange ones.

Voilà! WE ARE ALL STRANGE!

[just-a-silly-little-whumper]

(Mal)Adaptive

Masterpost | Read on Ao3

The pressure Matthias exerts on his children causes them to react in different ways. Or, sometimes, in exactly the same way.

For @whumpril Day 28: Fight/Flight/Freeze

Contains: Vampires, religious whump, minor character death, exhaustion, unhealthy eating habits, dissociation, parental whumper, mind/emotion control

~~~

The cathedral in the city held a sermon about the scourge of undeath on a cool, misty morning.

It shouldn’t have bothered Renata as much as it did. The words were familiar; though the preacher was different from the one she was used to back home, the cadence and tone and message was one she had heard many, many times. In another world, it might have been comforting, a reminder of a home a quiet part of her still yearned for. But now, with everything Renata had become, there was no solace to be found in the Church of the Radiant Dawn’s exhortations on purity and light and repentance. All she could feel was the shame that sat in her stomach and the hunger that prowled under her skin and the anger that clenched at her unbeating heart.

She should have just left. Her mission was complete, the relic she had taken from one of the praying nobility tucked away safely in her bag. She had no reason to linger. It would only jeopardize everything she had come here to do. And when success was so valuable, so crucial, she couldn’t afford to take pointless risks.

And yet. She stared up at the preacher, so sure of his righteousness as he spoke of cleansing light and terrible darkness as though he knew what either of those things meant. As though the condemnation he so readily touted would actually help anyone, rather than helping tie the knot of a snare that was impossible to escape. As though one of the monsters he so hated weren’t sitting in his very cathedral, reflecting back the judgment he cast.

The city wasn’t that far from Matthias’s manor. If she made haste on her return, no one had to know if she stayed in the city a bit longer than she should have. And she was never one to leave well enough alone.

The priest didn’t even notice her as he returned to his office, so preoccupied was he by whatever mundane and sanctimonious thoughts filled his head. But even the blinding, searing light of the Radiant Dawn couldn’t eliminate all of the shadows that she had learned to expertly shroud herself in. By the time he realized he wasn’t alone, it was already too late. He couldn’t scream out for help with her hand around his throat and her knife sliding between his ribs.

If he wanted a monster, an undead menace, a scourge upon the world, then Renata would gladly give him that. And maybe in return his blood would, if not quell the maelstrom of emotions that had spurred her forth, at least quiet the hunger that sang so insistently within her.

---

For all the many hours he could gain by working through the night, there still never seemed to be enough. Magic was a delicate art, and mastering it took time. Time to read, time to practice, time to make the craft one’s own. For most, it took years. Nathan was trying to distill that mastery into a matter of weeks.

In the dark of the basement, the passage of time was marked only by the ever-diminishing candlewax. Even still, Nathan didn’t even notice how many hours had passed, how the candles were nearing the point of going out entirely. He was too focused on the tomes in front of him, trying to understand the sigils and systems for spells of obscurement and invisibility. Such magic, with all its flexibility, would be a great boon to him. It was sure to make his Father proud. He just had to get it to work first.

The pages of arcane writing all made sense. His own notes, written in his deliberately precise and elegant hand, distilled the theory even more. It should work. And yet the best Nathan could do was shroud one of the tomes in shadow, rather than rendering his entire form unseen.

And the work was taking its toll. He was starving. After using so much magic, trying to make his magic yield to his will, he was achingly drained, and the hunger was howling in the back of his mind.But he wouldn’t go seek out one of the thralls that roamed the manor like ghosts. Especially not when Matthias would inevitably find out. That would be admitting weakness.

He could never be weak. He had to be perfect. He would never survive otherwise.

The candles flickered, burning low but not extinguishing yet. Nathan blinked the exhaustion back from his eyes and stood to find another tome. Maybe there was something he was missing. He would find it before morning came. He would not end the night without results.

---

There was blood on her hands.

Priya couldn’t look away from it. It was so striking, so bright, so red. It almost didn’t seem real. Distantly, she could feel the warmth of it on her palms, could smell the scintillating aroma on the air, could taste it on her tongue. But it was like all of those sensations were coming to her through panes of glass. Like she was only dreaming them.

There was blood on her hands.

There was blood on her rapier, too, and scattered on the ground where she had dropped her blade. There was blood leaking from the body of the noblewoman she had killed. There was blood dripping from her teeth where she had sunk her fangs into the woman’s neck, sealing her death just in case the blade between her ribs wasn’t enough. Blood, blood, everywhere, and she could never escape it.

Her Father had asked her to kill this woman. He had given a reason, too; she was too dangerous, too powerful, and for that she had to die. Priya had to kill her. Had to sneak into her manor in the middle of the night and slay her in bed as she slept.

There was blood on her hands.

She should leave. She had been here for— she wasn’t sure how long. Too long. Someone would find her soon. One of the guards, perhaps, or the noble’s lover. She couldn’t let herself get caught. Getting caught would mean more death, either hers or the ones who found her. And Father would be extremely disappointed if she stumbled in her mission now. She couldn’t let that happen. The consequences of failure were too dire.

But there was blood on her hands, and Priya couldn’t bring herself to look away.

---

They always took all of their dinners together. Matthias insisted; he knew how important time together was to building familial bonds. The only exception he allowed was if someone was gone on a mission; otherwise, they had to sit, even if they weren’t eating.

He had the finest prepared for them, Thralled a mortal chef who could design meals that would upkeep their strength and accustom them to excellence. It was just another means of establishing the standards he had for his children; only the best for them and from them. He wouldn’t eat himself— mortal food tasted of ash on his tongue, sat like stones in his stomach— but he drew a goblet of blood to drink as his children had their own sustenance. Even after all the many long years he had spent as an immortal, he hadn’t forgotten the value of sharing a meal with those one wanted to be close to.

There was often a tension in the air as his children ate. Matthias wasn’t ignorant to that. They still had much adjusting to do, after all. And part of that adjustment was sitting for meals, as Matthias carried a calm conversation, asking them about their days and their progress and their mindsets. Usually, their responses were short and perfunctory, and Matthias was left to fill the silence with his own thoughts and observations. He had no problem with that; the time spent with his children was more than enough, especially at such a crucial time in their development.

Sometimes, however, he thought best to draw a little more out of them. There was no growth to be had in sticking to what was typical, after all. They needed to internalize the importance of these moments, of their growing familial bond, of the love they harbored for their Sire regardless of whether they were ready to acknowledge it yet. And he was more than willing to provide that help.

There were nights when he only focused on one of his children, both in the interest of providing them his full attention and so that they could serve as an example to their Blood-Siblings. Those nights were always interesting, a mix of emotions on display and conversations taking unexpected turns. But when he was feeling particularly indulgent, or when he thought the time was particularly ripe, he let his influence tug at the hearts of all of his children. Watched the way the tension eased out of them and their expressions became so much more unguarded and devoted. It filled him with pride and joy unlike anything else, those glimpses of what eternity could look like with the family he was making. A reminder of why he was doing all that he was doing.

In time, that effort wouldn’t be necessary. His children would show him the love and respect and veneration he was due all on their own. It had already begun, in the subtle ways they conducted themselves around him, in the ways they sought to please him at all cost. Even if they didn’t see it, Matthias did. And he knew exactly how to reinforce those tendencies, whether by subtle influence or through more overt methods.

No matter what they might have thought, whatever delusions of freedom or defiance or subterfuge they might have had, Matthias had bound them to him, and they were his. There was no escaping his hold on them; it was written into their very souls.They feared him and they loved him and they could not exist without him, and Matthias would not have it any other way.

[fandom-collective-writers]

Fandom: Ikemen Revolution Pairing: Jonah Clemence x female!Reader/MC Rating/Warnings: SFW; Jonah-centric POV; fluff with some angst (resolved) Word Count: 2400-ish Written by: @yanjam Prompt: A and B argue over the appropriate times to put up and take down holiday decorations

Jonah’s carriage came to a creaking stop in front of the Black Army headquarters. He saw his brother’s familiar figure waiting for him just beyond the main gates. After murmuring some instructions for the driver to wait for his return, he stepped down and huddled deeper into the plush lining of his coat. The biting cold wind felt like needles scratching at his skin.

Luka fell into step beside him as they both walked in silence towards the main building. Jonah noticed the spruce trees that lined the snowy pathway were decorated with silver bows. There were tasteful holiday tapestries hanging from balconies and windows on the higher floors. Twinkling fairy lights wrapped around vibrant green garlands that hung above the door and window frames. 

“I’m surprised the Black Army is capable of such niceties,” he said half-heartedly, a weak attempt at an insult. Luka ignored him and led him up the front steps and they paused in front of the door, stomping the snow off their boots. Jonah glanced at the elaborate wreath hanging in front of him. The giant black bow tied at the bottom of the wreath looked like it was made from real silk. The embroidery was made of glittery silver thread. Luka pushed the door open and moved aside to let Jonah enter first.

It took a surprising amount of willpower to stop the audible gasp that caught at the back of Jonah’s throat. He stared wide-eyed at the entrance hall that was brilliantly lit with candles. Garlands of holly and pine wrapped around the staircase banister leading to the second floor. Similar to the exterior, black and silver bows and twinkling fairy lights decorated the doorways. An enormous Christmas tree stood in the large sitting room nearby. Large glass and ceramic ornaments hung off the branches while strings of colourful lights wrapped around the tree. The only thing missing was a tree topper.

Jonah pulled his scarf loose as he walked around slowly, scrutinizing every detail of the transformation that had taken place here. He wouldn’t call the Black Army headquarters decrepit, but from his few visits in the past he remembered it was normally utilitarian and bland. The Red Army headquarters, although regal and elegant in its own right, had yet to be decorated for the holiday season and was clearly outdone.

Luka must have read his thoughts in the expression on his face because he offered his brother a mysteriously smug smile. “I think we have the Red Army beat this year,” he said. He motioned for Jonah to follow him and they slowly circled the tree. Up close, Jonah could see that the Black Army officers had their own custom-made ornaments hanging proudly from the branches. The officers had hand-sewn snowmen crafted in their likeness. One wore the same hat and cloak as Ray, another had a belt with pistol holders similar to Fenrir. There were several personalized ornaments with the names of other prominent Black Army soldiers too. The elaborate writing on the ornaments was familiar to him.

Jonah felt something sink in the pit of his stomach as realization washed over him. “I suppose you had help planning all this since I doubt your uncouth lot could come up with half these ideas on your own,” he said bitterly, the awe he felt only moments ago turning sour in his mouth.

“Of course we did. Alice has so many wonderful talents, wouldn’t you agree?” Fenrir’s voice echoed cheerily from somewhere above him. Jonah heard several pairs of footsteps descend the stairs nearby and he turned to face them, hackles rising. The unexpected invitation from his brother was beginning to feel like a trap.

“Perhaps she could help liven up the Red Army headquarters as well?” Seth suggested with an innocent tone that fooled no one.

“Oh, wait,” Fenrir said with a drawl, “she already tried that, didn’t she?”

Jonah glared at the Ace of Spades who stood at the bottom of the staircase with his hands on his hips and a triumphant smile on his face. The smile didn’t reach his eyes, however - they glinted with something menacing.

Sirius put his hand on Fenrir’s shoulder and squeezed. It would’ve looked friendly if Fenrir didn’t wince in pain. “Despite how clearly he doesn’t deserve her, we know that Jonah would never hurt Alice knowingly. Isn’t that right?” The older man’s question was laced with an unspoken threat. Jonah bristled with indignation at the accusation.

“If you’re all done posturing, I’ve finished the ornament for the top of the tree if you’d like to see it,” a child’s voice said nearby. Jonah glanced wearily at Oliver who was wiping his hands on a handkerchief. He looked almost comical with his sleeves rolled up and a startling amount of glitter and pine needles stuck in his hair. The Black Army officers hurried past him, their excited voices fading away down the hall. “And then we can help you figure out how to fix this little misunderstanding with Alice,” he said, giving Jonah a pointed look before leaving the room expectantly. 

“Isn’t it a bit early to be decorating for Christmas?” he had asked Alice one morning when he saw she had hung a wreath on their bedroom door. The fall harvest celebrations had just ended, and the weather was still mild. Her face fell for a brief moment before she smiled at him, nodding her apparent agreement. By the end of the day, the subject was long forgotten from Jonah’s mind. She never brought it up again.

If someone told Jonah his thoughtless question would provoke his darling Alice enough to turn the Black Army headquarters into a winter wonderland, he wouldn't have believed it. Caught up in the frenzied schedule of the holiday season, he failed to realize how much time she had spent here rather than at the Red Army headquarters. He despised the idea that his brother and the Black Army fools were able to soothe her disappointment in him by giving her a place to nurture her excitement for the holidays. Surrounded by the evidence of his failure, he realized that the wreath on their bedroom door had quietly disappeared without him even noticing.

In the large workshop Oliver had commandeered for himself, the Black Army officers were huddled around a table, watching the tree topper he’d made slowly rotate on a mechanical base. On the outside, it looked like an ordinary star shape made of stained glass. Somehow, Oliver’s invention shot out little puffs of real snow accompanied by bells that chimed a loop of different Christmas melodies. Oliver said something about the not-so-legal use of magic crystals to keep the mechanical device inside the ornament filled with water and able to conjure snow at specific timed intervals.

Jonah felt like an intruder as he watched the officers nearby collect the ornament and run off, eager to add the finishing touch to their tree. He slumped over at a nearby workbench, elbows on the table, head in his hands. He’s not sure how much time had passed, but he felt a small poke in his side. He glanced at the child who sat beside him.

“I knew Christmas was her favourite holiday, but I didn’t expect…” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely at the boxes that lined Oliver’s workspace, filled to the brim with unused decorations, “…all of this.” 

“Do you really hate decorating that much?” Oliver asked. Not judging, simply curious.

Jonah shook his head. “With all of our other duties taking priority, updating our seasonal decor is usually done closer to the holiday itself. It’s my own fault I didn’t talk to her about it properly as soon as she showed an interest in it.” He looked away, attempting to hide the shamed flush staining his cheeks. “I hate that I made her feel like I wouldn't want this for us too.”

Oliver snorted and hopped up from his seat. “You’re an idiot if you think all these decorations are only for the Black Army,” he said as he pulled a random ornament from an open box and tossed it to Jonah. It was a red bow with Zero’s name embroidered with gold thread. “I think she was waiting for you to be more receptive to the idea, so she’s been making everything and storing it all here. If you want to make up for your stupidity," he said with a smirk, "I’d appreciate your help getting all these boxes out of my workshop and taking them where they belong.”

Jonah thought for a moment before he finally smiled. “If you’ll put up with the intrusion for a bit longer, I have a favor to ask of you and Blanc.”

Jonah paced in the entrance hall of the Red Army headquarters as he watched Alice’s carriage grow smaller in the distance. As promised, Oliver recruited Blanc’s help in luring Alice away early that morning, using some ruse about finalizing celebrations planned in the Central Quarter.

Once she was out of sight, Jonah left with his group of volunteer soldiers to retrieve the boxes of decorations from the Black Army. One of Jonah’s many other tasks that day was securing the largest tree he could find that would reasonably fit in the Red Army hall and arranging for its delivery. He ordered different potted trees, poinsettias, and other festive plants with extras to spare. He was not going to let his plans be side swept by miscalculations on his part.

One task Jonah did not enjoy was explaining his sudden urgency to overhaul the Red Army headquarters within the short window of Alice’s absence. The other Red Army officers laughed at his clumsy rebuke of Alice’s early decorating for the holidays which somehow led to a clandestine makeover of the Black Army’s base of operations. Jonah framed the daunting task as a competition since he knew most of the Red Army soldiers wouldn’t dare back away from a challenge if their pride was on the line.

Once all of the boxes had been delivered and unloaded into the main hall, the officers began sorting through them with obvious appreciation of Alice’s beautiful decorations. The King of Hearts personally took over the task of organizing the exterior displays and installing the new greenery. Jonah watched with dwindling patience as the others bickered over who should get to decorate the tree. He told them to figure it out amongst themselves with as little bloodshed as possible and left the room. When he returned ten minutes later, Edgar stood proudly beside the tree, hardly a hair out of place, with boxes of ornaments and lights opened and ready at his feet.

“How did you convince Blanc to keep Alice away for the entire day?” Edgar asked as he struggled to untie a knotted ball of string lights. No one wanted to risk her early return which would ruin the surprise.

“I suggested she take some of the carrot recipes she’d been saving as part of his Christmas gift,” Jonah’s voice replied from behind the Christmas tree. He had climbed up a ladder and was hanging decorations on the higher branches.

Edgar laughed - it was a clever idea on Jonah’s part. Blanc loved anything carrot-related and would spend the entire day in the kitchen taste-testing if time allowed it. “If that’s the case, then we’ll be lucky if Blanc doesn’t just keep her overnight,” Edgar teased. He ducked his head when a golden bauble came soaring at him from Jonah’s direction.

You stood in front of the large doors, stunned by what you were seeing. You first noticed the new brightly-lit trees that lined the path on your return journey home across the Red Bridge. You recognized many of your decorations hanging from the balconies and windows above you. The giant wreath on the front door had two ornamental birds made of felt nested side-by-side on a branch of holly. The red silk ribbon had Merry Christmas embroidered in beautiful golden script. You had only finished making it a week ago; the pine smell was still so fresh.

After a few moments, the doors opened wide and Jonah’s beaming smile greeted you. He had changed out of his uniform and was wearing a simple cream button-up shirt with a red scarf tied around his neck. He took your hands gently in his and led you through the elaborately decorated entranceway. Somewhere nearby a Christmas carol chimed; apparently Oliver had made two identical tree topper ornaments without you knowing.

You didn't know where to look first. You didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry that we couldn’t share this experience sooner than this, because of my own ignorance,” Jonah said quietly, remorsefully, “but I promise to try not to disappoint you so gravely in the future.” You could hear the truth in his voice and saw his eyes were bright and pleading as they stared into your own.

You wrapped your arms around him and hugged him. You felt his hands grasp your waist and pull you closer to him in response. You nuzzled his chest, soaking in his warmth and comforting scent. Your eyes felt hot with tears but when you looked up at him, your smile was wide and full of love. “I’ll forgive you if you give me the grand tour - I want to see the tree!” Your growing excitement was a soothing balm for the lonely disappointment you tried so hard to hide from him all this time.

You and Jonah held hands as he led you from room to room, eager to show you the efforts of a very long day's work. Along the way, Red Army soldiers stopped you to compliment your decorations and thanked you for your generosity. Some of them told you stories about how all the officers had asked for volunteers to help and how Jonah watched every step with a critical eye to make sure no decoration went unused.

Kyle congratulated you when he walked past you both, a red ribbon tied in his hair and a bottle tucked under an arm. Edgar found the pair of you as you were leaving Lance's office. He told you where he’d placed the stockings you’d made for each of the officers. He suggested that Jonah’s stocking be stuffed full of coal - the bauble incident from earlier was clearly not forgotten.

Eventually the hour grew late and exhaustion was finally starting to overtake the happiness you felt. Jonah smiled knowingly and steered you to the familiar hallway leading to your room. He found the wreath you made for and returned it to its rightful place on your bedroom door. Your names were embroidered on the silk ribbon, a memento of your first Christmas together.

“If you’ll permit me, I have one final surprise for you,” Jonah said with a twinkle in his eye. You admired the way his cheeks flushed in the dimming light. It was so adorable when he got flustered about something.

“I’m not sure I can handle anymore surprises after the evening I’ve had,” you said with a laugh as he pushed the door open then pulled you close to him.

“There’s one last holiday tradition that I refuse to overlook,” he said with surprising seriousness, his voice low and tinged with heat. He nodded his chin upwards. You followed his gaze and saw a sprig of mistletoe hanging in the doorway above you. He silenced your delighted laughter with a kiss.