#Please pardon the cluttered table

[amethysia]

So, since July of last year, I've been slowly making some custom dolls for myself!

Today, I finished Julie~

There is more to be done with her, like making her red dress, creating a foam bump to give her more hair height (I tried back combing/teasing it, but the Shimmer Locks hair is too high quality to be ratted lol), and make even more cute outfits.

But honestly, it's been a really fun and cool creative journey! I never thought I'd ever re-hair a doll, let alone paint new eyebrows for one! I have more progress pics on my insta, but I'll post some of those here in the future.

I am also working on Wally and I hope I can style his hair well enough and get a fun picture for Clown's birthday~

Side note: I adore brushing/combing her hair xD it gives me flashbacks to some of my favorite dolls as a kid, like Lady Lovelylocks~

Thanks for reading if you got this far, lol

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 19

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: in the words of Miley, we won't stop.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

You stare at the mirror, at the woman you don’t know. The faucet runs as you’re tempted to splash the water over your face and wash away the stranger. As another diner enters, you twist off the tap and shake off the trance. You grab a strip of paper towel and dry your hands, tossing it before you exit.

The interior of the restaurant is just as pleasant as the outside. The back wall has flowers and vines painted across it as all the others stand it bright pure white. The tables are thick wood and edged with matching benches and chairs. You’d almost rather be inside than out.

As you come outside, the sun glares in your outline. You approach the archway that opens onto the patio and stop short as another figure meets you there. The new arrival is only a tall silhouette as the daylight stands at their back.

“Pardon, ladies fir–” The nicety is swallowed down halfway and your name bubbles up in its place. You don’t recall Mr. Laufeyson even saying your name; it was always ‘maid’ or nothing else. “Ah, there you are.”

Silence. The light limning his figure shifts and he comes clearer. His sights narrow as he considers you and he runs a hand down his lapel. His lips part slightly as if he means to say something but his teeth snap shut at second thought. He flutters his fingers, speechless and you wilt. You know you look silly, like a little girl wearing her mother’s pearls.

“Uh, Mr. Laufeyson,” you address him awkwardly and glance around. You can feel him staring as you clutch the seams of the dress and rock on the balls of your feet, “we… we’re just over there.”

You point through the archway then follow the gesture. You step through as he follows, his soles softly touching the boards of the patio. You pull your fingers from around the fabric and ball your hands to fist.

As you near the table, he gets closer. You can feel him looming as a growl grits from his throat; ‘what is he…’ He doesn’t finish the question and instead clears his throat.

“Allow me,” he goes to step forward as your eyes meet Frigga’s glittering green irises and Thor cranes to follow her gaze. He stands as you close in, waving away Laufeyson’s reach as he grips the back of your chair.

“Lady,” Thor bows his head gallantly, “we were worried you got lost, rather you’ve found my brother.”

“I might have this seat,” Loki insists before you can sit, “why don’t you sit with my mother?”

“She’s fine as she is,” Frigga insists, “all her things are there.”

Your barely touched cranberry juice weeps in the tall glass and the shopping bags clutter under that side of the table. You peek at Mr. Laufeyson but only get a glimpse of his throat as it tightens. You quickly put your head down and sidle around to sit in the chair. Thor pushes it in under you.

“Well, sit, we’ve been waiting,” Thor insists as he draws his hand away to clap his brother’s shoulder. You only catch a sliver of Laufeyson shrugging him off before stomping around to the empty seat. “We’re starving.”

“And what is he doing here?” Laufeyson asks his mother as he ignores his brother.

“Loki,” she reaches to touch his sleeve, “please, you two are too old for this.”

“For what? You didn’t tell me he was coming. It’s only decent–”

“Brother, please,” Thor leans forward as he clasps his large hands together, “I’ve come to make amends. I’m not too sure what I’ve done, but whatever happened at father’s, I never meant to drive you out.”

Laufeyson lashes Thor with a venomous look. His jaw ticks and his cheek twitches. He's about to boil over, as if the apology is an insult in itself. He takes a breath and lets it out, unlocking his jaw.

“I apologise for keeping you all waiting,” Laufeyson evades a direct response, his eyes flitting over to you, “I lost track of time.”

Your eyes cling to his as the tension drains from his brow and he tilts his head slightly. Again, he seems as if he means to say something, and unlike himself, he restrains his thoughts. He looks down at the waiting menu and you do the same. You imagine there will be a lecture for overextending his mother’s generosity.

As you peruse the selection, a tense silence invades the table. You all focus on the listings, a necessary distraction. As you keep your eyes on the menu, hiding from the other diners, you feel a tickle along the side of your leg.

Thor’s hand rests on his thigh, knuckles pressing against yours as he sits wide on the seat. You try to ignore the touch, assuming it's unintentional and focus on the menu. He slowly shifts and turns his hand, brushing his fingertips along your skirt. You squirm and bend your leg over the other to elude him.

You settle on a simple dish; caprese on a croissant. You sit up and reach for your drink, Thor’s hand lingering on the edge of your chair. What is he doing?

Your ears are alight and you feel the sweet about to break through on your forehead. You sip and your eyes meet another pair. Laufeyson has a finger pressed to the menu but he’s unbothered by its contents. He’s watching you.

You bite your cheek and put your glass down. There’s a sheen of gloss left on the rim. You take the folded cloth napkin and dab your around mouth, paranoid of a smear. You ring the fabric as you lower it to your lap and glance over at Thor’s tapping fingers, crawling closer yet again.

The table jolts suddenly. Frigga gasps and Thor grunts. He sits up and rescinds his hand, his attention flashing across to his brother. The two glare at each other.

“Apologies,” Laufeyson makes a show of rubbing his thigh, “I had a cramp. Did I get your toe?”

“Eh, it’s fine,” Thor grumbles, his thumb circling against the side of his knuckle.

“You two,” Frigga tuts, “please, you’re making a scene.”

“It was an accident,” Laufeyson insists, “I was in a car for far too long and now my muscles are all knotted.”

“I keep telling you, you need a proper regiment,” Thor intones, a taunt in his tone, “at our age, we need to stay active.”

“I’m active,” the black-haired brother rolls his eyes, “don’t presume you know anything about me or my life.”

“Hm, your house may be big but roving the halls like a ghost isn’t exercise,” the blond chortles.

Laufeyson huffs and shakes his head. He returns his attention to the menu as you stare at the table. You don’t quite understand. You don’t have siblings so you don’t know where this kind of animosity would come from. While your dad isn’t entirely loving, you know why he is the way he is. 

But these two, they have everything anyone could ever want and they only seem bitter. They have a family, they have wealth and all that comes with it. All that and they expect even more.

“You know, Loki, it would do you well to get out more,” Frigga suggests, “it’s a lovely house but so… grim, these days. Perhaps you might consider an update. That might help–”

“I get out,” Laufeyson insists, “please, have I only been invited to be lectured?”

“Well, darling,” Frigga squeezes his elbow, “we didn’t see you for a whole year after the divorce. We worry–”

“Don’t,” he commands, “I’m fine. The divorce is well past done. I’m over it, so why can’t you move on?”

“Ah, but it is hard to get over a lady like Sif–”

“Shut up!” Laufeyson snaps at his brother, “don’t–”

“Loki,” Frigga girds, “please.”

“No, I do not want his opinion on my wife. On my marriage. Can we stop beating this dead horse, already?”

You make yourself as small as you can. You shouldn’t be there. You’re hearing things you have now business knowing. You look around and the image of running out of the restaurant glints through your mind. It’s tempting even if it would be a bit insane. 

“So let’s talk about something else,” Laufeyson sighs, “how was your day, mother? You two seem to have been quite successful.”

“I’d say,” Thor agrees as you feel him look at you.

“Oh, it was wonderful. Eliana took care of us, isn’t her hair lovely?” Frigga preens, “and she’s such a sweet girl, isn’t she? Everything looks so lovely on her. Dear, didn’t you have a good day?”

You gulp and peek up. You pick your nail and nod, “yes. Thank you. It was… very nice of you to include me.”

“Ah, she is so polite,” Thor booms as his hand once more goes to the back of your chair. “How do you put up with him, sweetheart?”

You frown and shake your head, “huh?”

“My brother? How can you do it?”

“She is rather adept at her work,” Laufeyson sneers, “I am the least of her tasks.”

“I wasn’t asking you, was I?” His brother retorts.

“I… I do my job,” you press your palms flat to each other.

“I’d call him hard work, indeed,” Thor guffaws.

“Thor,” Frigga hisses, “be nice.”

“I am,” Thor says defensively, “I kid. Gods, it isn’t my fault he cannot take a joke–”

He grips the chair as he lets his thumb stroke the back of your collar. You sit forward slightly, wiggling to the edge of the chair. You bring your hands to hug your glass. Laufeyson fidgets with the cutlery wrapped in a napkin.

“Jokes are usually funny,” Laufeyson utters and shifts in his seat, “where is the damn waiter?”

👠

No words are exchanged as you approach the car. Mr. Laufeyson is particularly dour as he opens the door for his mother, then you. He sweeps around to claim the driver’s seat and turns the engine so it whirs softly. He steers out into the lull of traffic, twisting his hand on the leather wrapped wheel.

“That was a lovely lunch,” Frigga breaks the frigid sheet of silence, “wasn’t it?”

“Food was good,” Laufeyson agrees.

She exhales as you shrink down, hoping to blend in with the shopping bags.

“I’m sorry,” she says, “I thought you two could make up. After what happened–”

“Mother,” Laufeyson breathes and his eyes glance in the mirror, “we’ll talk about this later.”

“And what about your father?” She prompts.

“I said, later.”

“Mm, yes, sorry, darling,” she apologises again, “why don’t you leave me off at the house and take her home? It’s been a long day.”

“It’s only four-thirty,” he replies.

“Yes, well, we did a lot of running around. I’m certain the darling could use some time. She has her father to worry about.”

“It’s alright, I don’t–”

“No, no, you’re right, mother, it has been a very long day already,” Laufeyson interjects.

You clamp your mouth shut. You’re a marionette being pulled between their strings. It’s not about what you want. You’re not heard. They take you out and put you away like a toy.

“Dear,” Frigga chimes, “thank you so much for today. I had a lovely time.”

You don’t realise at first she means you, not until Laufeyson says your name. Again. Maid. Call me maid, that’s all I am.

“Oh, no, thank you, Frigga,” you say, “it was really nice of you to bring me. I…it’s really too much.”

“Not enough, dear, not enough. I hope the next time I’m in town, we might have another day out,” she trills.

“If you like,” you concede.

The rear view mirror stares back at you. Laufeyson’s snakish gaze makes you squirm as he idles at a light. Have you said the wrong thing? A honk comes from behind him as the light turns green and he quickly presses on the gas.

You sink back into silence, this one airier. You watch out the window as the car rolls through the streets and you take it all in. You’ve lived in this city your whole life and you haven’t seen half of it.

He arrives at his gates and opens the gate with the switch clipped behind the rear view mirror. He drives through and the doors unlock loudly. Frigga gets out and he does the same as he helps her sort through the bags on the other side of the back seat.

You’re startled as Laufeyson bends to peer through, saying your name a third time. You flinch and look at him as he holds a cluster of bags.

“I’ll be only a moment to get mother settled,” he explains, “feel free to move to the front.”

He closes the door and leaves you to mull his unprompted explanations. You could stay as you are but that feels weird. He would be like a chauffeur or taxi driver. That’s awkward and you’re already torturously strange.

You let yourself out of the car and slide into the front seat. Frigga’s perfume clings to the suede as you pull the seat belt down. You watch the leaves of a lush tree rustle as you wait. As the driver’s side opens, you let out a squeak.

Laufeyson swings inside and pulls the door shut. He adjusts himself as he fits his long legs under the wheel and grasps the wheel with one hand. You turn your head straight and stare off at the house’s facade.

“Thank you for driving me, Mr. Laufeyson,” you murmur.

“Mm, it is no issue,” he assures as he slowly shifts into gear, the car lazily following the arc of the driveway back to the gate.

You flick your thumb nervously against your index. Your foot wiggles and your knee jitters. You can’t sit still.

“I hadn’t a chance to mention…” he begins, pausing to consider his words, “you…” he leans forward to look both ways before continuing onto the avenue, “you look very… nice.”

“Oh,” you still yourself and focus on the dash, “thank you, Mr. Laufeyson. You’re mother’s a very kind woman.”

“She is,” he says, “I… I knew she would know best.”

“Um, if it’s too much, erm, you can take the clothes back–”

“Nonsense, keep them. They are for your work,” he rebuffs coolly.

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

He doesn’t reply. Only sighs. You carry on without speaking. You wouldn’t want to distract him from driving. You're still waiting for that lecture. You steel yourself for the words; ungrateful, selfish, lazy...

The car grows suffocating. He pulls into your neighbourhood and slows before your house. You swiftly hit the button on the seat belt, ready to run inside. 

“I could help with your bags,” he offers.

“N-no, Mr. Laufeyson, that’s… okay,” you say a bit too quickly. You wouldn’t want him to see more than he already has. Besides, your father was never fond of visitors. “Thanks.”

“Right, yes,” he accepts, “regular hours tomorrow.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

“Hm,” he hums but does not comment. He sounds almost disappointed.

“Have a good night,” you say as you climb out of the car.

“You too,” he mutters so quietly you’re not even sure he truly spoke.

You open the back door and gather up the remaining bags. It’s awkward as you slide them out with a loud crinkle. It feels unearned.

“You know,” he turns, his hand on the headrest of the passenger’s seat, “I did tell you a dozen times about the clothes.” He looks you up and down, “much better.”

He unhooks his arm from the seat and turns back to face the windshield. You nod, struck dumb and mute, and elbow the door shut. You turn and head down the overgrown walk and climb the creaky steps of your father’s porch. You pause at the top and glance back as the car remains unmoved.

Through the tint, you can see Mr. Laufeyson’s shadow. It looks almost as if he has his head on the steering wheel, gripping it as he hunches forward. The light must be playing tricks on you. You turn and continue on to the front door.

You hesitate to enter as the dingy siding feels you with guilt. Here you are with a handful of shopping and a belly full of gourmet food. Don’t forget where you come from, it’s where you’ll always be. Fancy clothes or not.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

*Jade enters to see if the rumors of a certain fox beastman entering his dearest bird’s nest was true. Unfortunately for him, the sight of the two from Playful Land was, indeed, real. He whisks a startled Miss Raven off to the side with a fake smile.* Hello my dearest…would you please tell me why you have such unsavory characters brought here? Would you like for me to remove them right away? I shudder to think what would happen if they overstay their welcome and take further advantage of your precious, kind heart. *He bows low to look you straight in the eye* It would be my pleasure to be your bodyguard.

So tell me, do you wanna go?

Jade’s lip curled as he surveyed the state of the attic.

Normally Raven’s space was already a cluttered mess (“It’s not a mess,” she would often argue. “Don’t call it that. It’s organized chaos.”). It had somehow managed to devolve since he had last (ahem) “invited” himself over. Her book stacks had been knocked over, stains of a non-ink origin decorating loose papers.

A thin, hard mattress had been laid out across the room from hers. Upon it, Fellow and Gidel lounged, happily digging into plates of food they had secured from the cafeteria. Crumbs and other loose bits scattered around them—sure to attract ants. They had kicked their shoes off, exposing socks with holes like swiss cheese (Fellow’s big toe poked out).

Their belongings were hastily shoved into a corner pile. All mismatched, patched up clothes and the bare essentials.

How slovenly.

Jade returned his attention to the quivering young lady before him. Miss Raven stood at a stature much smaller than his (so much so thar he had to bend down to meet her at eye level). She stood up straight, the feathers in her shawl puffing. It was a bird’s attempt at intimidation, as he had come to learn.

“They are my guests. I have willingly taken them under my wing, so I would appreciate it if you didn’t interfere.”

“Oya, such kindness and generosity.” He grinned, revealing two rows of sharp, pointed teeth. “You truly are your uncle’s child.”

“Coming from you, that doesn’t sound like much of a sincere compliment.”

Jade chuckled softly. A large hand landed on Raven’s head, playfully ruffling her hair. “I say this out of concern for you. Both you and I are aware of your… tendency, shall we say, to fall for crocodile tears and pleading.”

“Thanks for the tip, buddy,” Fellow called from his seat. He spoke with a mouthful of roasted chicken. “But we’re all good. How’d ya think we wormed our way in here to begin with?”

“How dastardly of you. This fellow is quite dishonest, isn’t he, Miss Raven?”

Fellow stopped chewing. “… You NRC brats never change, hmm? It hurts to be gossiped about and have kids sling mud at my pristine reputation.”

“Pristine reputation? Pardon me, but I seem to recall a mass kidnapping and shady dealings with the criminal underworld.”

“Hey, you’re pretty shady yourself so I don’t wanna hear that outta you!!”

“J-Jade…!” Raven sputtered. “Are you TRYING to fuel the fire?!”

“Fufufu. I’m afraid that, as a merman, this concept of ‘fire’ is foreign to me. I haven’t the faintest clue what you may be referring to.” Jade folded his hands together and took another bow. “… However, if you feel unsafe in Fellow-san’s presence, my bodyguard services are still an option on the table.”

H-He most definitely is provoking Fellow-san on purpose! Then once Fellow-san explodes, Jade will rush in and play the part of savior…!

“I will never, EVER come groveling to you for help,” she insisted through her teeth.

A cruel laugh cut through the tension.

“Looks like you two lovebirds have a lot of feelings to sort through. By all means! Don’t stop on my account,” Fellow jeered with a smirk. “Giddie and I could always make do with free entertainment you go along with our meal.”

Gidel glanced up from the barbecued rib he was gnawing away at. Mild confusion swam in his droopy eyes. It seemed he hadn’t been paying attention for the last several exchanges, only tuning in when his name was mentioned.

“W-We are NOT a live soap opera for you to watch! And nor are we lovebirds!! Lovebirds are small parrots,” she corrected him with a frown, “and I am a raven.”

“I’m certain he was referring to another definition for the term,” Jade suggested, trying to be helpful—or intentionally infuriating.

“N-Nonsense…!”

Fellow rolled his eyes. He leaned over to Gidel. “… Is it just me, or are these two already arguing like a married couple?”

Gidel blinked at him, befuddled.

“Eeeh, never mind. I’ll explain it to ya when you get older. In the meantime, let’s enjoy the show!”

[anonsickficker]

{childe/tartaglia/ajax} office hours [short_scenarios]

CONTENT BENEATH THE CUT CONTAINS MENTIONS OF {ERUCTATION}, PLEASE BE WARNED!!!

Just as you're about to enter his office, you hear Childe attempt to mask a belch with a decently faked cough. It's much too obvious to fool you though. Childe had previously personally allowed you to enter his office freely, and though you're not sure of the reasoning for this rule, you utilise it freely, delivering documents to him when need be.

"Pardon my intrusion, Young Master. There is a new case of a few business owners in Fontaine who have refused to repay their long overdue loans for the past six months.", though this isn't a main concern to the Fatui, you speculate that Sir Pierro may be doting on Childe, what with all of these overseas cases. Childe has been known to enjoy travelling, after all.

Childe sits behind massive piles of documents, all stacked atop his spacious desk. You watch as he hiccups into his fist, struggling to regain his breath as he places another hand on his chest. His cheeks grow redder than before, but he pushes his embarrassment to the side and clears his throat, in hopes to distract you from his lack of an appropriate response to your report. You only meet his eyes, not daring to blink or look away, as you've heard of the severe consequences that the other Harbingers have been known to dish out to your coworkers for acts of impudence. Childe doesn't seem like the type of person to berate you for such minuscular acts of disrespect, as per your past experiences as the attendant of the Eleven Harbingers.

"Sorry,", he catches another belch on its way out, closing his mouth and covering it with his fist, "would you mind putting that to the far right of my desk? Next to the pile of requests, thanks."

He seems to watch you expectantly as you place the neatly bound papers where he'd told you to, and you notice his face drop out of the corner of your eye as you proceed to situate yourself on one of the plush couches in this office. There are documents cluttered over the low coffee table as well, and this is admittedly the first time you've seen Childe so swamped with work before.

"Your assistance isn't necessary, attendant. You may leave."

His strained voice is concerning, as if he's got something stuck in his throat. You're not sure what's happened to him, but overeating is your first and most likely assumption, as Childe has consistently been invited to business meals since his return from his long trip to Liyue. He presses his hand further into his chest, hiccupping once again with his mouth sewn shut.

"My apologies, Young Master. Sir Pierro has instructed me to assist you while you complete your work. I am prohibited from taking my leave until I have properly fulfilled my orders.", although it's muffled by the inside of his forearm, you hear Childe belch thickly again whilst you speak, and you can't help but feel a little pity for the man.

"Then, come here.", he beckons you to approach him with a casual wave of his hand. You lift yourself from the couch and make your way to face him in front of his desk.

"Water."

"Pardon?", you say, but a simple 'pardon' is nothing but a complete understatement of a word to express your disbelief.

Childe nods towards a glass bottle of water, tilts his head upwards, and opens his mouth wide. You don't see a serving glass around, and Childe seems to pick up on your visible confusion.

"Just pour it into my mouth. That is the only way you'll be able to help me. Then be off,", he smiles like an angel, and for a second you forget about this man's numerous unforgivable crimes against humankind, "I don't need anything other than that."

He opens his mouth once more, exposing the pale length of his neck. You start to pour the contents of the bottle into his mouth, as slowly as you can, watching his Adam's Apple bob up and down as he swallows the steady stream. Honestly, you're sort of amazed at how he hasn't choked a single time throughout this entire ordeal.

Eventually, you notice that Childe has started to let the liquid pool in his mouth, and it fills up fast- almost too fast for you to react. You turn the bottle back upright, almost fascinated at the fact that only a few slivers of water from the entire liter remains. Childe wipes the excess droplets off his chin with the back of his hand.

You place the bottle back onto his desk, and step back to watch Childe swallow the rest of the water in one borderline sickeningly loud gulp, then exhale through his nose. While his mouth is still shut, he buries the lower half of his face into his forearm to let an uncontrollably long and airy belch rip through his esophagus.

"Shit, excuse me, sorry about that.", though it's barely noticeable, you see his face flush as he raises his head out of his arm. He burps a few more times, smaller and quieter behind his closed mouth, as you wait for your orders.

"You-", Childe hiccups, and he's almost too late to clap a hand over his mouth, but he manages, "you may leave now, attendant."

You bow your head as thanks, and he responds with a slightly distorted 'have a nice day' as you exit the Eleventh Harbinger's office.

But at this point, do you really still need all of these formalities?

its another short scenario! it is low quality like the rest of the post on here... 🙇‍♀️ childe is very cute when he tries to seem competent 😊 hes probably the type of person who only breaks down panting when hes alone 😢 anyways, childe is cute!

[desdemonafictional]

How to Live Forever

"Ah, well, not really live forever," said Arsène Lupin, the first of his name. He spun the magnification of his monocle and peered closer into the mechanical workings of the lock he was disassembling.

Perched on the worktable beside him, the boy who would eventually become Arsène Lupin the Third grimaced. "It's either forever or not forever, it can't be both."

"Right as ever, my boy," said Arsène Lupin. "Let me start again. Will you hold the tumbler back for me a moment?"

One small finger obligingly pressed into the byzantine silver workings.

"I have heard it said that legends never die," Arsène Lupin began. "It certainly seems to be true. How old do you think I am?"

"I don't know. Older than Papa was, I guess."

"A serious answer, now, if you please."

The boy frowned at him, rapidly tapping the fingers of his free hand against the tabletop. His small mouth pinched. "1905--accounting for training, three years, five years--um, you were probably born around 1875? So you'd be about 80."

"Do I look like I'm 80 years old?"

The boy lifted his chin. "Yeah."

Arsène Lupin laughed, deep and wheezing with a slight crackle, and then had to readjust his monocle as it slipped down his cheek.

"Don't laugh at me," ordered the boy, looking furious.

"Pardon me," said his grandfather, smiling.

He worked for a while in silence, trading tiny hooks out of his toolbox for equally tiny screw drivers, peeling apart wafers of metal.

Eventually, he said, "You know the story of the velveteen rabbit?"

"I'm too old for that stuff," the boy said.

"Love is powerful," said Arsène Lupin. "And fear. It is best to be feared and loved, but of the two, love is better."

"That's not what he said," the boy interrupted. "That's Machiavelli. He didn't say that. He said it was better to be feared."

"Mm."

"He did!"

Arsène Lupin set aside his tools and turned to the boy. "There's a certain law of nature," he said, "which says that heroes and villains may never die unless that death is satisfying. Robin Hood can never waste away ignobly on the floor of a peasant hovel. King Arthur can never die of old age. Julius Caesar is murdered with great ceremony; Cleopatra takes her own life. On and on, into the forgotten annals of history, the tale goes on."

The boy thought about this, and then nodded. This all seemed true to him, and natural.

"Belief is what does it," said Arsène Lupin. "Belief, and love, and perhaps fear. People have to believe in you the way that they believe in justice, and mercy, and God. Hopeful, without evidence, desperate for the promise of a world that makes sense."

"And you will die, one day," he went on, "but not until people believe it's right that you be dead."

He lifted the keyhole from the table, reduced now to a skull-shaped hole in a panel of silver. Through its gap, the cluttered nonsense of the workshop was reduced to a single clear vignette.

"If you give your life up to the story," Arsène Lupin said, "the story will protect you."

He turned, key panel in hand, and peered at his grandson with one glittering green eye.

"For a while, anyway."

[nincompoopydoo]

Please more Theseus x reader. Anything Theseus x reader.

FOR OLD TIMES' SAKE

PAIRING: Theseus Scamander x reader WORD COUNT: 1.1k SUMMARY: Theseus attempts to convince you to leave your desk. A/N: enjoy some ✨Theseus content✨Please let me know what you think. gif by @movie-gifs from this gifset support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERLIST

"Well, what do we have here?"

You shift your weary eyes from the parchment within your hands to the figure standing by your desk. Through strained eyes, you could barely perceive the man before you yet at the sight of the recognisable curl of his hair and drawl of his voice. You know exactly who it is.

Theseus Scamander, an intelligent wizard with an odd love for hickory woolen coats, beams down at you, brows raised with slight amusement. He stretches his fingers, tapping on the edge of your desk. "You should really leave this desk."

You can't help but scowl, gaze fixated on the way his index finger meets the corner of the mahogany desk. "Pardon me but this," you gesture to the scatter of documents laid across the surface of the table, barely any space for your elbows to rest. "This is all because of you."

Theseus clicks his tongue with disapproval followed by a deep sigh, blinking up to the ceiling. "Darling, you do know blaming my actions, which was done with every right intention, will do you no good."

You purse your lips, not even attempting to hide your now apparent glare. "Don't call me darling, Scamander."

This seems to have made the wizard even more amused than before. He casually props himself by the edge of your desk, much to your dismay. You maintain your gaze on him while his eyes flit around personal objects and ornaments that surround you. A peek through the window of your life outside of the Ministry.

While you busy yourself in the effort of shoving him off the table, begging him to leave you in peace before you lose your patience and all sense of your composure, Theseus has taken notice of a framed-photographed. You and four boys, moving with delight and laughter. You look younger when photographed. The weariness of your eyes ceases to exist.

He plucks the photograph from all the clutter, your photographed smile surrounded by boyish ones becomes clearer to his sight. You merely groan.

"Scamander—"

"So, these boys...are your brothers?" His question is coated with pure curiosity with a hint of tease, albeit he genuinely does want to know.

You eye him for a moment before articulating words that reflect the true sarcastic witch you are, a trait you inherited from your mother. "No, I'm just a serial bigamist."

Theseus laughs in response to your tone of hilarity. "You are married. Is that why you refuse to mingle in my presence?"

You scoff, cheeks burning at his words. Your hands reach out for the picture frame, yet he manages to hurl away from your grasp. You huff with frustration. "You're being utterly nonsensical. Now, give that back to me—"

"Or am I not husband material?"

In a swift movement, your wand emerges within your grasp. The photograph flies from his grip and into the open drawer with one quick swoop.

You maintain eye contact, cautiously tucking your wand aside. "Frankly, you're the last man I'll ever marry."

Your bickering words pierce straight to his heart. It's friendly banter, he knows it, but any man deemed worthy in your presence is the true winner in a life full of disappointments of love and kinship. His faltering smile isn't perceptible, but your sharp eyes are bound to catch the shift in his mood. Thus, he tries his best to maintain a smile.

"Famous last words."

Your cheeks are still burning. Furiously.

"Is there anything I can do for you, or are you here just to pester me?"

“Definitely the latter. Come away with me.” Theseus says, leaning over to only snatch the parchment away from your fingers. He places it aside and watches the turn of your brows.

“What?”

Theseus lifts himself from the desk, shifting in his stance. “Let me take you to dinner. Leaky Cauldron—we could have that steak and kidney pie you always crave.”

If you know any better, he was seeking to distract you from the wrongs he had done that nearly cost you your job and was assigned with stacks of paperwork to mend the mistakes of a mission he led. Now, he is tempting you to leave your desk.

Frankly, he is very convincing.

“And why would I accept such an invitation, Scamander?”

He tucks his hands into the pockets of his slacks in hopes of concealing his sudden need to fidget with his fingers, nearly squirming under your unwavering stare. The last thing he wants is to upset you. “Well, take it as an apology gift. Order whatever you want. It’s my treat.”

You laugh, it comes out like a puff of hot air. “Wouldn’t be much of a gift if I was paying, wouldn't it?”

Right. You’re quick, sharp, and painfully witty. Charming, to say the least. This is the longest the two of you have spoken without having to argue about unnecessarily placed criticisms towards one another. You are blatantly stubborn, and Theseus tends to forget to put aside his arrogance and proneness to be annoyingly priggish in the name of law instead of doing what is truly right. You have always been the perceptive Auror. Merlin, you might as well be running the whole department.

Yet, there always has competition between the two of you. All for a pretentious raise in terms of money, power, and position. You used to be friends during his days of Auror training. Great friends, actually. You were as immaculate and beautiful as you are now.

You still are.

He finds himself raising his brow, beckoning you to further accept his proposition. It's true, your mind needs rest. Paperwork is after all only made for fresh minds.

You exhale deeply, leaning back into your chair as your fingers tap against the carelessly placed quill in thought. With a beat and another sigh, your eyes find him once more. “Very well. I’ll have dinner with you. For old times’ sake.”

He nods, lips curving into a smile. “For old times’ sake.”

The chair creaks as you push it back to stand. It echoes against the walls and through the emptiness of the office, merely lit by your desk lamp and a light fixture by the corner of the place. You collect your coat hung over the back of your chair and tap him on the shoulder. “And I am capable enough to pay for my own meal, Theseus.”

For the first time in many years, you call him by his first name—no dreadful tone to it. Truly content.

He watches you eye him with the turn of your head, shoes clicking against tiled floors as you pass him and make your way towards the lift. Theseus laughs, trailing behind you. “Suit yourself, then.”

[trollishly]

Valkyrie Pt. 5 • Ivar X Reader

A girl shows up bloody and beaten to Kattegat. The Queen and her sons take an interest in the girl, especially Ivar.

Warnings: Gore, Swearing, Mentions of sex, Angst, Anything you'd expect from Vikings

The harsh chilled wind of Kattegate’s forest whipped the the thick furs that laid upon her shoulders. The forest seemed to be alive, as the trees whined and creaked as the gusts only became stronger. Her breathing became heavier as she quickened her pace towards her desired destination, ambitious for what she seeked.

Her eyes light up as they finally fell upon the individual, though she couldn't help but shiver as her feet finally met the front of their seated position. 

“The Queen...“ Slightly bowed the being, words slurring from their twisted lips. “Ancient One,” Quipped Aslaug as she tucked her gown to kneel before him, “you know why I am here, we’ve spoken of this matter before.“ Rushed the Queen in a desperate manner. The Seer let an exasperated grunt, his grotesque tongue running along his lips in thought. “The girl from your vision, you speak of her, you’ve spoken to her.” Hummed the cloak individual, while Aslaug only nodded hoping for him to continue.  

"Well what is it that is troubling you my Queen?" Aslaug rolled her eyes slightly, "I wish to know if my visions are once again correct, or am I mistaken and she is actually a threat to my kingdom?"

"You ask difficult questions, always questioning." He grinned, "However, I shall give you comfort by saying that what you see, is in fact true my Queen." Aslaug let out a breath of relief she hadn't known she was holding, refraining from smiling, which she found herself doing more often as of late. "The gods have blessed us with a great gift..." Croaked the Seer, "A Valkyrie." Spoke the two in unison.

•••

Soft knocks echoed throughout the quaint room, and with nobody acknowledging it, a hush voice followed. "I'm coming in." Spoke Ubbe as he push the door open which dragged along the uneven floor.

There laid Frode, in bed and struggling to inhale evenly. His glazed over eyes drifting to look at the intruder. Ubbe watched as the boy clench his hand firmer around the one that laid upon his, the hand belonging to non other than his sister.

Y/n was slouched against Frode's bed, half her weight on her knees and the other on the edge of the bed. She looked as if she hadn't slept for days, which was half of the truth. If it weren't for Y/n's recent episodes of passing out, she would've been up like usual, her sleep schedule being far from healthy.

"Is she asleep?" Asked Ubbe, stepping further into the room. Frode tried to speak in denial, however, he found himself unable to speak, his voice caught in his throat as another fit of coughs erupted from him. With Frode at a loss, he was not able to warn Ubbe as he reached out to shake his sister awake. Y/n flinched harshly from his touch, rolling away from him and onto her feet. They both stood still, however, Y/n seemed to be on guard due to his presence. Ubbe tilted his head, trying to catch the girl's gaze, but she seemingly refused, not wanting him to see her at her weakest, as her eyes were red and puffy from her night's worth of crying over her brother.

"Sorry to disturb, but my mother asked me to invite you to come eat with us." Ubbe simply said, "I would of sent a thrall, but it seems you've scared them all half to death." Chuckled the man as he refrained from coming any closer.

"No, but thank you." Replied Y/n, turning to tend to her little brother once more. Frode quickly grasped his sister wrist and pulled a pleading face at her. "Y/n, you were never one to deny food, please go. I promise I will be fine." Comforted Frode as he begun to push Y/n away. "You need fresh air, you shouldn't be near me. I am not well," he paused briefly by taking a breath as he tried not to cough, "with you still being injured, it could become deadly if you were to stay near me and get sick." Finished the boy, relieved to see that his persuasion was beginning to work as his sister's frown lessened.

"He'll be fed and watched yes?" Questioned Y/n as she turned to face Ubbe. He nodded reassuring her, "A thrall will tend to your brother's every need."

Y/n began to debate in her head, not for long though, as her thoughts were interrupted by a loud growl that came from her stomach. "Okay." Agreed Y/n begrudgingly, as she came to pushed the hair from Frode's face before leaving the room with Ubbe following closely behind.

•••

"Uh- pardon?" Stuttered Ubbe shaking himself from his trance. Y/n spoke up and repeated herself, "I said, the Queen is very generous. All of you are, you could have left my brother and I to die." Expressed Y/n as she kept her head facing fowards as she walked alongside the prince.

Ubbe blinked down at the girl, inspecting her appearance, which he did more often than he'd like to admit, especially in the little time he was in her presence. "You should thank the Queen, yourself." He said, looking away when he caught himself staring. "She knows something we don't- a-and I trust her enough to follow her blindly. Not only because she is my mother, but because I believe she is fit as ruler." Spoke Ubbe, his tone indicating he said more than what he intended to.

Y/n's forehead creased slightly at the mention of his mother's knowledge of the unknown, but let him be, by keeping silent as they finally made it to the hall.

Bickering could be heard from a table of cluttering cutlery, a whine drawing the attention of Y/n. "Mother. Tell them to stop tormenting me." Mischievously spoke, who Y/n now knew as Ivar, as he held a hand of a thrall, who sat rigid beside him. His head was lolled to the side as he looked pleadingly towards his mother with a pout.

Ubbe walked ahead of the girl, a snort coming from him due to his little brother's banter. This causing everyone's eyes to not only land on Ubbe, but Y/n as well. Ubbe eyed a seat from across the room, rounding the table and sitting besides Hvitserk, who's eyes kept flickering between Ivar and Y/n curiously, as he continued to shove food into his mouth.

At the speed of which Thor would strike his hammer, Ivar shuffled in his seat, removing Margrethe's hand from his lips and dismissing her with just a wave of his arm. Y/n stood quietly, unsure with what to do with herself, before realizing something that could have been crucial.

"My Queen." Announced Y/n as she bowed her head in respect, looking at her through the thick of her lashes. "Morning Y/n. I am pleased to see that you've joined us once more. Please, take a seat beside me." She said, gesturing to a spot in between herself and Sigurd. As Y/n approached, the Queen gave Margrethe a narrowed side glance, "Get our guest a chair." She stated firmly, causing the thrall to panick as she left her spot beside Ivar and walking towards the nearest chair. Both her and Y/n reached for the chair, clutching it at the same time.

"Please, there is no need." Y/n said gently, lifting the chair from Margrethe's grasp and placing it in its spot. The slave just stepped back and scanned Y/n's form before looking away in a submissive manner.

As Y/n took a seat, the Queen continued their discussion before Ivar had been interrupted. "Now Ubbe, when will you have children?" Asked the Aslaug as she gestured to him with a napkin in hand. He grinned, "I probably already have!" He joked causing the others boys to break out in laughter as he pick at his food to throw it towards his mother. "No I'm serious, each and everyone of you should have a woman by now, even married." Spoke the Queen genuinely, as she looked to each of her boys. All of them eyed each other before shrugging without a care and focusing back onto their food. The Queen pinched the bridge of her nose as she shook her head, turning to face her attention to Y/n.

"It seems my boys are far too immature to have a wife, let alone children, don't you think Y/n?" Smiled Aslaug at the girl, which made the boys pause in their gluttony. Y/n found herself a little caught off guard, as she was never the one to get romantically involve, spending most of her time training or raising her brother.

"I don't believe my opinion would have much value my Queen." Began Y/n as she kept her attention solely on Aslaug, "But since they are the King and Queen's children, heirs are expected from them..." Aslaug seemed pleased with Y/n's answer as her lips quirked slightly, "Hmm, and do you have a husband, or lover, for that matter?"

Y/n cringe internally, knowing what Frode would say to the Queen if he had the opportunity. "I don-" However, Aslaug cut her short. "I'm speaking nonsense aren't I? Of course you would. You are a very beautiful young woman, and a shield maiden I assume?" Rambled the Queen which seemed suspiciously intentional. Y/n's mouth was left agape momentarily before she quickly closed it, "Yes, I am a shield maiden my Queen." She said keeping her answer curt.

Hvitserk began giggling cheekily, as he watched the way Ivar strained himself by pressing his palms against the bench. Pushing his torso upwards as he leaned on the table, in hopes of getting a better view of his mother and Y/n as they conversed. Sigurd scowled at his little brother's enamored behavior. Still upset at his earlier possessiveness of Margrethe, especially after she had confided in him the night before.

"As I was saying, you don't need to love the woman to breed with them." Explained the Queen, making Y/n bow down to eat her soup as she try her hardest to block out the conversation; one that she had already deemed as a personal family matter. As Aslaug continued to chatter, Y/n's eyes scan the room as she spooned the food into her mouth, making accidental eye contact with Hvitserk as he copied her actions. He grinned at her as the soup messily dribble down his chin, until an aggressive voice broke his playful staring.

"What is wrong with you?" Quipped Ivar as he now leaned further onto the table staring daggers at Sigurd, "Nothing is wrong with me," spat Sigurd making Hvitserk and Y/n glanced at each other, with Hvitserk widening his eyes at her humorously. "I just wanted to know if she has love anyone except Harbard..." Silence followed making Y/n sit up uncomfortable, "You remember Harbard don't you?" Sigurd continued sparing everyone a glance but his mother.

Ubbe sat stoney still and so did Hvitserk, but Ivar pushed on, with his arms now crossed loosely, "Of course she has loved another," he stated to Sigurd while nodding. "She has always loved me... isn't that right mother?" He urged while smiling at his mother, his eyes briefly catching Y/n's, who was sat just behind Aslaug from his position. However, the Oueen didn't speak and just nodded as she swallowed her drink discreetly.

Y/n's eyebrows raised at Aslaug's reaction, wondering as for why the Queen wasn't being more reassuring to her son, "She just pities you Ivar, just like the rest of us. Y/n probably feels sorry for you too, especially when you look at her with so much desperation." Ivar flinched at Sigurd's words, anger and embarrassment building within him. "and sometimes, we wish mother had left you to the wolves." He smoothly said, as if it weren't something completely vile. Y/n couldn't comprehend how someone could be so cruel, mainly to their family.

"Sigurd!" Demanded the Queen, with Ivar continuing to glare at his brother trying to sort his feelings internally, "What?" Was all he replied with, before resuming his breakfast.

Y/n found herself wanting to put Sigurd in his place, but refrained from doing so as nothing but consequences would come from it. A drag of a chair turn Y/n's attention back to Ivar, as he was now standing tall at the end of the table. This caused Sigurd to haphazardly throw his spoon onto the table, scoffing at Ivar's display.

Ivar began scooting from his seat, supporting his weight briefly on his mother's chair, with her cooing at him to calm his temper. Her attempts went unnoticed as he continued, with his left hand wavering, before it had finally landed on the back of Y/n's chair. Ivar and the girl gazed at each other, with her turning within her seat to make room for the young prince. Ivar was now hesitant, mainly now that he was the closest he had yet been to Y/n, not helping himself as he caught of whiff of her aroma that furthermore attracted him to her. Ivar's forearm gently grazed Y/n's hair as he pulled himself from one chair to another, as he heard Sigurd still taunting him.

"Come on Boneless!" He teased as he stood from his chair now that Ivar was near. Everyone was now standing, Y/n situating herself just behind Ivar. Bowls and utensils fell to the floor as Sigurd pulled a chair from underneath Ivar making him collapse with a painful sounding thud. Y/n reach down to help him, but pause as Hvitserk gestured to her not to from the corner of her eye.

Ivar's frustrated huffs filled the room, his nostrils flaring as he forcefully began to drag himself towards his target. Sigurd's harmful jabs continued, with the Queen now walking up towards Ivar and passing Y/n, who couldn't help but stand and watch how this would play out.

Sigurd seemed to grow tired of this little game, quickly turning and pushing the doors of the hall open, making the bright light bleach the room with a stark white wash, highlighting Ivar's enraged features.

Ivar chased Sigurd out of the room causing a loud scream to rip from his throat, with the Queen attempting to hold him back.

•••

End of part 5.

•••

Notes: Thank you all so much for 50 followers! Had to finish and post part 5 today for you all!

Tags: @youbloodymadgenius, @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog, @midnightmystic

Ask to be tagged!

[durmstrange]

Foolish - Newt Scamander

Hello and happy Monday!  Enjoy a lil Newt fic.

Word count: 2,452

Newt stood in line in Diagon Alley, in the Potions shop, waiting patiently for the customers in front of him to finish their purchases so he could be on his was with his Niffler, that just insisted on joining him in the excursion he was going on. Normally, Newt would cross the line and not allow him to go under any circumstances, but there was an odd feeling in the air that distracted him and allowed the Niffler to join him, in his jacket pocket.

As he stood in like, mildly distracted by the cloudy feeling he had in his head that he was unable to shake, Newt failed to notice his Niffler sneak from his extended pocket, and down onto the floor, scurrying away quicker than ever.  Newt gripped the new cauldron and various supplies in his hands and his eyes searched for nothing in particular.  

With much stealth, the Niffler moved about the shop, dodging the eyes of others as it dashed between legs, snatching low hanging bracelets and necklaces without notice.  It wasn’t until he crawled up the wrong tree, well, actually, person, and he was caught by the scruff of his neck, and shoved into a bag, zippered tight.  

A soft smile played upon your lips as you moved through the store, holding your bag shut and walking nonchalantly, until you reached the stranger in which the creature came from.  With a quick look, you took the stranger’s hand and led him through the shop, half-dragging him.  

“Ah, p-pardon me?” he stuttered out, confused and struggling to hold his supplies in his one hand and pull his other hand from your grip.  

You glanced at him, slightly irritated at him fighting with you, and you yanked his hand a little harder.  “Hush up and follow me,” you told him and led him to an old broom closet, pulling him inside and shutting the door behind you two.  By the time that Newt found his wand and lit the end of it, you were holding his Niffler up, smiling gently behind him.  “I believe he belongs to you, yeah?” you asked him with excitement riddled in your eyes.  

Newt licked his lips, kind of flustered, as he set down the cauldron he held previously, filling it with the other supplies, and taking the Niffler from your hands.  “I reckon so.  ‘Knew I shouldn’t have let you come today, you mug,” he muttered to the Niffler, looking stern and unhappy.  

With a small smile, you shook your head.  “Now, now.  No need to be mean to the little guy.  After all, it is in his nature,” you winked and held your hand out to Newt.  “I am (Y/N) (Y/L/N), potions master.”  You smile as you introduced yourself with bright, shimmering eyes.  

Pocketing his Niffler away quickly, Newt shook your hand hastily, as if he were in a rush.  “Wonderful to meet you.  I am Newt Scamander, magizoologist,” he introduced himself just as quick as he shook your hand.  “Sorry to be rude, but you said potions master, correct?  As in you can brew just about any potion?”  Newt questioned you quickly, anxious to know the answer.  

You nodded lightly.  “That is correct, why?  Does it have something to do with why you are so jittery, or with the Niffler?” you asked him curiously, motioning to where he stored his little friend away.  

Newt turned an odd shade of red, and you were unable to hide your smile at this.  “Er-something like that.  Sorry to ask you of this, but I do have a very ill creature at my-my home who is in need of a particular potion in which I have doubts I can brew.  Would it be too much of a hassle to ask of your help with the potion?  I am more than willing to pay you.” Newt asked you as he picked up his ingredients and cauldron once more, motioning to it as if it solved your dilemma. 

You glanced down at the ingredients in his hands, looking at each root and bug, and odd thing alike and tilted your head to the side.  “I am more than willing to help an ill creature.  I was planning on becoming the Care for Magical Creatures professor at Hogwarts prior to finding my love for potions.  What did you say it was?” you questioned Newt further.  He blushed at your questions and interest and in the dull wand light, it was rather adorable.  

“Ah, yes, about that.  I have a Demiguise who is quite shy, but needs this antidote as soon as humanly possible,” Newt explained to you with his eyes low, trying to avoid eye contact with you.  “I understand if you are unable to help him, or if you do not deem it to be worth it, but even a few pointers would be wond-” Newt began rambling, and you kicked the door of the brook closet open.  

“Hush, now and let’s go!  Your Demiguise needs us, Mr. Scamander!”  You shamed him and moved from the closet, motioning for him to exit.  “Judging by your ingredients, I assume your Demiguise consumed something highly poisonous to him, am I correct?”  Your voice was curious as you took the cauldron from Newt’s hand and set it on a shelf as you walked by.  

Surprised, Newt nodded.  “Correct,” he confirmed as he watched you in complete awe.  You were magnificent, to say the absolute least.  

You nodded and moved through the partially empty Diagon Alley.  Given that school was in session once more, the Alley was far less crowded than usual.  “Wonderful.  Nothing a little Antidote to Uncommon Poisons can’t handle.  Let me just stop by my home quickly, and then we can set off to yours, yeah?”  You asked Newt as you linked your arm with his, causing his face to redden even further.  He nodded, unable to form words, and you disapparated the two of you to your home and shop in London.  You lived above your shop, but had just as many ingredients and potions where you lived than worked.  

Hastily, you moved about your home, gathering ingredients and a collapsible cauldron into your brown leather briefcase as Newt stood in your living room, watching your every move with an odd sense of adoration.  You were so put together and so open with who you were, and you apartment was so neat, but so cluttered with bottles and ingredients at the same time.  But, you knew were every single thing was to a point.  Before long, you shut your brief case and clasped it, looking back at the awestruck Newt.  

“Sorry it is such a mess in here.  I have been meaning to clean out my home and move everything back down to the shop, where my apprentice and sister is now, but I just have a hard time doing it,” you explained with a light blush playing at your cheeks.  The light dusting on your cheeks was the prettiest thing Newt had ever seen.  

Newt shook his head quickly, gazing about the room, craving to see the rest, if he weren’t in such a hurry and on such an important mission.  “No, it is brilliant,” Newt told you with a small smile, and you took his arm once more.  

In a snap, you were in a very messy, contemporary apartment not far from Diagon Alley.  Your eyes wandered around the room, taking in the torn papers, some even scorched, and the overall scattered feel of the room.  It was comforting, in a way, and you enjoyed it greatly.  “Please, do not think this is odd,” Newt pleaded with you as he grabbed a briefcase from his coffee table, setting it onto the floor and unclasping the gold clasps.  “They are in here.”  His voice was hesitant as he stood straight, and stepped one foot into the briefcase with one glance back to you.  

You knitted your eyebrows together, confused, but approached the briefcase with caution as Newt begin to step down further and further in it until you were no longer able to see him.  You peered down into it, and laughed lightly when you saw his gazing up at you.  “You are simply amazing, Mr. Scamander,” you told him as you handed your briefcase down to him, sideways, and began climbing down skillfully and quickly.

He blushed madly, taking your hand to help you down the final steps. “That is very kind of you.  Please, be cautious of the creatures around.  Some of them are rather shy, but I think you should be fine.  If you are uncomfortable at any point, please let me know.”  Newt was insistent and sweet as he set your briefcase down on a large work table in the small half-shack you were in.  

You nodded, opening your briefcase and beginning to work hastily.  “Mr. Scamander, get me a strand of the Demiguise’s hair, please,” you instructed as he watched you intently, chopping and cutting and pouring all kinds of things into your collapsible cauldron.

Without much hesitation, he dashed off at the sound of your instruction and you began brewing your potion skillfully.  You mixed and stirred and added all sorts of things, including the hair that Newt brought back punctually, until almost two hours later, the potion was a light pink-red color and cooling in a glass tube.  You turned to Newt, who had yet to sit down this entire time, and he looked at you with bright, curious eyes.  “Is it finished?”  He asked you before you even had the chance to speak.  

“It is,” you answered with a gentle smile.  “If you go get your Demiguise-” you began, but Newt interrupted you quickly.  

“Dougal.  His name is Dougal,” he told you and your cheeks reddened at the interruption.  

You nodded.  “Right, if you go get Dougal, I will administer the potion, if you don’t mind.  Or, if Dougal does not mind, I suppose,” you corrected yourself and gave Newt a small smile.  The sweet but concerned look on your face made Newt’s heart race in his chest.

Newt nodded and scurried off once more, only to return with his arms wide, but nothing appeared to be in his arms.  You smiled widely at the scene before you, knowing perfectly well that Dougal was invisible in his arms, and it made you giggle softly.  Newt approached you carefully, setting Dougal onto the counter next to you.  

You weren’t quite sure where to look, but you looked in the general direction of Dougal.  “Hello, Dougal, my name is (Y/N).  I am not going to hurt you, I promise; I am only trying to help you,” you explained to the creature as you grabbed the cooled potion and showed it to him.  You held it up in Dougal’s direction and smiled softly, trying to be as comforting as possible.  

What you hadn’t noticed was Newt’s watchful eyes observing every little move you made, from the movement in your eyes to the slight shake in your hands.  It was beautiful, and you were beautiful, and it made his heart lurch in an unfamiliar way.  He bit his lip, watching you so closely that he failed to notice Dougal fading into reality once more.  His eyes widened, surprised that he opened up to allow you to see his true form.  

The wide smile that formed on your face was indescribable as you grabbed the plastic syringe you had brought with you, drawing some of the colored potion from the beaker into the syringe and showing it to the wide-eyed creature.  “See?  I’ll just put this in your mouth, okay?” you continued to ask Dougal and moved to him slowly, opening his mouth with your thumb and shooting the potion down his throat.  “All done,” you  announced with a fond smile on your face.  You glanced up at Newt as Dougal made a funny face, and you were unable to cover the giggle that slipped from your lips.  

Dougal crawled up to his feet on the table, jumping onto Newt, and wrapping his arms and legs around him like a small child.  This made the smile on your face refuse to fade.  With a nervous look on his face, Newt looked towards Dougal, and kept his eyes on anything but you.  “I can never thank you enough.  I don’t know what I would ever do if I lost my Dougal.”  Newt’s voice faltered and you felt your heart pang at his sincerity.  

“It is my pleasure,” you told him and began bottling up the rest of the potion you made.  “I am going to leave this with you.  Obviously, you need it far more than I do,” you teased him and gave a subtle wink.

Newt’s face only reddened at your words, and he set Dougal down to scurry off into they endless territory within Newt’s briefcase. He glanced back at you and his nervousness was so evident. He shifted lightly, trying to form words that were not there, and finally his mouth fell open. “C-can I make you a cup of coffee, or tea?” Newt asked you, and you glanced up from packing your belongings.  Before you could say any words, Newt continued, rambling as he looked at the floor in front of him. “If you’d like, of course. Otherwise, you are more than welcome to go, I do not want you to think I am keeping you here after you’ve already done so much for me, which is so very kind, given I am a stranger and it could have been unsafe for you. Although I am not going to do anything to hurt you, not ever-”  Newt rambled, causing the small smile on your face to grow incredibly wide.

“Mr. Scamander! I would love to have coffee, or tea, with you.” you interrupted with a laugh, causing his already reddened face to grow darker. You giggled at this, unable to hide the joy he brought you.  

There was a nervous smile on his lips as he nodded and bit his lip slightly.  “Wonderful.  If you’d like, we can have coffee, or tea, down here and I can show you around, and all the creatures,” he offered to you as he moved towards the small stove in the small shed you were in.  

You nodded, clasping your briefcase shut.  “That would be wonderful, Mr. Scamander.”  You said and moved to a tall stool, sitting on the edge.  

“You can call me Newt.”  He told you as he busied himself preparing an array of coffee and tea.  

You nodded.  “Newt.”  You murmured to yourself.  He was not quite sure why, but Newt loved the sound of his name rolling off your tongue.

[yellowfingcr]

A tome begins to loosen from the stack between shakey hands as Sona hastens her stroll. An unlikely invigoration fills her that there was someone genuinely intrigued by her studies. Her arm jerks as the book protrudes from the other bound manuscripts and threatens to fall. With luck and an audible gasp, she manages to raise her hand just enough to catch and wedge it into its respective slot. Once at the table, she promptly leans forward, relieving her arms and placing the fruits of her research in front of Heysel. Sona steps back to compose herself, nervous hands rub against one another as she eyes the zealous scholar.

'Would this suffice?' she carefully signs, head atilt.

Tentacled head barely visible behind the hillscape of tomes and well-worn books littering the desk, one hand following an inked line of text and the other taking frantic notes on a notebook, Heysel is all too engrossed in her research to notice the poor woman’s struggles until the new tower of material is dropped with a light thump before her. The wooden desk creaks. The distinct sound of a spoon clinking inside a porcelain cup echoes from somewhere between the chaos. A candleflame gutters, hazardously, between heaps of too much very flammable paper. The kin herself startles enough that, as her back snaps upright, her pen flies out of her hand, and it’s only through a sequence of juggler-worthy acrobatics that she manages to catch it before it falls to the pavement.

“Pardon me!” she finally says, mortified, waving off the puff of dust raised by the new addition to the desk with the flat of a palm. She slots the pen between two small vine-shaped protrusions growing where her ear should be. “Goodness, that is a lot of material- and you carried it all by yourself? I’m a villain. I’m sorry. I’m here reading all your things and cluttering your tables and I don’t even help. But, ah- if they suffice?”

The current topology of her face actively impedes the formation of anything resembling a smile, yet it feels like she’s doing precisely that. A genuinely fond one, even.

Heysel curls a hand in a seafoam blue fist. Moves it up and down, while offering a strong nod. Yes.

“We’re miles beyond suffice with this though, Sona! I’m honored that you agreed to share what you’ve researched with me. Being able to collate notes on your studies is truly a privilege. And the method you use to communicate with the entities above is nothing short of revolutionary, if I can say as much.” Her head tips down in a minute bow. “Thank you so much. Please,” she continues, leaning toward a chair currently hosting a person-tall column of books, undoing it tome by tome until it’s free once again for an actual person to use. “Sit, sit. I brought a slice of cake. It’s the very least I can do to repay you for all the courtesy you’ve shown me. How are you, my friend? I’m unsure of when I last asked you this question." She turns the one she's sitting on in her direction with a loud scraping sound of wood against tiles, searching for her pocket watch. "Which also begs for the question- what time is it? Oh, gods. My legs feel weird."

[akaluan]

Genie!Erich AU Part 1

Kisuke absently poked through the cluttered back corner of the shop, occasionally picking something up to look at it closer before setting it back down and moving on; he had nothing better to do, after all, so he might as well… acquaint himself with the local shops.

(Anything to keep his mind off what had happened.)

(Anything to keep his mind off of how little he could do…!)

Kisuke pursed his lips and forced himself to bend over the table in the very back. Forced himself to pay attention to the detritus of human life that this old, cluttered, human shop sold—

A spark of reiatsu caught his attention, blinding bright against the dull hum of Karakura’s reishi, and he snatched up whatever it was instantly, desperate for something to remind him of Seireitei, desperate for something to investigate—

It was a glass bottle. Old and scuffed, deep blue-black with an odd metal stopper and flaking fragments of white… glaze? Paint? Something… across it, though what design it used to be he couldn’t tell. The glass was so dark that he couldn’t tell if there was anything in it even when he held it up to a nearby window; nothing seemed to move when he shook it, either, and the weight of it was… odd. His senses said it was heavy, said that there was more weight to it than just glass and a metal stopper could account for, but… it also seemed to weigh little more than thick glass and a metal stopper.

(The incongruity made him wary, made him curious, because how could his senses fail him so?)

(Was he holding something heavy or something light?)

(He had no idea.)

He’d never seen a bottle like it in Seireitei, and now that he was holding it in his hand, he couldn’t sense a trace of reiatsu—

Power sparked across his senses, bored-offended-exasperated, and Kisuke gave a start, bottle nearly slipping from his hand in shock. He gripped it tightly with both hands and brought it up to eye level, scowling at it as he did. “Do that again and I’ll drop you,” he murmured at it, shoving aside the embarrassment of talking to an inanimate object in public; the thing had reiatsu, had emotions, and that was good enough for him.

(The neighbors thought he was eccentric already anyway, what was one more piece of evidence?)

(He didn’t care about their opinion anyway.)

Boredom-exasperation-longing was his only answer, and Kisuke’s scowl faded into a puzzled frown as he tipped the bottle one way and then the next, trying to understand what he was sensing; the bits of emotion he was catching implied some level of sentience, but… he didn’t think it was coming from the bottle. Not exactly.

(Was there something inside the bottle?)

(Something… intelligent?)

(Interesting.)

Mind made up, Kisuke turned from the cluttered corner and wended his way back to where the old shopkeep was sitting. “This, please,” he said as he held out the bottle towards the man.

The man eyed the bottle with exasperation and then said, “Just take it. But if you bring it back, I will charge you.”

“Pardon…?” Kisuke asked, wondering if he’d actually heard the man right.

“That damn bottle’s been in and out of this store for years,” the shopkeeper explained with a sigh, then made a shooing motion towards him. “So unless you want to buy something else, just take it. I’ll take your money when you eventually bring it back to me.”

“Why do people bring it back?” he could help but ask, even as he lowered his hand and took a slight step back.

The man shrugged and lifted a hand, counting on his fingers as he recited, “Can’t be opened, can’t be broken, one person said it followed him throughout the house, another reported she heard a voice coming from it, another said it felt ‘evil’, I’ve had multiple claims that there’s a yokai trapped inside of it. Take your pick, I’m exhausted of dealing with it.”

Kisuke frowned down at the bottle thoughtfully, turning it over in his hands as he did; would a yokai account for the flashes of reiatsu he kept sensing? He’d… never met one, if he was being honest, and had always thought them just superstition, but maybe… maybe there was something to it?

“If you don’t want it—”

“No, no, I want it still!” Kisuke quickly answered, taking another step back from the man and flashing him a sheepish smile at the flat look he got. “I like mysteries!”

“Well, have fun with that one. I’ll see you in a week or two. Bring twenty yen with you when you do.”

Kisuke huffed at the thought that he would give up on such a potentially interesting mystery so quickly, but still gave the shopkeeper a shallow bow, murmured his thanks, and wandered out of the shop.

He had a mystery to unravel at last.

Hopefully it would be a good one.

Hopefully…

[iturbide]

Hanneman’s lab in Garreg Mach had become delightfully lively in the years after the war.  It had begun quietly enough with Linhardt, who had renounced his noble title and returned to the Officer’s Academy -- ostensibly to teach, though he frequently lost himself so deeply in Crest research that he arrived late to his classes.  Then came Lysithea, who had come to aid his Crest research in hopes of removing her dual Crests and extending her life again, and later adopted the mantle of his heir and successor.  And finally Annette, who had taken up a teaching position at the Royal School of Sorcery in Fhirdiad, but made increasingly frequent trips to consult on magical theory and practice with her old professor.  There were others, too, who made routine visits to the scholar’s humble lab: Dorothea, when she had the occasional break from opera performances, often dropped in to check on Linhardt and her favorite magic instructor; Mercedes, when she had a moment to spare in her busy routine at the orphanage, would visit to share her latest treats with Annette; Lorenz, on the rare occasions he had business in the area, made a point of stopping by to deliver the finest sweets the Alliance had to offer to appease Lysithea’s legendary sweet tooth.  Their research was ever fruitful, the days frequently eventful, and the company always delightful. 

With the start of the Great Tree Moon, Annette had begun a frenzied cleaning spree of their shared workspace; Lysithea had joined in without much need for encouragement, and the two together had eventually bullied Linhardt into pulling his weight, since a not insignificant portion of the book clutter was because of his studies, both in progress and abandoned.  Hanneman himself did what he could, but the years had finally begun to catch up to him, and though spring had finally arrived its warmth had yet to catch up; after a bit of arthritic hobbling about doing his share, the ladies released him from his duties (in spite of the very vocal complaints from their belligerent fellow scholar), and he settled into a more advisory role, directing the shelving and reorganizing of several bookcases worth of research material that had been pulled for study in the preceding months. 

Afternoon gave way to evening, and the sun had just barely dipped below the horizon when there came a knock outside.  As the only one with his hands free, Hanneman creaked to his feet, picking his way through the yet-unattended stacks of equipment.  “Coming, coming!” he called when the sound came again, rather more tentative this time.  “Just a moment, now...ah, here we are.”  Unlocking the door, he pushed it carefully open, adjusting his spectacles and squinting at the shadows figures outside, regretting that he’d not brought a lamp with him…

“Greetings, Professor Hanneman.”

“It’s good to see you again, Professor.”

He recognized the voices in an instant, and a smile broke across his face.  “Lorenz!  Dorothea!  How wonderful to see you both again.”

“Who is it, Professor?” Annette called from somewhere behind him. 

“Whoever it is, can they come back later?” Lysithea added.

“Do pardon the mess,” he chuckled, shuffling out of the doorway to invite them inside.  “We’re doing a bit of spring cleaning.”

“Goodness, it looks like you have your work cut out for you,” the diva giggled, linking her arm with Hanneman’s and helping him through the clutter.  “I hope we’re not in the way.”

“Gracious, no!” the professor laughed.  “It’s always a treat to have you visit -- and both of you, at that!  What a marvelous coincidence...I wonder if it might be a property of the Crest of Gloucester?  Such coincidences do seem to follow Lysithea...”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Lorenz chuckled.

“Oh, don’t be that way!” Dorothea teased.  “I think it sounds wonderful.  You should look into it and tell me all about it next time.”

As they emerged from the hall, the three former students turned from their work to see who had happened by...and promptly abandoned it in favor of greeting their unexpected guests.  “Dorothea!  Welcome back,” Annette giggled, skirting around the teetering stack of books she’d been organizing.  “How was the latest opera?  Another smashing success?”

“Sold out performances, every one,” the diva agreed.  “There wasn’t even standing room at the last show.”

“It’s nice to see you again, Lorenz,” Lysithea said, sidling up beside him to eye the box he carried.  “Those wouldn’t happen to be more of those honey cakes, would they?”

“Perhaps,” he smiled, holding the prize up and well out of her reach.  “But I insist that we have tea with it, so you simply have to be patient.”

“Tea, is it?” Hanneman piped up.  “I’ll see to that, then--”

“Oh, no, please, no need to trouble yourself,” the nobleman insisted.  “I would be happy to see to it, Professor.”

“Well, then, by all means,” he chuckled, settling comfortably into his favorite armchair while the others scattered between the overstuffed and well-worn couches around the scuffled tea table.  Wisely choosing to take the box of sweets with him, to Lysithea’s clear dismay, Lorenz wove his way through the clutter toward the kitchen space tucked away in a far corner of the lab and swiftly vanished from sight. 

Sprawling across the arm of the couch, Linhardt cast a sidelong glance at the diva sitting beside him.  “So what brings you here?  I thought the latest opera wasn’t set to close for another month.”

Dorothea smiled, lacing her fingers beneath her chin.  “Here I thought you didn’t pay attention to the opera, Lin.”

“Normally I don’t,” he yawned, “but it’s always four months between your visits, give or take, since you only ever come after a show ends its run.  It’s only been three months since you were here last.”

“Aw, Lin, I didn’t know you cared so much.”

“Did something happen?” Lysithea pressed. . 

“Well...yes,” Dorothea agreed.  “It’s actually why I’m here: I have big news to share with you.”

“You’re not quitting the opera, are you?” Annette asked worriedly, scooting to the edge of her seat. 

“Right now I’m just on leave, but...this is going to be my last show, yes.”

“Oh, no!  And I never even got to hear you perform!” 

“If that’s all you’re worried about, I can see about getting a special seat reserved for you at one of the shows,” the diva giggled. 

“It seems a rather sudden change,” Hanneman offered gently.  “What brings this on?”

“Well, that’s the real news,” Dorothea beamed.  “I’m getting married.”

A moment passed while the news sank in, varying looks of surprise, elation, and confusion crossing each face.  

“Married?” Annette squeaked. 

“Since when?” Lysithea pressed. 

“To who?” Linhardt added. 

“Oh, we came together,” the diva replied.  “I’m sure he’ll be here momentarily, he just had something to do first.”

All eyes turned toward the door of the lab, waiting for another knock to break the stillness.  Dorothea hummed to herself, a half-familiar tune from somewhere no one could quite recall…

“Here we are,” Lorenz announced, returning with a lavish tea tray.  “Sweet-apple blend and honey cakes direct from the finest patissier in the Alliance.”

“My favorite!” Dorothea giggled.  “How sweet of you.”

In an instant, everyone in the room turned to Lorenz, pouring tea for each of them and idly humming the same melody the diva had while she waited. 

“HIM!?”

Lorenz jumped at the collective shout, clutching the teapot protecitvely as he looked between the mages...and then turning to Dorothea.  “I thought we were going to tell them together.”

“I’m sorry,” she giggled, wiping her eyes and struggling to hold back more laughter.  “I just had to see the look on their faces when they realized.”

“My goodness, what a surprise this is,” Hanneman chuckled.  “I must confess, this is quite possibly the last thing I’d expected.”

“Are you sure you’re feeling alright, Dorothea?” Linhardt asked.

“I thought you two weren’t even on speaking terms!” Annette pointed out, clearly trying to keep the nobleman from hearing while he delivered a slice of cake and a cup of tea to the professor. 

“What did he do?” Lysithea pressed.

“Is he blackmailing you?” Linhardt ventured. 

“We’ll give him what-for if you need us to,” Annette agreed, rolling up her sleeve in preparation for a brawl. 

The diva was very clearly losing her battle, muffling her laughter in her sleeve rather than try to hold it in any longer.  “There’s no need for that, really,” she insisted. 

“He just wants to marry you because you’re a famous opera star, doesn’t he,” Lysithea muttered, shooting a sidelong glare at the nobleman in question. 

“Well, to be fair, back in the Academy I was just looking for a nobleman so I could marry into wealth,” Dorothea pointed out.  “I couldn’t really hold it against him for wanting a bride with status, since that’s all I wanted, myself.  But no, this isn’t just about me being an opera diva.”

“Then how did it happen?” Annette whispered, leaning in conspiratorially.  “How did someone like Lorenz win you over?”

The diva smiled, cupping her chin in one hand.  “He’s not the man I thought he was.”

“You’re making a mistake,” Linhardt warned. 

“Maybe,” Dorothea shrugged.  “But I’m still willing to see where it goes.”

“You’re sure about this?” Lysithea asked.  “It is Lorenz, after all…”

The diva grinned, canting her head toward the nobleman.  “Lorenz,” she called, “everyone’s just dying to know how you won a prize like me.”

Tearing his attention away from the tea service, Lorenz squared his shoulders.  “What utter nonsense!  A prize?” 

Linhardt glowered at him from his place on the far side of the couch; across from him, Annette rolled up her other sleeve while sparks began to dance between Lysithea’s fingers.  But the nobleman paid them no mind at all, setting the teapot aside and offering his hand to Dorothea instead.  “All I did was state my intentions and my feelings; she is the one who gave me a chance to make good upon them.  For that, I am not only fortunate, but profoundly grateful to her.”

Dorothea raised her free hand, and the nobleman caught it without hesitation, brushing a kiss across her knuckles; casting a sidelong grin at the mages across the table, she saw both Annette and Lysithea gaping in astonishment at the display.  

While Lorenz resumed slicing the cake, Hanneman chuckled and sipped his tea.  “I imagine there’s a story behind this.”

“You have to tell us how this happened,” Lysithea agreed, taking the offered cup and dessert. 

“Did he make some big public speech at the opera?” Annette asked eagerly as she accepted her own. 

“Oh, nothing so grand as that,” Lorenz chuckled.  “While I like to think of myself as a romantic, I’m afraid this would not make for a timeless love story.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that -- I think it could make for a lovely opera, myself,” the diva giggled.  “Two people with similar goals divided by status, thinking the worst of each other but drawn inexorably closer until they at last break free of the confines imposed by their birth…”

“Just hurry up and tell us already,” Linhardt groaned. 

“Oh, Lin, you have no sense of drama whatsoever,” Dorothea sighed.  “But fine, have it your way.”

Taking the cup and saucer Lorenz offered, the diva turned a warm smile on him, watching a trace of color bloom across his high cheekbones as he returned it in kind.  “Alright,” she began, “it happened at the opera a few weeks ago…”

[the-melting-world]

Sleepy Valerius Fluff pt.2

GN!MC

Sleepy Valerius: Part 1 | Part 2

~ 2k words

***

You wake up feeling very stiff, but surprisingly well rested. 

The first thing you smell is shampoo. It’s mixed in with the familiar scent of body salt and sweat. Still, the sharp pine soap cuts past the other layers and lingers.

A light groan escapes you as you flatten your face against a bed of silk. The sound is answered by another, coming from just above you. Your eyes flutter open, revealing the true nature of your silken pillow.

Disbelief and even the first inklings of horror course through you as you register the soft bronze tones darkening to richer shades of brown.

“Oh no. No, no, no.”

Your eyes use the undone braid like it’s some kind of rope ladder, climbing and climbing until you reach the smooth planes of Consul Valerius’s face. He’s still waking up, blinking slowly into consciousness.

You have no words. All you can do is watch the emotions cycle one after the other on the consul’s face.

Confusion. Discomfort. Sheer embarrassment.

“Get . . . off.”

You mumble a pathetic apology as you try to disengage your arms and legs from the nobleman’s. It’s even more mortifying when he has to assist you. You’re trapped in what feels like a never ending nightmare of squirming, tripping and breathless pardons.

Finally, you both are on your feet staring at each other from opposite ends of the pew. Valerius’s braid is completely undone. His uniform is just as untidy. And his eyes, though wild and perplexed, are much clearer now than the night before.

Of course, waking up after spending the night in his wine cellar suits him perfectly fine. You, on the other hand, must look like . . . You drag your fingers through the hair at your nape to test your theory. It’s as you expected — a horror story in the making.

You notice that Valerius is looking too. His lip quivers before he blurts, “You never went home?”

You surrender your hands. “You never woke me up!”

The emotion on his face is positively murderous.

“I was drunk! And you,” his eyes fixate on your upper body, “you are heavy! What’s your excuse, barhand?”

“Fuck, I don’t know,” You groan, “sleep deprivation?”

Valerius’s lip quivers again. He bursts a second time in what could possibly be laughter. Bordering on hysteria.

You take advantage of the distraction and shuffle backwards towards the entrance of the cellar.

There wasn’t enough time for you to go all the way home and change. So you walk into work with the same clothes and unkempt hair. Your boss doesn’t fail to point out that it makes you look like a thug. You apologize profusely, though on the inside you are boiling. The only upside to this whole catastrophe was the fact that you finally got some rest. Amazing how a few extra hours could give you so much energy and clarity. You wonder if the consul feels the same.

But the idea of seeing the noble again gives you the chills. And you’re not sure whether they are the good or bad kind.

Days go by. You go to work and come home with barely enough daylight to start working on your other project. So you start sacrificing your nights again. And it costs you.

It’s when your life fully returns to this familiar yet tiresome routine that you receive a knock upon the door of your tiny apartment.

You don’t check your hair in the mirror or put on a proper shirt because it was most likely just your cute neighbor, Leah. Probably stopping by to ask for some sugar. Who else would it be?

You open the door.

And it’s not your neighbor.

It’s been two weeks since you’ve been this close to Consul Valerius. 

It seems that he is alone. 

He holds up a bottle of wine. “I come bearing gifts.”

You slam the door in his face. Then you panic because this is not supposed to be happening. You curse and breathe erratically as you gather up a sleeveless pullover off the couch and tug it over your head. You suddenly become aware of how cramped and disorganized your apartment is. You even find error with the smell of natural cooking oil wafting from your kitchenette. 

Another polite knock sounds at the door. “I know I should have made some sort of announcement before showing up here. But if you give me a chance to –”

The consul’s words become even more muffled as you race to the bathroom to check your hair. It looks no better than it did the morning you woke up on his chest.

You can tell by the way Valerius muses to himself on the other side of the door that he is not going anywhere. And with how crowded your unit is, it’s only a matter of time before one of your curious neighbors begins to notice that nobility has somehow strayed this deep in the flooded district.

You return to the door, open it, and sweep the consul inside. 

“Hello again,” he greets as if this is something you two do often. You ignore him, scan the hallway for any signs of life, and close the door behind you.

“Don’t look too hard, consul,” you say, gesturing to your cluttered hovel. “I wasn’t expecting any guests today.”

He says something about the space being charming and demure while you shuffle him towards the back. Though he towers over you, it doesn’t take much effort to move him across the room. He appears to find this amusing. 

You reach the terrace that overlooks the watery alleyways. It’s small, but a lot cleaner than the inside. You guide Valerius outside and pull out a small, iron-wrought chair for him. 

He maintains that glimmer of a smile as he takes his time getting comfortable. Meanwhile his gaze coasts over you. He seems particularly interested in your arms, which you cross over your chest as you lean against the stone guard rail.

“Consul Valerius,” you sigh, “what are you doing here?”

He’s already freeing the cork from the bottle of wine.

“Enjoying the view, obviously.”

You glance behind you and snort. “Of this part of the city? It’s nothing but gray water and sinking infrastructure.”

“The other view.”

You look back and follow the consul’s gaze to your tucked forearms. 

“It’s pleasing to know that you’re as strong as I remember.”

You glance back up at him. “You’re too easily impressed, Consul.”

His clover honey eyes hold yours as he takes a swig straight from the bottle. When he takes it away, he’s left with a rosy thumbprint in the center of his lower lip. Suddenly finding yourself very thirsty, you quell the urge to lick your lips and instead join Valerius at the tiny iron bistro table.

When you take a seat, he offers you the bottle. You look away as you take a sip, clawing your mind for something eloquent and clever to say. Your thoughts sober once you realize that you are so far from the sort of company the man across from you keeps on a regular basis.

“I don’t know your name.” Valerius’s voice pulls you back to reality. “What should I call you?”

You blink and hand him the bottle. “Khleo, if you’d like.”

Valerius accepts and tilts his head. “A shorthand of Khleopath, I take? Or are you more of a Khleonari?”

You prop your elbow against the table and lean against your fist. 

“It’s nothing like that.” Smiling, you shake your head. “It’s . . . long for Khlee. My father insisted that I take his name, but Mother didn’t want it sounding harsh, so… you know. Parents. What about yours?”

Valerius gives a derisive snort. “Are you suggesting that I was ever a child? How dare you.”

You both chuckle at that. All of the tension from before has ebbed significantly. Though you still don’t know why the consul is here, it doesn’t seem to matter at the moment. 

The two of you share the wine and talk of things that are both meaningless and amusing. Your conversation carries on as you watch the shrinking daylight play games across the gunmetal surfaces of the twisting channels. 

When the bottle is empty, you get up. Sure that you have another in your cabinet, you excuse yourself and head inside.

But Valerius apprehends you on the way. Before you know it, you’re perched on his lap. His mouth is close to your ear, asking for a kiss. This shift in proximity is almost enough to make you lose your nerve. 

Still, you manage to say, “What’s the rush? You can at least take me on a date first.”

Your skin heats rapidly at Valerius’s low chuckle. “Fair. But since you’re here,” His hand coasts up the inside of your thigh. Your eyelids threaten to surrender to a sudden heaviness, but you fight it, training your features into coolness. “Can you give me something to part with?” His hand stops halfway up your leg and holds firmly to the underside.

You already know the answer is yes. But you don’t want to appear too eager, so you let your eyes drift from his tender hold on your leg to look over the terrace. You don’t make your move until he gives a sign of impatience. 

In Valerius’s case, it was loosening his fingers to drum them along your thigh. You keep your eyes averted, but lean a bit closer to him and tilt your head away, exposing your neck. The consul’s fingers freeze as he reads your offering and exhales as he bends towards you. His forehead connects with the underside of your jaw. The bridge of his nose bumps carelessly against your jugular. No lips yet, but you feel his breath, hot and yet somehow like icy needles on your skin.

“Khleo, I’ll be candid with you. I haven’t slept soundly in months. Then you appeared in my wine cellar like some kind of gift wrapped sandsprite.”

You want to trip him up with a clever retort, but you’re too distracted by the way he teases your skin with the edge of his nose. And then there was that hand on your leg. When did it become so warm?

Valerius goes on. “I thought your presence was just a lame coincidence, but it was not. I haven’t been able to revisit that deep of a slumber since.” 

Finally, you find your voice. “I didn’t realize this was a job interview.” Despite the taunt, you don’t withdraw from the touch. And neither does he. 

The noble sighs. “I know that after the way I acted, you have every reason to say no.” Then Valerius – damn him – chooses this moment to work his lips into your neck, kneading your skin like a warm, soft dough. You fight off whatever urge compels you to show weakness. 

He whispers, “I wonder if you might be interested in helping me chase this elusive sleep.”

You realize that your fist is clinging tightly to the front of Valerius’s uniform. He doesn’t seem to notice or care that your hand is determined to mangle it. 

You swallow hard before saying, “What’s in it for me?”

Gods be damned. He kisses your neck again. “Tell me what you want.”

His gentle command momentarily clears your head. Your voice sobers. “What do I want? What do I want? Consul . . . ” You sigh, perhaps too aggressively. “I can name so many things. 

Valerius’s lips subdue the vibrations of your throat, as if to tame a caged animal.

“Name one.”

You suddenly have control over your hand again. It lets go of Valerius’s collar and absently slides down his chest. Your throat bobs as you swallow once more. You close your eyes.

“I want . . .”

Valerius gives your leg a curious squeeze. “Khleo?”

“Anonymity.”

Valerius scoffs. “That’s it? Might I remind you of my influence –”

Finally, you turn, meeting his gaze head on. “I don’t need reminding.” You try to smooth down the ugly wrinkles in his collar. “Sorry. About your shirt.”

He smiles wistfully. “We can call ourselves even.” 

You get the feeling that the consul enjoys your unwarranted demonstrations of strength. And it makes you smile.

“So . . . how does this work exactly?”

(To be continued . . .)

[varian-the-unstable-alchemist]

Arrival Redo

OKAY SO

VARIANS INITAL ARRIVAL WAS STUPID

SO

THAT DIDNT HAPPEN

THIS HAPPENED INSTEAD

ANY QUESTIONS?NO?GOOD-

HERE

Im not tagging anyone okay-

just-

here

Yes I took inspiration from several fanfictions that I liked

please don't hate me

***

Varian looked down at the ground as he walked. Papers gathered in his arms, lost in thought. Rapunzel had tasked him with making the Dungeon more hospitable for prisoners, after he told her how terrible it was down there.

Being the Royal Engineer, he didn’t have the right to refuse, but he hated working on the project. He only needed to be down there for reference point, he wasn’t the one who would be carrying out the designs (thank god), but every second he was down there was like a weight pressing down on his chest. He constantly felt like he was stuck, like he wouldn’t be able to leave, and this place would be the last he would see. Not to mention the prisoners themselves. One in particular had been making the task nearly unbearable. He tried to ignore him, but the man knew exactly how to get under his skin...

He hadn’t told Rapunzel about his discomfort. It wasn’t up to him to decide which jobs he did and didn’t take on. And she’d been busy lately anyway, even though it’d been months since Zhan Tiri’s attack, they were still rebuilding. The pressure had only increased when her parents announced that they would be retiring soon, and Rapunzel would become queen.

Varian let out a breath, it’s okay, he could do this. He’d survived prison, attempted murder, all kinds of crazy magic, kidnapping, and a demon attack. He could survive this project. Besides, it wa-

Voices cut into his thoughts. Varian paused, looking to his left at a door that was slightly ajar. He weighed his options for a moment, before curiosity got the better of him. He moved to stand next to the door, leaning in to hear what the people inside were saying.

“-ust don’t know what to do, Nigel!” Varian recognized that voice as Rapunzel’s. She sounded frustrated.

“Your majesty, you already know my opinion on the matter.” Nigel’s nasally voice sounded from inside.

“I am not firing him! He’s the best person for the job and you know it! I-I just... he seems so stressed lately, and I don’t know how to help...”

“well, I’m not quite sure how to help with that, but, there is the matter of the letters.”

“We’ve already talked about the letters.”

“Princess, with all due respect, we can’t just ignore them.”

“Yes, we can! Just because a few citizens are upset that, doesn’t mean I’m going to change something that doesn’t need changing! And I want you to make sure that Varian doesn’t hear a single word about them!”

“Your highness, I-“

Varian had heard enough. He stepped into the room. “That I don’t hear a single word about what?”

Rapunzel looked up at her, eyes wide. She was unable to find words.

“The matters of the Princess are none of your concern.” Nigel said with undisguised dislike for the teen in front of him.

“They are if they involve me.” Varian said, crossing his arms.

“Varian I...” Rapunzel started “I-I can’t tell you, but trust me when I say that you’re better off not knowing.”

“Great, so now you’re keeping things from me. Rapunzel, what is this about? What are the letters?”

“I...” she looked away, biting her lip. “...Varian, please...”

“You’re still not going to tell me?! They’re about me, aren’t they?”

Rapunzel looked away, and Varian felt his face heat in anger. He clenched his fists. “Fine! Fine, you’re not going to tell me, that’s fine.”

He turned, moving to storm towards the door.

“Varian-“ Rapunzel tried

“I’ll be in my lab.” He snapped, before slamming the door behind him.

***

Varian sat at a table at his workbench, leaned back and staring at the ceiling, letting the anger wash over him. Yes, he was being unreasonable, but he was sick and tired of being treated like a child, having things be kept from him simply because whomever was in question felt like he couldn’t handle it. Having one of the only people in the world he genuinely trusted do it...

The raccoon curled up on his chest chittered next to him, pressing his furry head into Varian’s cheek in an attempt to comfort him. The fuming boy took a deep breath in an attempt to calm himself, raising a gloved hand to scratch the ring-tailed bandit behind the ears. Ruddiger made a sound akin to purring in reply.

His lab was nice, to his tastes at least. It was messy, but it helped add to the personality. It’d been gifted to him along with the position of Royal Engineer.

Varian looked up at the sound of the door opening. He’d been expecting Rapunzel, and was surprised when he was met with Nigel instead. Ruddiger moved to curl around Varian’s shoulder’s protectively, narrowing his eyes at the man. The man looked around the cluttered room, distain and disgust easily visible on his face. There was a stack of paper clutched in his hand.

“What do you want?” Varian asked less than politely. He really wasn’t in the mood to bother with protocol.

Nigel moved his eyes to the teen in the chair with distaste. “You wanted to know what was in the letters, so here they are.”

He tossed the stack of papers the the ground next to Varian’s chair. Varian looked from the papers to him, puzzled.

“Wha-“

“If I’m being honest, I agree with every word they say. And, frankly I think a mutt you should follow their advice.” He turned, moving back towards the door. He paused at the doorway, looking back with his eyes narrowed and lips pulled back in a sneer. “By the way, you aren’t fooling anyone with your little drag show, young lady.”

He closed the door before Varian could spit a scathing comment. Ruddiger hissed at the closed door, tail swishing. Varian closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. This wasn’t the first time someone had purposely misgendered him. It shouldn’t effect him this much.

After a moment, he mulled over the first insult he’d used... “mutt” It left a foul taste in his mouth... dehumanizing. He guess it came from the fact that his parents had both been refugees, he wasn’t even Coronian... or, at least not in most people’s eyes. But he’d been born and raised here. To say that he was belonging to any other kingdom would feel wrong. It didn’t matter anyway. He took a deep breath and stood, walking over to the pile of paper.

Ruddiger’s ears flattened against his head, letting out an anxious trill. He pawed at Varian’s face, but Varian ignored him, looking down at the paper at the top of the stack.

“Princess Rapunzel,

As a Citizen, I have stood by all your decisions as Princess and temporary queen except for one. Your decision to pardon two of the kingdom’s most dangerous criminals is something I cannot possibly fathom. At least Cassandra has left the kingdom, but to keep the traitor Varian on staff? It’s honestly horrifying to me and several others. A dangerous criminal like him should be locked in prison or dead, kept away from yourself and your people, not gifted with a position so high in rank. I sincerely hope you take my words into account.

Wishing for the best,

A troubled citizen.”

Varian knew he should stop. He knew that nothing good could come from reading more, but he pressed on, flipping the page and reading the next.

“Varian,”

That was odd. It was addressed to him, why hadn’t he received it? Was the Princess Reading his mail?

“I don’t know what you’ve done to the royal family. Whether you’ve bewitched them or used some kind of mind game, I want you to know that you don’t have everyone fooled. If I were you, I’d turn yourself in or jump off Corona bridge before people discover your true intentions. Lord knows you deserve it after what you’ve done. We’re watching you.“

Varian pressed on. Some were signed, some weren’t (although very few had names attached), some addressed to himself, some to the Princess, a handful were even addressed to the king or queen. Some (he ones that Varian assumed were from old Corona), addressed him by his old name and called him a witch. But, despite the differing methods of explaining it, they all had the same idea; Varian was  a dangerous criminal and shouldn’t be working at the castle.

When he’d finally finished reading, he sat there, numb. He closed his eyes, swallowing. He understood now why the Princess hadn’t wanted to show him. Despite acknowledging the Princess’s reasoning behind her actions, he didn’t regret reading them. Now he knew how people perceived him, now he knew that he had to be more careful.

Shakily, the ravenette stood, raising Ruddiger from where he’d been curled around Varian’s shoulders and placing him on his work chair. The small mammal trilled in worry for his human, tail swishing behind him. Varian gave his friend a small smile. (it was fake, of course, but Varian had become very skilled at making them look convincing as of late)

“It’s okay, buddy, I’m alright. I just need a minute alone... I’m going to take a walk...”

The raccoon reluctantly curled into a ball, still looking up at his human with concern as he turned, grabbed the backpack he kept with himself at all times when going out, and walked towards the door

The castle was relatively quiet, most people who usually resides here were out enjoying the beautiful day. Light filtered through the stained glass windows built into the wall. Varian had never re-adjusted to the light level of the capital. It was nicknamed the kingdom of the sun for a reason, but after the crushing darkness of the dungeon beneath his feet, he didn’t think he’d ever be able to take the brightness for granted again.

As he stepped out into the courtyard, several guards waved at him. He nervously waved back, anxiety bubbling in his chest at the sight of the uniform they wore. Eugene had given it a name... what was it? Fear of authority? That sounded right... strangely enough, Eugene was the only person in uniform that he wasn’t scared of.

He made his way through the capital, people around him going about their business. Their reactions to him were diverse, some smiled and waved, some sent glares his way, some ignored him completely. Varian kept his eyes fixed on the ground, trying to make himself small.

Eventually, he made it outside the main city. He walked across the bridge, keeping one hand on the railing. He paused in the center, eyes lingering on where he’d stood only a few months ago, looking down at the water as his form shook, trying to force himself to move forward.

He shook himself out of the memory, he was in a better place now. Sure, he still had the occasional depressive episode or panic attack, but he had been doing great considering all that had happened to him.

He stepped off the bridge, pausing a moment to decide whether he should keep going along the path or walk through the forest. He decided that the latter would be more interesting and started walking slightly to the left.

Because of Varian’s tendency to spend hours or even days locked in his room and his fascination with technology, one could guess that he wasn’t a nature person. But, in reality, the opposite was true. Varian was quite fond of the outdoors and of nature itself. He’d always been better with animals than he was with people, and a walk through the forest had always been his second favorite way to calm himself down (the first being alchemy, but even the idea itself was tiring to him at the moment). He sighed, closing his eyes and letting the sounds and feelings of the forest wash over him.

He wasn’t upset. The people who wrote the letters were justified on their feelings. He’d attacked the kingdom, tried to kill its leaders, been sent to prison, escaped with a Saporian terrorist, and taken over the kingdom. Then, in what must have seemed like the blink of an eye to them, Rapunzel had returned, completely pardoned him for everything he’d done, and been rewarded with a position of high honor. No wonder they were suspicious of him.

No, he wasn’t upset that multiple of them had told him to kill himself, or that he should be back in the prison he now hated with every fiber of his being.

He definitely wasn’t.

As for Rapunzel, he wasn’t angry at her. He knew her. She could be scarily protective when she needed to be, and she saw it as her duty to keep Varian safe. Emotionally and physically. He had no right to be angry that she’d read his mail, kept something as big as this from him, and still hadn’t fired that good-for-nothing advisor.

Since his recovery, he’d learned to keep all negative emotions under lock and key. Especially anger, now that he knew how quickly it could spiral out of control. So he knew that that definitely wasn’t what he was feeling as he walked deeper and deeper into the thickening trees.

It was precisely thirteen seconds after the teen decided that he was under no circumstances angry at Corona, its people, or its Princess, that he found himself falling.

[theluckyshadow]

“Still think I’m a sub?”

Written by an absolutely lovely anon who asked me to publish this beautiful work thank-you for writing it it’s amazing.

Tagging: @sluttgyu (look it’s your wonderful confession 😉)

Chilling in your lonely and empty apartment wondering what you could do to cure your boredom. Glancing over to the clock you read 11:40. Letting a groan slip past your lips, you pick up the phone and call the first contact you see.

Dancing around the quiet kitchen as it rings.

“‘Ello.”

You’re greeted with the voice of your bestfriend Giwook. A small smile paints your lips when you hear his voice.

“I'm bored.” You say flatly, flopping on to the couch.

“Hmm, that's unfortunate, what do you want me to do about it?” Giwook laughs

'Come over?' You propose, hoping he'd agree.

'Why should I?' He teases, you can hear the little smile pained on his face and how hes enjoying being a little shit.

“We can get drunk and watch movies and order chicken, you in or no?” You laugh kicking your feet in the air for no reason.

“I'll be there in 5,” he says, before he hangs up without a good bye. Tossing the phone on to the cluttered coffee table, you tidy up as best as you can in 5 minutes.

Just as you were about to call and order take out, Giwook bursts in to your home with no invitation.

"Let’s fuck shit up tonight!" He said loudly, holding a bag above his head.

"Excited much?" You laugh finally dialing the number. He just gives a cute nod and makes his way to the couch. You jump over the top of the couch and land beside him, kicking your feet over his lap and take the bottle of soju from his hands. He looks at you in shock as you nonchalantly take a big sip and continue ordering chicken.

The night begins with a few drinking games before the food arrives. When it does the drinking doesn’t stop and you both decide to put on a movie, the alcohol in your systems making you giggle and laugh at everything and fall all over eachother. Not realizing the movie you put on had a sex scene, you burst out laughing at Giwooks reaction to the steamy moment in the screen.

"You should see your face" you drunkenly laugh all filters gone from your mind.

"Says the one the could be a twin to a rose" he snorts, laughing at your drinking blush only worsened by the current scene on the screen.

You guys calm down and actually watch it while commenting on how fake it looked, until a thought you had slipped past your lips.

"I bet you'd be a bottom.” You say not looking away from the screen.

"Pardon!?" Giwook nearly choked on his drink in shock.

"You just give off sub vibes, either that or you're a virgin, no shame in that either." You shrug looking at him.

"I most definitely am not a virgin.” He argues back whilst blushing madly.

"Okay good for you.” You laughed. His pouty expression too funny for any comments.

"And I‘m not a sub." he adds, finishing the sip he was going to take.

"Oh yeah? Prove it." You smirk, the alcohol in your system giving you the courage to say that. He quickly pulls you on to his lap and kisses you. It was sloppy and messy, but, what else would you expect from a drunken make out session? His hands gripping tight onto your hips, pulling you closer to where he needed you the most already.

You gasped against his lips when you feel his already hardened self on your core. Giwook takes this invitation to slip his tounge into your mouth, you could taste the heavy flavor of soju and beer on him and it was intoxicating. His hands make you move your hips against him drawing a moan from your lips. Giwook's kisses trail down your cheek to your neck, he paints your throat with purple and red before he returns to your face.

"Do you really want to continue this?" He asks looking at you're flushed face.

"Very." You pant pulling him in for another heated kiss.

He stands up and makes his way to your room and throws you on your bed, taking off his bucket hat and sweatshirt before taking his place on top of you, his hands make their way up your shirt and down your thigh making you wrap one of your legs around him, wasting no time, Giwook removes your shirt and sweats leaving you in your underwear- he also takes his sweats and underwear off too.

You cant help but stare in shock at what you once deemed as your innocent best friend.

Giwook pulls the top of you're bra down as he was either too drunk still or couldn't be bothered to unclasp it. He moves your underwear to the side and tests the waters by inserting a his fingers into you first. Your eyes flutter shut and a soft gasp leaves your lips. You could feel Giwook's eyes roam all of you as he watched you easily unfold in front of him.

"And here I was thinking you were a top, guess we were both mistaken baby," he says in your ear followed by a chuckle, his words leave you speechless as his voice dropped a bit leaving you shaken (in all the right ways), a chuckle leaves his slightly swollen lips at the reaction.

You could now start to feel your self start to come near to your high, means increasing in pitch and volume.

"G-Giwook!" You gasp grabbing at his wrist. He just chuckles and removes his fingers from you and uses the wetness that covered his hand, and fingers, to stroke himself.

"You look pretty submissive yourself right now babydoll, what a pretty sight.” He chuckles, leaning in to kiss you again. You whimper against his lips as you feel him push into you, a smirk paints his plump lips at your reaction, he stays still and awaits a reaction.

"Please Giwook, move please, just do something," you whine, moving to a whole new kind of sub space.

Giwook starts out soft but quickly moves to a faster and rougher pace. You throw your head back and let out a chorus of whines, moans and whimpers.

"Fuck look at you, begging and I didnt even have to ask you." Giwook groans in to your ear. You gasp and lace your fingers in his hair and pull him into another kiss as best as you can. He sits up and grabs your thighs, making you wrap your legs around him, gripping tightly and watching himself thrust in and out of you. You grab and hold on to anything and try to muffle your noises, Giwooks’ hand travels to your clit and harshly rubs it, sending a jolt through you, causing a loud moan to rip from your throat.

"Nah nah, dont hold back, let me know how good I'm making you feel.” He chuckles.

You didnt know how long it had been but you could feel yourself curling your toes and your stomach tighten. A broken moan of Giwooks’ name was your way to signal to him your close release. He chuckles and speeds up, the bed now creaking loudly with each thrust and the head board harshly hitting the walls. The new pace as well as Giwook’s constant assault on your clit helped bring you to your release, you let go nearly screaming as you cum hard around him, his own groans and moans now much more often and louder, he continues to thrust through your orgasm as he chases his own, slightly overstimulating you. You could only gasp and claw at his back, lost in a world of pure pleasure. Giwook’s thrusts become sloppy and inconsistent before he stills and buries himself into you as he let's go, painting your walls with his release. A whimper leaves your lips when he plants kisses along your collarbone as he pulls out, falling beside you.

You hear a crack and look at eachother and let out a tired laugh, still trying to catch your breaths.

"So," he pants looking to you, you look back at the brown eyed boy, "Still think I’m a sub?"

[timelordthirteen]

In All Things 14/?

Mr. Gold/BelleFrench, Explicit (eventually)

Summary: A Rumbelle arranged marriage AU.

Chapter Summary: Belle tries to get some answers from her father, but not is all as it seems, and in the middle of the night she makes a terrible discovery.

Notes: Once again this chapter didn't end up where I wanted it to. I'm going to end up drawing all this out just because I'm terrible at estimating how long these chapters will be. Sorry I'm like this. For the 31 Days prompt #16: fire.

[AO3]

Previous: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13]

Belle marched down the corridor.

The sound of her heels was loud and sharp, matching the cadence of her heart as she stalked towards her father’s study. Her fingers curled into fists as she came to the door, ready to kick and scream if necessary until Milton let her see her father. She pounded on the door three times and stepped back with her hands on her hips.

It creaked open and Milton’s thin, boney face appeared in the gap, his oddly pale eyes narrowing at her.

“I want to see my father,” she said firmly.

He moved back and began to close the door, but she caught the edge of it with her hand and pushed into the space, using her hip and shoulder to force it back open.

“Now.”

Milton drew back, his mouth opening to say something, but a voice from inside the room stopped him.

“Milton? Who’s there?”

“Papa?” she called out. “It’s me!”

“Belle!” came Maurices voice from inside. “Petal, come in, let me see you.”

She shot a glare at the steward, and stepped passed him into the room.

Maurice got up from his desk, a large mahogany thing with carvings on the sides, and came around to greet his daughter. He held out his hands to take hers and lifted them to his lips where he pressed a kiss to the back of each one.

“Belle, my dear, I thought you were to arrive yesterday?”

She squeezed his fingers with hers. “We did, we arrived just before supper.” She glanced over at Milton and met his stern gaze with one of her own.

Maurice frowned. “No one told me.” Then he looked to Milton, who had the decency to look sheepish when fixed with the questioning eyes of his master.

“My Lord,” the steward said, bowing at the waist, “I apologize, you were resting and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Maurice shook his head. “I always want to be disturbed for my favorite daughter.”

Belle rolled her eyes, smiling in spite of her annoyance at Milton’s clear defiance of her father’s wishes. “I’m your only daughter.”

Maurice leaned in and kissed her forehead. “Yes, precisely.” She laughed, and let him lay her arm over his. “Come, let’s talk in the library where it’s not so cluttered. Milton, put the ledgers away, we’ll finish this later.”

They passed by Milton as he mumbled a quick “yes my Lord,” and made the short trip from the study to the double doors of the library.

“Is everything alright, Papa?” she asked as he eased the doors closed.

“Of course,” he replied, motioning towards the velvet covered lounge with the sloped, curving back. “Didn’t you read my letter, my girl?”

“Well, yes, but - it was just a bit strange.”

Maurice let out a soft grunt as he sat, and Belle noted that he seemed to be favoring his left knee again. He’d injured it last summer dismounting a horse he had no business riding in the first place, when he landed in the mud and twisted his leg. It had bothered him off and on ever since, and it occurred to Belle that perhaps Gold’s issue was as simple and embarrassing as that. Of course he wouldn’t want to tell her everything about it when it was such an innocuous and silly thing.

“What was strange about it?” Maurice asked.

Belle sighed. “You talked of the winter preparations, the repairs to the mill, but nothing about how you were, or whether things have improved now that the debt was paid down. It - it made me worry, Papa.”

“Oh, my dear,” he said, lifting her hand with his and letting it drop on his knee. “Everything is well. I am well, see?”

He leaned back and puffed out his chest, and she laughed softly, shaking her head. “Yes, yes I see. Your knee is bothering you though, isn’t it?”

He sighed and nodded. “Yes, but it’s nothing. I’m an old man and I’m allowed to succumb to some aches and pains, am I not?”

“Yes, Papa,” she replied, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “And you are not old.”

The look he gave her made her giggled again, and she could feel some of her anxiety lessening. The incident with Milton was still sticking in her mind as suspicious. She knew she should trust her father, and trust in his confidence in Milton, but she wondered if it might be possible to get a peek at the ledgers, just to be sure.

“You’re sure everything is alright?”

Maurice huffed and straightened. “Yes, I’m quite sure. Where is all this coming from? Do you not trust me to run my own estate?”

She wanted to point out that trusting him to run his estate was how they’d gotten to the state they were in, well, that and the war in the south that King George had insisted on fighting. Now that it was over, the kingdom was rebuilding and recovering, but Avonlea still seemed to lag behind for some reason, and while she understood her father’s reluctance to discuss all his private matters with her, she felt that the status of the house of her mother’s family, which might still someday be her inheritance, was something she had a right to understand.

“No, no, it’s not that,” she insisted. Then she sighed. “It’s just different now that I’m not here. I wonder and I worry, and I won’t apologize for that.”

He exhaled and nodded, and reached for her hand again, holding in one hand while he patted the back of it with the other. “No, no, I don’t suppose you will.”

He hadn’t exactly agreed to tell her more, but she supposed for now she’d have to settle for him at least trying to understand. There was another matter she was hesitant to broach, but this was likely to be her only opportunity to speak with him alone for the near future. “Why didn’t Milton tell you I was here last night?”

Maurice let go of her hand and bristled at the question. ‘Why are you so suspicious, my girl? You marry that - that snake Gold - and now you come back and question everything? I thought you were here to visit because it’s been weeks since we’ve seen each other, and yet you sit here interrogating me?”

Belle sprang to her feet, her brow knit in consternation. “What do you mean by that? It’s not as if I had a choice in who I married, or did you forget the sad state of affairs of those ledgers just a month ago?”

“Belle, please, I didn’t mean that. Only that if Gaston hadn’t - ” He sighed. “If not for that, then Gold wouldn’t have been an option. This is not how it was supposed to be.”

“No,” she said, quickly stepping back when her father tried to take her hand again. “It’s not how it was supposed to be at all, nor how I wanted it to be, but that didn’t matter did it?”

“My dear -”

The doors opened just then, and they both stopped, toe to toe between the sofa and the fireplace. Milton stood in the doorway, a slight smirk on his face that Belle wanted to slap right off his long face.

“Pardon me, my Lord, there is a letter from Meryton that needs your attention.”

Maurice sighed. “We’ll talk after dinner, alright?”

She nodded, and gave Milton another hard stare, which he returned with a sneer behind her father’s back. As soon as the doors closed, she flopped down on the sofa and squeezed one of the pillows in anger as she stared into the fire. Her father was keeping something from her, and she didn’t know why, but it was obvious that Milton was part of it. They’d never had an adversarial relationship before, always being quite courteous but distant.

The former steward, Edward, died at the very old age of eighty-one. By then Avonlea was already in debt and approaching dire straits. After a few months of her father struggling on his own to maintain everything, with Belle trying to help where she could, King George had recommended Milton. In hindsight, Belle knew she should have seen that as strange, and she made a mental note to mention it to Gold.

Dinner had been one of Belle’s favorite dishes, crispy duck with a sauce made from plums and red wine, with the last of the season’s squash and apples roasted alongside it. Gold remarked that he could see why she preferred it, and the grin he gave her made her hopeful that he would mention it to Ms. Potts when they returned and she might get to enjoy it more often than when she visited Avonlea. Even Bae, who was normally a very picky eater, was pleased, and she counted it as a significant victory that they all made it through with light, pleasant conversation and full bellies. It was one of those hearty meals that signaled the end of autumn and the coming winter, and it always left her with a warm, contented feeling.

Except she was not so content this evening. Her father had begged off speaking with her after they ate, giving her a flimsy excuse about his knee aching and wishing to rest it in a hot bath. Her father never did what was best for him in that way, and he had never liked very hot baths before, usually preferring them more lukewarm so it didn’t make his skin itch. She supposed things could change, but not in just a few weeks.

Here she was again, restless, unable to sleep, and taken to worrying about everything to the point where she was considering sneaking into her father’s study to get a look at the ledgers. She glanced at the door of her room again and bit her lip. It was late and everyone else was probably asleep, but there was one person that she considered it was possible was not. Milton had always claimed a tendency towards insomnia, which was why he often worked late during the evenings, but even he shouldn’t be in the study at this hour.

Belle paced the space between the bed and the sofa several times, mulling over her plan, before sighing and giving in to temptation. She took the tall candle from her bedside table and wiggled her feet into her slippers before easing the bedroom door open. The hall was dark save for the two candles that were left lit through the night, but she stared down it for some time all the same until her eyes adjusted to the dimness and she could make out enough shadowy shapes to navigate her way safely.

It took her only a few minutes to make her way down the back stairway the servants used and cross through the drawing room to the main hallway. At the end of it was the study, and she waited at the door for a full minute before she opened it. The door was thankfully dark save for the remains of a fire, and she shivered as she stepped into the chilly room.

She pulled her robe tighter and came around the desk, setting the candlelight to the left of the ledger. Her fingers traced the cover, hesitating before she opened it, and she blew out a breath and closed her eyes before lifting it.

The first page was nothing more than rows of numbers copied over from the previous ledger, which seemed to have ended just after her marriage. She could see that everything appeared to be in order, the debts had been cancelled out, and the expenses and taxes didn’t outweigh the income from the harvest. She smiled and turned the page, only to have her face fall. The next set of numbers were less comforting, and there was one entry for a not insignificant sum that had no notation as to what it was for, nor a name for the payment. It was possible that her father had simply forgotten to write it down, but she didn’t think Milton would be that sloppy.

The next page had another of the same entry for almost the same amount, and again there was no notation or name. The total at the bottom was surprisingly low for an end of season harvest, particularly one that they had expected to be the best in several years. She bit her lip and looked at the next page, letting it fall from her fingers as she gasped.

Several rows of torn paper stuck up and she trailed her fingertips over them, counting at least four pages that had been ripped from the book. Her breathing increased as she felt the telltale twist in her gut that told her she was correct in a way she hoped never to be. The glow from the candle and the fire gave the whole scene an ominous feeling, and she turned the next page slowly, swallowing hard as she revealed the inevitable.

Row after row of figures went down the page, including one of the empty entries, now infamous in her mind. At the bottom, she could see the sad truth, that Avonlea was in debt again, to at least three different creditors this time, instead of just to the royal treasury. Her heart sunk all the way to her feet and she pressed a hand to her mouth as a sick feeling rose up in her throat. In spite of Gold’s payments to the King, her father was well on his way to ruin all over again.

She staggered back from the desk, knocking against the chair and making it scrap against the wood floor. The sound was startlingly loud, and she held very still, waiting for another sound that would tell her if anyone overheard. After a minute or two of nothing, she sat down in the chair with her head in her hands.

Her marriage, leaving home, Gold’s money.

It had all been for nothing.

She lifted her head and stared at the ledger for a long moment before reaching out to flip back to the torn pages. What had been on them that needed to be torn out? And who had done it? Was it her father in a fit of anger, or Milton trying to hide what was happening until it was too late?

The fire snapped, and she jumped in her seat. Her eyes fixed on the fireplace, and she pushed to her feet, crossing quickly to the hearth. She knelt down on the warm stone in front of it and peered into the flames and ashes. Even the heat from the low fire was searing this close, and she winced as she leaned closer. Near the front she made a discovery that raised her eyebrows to her hairline, the remains of at least two sheets of paper, the same color and weight as the pages of the ledger.

[akaspiderman]

By a thread

pairing: theseus scamander x female!reader

word count: 2.7k

warnings: swearing

plot: (y/n) has been crushing on Theseus since Hogwarts, maybe working with him will finally get her noticed.

A/N: this is highkey a personal fav, don’t do it dirty // also really enjoy haveing to search up spells to use

It was a stupid crush. He wasn’t even that nice. It’s never good to get involved with a coworker, let alone boss.That’s what (y/n) told herself everyday as she prepares to go to to work. It was just so hard to ignore those feelings when she sees him everyday.

(y/n) couldn’t tell if getting assigned to help Theseus was a blessing or a curse. She never directly did work for him before. She always had the same department as Theseus, working under the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. From there she specializes in the investigation department, differing from an auror. Theseus was technically the lead role, but he never paid much attention to her, she did more low key cases like random murders. She did not work to track down dark art wizards until, Rangler who was the investigator for Theseus got sick, thus she got the temporary promotion. 

(y/n) knew him from Hogwarts, he was a year ahead of her and he was always attractive back then. Her fancy with him died down a bit when he graduated. But the second she walks into her new job, greeted by a face that once kept her up at night, it revived all her old feelings back from the dead.

“Hello, (y/n). Finished tracking down the source?” Theseus strolls over to her station, peering down at her desk. Her workspace was cluttered unfortunately, papers scattered around.

“I believe so. I, uh, traced the, the-“ she loses her train of thought. He was raising an eyebrow at her with small smile playing on his lips.

“The thread?” Theseus finishes for her. She mentioned how she found it when she first saw him this morning, but she didn't push it when Theseus was being called to assist someone else.

“Yup, uh huh, I traced it after everyone left and it lead to this muggle barn,” she stayed overtime hoping it would gain some respect from Theseus.

“Good, so we can start moving in today?”

“Mhm,” she puts on a polite smile.

Theseus drums his fingers on her desk, “Great. I was doubting you, can’t believe you even found a loose thread.”

Heat rose to her cheeks, this was not exactly what she expected to hear. He didn’t think she could do it, “Well, I try my best.”

“Get ready, we’re going to leave soon,” he walks away with a pep in his step, at least she gave him that.

She slams her head down onto the table. This was so idiotic for her, he didn’t even think she could do it. There was no chance she could even ask him out, he clearly thought so little of her. Hell, why would she even ask her boss out, that’s such a bold move for anyone. After she contemplates every interaction with Theseus, she rises from her desk, arriving to the departure spot. People slowly come, hearing the news from Theseus. There were only three people that joined her: Brown, Dorious, and Locke. He probably didn’t see the need to bring many people if it was only one person in a barn.

Theseus is closely behind Dorious stating, “Right now we are about to face Alfred Showsback, who has been linked to Grindelwald, courtesy of Ms. (y/l/n). She’ll tell us how to get there.”

“We can apparate to the field we visted yesterday. We can walk from there, it isn’t far,” (y/n) tells them.

They all nod in agreement, then one by one they disappear into thin air. She looks over at Theseus who smiles before apparating away. She flicks her hand and arrives in the middle of a wheat field. The wind was swaying the tall strands, tickling the parts of her skin that was exposed. She looks around to see everyone standing near.

“It’s a five minute walk or so,” (y/n) tells them, turning to the west and starts leading them. This was different, she was never really in charge of people, she usually stood in the background. It was nerve-wrecking in a sense, she was hoping that Showsback stayed in the same spot so she dosen’t have to track him down again via a loose button or something. Pressure became a feeling she got used to ever since she got temporarily promoted, she wanted to show off to Theseus that she was excellent, that she didn’t get chosen by luck.

Theseus jogs next to her, glancing back at the three people who trailed behind, “Good work,” he says.

“It wasn’t that hard,” (y/n) brushes the compliment off.

“How long did you stay after?”

(y/n) coughs at that question. Her previous statement was a lie, it took an embarrassing amount of time. The amount of time she walked in the same area trying to find something that belonged to Showsback to trace him was unbelievable. She did it just so she can impress Theseus, to redeem herself from all of her missteps.

“(y/n)?” he asks, genuinely curious now.

“Three and half hours,” (y/n) mumbles staring at the ground.

“Pardon?”

“Three and a half hours,” (y/n) clears her throat.

“Jesus, when you said you were going to look more I thought you meant a few minutes. Not bloody three hours! Do you know how dangerous that is? You could’ve been faced with Showsback!” Theseus says, shocked at long how she searched.

(y/n) wanted to melt into the ground at that response. Theseus was lecturing her and that can get everyone a bit embarrassed. On the bright side, if she wasn't delusional, it sounded like he cared for her safety, which was something. “I’m sure I could have handled him.”

Theseus sighs, “I don’t doubt that, but if you’re gonna stay an entire shift after, you should’ve told me. I would have stayed.”

Her heart skips a beat, was she imagining all of this? Did Theseus say he would’ve waited nearly four hours for her? She steals a glance at him, seeing he was scoping the surroundings. “Really?” (y/n) asks, before bringing up her hand to cover her mouth. That was so unbelievably stupid for her to say such a thing, she could explode right now. She might as well be holding a sign saying, Theseus Scamander please spend time with me.

“Yeah, you’re pretty good company. Always flustered, it’s adorable,” Theseus says, he didn’t even sound a bit nervous. He delivered that line as if he was introducing himself, it was so confident and calm.

Of course, (y/n) blushes at that, how could she not. He called her adorable. She opens her mouth to say something, but Theseus’s hand flies out, grabbing her wrist, and then crouching down. She gets yanked down with him due to the force. Within in seconds, the trio behind them fall to the ground as well.

“Someone’s in front of the barn,” Theseus whispers harshly.

It was incredibly difficult to see past the stalks of wheat that blocked their vision, but no one doubts what he’s saying.

“Are we going to circle the barn?” Brown asks, his voice quiet as well.

“No, no,” Theseus responds, “The field ends near the road, we should see it if it’s Showsbacks first and not some muggle. We need someone to indentify if it’s him.”

“He would recognize me,” Brown responds.

A quiet chatter occurs and everyone realizes they would be recognized. They all went up against him before, leaving (y/n).

Theseus looks at her from the side and she sighs, “What do I do?”

“Apparate somewhere on the road, so it dosen’t look off that you’re coming from a field. Just see if he’s bothered by your presence or if he’s Showsback. If something is wrong start coughing loudly.”

(y/n) gulps, she’s been against some criminals, but this was different. This was a bloody dark arts specialized wizard, he could most definitely overpower her if she's caught off guard. To top it off, she’s doing it basically alone. Her anxiety spikes, but there was no other option but her. She was new and fresh, she was undetected. They all look at her, waiting for her to disappear. She just sat there, freezing on the spot.

Theseus leans over to her, closing space between them. He whispers just faint enough for only (y/n) to hear, “You’ll be fine, I’ll be watching okay? I believe in you,” before pulling back.

If she could squeal she would. He was so close to her, she was convinced he could hear her heart beating out of control. Then he said he believes in her, that’s some growth from this morning when he said he doubted her. She takes in a deep breath of air, and disappears onto the road. It was surrounded by trees, before it clears a bit closer to the barn and field. She decides to hold a map, looking as if she’s lost. She walks a bit, trying several breathing exercises to calm her heart beat. This was no time for her to get nervous. She strolls down the road, towards the barn. She reminds herself to not look into the wheat field, that’s a dead giveaway. She has her wand up her sleeve, ready if it all goes wrong.

She takes her time traveling to the barn, clutching the map. She stops in front of it, staring down at the map. The man looks up at her, eyeing her, “Can I help you?”

He was most definitely not Showbacks, too old to be him. Though there was always other people that he could be, “Um, yeah. I was hoping if you knew how to get to the nearest petrol pump? My car died along the road,” she lies.

“I’m not sure, behind in the times,” he looks at her.

“Oh, well, do you have a toilet I can use then?” She wants to hit herself, that was the best she could’ve done. Her palms were sweaty now.

“Afraid not.”

“A-are you sure? There’s a barn behind you and-“

“No.”

Her suspicions are raised instantly, of course there was the possibility that he could be some random who was selfish, “Please sir?”

“I don’t see why I have to give you things for free,” he mutters.

“L-look, can i just please use it?”

“The answers no.”

“I really have to g-“

Her voice gets cut off with a jab to the face. She stumbles around, definitely not expecting that. She regains her balance, but not before she notices the wand he pulls out of a coat. “I told you no,” his voice lowered, he grabs her hair, holding the wand against her throat.

“Shit,” she manages to say wincing at the pain, she fumbles for her wand.

“Flipendo!” she hears, then she drops to the ground, released from the tension.

She grabs her wand that laid next to her. She rolls around on her stomach, finding the man reaching for his wand, “Expelliamous! Stupefy!”

He falls down, stunned. Footsteps approach behind. She rolls back around to gave the sky to see her coworkers rush up. Theseus offering a hand.

“I didn’t cough,” (y/n) tells them, grabbing his hand. This was an awful inappropriate time for her to start thinking about how she held his hand.

“You were getting hurt,” Theseus says before walking ahead, “Brown, bring him to the ministry and come back.”

Brown runs over, grabbing the wizard and apparates the both of them away. (y/n) recollects herself by smoothing out her coat. Then she follows them into the barn, but thoughts dance through her head. This was most definitely not the time to think about Theseus defending her. He only did it because it was morally right thing to save her, she concludes. God, today was really driving her crazy.

She flicks her wrist, letting the light come onto the wand. She spent her whole entire sixth year mastering basic nonverbal spells. The barn was bare, hay covering everything, spiderwebs decorate the walls, it looked abandoned. There was obviously more to it though. That man that was guarding it must have a reason. There was something here, there had to be.

“Split up, be cautious” Theseus commands.

(y/n) walks directly to the center while people start pushing hay over. She raises her wand, “Specialis Revelio,” slamming it into the ground. The hay flutters away, as a big gust of wind moves from her wand to the walls. Just like that, a latch appears from the ground, hidden at first without the spell. She sits there with smirk, she’s always been good at that spell. Ever since Hogwarts, people noted her power from it. It felt good to showcase it every once in a while.

“Oh, wow. Alohomara,” Theseus says, the door refusing to unlock, “Well, afraid that was gonna happen, must’ve placed advanced charms.”

“Do you wanna just break it?” Dorious suggests, “We don’t have all the time in the world to try to unlock in.”

“Right. When we go down, split into pairs, take caution we don’t want anyone getting hurt. We don’t know what’s down there. Stand back,” Theseus says, aiming at the floor near the lock, “Reducto.”

Just like that it disnegrates, leaving the smallest entrance on the side of the ladder. Theseus flicks his wrist, his wand emitting a light. Everyone else follows his lead as he starts the descent. (y/n) reaches the bottom last, finding herself standing next to Theseus. There wasn’t a need to split really, it was just one hallway going in one direction. Everybody starts walking forward, taking in the hall.

He waits behind, walking beside (y/n), “Good work, you’re revealing spell is amazingly strong,” he whispers

“I’m not in the investigation department for nothing,” (y/n) smiles.

“Never seen anyone do it that well.”

“Thanks Scamander,” (y/n) awkwardly pats his arm, instantly regretting it. That hurts her soul, because nothing says I want to date you more than a pat.

“You were friends with Newt?”

“I was in the same year as him, he was always pleasant,” Her mind was screaming I always preferred the older Scamander though.

“Yeah, I remember you. Caught you sneaking out with your friends once. You were hysterical.”

(y/n) remembers that clearly, he was a prefect and her friends convinced her to sneak out. While they tried to turn the corner, Theseus was standing right there. She had a full out breakdown saying that this would prevent her from getting into the ministry. It was horrible. “That, now that, was for a good reason, I thought I wouldn’t-“

“Be able to work for the ministry, I vividly recall you sobbing that multiple times. It was an interesting encounter for sure. Glad you were still able to work at the ministry,” Theseus says, before walking ahead.

Her heart was going to jump from her chest, Theseus was more friendly today than usual. It was always strictly work related with a few occasional quips. This was actual conversing between them. It was different, but she enjoyed this rather than not talking to him at all.

(y/n) observes the hall. It wasn't that interesting really, it was dim and a light breeze was coming from who knows what. The hall just carried an eerie vibe and it seemed to go on forever, no new clues or anything just a claustrophobic hall. When she reaches the end, it was a door. She hears the familiar noise effect from reducto, and they file in. The room had some aged shelves and tables, with items sprawled onto it. Looking at it, it was just a storage room. Most likely holding supplies for Grindelwalds followers. It was sort of a let down, they just busted into a base, no action whatsoever.

“Definitely was expecting more, but this is a start. We can transfer this into the Investigation Department and they can examine it,” Theseus says, “Do you have any ideas (y/n)?”

She was studying the shelves saying, “This is obviously a base or safe house of some sorts. Many of these potions are illegal or strange, a lot of parchment is scattered around, probably invisible ink on them. There’s not much to it really. Most likely Showsback came here to grab some supplies and he left, the guy at the front was guarding it. We can probably trace Showsback and other wizards from here, there has to a trace from some wizards at the least. There’s literally finger prints from whoever touches the shelf, too much dust. We could probably break down the potions, see who made them. It would be easy to track them down.”

“We can roll out now. Locke fetch some investigators first,” Theseus says.

One by one they apparate away, leaving (y/n) and Theseus.

“Aren’t you going to go?” Theseus asks.

“Well, I’m in the investigation department,” she replies.

“Oh well, can’t have you staying here by yourself. It’s dangerous times,” Theseus smiles in her direction, instantly making her melt.

“Thank you.”

“Would you ever consider staying in my unit? I know it was just a temporary fix until Rangler recovers, but you’re quite good.”

“A hundred percent would stay in your unit,” her face couldn’t contain the huge grin forming on her face.

Theseus cocks his head, returning the same smile, “I’ll see what I can do to keep you with me.”