#The Bottom Of The Inkwell

[cheeriecherrymain]

The Bottom Of The Inkwell - Masterlist

The Bottom Of The Inkwell - Childhood Friends|Long-Distance Friends/Penpals|Falling In Love With The Same Person Twice|Magic Pens|Classmates To Lovers|Fluff|Hurt/Comfort|Smut

                                                          ~~~

Chapter One - Rated T -  On your thirteenth birthday, you sneak away from home so you can wander around Piltover by yourself. You find a very unusual shop, full of very unusual items - one of which you take home, and discover it has an incredible ability.

Chapter Two - Rated T -  Your friendship with V develops, despite the great differences in your lives, and as the years progress, your feelings morph into something deeper.

Chapter Three - Rated T - You and V begin your new semester at the academy together - you’re still anonymous to each other, even though you’re pretty certain you share a professor. In your class, you get assigned a semester-long partner, Viktor, and you don’t think he likes you very much.

Chapter Four - Rated T - Your classes begin to get stressful, and Viktor does not make it easier on you. However, you finally convince him to meet up outside of class, and you strike a deal with him.

Chapter Five - Rated T - Your relationship with Viktor progresses to a point that you might even call each other friends. Even though you spend a lot of your time arguing with each other. But there comes a time where you both need to be honest about how you’re feeling.

Chapter Six - Rated T - You and Viktor grow closer as you work together - so close that you consider each other friends. On the flipside, you feel like V is growing distant, though you chalk it up to the busyness of your schedules. You decide to invite Viktor home for the weekend, mostly because you have the tools you need in your workshop - but maybe also because you want to spend time with him.

Chapter Seven - Rated T - You have a nice conversation with your mother, which immediately turns sour when she tries to get you and Viktor to attend the winter gala together. Later, V finally lets you know that he wants to meet you, and it causes more anxiety than you thought would.

Chapter Eight - Rated T - You accidentally offend Viktor in the aftermath of kissing him. You have another heart-to-heart with your mother, though it doesn’t seem to help much, because in the following days, you can’t sleep. And then you’re hit with the worst news of your life.

Chapter Nine - Rated T - Your life feels like it’s being uprooted, and you’re not coping well. Thankfully, Viktor is there for you, with his kind words and comforting presence.

Chapter Ten - Rated T - You finally go to see your father in the hospital, with the help of Viktor.

Chapter Eleven - Rated T - You and Viktor wake up together, and talk a little more about the upcoming gala.

Chapter Twelve - Rated T - You have a chat with your mom, who admits that she wants to dress you and your boyfriend up all fancy. Later, Viktor makes you a little hot under the collar, and you silently stress about it.

Chapter Thirteen - Rated T - You wake up alone, and your emotions are high. You and Viktor decide to take the day off instead of working, and wander around the winter market. Except you receive some incredibly upsetting news while you’re there.

Chapter Fourteen - Rated T - You go for a walk in the middle of the night, and the next day, you and Viktor have a big talk about your feelings.

Chapter Fifteen - Rated E (explicit) - You and Viktor have a nice afternoon decorating the winter tree. Then a kiss devolves into more. You’re not ready for the whole nine yards just yet, but you’re certainly okay with what he offers you.

Chapter Sixteen - Rated M - A morning with Viktor. Also you’re insatiable.

Chapter Seventeen - Coming Soon!

[mothcollective]

Finally drew some of my kirby ocs

[mossymanor]

Decided to go ahead and get the guestbook figured out so I know what to make it look like in the foyer, so here's where it's at now. It took way longer than it should have to find a good quill in inkwell picture (most were leaning too far to the side and would be cut off, or just didn't seem to fit in with everything else). So that's subject to change if I can find an even better one.

I also kind of want to add a little ribbon bookmark that you can click on to return to the current/most recent page, but again, it's harder than you would think just to find a plain old ribbon image that's not too small or too low quality and also isn't watermarked from one of those stock image sites! But overall, collaging the guestbook page will be pretty simple compared to figuring out how to code it, so hopefully that won't take too long to get working either.

[lunadook]

Human Replacement Therapy Extended Universe (and inspired) Link Collection Part 1

EDIT: We've hit the Inline Link Limit! I've linked to a reblog containing more links. (The google doc linked at the bottom of the post will still contain everything in one place.)

Been seeing a lot of those Human Replacement Therapy comics and stories going around and I wanted to try and make a list of the first (?) panels/chapters of each one me (and helpful community members) have found so far, so..........

Part 2

Dragon [by ayviedoesthings] Fish [by welldrawnfish] Bat [by kaylasartwork] Puppy [by nyxisart] Mouse [by prettiestplatypus] Worm (I can't find the first one I'm too lazy) [by shaveyoureyebrows] Axolotl [by bubbleverseart] Goat [by kontonord] Elf [by squiretilde] Eldritch [by dawning-mars] Bird [by vy-canis-melodis] Slime [by pollypoirate] Slime (Written) [by mint-and-authoress] Slime (Written) [by scrubbinn] Slime (Written) [by sandyca5tle] Shifter (Written) [by calliecwrites] Cow (Written) [by josphitia] Bovine [by pennymations] Wolf [by gracewolfing] Coyote [by vanillayoteart] Werewolf [by tobydoeswrite] Werewolf [by cyberbeast99] Tiger (Written) [by tigergirltail] Mermaid HRT Poem [by ashleyrowanthewriter] Kitsune (Written) [by mothduchess] ??? [by home-sweet-hive] Sonic [by sonic-spirit] *break so tumblr will let this post*

Aves [by cozy-kitty-corner] Cat [by entroart] King Cobra [by thecrystalmountainsystem] Polymorph [by probablyplural] Human [by deadeyedfae] Werewolf [by lycans-art-kingdom] Mermaid [by noreo-oreo] Puppy [by noreo-oreo] Deer [by aster-is-confused] Lamia [by ariathelamia] Moth [by hyacinthdoll1315] Skunk [by sundaysstrawberrykombucha] Void [by v-draws-whatever] Dragon [by zykeroth] ??? [by transpandaart] Jaguarfolk [by jaguarfolkhrt] Sheep [by cr1zz0] Bunny [by grumpybunny-edith] Fox [by disappointedcreeper] Sparrow [by lylaslilacss] Animal? [by cutepastelstarsailor] Cow [by megamoonerjenny] Bug [by thebugautistic] Vrastelian [by silliestcreature196] Elf [by siimplyapril] Demon [by shockpulse] Wolf and Crow [by sunification] Bird [by tiredtiresias] Shoggoth [by aiden-nevada]

*break so tumblr will let this post*

Bird [by comfeeeeeeee] Bird [by nuclearraven-woman] Manticore [by redroversendjayover] Spider [by sweetspidergirl] Mouse [by alice-arty] Zombie [by sunnyrabbit05] Cat [by v0vivi0v] Cyberdemon [by kazsartcorner] Troll [by artvil-gang] Polar Bear [by frostehburr] Lamia [by robins-warudo] Shapeshifter [by maxine302] Vulture [by prollymad] Dragon [by a-being-that-just-is] Slug [by a-being-that-just-is] Cryptid [by thejaded0nes] Robot [by lavender-inkwell-99] Monkey [by mechanical-sunchild] Eldritch Dragon [by your-pal-nebula] Time Lord [by joyfulbeatrix] Digimon [by reticent-fate] Plant [by jalopytheplant] Slime [by ruckeysquared] Fox [by super-sayian-kitty64] Demon [by pugsofwriting] Weasel [by alice-of-heart] Sylveon [by constellarcreator] Robot [by squiddotmid] Eevee [by darlingsuperstition] Chimera [by gate4043]

*another pause weee*

Swolbold [by flowershakur] Type Green [by scpwiki-official] Dragon [by tresenellaart] Dragon [by theinsidiousdice] Robot [by raptorbricksart] Dragon [by koalaphoenix] Gem [by techno-toister] Hybrid [by ehksidian] Ktletaccete [by fenmere] Slime [by madelinemccoolname] Succubus [by lariumbreon]

Please feel free to let me know of any you know of that I missed or ones you have created and want added! I'll periodically update the post with anything I get links to.

I have also made a Google Doc containing all of the links, including the ones that aren't fitting in this post. Part 2 of this post, with more links, is here.

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for inkwell; Billy adopts Conner and it actually goes pretty good! (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“It’s fine,” Lynn repeats as he sets down the olive oil on the counter, just barely frowning at the empty little mise en place bowls Billy fixed. After, uh–messing up them first, he means. Obviously. “There’s not much.” 

“I’m your dad,” Billy replies firmly, setting the cookbook down closer to himself and then grabbing the brown sugar and the measuring cups to measure out again, though he’s not actually sure what brown sugar has to do with making salmon? Sugar seems like a weird thing to put in salmon? Or . . . on it, he guesses? But the recipe says it needs a quarter-cup of brown sugar, and Lynn seems to think it’s normal and he knows more about cooking than Billy does, so–yeah. “You don’t have to fix stuff I messed up. Just, um–tell me if I do it wrong, please?” 

“. . . you need to level the top,” Lynn says after a long moment. Billy blinks at him, briefly confused, and then remembers–right, when Lynn measured the brown sugar, he packed it into the measuring cup and then used the flat side of a knife to like . . . smooth the excess off the top and back into the bag. 

“Oh, right,” he says, then beams encouragingly at the other because he definitely appreciates Lynn telling him that kind of stuff, when he doesn’t like talking that much. “Thanks, Lynn!” 

“. . . sure,” Lynn says, and frowns a little. Billy doesn’t worry about it, since Lynn seems to frown when he’s confused and he’s got a lot to be confused about, being, like, not even a week old and all. If he were upset, that’d be different, but “confused” is kinda unavoidable and just gonna have to be a thing for a while. They can’t cover everything first thing, it’d just be way too much to expect Lynn to remember. And, like, it’s easier to learn new information when it’s relevant to stuff you’re already doing, Billy figures. Like . . . hands-on learning or whatever. 

He measures out the brown sugar and the weird fancy mustard–he really hopes Batman had a coupon–and then the salt, and then he double-checks the recipe and he’s pretty sure that’s everything they need, ‘cuz he didn’t knock over the garlic or the pepper, so . . . 

Lynn stares blankly at him for a moment, then then turns the oven on and goes and gets the cutting board. Billy resists the instinctive urge to warn him to be careful with the knife, because yeah, Lynn’s a baby, but he’s an invulnerable baby. Or at least pretty invulnerable. 

. . . though is he more invulnerable than a big sharp knife with Kryptonian super-strength behind it, because– 

Billy is maybe being a little paranoid now, yeah. 

Or a lot, probably. 

Lynn washes the veggies, then cuts the bottoms off the asparagus and cuts the little red potatoes into quarters, and Billy watches curiously. Lynn doesn’t either cut himself or blunt the knife against his skin, so that’s good, definitely. Billy’s not sure how he’d explain a brand-new knife being damaged like that to, like . . . whatever kind of person fixes knives? Sharpens them? Like, that kind of thing, he means. 

Definitely not good for the secret identity stuff.

[the-golden-comet]

✨Your Wish Is My Command: Available Now on AO3 and Amazon Books! 🧞‍♂️✨

Don’t mind me…just gonna casually drop YWIMC during my the Friday Kiss Tag slot 👀💋✨

✨🌈That’s right!🌈✨You read that correctly: Your Wish Is My Command is available now FOR FREE on Archive Of Our Own! Just one of the many ways I share thanks to the reading, writing and art communities~! ✍️💛

✨ For additional and optional support, a digital version is available on Amazon Kindle eBooks for $5.00 ✨

To give thanks for this Thanksgiving season, I buckled down for “Novelember” and finished all my editing, drafting, and publishing of the long-awaited Your Wish Is My Command! Figured I’d keep in line with the tradition of publishing the day after thanksgiving 😂✨

Thank you all for your support of my project, your tag games, you interactions, fanarts, fanfiction, kudos, and love!! Creating stories gives me so much joy, and sharing them with a wider audience is all the merrier. Between all of my projects, I have received so many kind comments and fanmail that have really touched my heart; To hear how much my stories have inspired creativity within the community is humbling to the point of tears. I cannot overstate my gratitude to everyone here enough: Thank you, from the bottom of my heart 💛✨

Now, sappiness aside: Enjoy the MANY kisses of Noah and Ali for yourself, and be sure to leave me kudos and a comment on AO3 and Tumblr telling me how you liked it! I’ll be on my mandatory 2 week writing break (to avoid burnout), but I’ll be around to answer asks and get your reactions 💛💫✨

As always, I will make all of my stories available for free on AO3, but if you want to support me further you can buy a digital copy of my books! ✨

Reblog this post to spread the word of YWIMC’s Release, and Happy Reading! 💫

✨👇Tag list for writing snippets below. DM me if you’d like to be added 👇✨

Tag List for writing tidbits (lmk if you want + or -) 🧞‍♂️✨

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@glasshouses-and-stones , @alinacapellabooks , @gioiaalbanoart , @tragedycoded , @deanwax ,

@dyrewrites , @honeybewrites , @drchenquill , @paeliae-occasionally , @lychhiker-writes ,

@thatuselesshuman , @kaylinalexanderbooks , @phynewrites , @zackprincebooks , @fantasy-things-and-such ,

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@theaistired , @somethingclevermahogony , @noxxytocin , @the-inkwell-variable , @seastarblue ,

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@vesanal ,

[possamble]

farcille postcanon characterization warmup that got way out of hand. beware, here be spoilers, dragoncock, and bottoming as an extreme sport.

~~~

Marcille has always loved Falin’s voice. Soft, high, airy and girlish—it was always as gentle as the rest of her, even in the midst of pitched combat. When things went to hell in a handbasket, it was always Falin’s whispery incantations that kept Marcille grounded as blood and monster guts sailed through the air. 

And that hasn’t changed. No amount of dragon could really change that, Marcille thinks. Yes, she she has moments when her voice becomes rough and ragged and guttural, mostly when she’s swinging her mace or her fists, or gritting her teeth through a monster claw stuck into her side. But maybe that urge to growl was always there, and she’s just finally able to voice it now. Marcille finds that she’s loud at times she would have been silent before—grunting with exertion when she would have grimaced quietly, singing some nonsense melody over a mundane task when she would have hummed it under her breath—and that’s a good thing.

But otherwise, nothing has changed. Falin’s voice is as delicate as ever, chiming in a lilting giggle behind a dainty gesture of her hand. Rustling like pages of well-loved books as she casts her protective wards, or ponders over how to cook a new monster, or murmurs right into Marcille’s ear while she…

Well. While she’s got Marcille bent over her own desk with her nightgown pooled at her ankles. Marcille’s not sure if it’s rude or considerate that she didn’t get a chance to dress herself before she had a girthy cock shoved up her cunt first thing in the morning. 

“Marcille,” Falin whispers, unfairly shaky as if she’s the one getting fucked within an inch of her life. She’s mouthing at Marcille’s neck, draped over her and pressing as close as possible in every way, gripping Marcille’s hands tight and keening like she’s found heaven between her legs. “Marcille, Marcille…” 

It’s not fair. It’s not fair that she gets to do that, that she gets to sound like that—with that sweet voice she’s always had, now making obscene little noises that are still whispery fine and almost ethereal coming from her mouth. These quiet, barely voiced sighs that puff against Marcille’s ear, the dulcet moans that thrum against her skin, and that demure little gasp when she thrusts a little harder and somehow finds even more space inside Marcille to bottom out in—

“Marcille…” she whimpers like she’s in pain, on the verge of tears, fingers tight between Marcille’s as they grip the edge of the rattling desk together. “You feel—so good, oh… You’re”—another moan buried just behind her ear—"so wet, so good…” 

It’s not like Marcille got the chance to be anything else right now, did she? Not when Falin fell upon her just as she was sorting through her documents, pressed against her back and already unfastening the clasps of her gown and slipping it off her shoulders. She was fully naked before she even got a playful good morning whispered into her ear—it’s a miracle she had the forethought to push her papers out of the way just before Falin had her wrapped around her finger in the most literal sense. 

Well. Fingers in the plural, really, since she always starts with two. Usually while pawing at Marcille’s tit with her other hand until her stupid knees give out and she ends up buckling over whatever surface is nearby—in this case, her desk, mercifully free of any uncapped inkwells at the moment. Now slathered with sweat that makes her tits slip and slide along the wooden varnish, of course, but otherwise non-disastrous. 

Hopefully her nightgown is catching most of the mess running down her thighs, or she’s going to have to make the most humiliating request to the castle staff about her carpets for the third time this month—

“Yes…!” Falin digs her heels in and fucks her even harder, taken with some kind of mindless momentum all of a sudden. “I love you,” she pants in that stupid—feathery, daisy-light tone that has no business being this sweet while she’s ravaging Marcille like this— “you’re perfect, you’re perfect—” 

Marcille’s going to die like this. This is how she’s going to go: Bleating like an animal with her cheek stuck to her desk with drool, eyes just permanently rolled back in her head, toes barely touching the floor as Falin keeps fucking her further onto the desk. She hasn’t said a single coherent word since her second orgasm however many minutes ago, just broken into an endless stream of guttural noises as her cunt slobbers and squelches around Falin’s cock almost as loudly as she’s wailing. 

“Marcille,” Falin keens, sounding like a bashful princess ravished to breathlessness—just something straight out of a high-minded erotica novel—all while hammering Marcille into the desk at a shallow, breakneck pace. “You feel—feel s–o good, you’re perfect, oh—oh, you’re perfect, you’re beautiful, I love you, I love you—” 

For the love of—fuck. Marcille can distantly hear herself scream, can feel the desk digging into her as she flails, her grasp on sanity getting thinner and thinner with each word that tumbles out of Falin’s mouth and shoots straight through her nerves. She’s—good god, she’s not usually this talkative. It’s almost always Marcille begging and blabbering about how much she wants Falin’s cock, how good it feels, how she wants it harder and faster and more, screaming and crying Falin’s name over and over—

But now, in the absence of Marcille’s pathetic yapping—after she’s already fucked the words out of Marcille so thoroughly—Falin’s taken it upon herself to murmur a stream of honeyed nonsense into her ear, her frail and gentle voice breaking with desperation—and fuck, it’s not fair.

“Yes, yes, oh—” Falin sobs into her neck. “I love it—I love it when you sound like this, I love you—you’re so good, so good for me, my Marcille—” 

No, no, no, she can’t do that, she can’t do that—she can’t say that, in that voice, while her cock is so deep in Marcille there’s hardly room for anything else, battering all her nerve endings and rearranging her so that there’s nothing left but her, Falin, Falin—

“Ah!” Falin cries out, like she’s the one getting reamed against her stupid fucking desk so hard she can barely breathe— “Yes, please, please—please say my name again!” 

Well. She can beg all she fucking wants, but it’s not going to be pretty and she has no one to blame but herself—it’s her fault Marcille can hardly speak, it’s her fault her name is only coming in rough wails with both syllables separated with heaving, crying breaths. Marcille gives it her all, scrapes whatever intelligence she has left to speak, and sounds like a dying animal in a way that can’t possibly be anything but hideous to listen to—

And still, Falin sobs, as if in utter ecstasy as she fucks Marcille so hard the desk starts scraping along the floor in harsh jumps. 

“Yes, yes—ah—” Her voice, not so whispery gentle now but still so melodious and clear, sounding out from deep in her chest— “I—love—you—” she weeps, punctuated by the hard slams of the desk against the floor as she drops the rapid pace in favor of mercilessly hard thrusts— “Beautiful—perfect—mine!” 

Then she finally, finally comes—not that it stops her, not with how she thrusts with every spurt. Like she’s not just satisfied with letting it spill out, like she needs to fuck it into Marcille with all her strength, once, twice, then one last time, stuffing her cunt absolutely full with searing heat—

And Marcille doesn’t even realize she’s coming until she’s unceremoniously ejected out the other side of the high, that telltale swoop of vertigo rushing through her veins. The orgasm doesn't even have the grace to let her go limp with afterglow, of course, and she’s left there convulsing and twitching like a drowning fish. With her jaw pressed to the desk, she can actually hear her teeth chatter from how hard she’s shaking, Falin’s warm weight on her be damned. 

(One day. One day, she’ll stop embarrassing herself like this—one day she’ll finish like a normal person during sex, instead of going off like a cheap firework every half hour and wringing an orgasm out of herself as soon as she feels Falin finish inside her, whether or not she even had one left in her to begin with.) 

“M-Marcille,” Falin stammers, her voice breathless but now shy and girlish again as she slowly untangles their hands. “Are you—are you okay?” 

The gall. To ask her that, when she’s nothing but a sweaty carcass slung over her desk, still twitching erratically. To be so gentle as she straightens up and kisses the back of her neck, tenderly brushing her hair to the side as she pulls out ever so slowly—

And still. Not. Slowly. Enough—apparently! Not with the sparks that explode in Marcille’s eyes again, utterly unclear if this is another orgasm or just a particularly brutal aftershock! She just goes squeaking and shaking and sliding off the desk onto her knees, hands clapped over her cunt like they’re going to protect her from the lightning racing up and down her spine. She doesn’t even know where she landed, really, convulsing and closing her thighs around her hand as cum and slick drools into her palms, falling forward and— and smacking her head against the edge of her desk.

“Oh!” Feathered arms clasp around her before she can slide past the wood with her sweaty forehead and land on her face. “Careful—are you okay?” 

The gall. The audacity. The—something, or whatever, fuck, Marcille doesn’t even care anymore. Her head throbs with an oncoming bruise, she can’t feel her legs, she can feel her pussy way too much, and it’s a wonder she hasn’t fallen apart on the spot—

“Okay… let’s…” There’s some maneuvering going on, but hell if Marcille can actually tell what Falin’s doing. “Here, let’s take a bath—I’ll go draw some water.” 

Marcille whines, because no—she doesn’t know where she is, she just twists until her face finds feathers and buries herself there. She even manages to bring one cum-covered hand to grip at the quils, because this mess is Falin’s fault and if she doesn't like it then she can wash it off herself—but she’s not allowed to leave. 

A little chuckle under her breath—and it’s so fucking cute and girlish like she hasn’t just demolished a full grown woman to the brink of unconsciousness, but Marcille can’t even find it in herself to be mad. Falin can ask her whatever the hell she wants, do whatever the hell she wants, so long as she doesn’t let go. 

“I’m bringing you with me, I promise,” Falin whispers so tenderly, pressing a kiss to Marcille’s head. There’s arms tightening around her back and under her knees, and she feels herself being lifted. “I wouldn’t leave you like that…” 

Better not, Marcille grumbles to herself. Not sure if it made it past her mouth, but it doesn’t matter. Falin’s going to take responsibility for turning her morning into—into this, even if it means having to draw some bathwater with an elf clinging to her the entire time. She’s going to be the one to wash her off, bring her their missed breakfast, and tell everyone why she wasn’t there at the morning meeting—

Maybe not that last part. 

“I’m sorry,” she hears, in that soft and whispery tone she’s loved for so many years. That voice that didn’t change, even with everything that happened—everything that Marcille did to her, and it’s—

It would be so, incredibly stupid if she started crying out of nowhere. 

“Liar,” she whines, digging the indignant annoyance back up to pout like a spoiled brat. “You liked… every second…” 

Another giggle that so infuriatingly lovely. “I did.” The sound of a squeaky valve turning, then rushing water that slaps against stone. “Did you?” 

Marcille just grumbles again and clings even tighter. Falin just laughs a little louder and strokes her hair, too kind to demand an answer in so many words—or, perhaps, impishly content to let Marcille incriminate herself with her silence, as she so often does.

[choccy-zefirka]

Letters from the year 9:16 Dragon

Magister Alexius,

We have been scoffed at by enough highborn mages in our own home country to know that sycophantic forms of address are a waste of ink, so we are just going to get to the point. If you discard our letter because there are no “Your Lordships” in between every three words, you probably were not worth contacting in the first place.

We are two apprentices of the Mortalitasi, working on a research project. In our studies, we came across several citations of a book of yours, On Novel Developments in Thaumaturgy, but were unable to obtain the full text. The subject, specifically the formulae in Chapter 4, is highly relevant to our work, and we would very much like to know if there is a way to find the unabridged version. Preferably one that does not involve traveling all the way to Tevinter and orchestrating a heist at the local library because Volkarin here is a coward we are technically not allowed to leave the Grand Necropolis without supervision.

Any helpful advice is much appreciated!

Best regards,

Emmrich Volkarin and Johanna Hezenkoss

P.S. Dear sir, please pardon any ink smudges; Johanna was highly insistent on including the opening paragraph, and my attempts at wrestling the quill from her proved unsuccessful. – Emmrich

***

Dear Emmrich and Johanna,

I trust you permit me to address you as such; and you, in turn, may address me as Gereon. In truth, I came into my magisterial seat quite recently, as it was ceded to me by my father. While I myself enjoy the privilege of being “highborn”, as you put it, I find it quite regrettable that the mage nobility of Nevarra harbors the same prejudices as my peers. I am of a firm belief that young minds should be nurtured with utmost care, regardless of the circumstances of one’s birth.

It is, therefore, my utmost pleasure to enclose the little volume after which you inquired, along with several other books from my personal library that explore an adjacent field of study and might prove of use to you. I was an apprentice less than a decade ago, so I understand the frustrations of scouring the library for the most fitting source to cite. There were days when a heist indeed seemed like the only solution!

If you wish to share any further details of your research, I would be delighted to hear from you again. Best of luck with your endeavors!

Sincerely,

Gereon Alexius

P.S. You, too, must forgive the ink smudges. I have a young son, and he gets rather fussy when he must be parted from me, thus I write with tiny hands constantly reaching for my inkwell. Consider the little handprint at the bottom an additional greeting.

[mr-asa-jones]

The plight of a naughty girl at Saint Helena High School for Wayward Girls...

Schoolgirls are renowned for being 'clicky' and having exclusive little groups of friends. These are like the gangs that boys make, and just as, maybe even more, competitive.

Kate seen here has just been over the stool, her bottom as you can see is bright red. Her group have great sympathy for her, but the class has been told to be quiet.

She is in pain, the heat from the plimsol is growing and spreading, but she must keep her hands on her head and not rub. She is sniffing, wiggling, and whimpering...

Alas, her longed for comfort and sympathy cannot come for half an hour, when the class finishes.

Instead, the rival groups have pea shooters, and are making paper pellets to fire in rubber bands, some dipped in the ink in the inkwells on their desks.

Mummy will instantly know what has happened when she sees them on the back of her shirt, just above her bottom. Meaning a spanking at home, as some girl has just whispered loudly.

The teacher? She does nothing, a naughty girl is fair game. And if she reacts, even in the slightest, she will get another, but more severe, spanking. Which of course will delight her tormentors.

Mr.Jones (Headmaster)

[valkyyriia]

A Study in Green

Words: 2915

CW: Fingering, Artistic Liberties with History | NSFW

Pairing: Arthur Conan Doyle / Female-Bodied Reader

Prompt: Abandoned Mansion (caution!)

Notes: This is I think the third time I've ever written smut, so please bear with me. I also thought the title was rather cliche, but I liked it, so... I also think I got a little carried away. Whoops. And Mo, if you read this - I remembered that comment I left you on your fic about the Paris Green and MC freaking out and it immediately came to mind when I rolled this prompt with my dice.

Crossposted on Ao3 here.

Banners/dividers by @natimiles.

For @xxsycamore's event, Sexy Ikemen Summer!

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” You asked, eyeing the abandoned building with suspicion. It appeared to have been an older, late-eighteenth century mansion. Ivy crept up the crumbling mortar like grasping tendrils, giving it a foreboding look. 

“It’ll be fine, luv,” Arthur said, a cheeky grin on his face. “A little urban exploration never hurt anyone.” 

“I would like to see the evidence to back up that stateme-” You were cut off by Arthur tugging you close and kissing you sweetly.

“Come now. I swore to protect you, didn’t I?” He tapped your nose with a gloved finger. “That includes the dangers of uninhabited, derelict places and all the things that go bump in the dark. You have absolutely nothing to fear as long as I am here with you, okay?” 

You exhaled shakily and offered a weak smile. “Okay.” 

“Besides,” Arthur added. “You do make a rather adorable damsel in distress.” 

You stuck your tongue out at him, and he laughed, taking your hand and leading you inside. 

One thing you had never quite gotten used to in this era was the sticky heat and lack of air conditioning. Even though the climate wasn’t too different from what you were used to, the fashion of the day was much more stifling. The summer sun was currently high in the air, beating oppressive rays down on the building. Fortunately, the mansion was still in reasonably good repair; the roof was intact everywhere except the far left wing, where the walls had collapsed in on themselves. It offered some protection from the heat, paltry though it was.

Arthur had, true to his word, faithfully stuck by your side. The vampire hardly even let go of your hand, giving you something to anchor yourself to. You were grateful for his considerate nature. 

The sunlight shining through the cracked stained glass windows cast glittering constellations on the dusty wood of the parlor floor. Furniture draped in age-stained cream cloth was positioned in key places around the room. If it weren’t for the thick layer of dust and the obvious smell of decaying wood, you would almost think the owners were just out on vacation. 

Arthur had done some amount of research on the building before bringing you here, aided by le Comte and his connections. As it turns out, the owners of this mansion had fled to America twenty or so odd years ago due to some sort of legal trouble. The Crown had seized the mansion to repay the family’s debts and it had remained uninhabited since. According to Comte, the left wing collapse happened a few months after the Crown took over the property, and they hadn’t tried to renovate or rebuild the structure. Ultimately, other than the left side, the mansion should have been perfectly safe - within reason for an abandoned building - for a first-time urban explorer. 

He grinned. “Look at this,” Arthur said, using your joined hands to point at the desk in the corner of the room. It was neatly organized, a couple of books stacked on the side. A half-written letter lay on the workspace. A quill pen sat in a long-since-dried inkwell, the bottom of it stained black with India ink. “They really were in a hurry,” Arthur commented, pulling his tortoiseshell glasses from his pocket and setting them on his nose. “Let’s see…”

He blew gently on the surface, scattering the dust. Your eyes watered and you cough into your elbow. “Sorry,” Arthur murmured, rubbing your back lightly as he looked at the letter. 

“To my love,

“I hope the day comes when I can see you again. Father says we must leave in order to stay out of prison, and I dread leaving you behind. I had desperately dreamed of the day I would make you my wife, but I fear we must place those plans on hold for now. Wait for me, my love. I will return for you.

“Forever yours,”

And then nothing. There was no signature. You frowned. “The poor dears.. I hope he was able to stay in contact. Or at least let her know what happened.” 

Arthur studied the paper intensely for a moment, before looking at the books next to it. “I can’t imagine she wouldn’t know what happened. These kinds of things are rather big gossip in the upper echelons of society.” The hand on your back moved to your waist and pulled you closer to him. “Her family likely refused any further contact with him or his family after they left. Even if he continued to write to her, she probably never saw any of those letters.” 

“That’s so sad,” you said, leaning into him. “It sounds like he really loved her.” 

“If he loved her half as much as I love you, he must have loved her a lot,” Arthur replied, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “If you would like, luv, we can maybe try to deliver this letter to its intended recipient. There’s probably some other correspondence between the two stashed somewhere here, if we look for it.”

You looked up at him in surprise. He had a kind smile on his lips, but his eyes were serious. If it were something you wished to do, he would make it happen somehow. “I would, but,” you started to say. “What if it opens up old wounds? What if she’s moved on and this just brings it back up?” You sighed and laid your head against Arthur’s shoulder once more. He ran his thumb up and down your waist in soothing motions. “I don’t want to make things worse.” 

“Even if she has moved on, it could give her closure,” Arthur pointed out. “But you are right; it could cause more trouble for them. Maybe we should leave it here?”

You mulled it over for a moment. “If I were in her shoes.. And you had moved away for some reason against your will, I don’t think I could really move on. Even if I was forced to marry someone else. I love you too much to ever forget you.” 

Arthur was silent for a moment. “Then we should do everything we can to make sure it’s delivered. Even if it is twenty-something years late,” he said, voice quiet and somewhat choked. You went to move away and look up at him, but Arthur’s hand kept your head against his neck. His free arm wrapped around you and he held you firmly to his body. You gave up fighting him, and just locked your arms around his neck. “Thank you,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

Arthur finally let go and stepped away from you, looking around the room once more. “Let’s see if we can find out who the lucky lady is, yeah? The game, my dear, is on!” 

The two of you went looking around the parlor for any other correspondence between the pair. Coming up empty handed there, you moved to other rooms. Normally Arthur would have been able to make an educated deduction on which room likely belonged to the author, but with the state of disrepair the house was in it was much more difficult. Or at least, that’s what Arthur said - but you suspected he just wanted an excuse to lead you around the house by the hand for a little longer. Not that you’d complain about that.

The two of you looked inside a bedroom suite on the second floor. The door creaked open, revealing a lavish room, covered in linens matching those in the parlor. A thick layer of dust coated the room as it did everywhere else in the house. You carefully stepped over to another desk, this one facing the window that overlooked the long-overgrown lawn. Spread across it were several letters in varying states of completion. Some were well-worn, clearly having been read over multiple times. Those ones appeared to have a different author than the one found downstairs. 

“Alyssa Bloodwell,” Arthur murmured. “That name doesn’t ring any bells for me, but Daddy Dearest knows just about everyone worth knowing among Europe’s elite. We can ask him when we get back. For now, though…” Arthur turned to you, a devilish smile on his lips.

“Arthur,” you warned him to no avail. He quickly stepped forward and grabbed you by the hips. Your arms snaked around his neck automatically. 

He grinned. “What is it, oh darling love of mine?” He gave you an innocent peck on the lips. 

“Oh, don’t even start, Arthur,” you protested, but made no motion to step out of his embrace. His lips moved to the side of your face and you reflexively tilted your head to give him access. “We can’t - not here.” 

“Says who?” Arthur murmured seductively, nibbling at the shell of your ear. “It’s not like there’s anyone here to stop us.” He walked you backwards to a sturdy chest of draws against the far wall, and easily lifted you up onto it. “You’ve been looking positively delectable all day. I can’t help myself from wanting a taste.” He leaned in and kissed you more insistently, his fingers dancing around the ribbon at the collar of your blouse. 

“You are incorrigible,” You responded weakly, already returning his kiss. 

“But you like it, don’t you?” Arthur replied, grazing your earlobe with his fangs. “You dirty little thing.” He ghosted his lips down the side of your neck, pressing a kiss right over your pulse point, before mouthing the spot and sucking hard. You cried out at the sharp pain of it. 

Arthur ran his thumb over the red blooming there. “Beautiful,” he said. “I would bite you, but then I’d have to carry you back to grab a carriage.” He ran his tongue down the column of your throat, his fingers gently setting the ribbon to the side and dragging the top of your blouse down. His other hand slid up your skirt, the thumb running back and forth over the flesh of your inner thigh. “And I really don’t want to have to explain that one to the constable,” Arthur whispered, his breath coming out in puffs against your collarbone.

The drag of his sharp fangs against the skin of your chest combined with Arthur’s fingers moving higher underneath your skirt caused your breath to hitch. His gloved hand pressed gently against your clothed sex, applying a small bit of pressure through your underwear. You let out a soft whine at the contact. He rubbed his fingers back and forth between your thighs while leaving love bites all over your exposed chest. 

His lips kissed back up your throat, and he pulled away to look at you. Smirking, he pulled his hand from between your thighs and took the glove in between his teeth. Arthur slowly, teasingly, pulled it off of his hand, the now bare appendage returning to its former place between your legs.

“Arthur,” you whimpered as he slid the material of your panties aside. He dragged his fingers back and forth through the wetness gathering there, circling the sensitive nub at the apex of your thighs. 

You threw your head back, a low keening sound escaping your lips as he continued to swirl his fingers between your legs. Arthur shot out his other hand to catch the back of your head.

“Look at me,” he murmured. You bit your lip but did as he asked, and he smiled. “Good girl.” 

Arthur’s thumb brushed against your lips and then he leaned in for a deep kiss. “You’re so cute when you come undone under my fingers like this,” he purred. “You’re normally so put together.” You probably were a sight to behold right now - skirt hiked up to your hips, blouse untied and loosely draped under your cleavage, chest heaving  - you were the very image of debauchery. 

Arthur leaned back in for another kiss, his tongue moving against yours in time with his fingers as they pushed inside of you. 

Your gaze drifted up, suddenly settling on the walls of the room. Your eyes widened and you broke the kiss. “Arthur,” you breathed, voice scratchy. “Is it just me or is that wallpaper green?” 

Arthur groaned and he pulled away with a discontent sigh, his lips forming a frown. “It is, and quite a lovely shade of it. But I don’t see how the color of the wallpaper is more important than my hand.” His fingers deftly continued their work, and you bit back a groan. “Unless you are unsatisfied, and want something more?”

“Because,” you breathed, trying to ignore Arthur’s actions and failing miserably. “Green pigments from around this time period are made of arsenic. It’s poison.” Your thighs trembled as he pleasured you. You were so close-

-and then Arthur suddenly stopped and looked at you, bewildered. You whined at the loss of stimulation. “Really?” He looked away from you, his gaze flitting all around the room that was blanketed in peeling green wallpaper. Arthur’s cobalt gaze met yours again, a light panic to his eyes. “And they didn’t know this?” 

“No! The paint was invented sometime in the early nineteenth century and fell out of use during the mid nineteenth century because people were getting sick,” you sighed, the ache in your belly slowly subsiding, leaving you feeling uncomfortable and wanting for more. “It was later used as a pesticide, until they realized that was dangerous, too.” You were somewhat regretting your choice to stop Arthur at this moment. Curse your brain for being safety-conscious even with an incredibly attractive man between your legs, who wanted nothing more than to bring you pleasure.

Arthur sighed, pressing a kiss to your lips. “We should probably continue this elsewhere, then,” he conceded, removing his hands from your thighs. You shuddered at the loss of contact and watched as he lifted his slick-covered hand to his mouth, sucking on the fingers. The lewd sight sent another flare of smoldering heat right to your belly. “When we get back home, you’re going to have to make up for leaving me hanging like this. I hope you’re ready for the consequences of your actions.”

Bonus:

After speaking with Comte about what you discovered while exploring (trespassing), you and Arthur found yourselves standing outside of a beautiful, well-kept mansion in the Parisian countryside. As you approached the gate, a butler, who was trimming roses nearby, placed his garden shears down and stepped over.

“Bonjour, Mademoiselle, Monsieur,” he greeted. “How can I help you?” 

“Is there an Alyssa Bloodwell at this residence?” You asked.

The butler frowned. “Madame Bloodwell does live here, yes, but we were not advised of any visitors today. Was she expecting you?”

“Not exactly,” you replied. Arthur then pulled a time-worn letter out of his pocket and showed it to the butler, explaining, “I shan’t go into the specifics on how, but we came across this letter and believe its intended recipient is your mistress. We simply wish it to go where it belongs.” 

The butler looked at the letter for a moment before nodding. “If you will, follow me,” he said and led you both into the mansion’s entryway, and from there to the parlor. “Please wait here, mademoiselle, monsieur. I will inform Madame Bloodwell of your visit and we shall proceed from there.” 

After a few minutes of waiting, you looked up to see a woman in her late thirties descending the stairwell. “I am Madame Alyssa Bloodwell. I was informed you had correspondence intended for me?” she asked. 

You curtsied and Arthur handed over the letter. She took it, eyeing it, and her hand dropped to her chest. “Where did you get this?” she said, breathless. 

“We recently came into possession of it,” Arthur said, smoothly avoiding giving the details. “We did some detective work, and determined you were the recipient.” 

Lady Bloodwell walked over to an armchair on uncertain legs and sunk down into it. “Louis,” she murmured. “I haven’t heard from him in twenty four years.” Her fingers caressed the fraying edges of the paper. “His family had been found to be embezzling money from one of the royal artisans and was disgraced. They fled Paris in the middle of the night and caught a ship to America. My parents forbade mention of him and the betrothal was called off. I ended up marrying a local lord, but.. I never did stop wondering what happened to him.” 

You smiled sadly at her. “I’m sorry that we didn’t come bearing current news, but I’m glad we could at least bring you the letter. It’s obvious how much he loved you.” 

“Thank you, cherie,” she said. “Please, is there anything I can do to repay you for doing me this kindness?” 

You began to decline, but Arthur cut in. “If you don’t mind, could you answer a question for us as payment?“

She inclined her head. 

“Did you ever move on?” Arthur asked, a serious look on his face. 

Madame Bloodwell shook her head. “I love my husband,” she began. “But no. Louis was - is - special to me. I never stopped loving him, and I doubt I will stop until the last breath leaves my lungs.” She looked between you and Arthur, a content smile on her face. “I see such a resemblance between you two and myself and Louis. Monsieur, whatever you do, don’t ever lose her.”

Arthur looked straight at you and squeezed your hand. “I won’t.” 

Taglist: @natimiles

[pinkiedevv]

G/T Fluffy Domestic Story Idea

Okay I highkey wanna write this but idfk when, so if anyone else wants to give it a shot (or already has) lmk so I can read it big plz and thank ;-;

G/t story where friendly giant builds whole house to be Tiny accessible while the tiny sits nearby swinging their legs and watches and chats them up, maybe helping where they can or giving pointers over things they struggle with and would need help for:

Walkways up to counters/higher surfaces

pulley systems?

little ladders and staircases everywhere

hehe some slides for the way down

Ways for tiny to turn on sinks for water/showers

giant makes it so all drains have grate bottoms so there's no risk of tiny falling through

maybe a shoelace attached to faucet so tiny can climb out

Safely carrying tiny

if on shoulder, could be interesting if giant has an earing that tiny can attach a harness to so they can't fall (or maybe tiny just holds onto earing like one of those handles for tall people in trains)

giant makes comfy chest pockets in all the shirts they wear at home

Private nook for tiny's bedroom/nest

with a somehow working toilet XD

a cute little wardrobe filled with clothes either the giant or tiny (or both) made

soft bed, maybe out of a commandeered pillow or some of the giant's old clothes

tiny-sized mirror made from smoothed out shard of a larger one

Little sitting areas all over the house

in front of/on windowsills that get direct sunlight

a mini dining table on top of giant's dining table

Mini greenhouse

for fresh fruits/plants/veggies for tiny to pick/care for themselves

flower garden full of those little flower types <3

maybe a mini water fountain

Food storage spot for tiny that's constantly restocked

teeny containers to keep crumbs and the like fresh

something to keep fresh produce cool??

Appliances

tiny cups/plates/utensils (bought or made by giant?)

whittled down graphite for pencils

maybe a teeny inkwell to dip a pin in for a quill/pen

sheafs of paper meticulously cut into the perfect size for tiny

maybe an old iPhone is bought as a TV for the tiny XD

Ways to make sure tiny stays safe while living with a giant

Giant doesn't wear headphones at home and keeps music low

Tiny is properly accounted for before any cleaning gets done (especially vacuuming HA)

Little bells all over the house so tiny can call for help if they need it

Helium balloons periodically exchanged for fresh ones that tiny can tie around their waist when crossing over the floor so they're easy to spot ;3

----

imma prolly keep adding to this as thoughts come to me, but ye this was stuck in my brain like friggin' glue so I had to spill it out, no two ways about it

[maladaptivewriting]

✺ Masterlist ✺

instagram link: here

general ao3 link: here

bluesky link: here

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧

the golden king (WIP 144/160): jegulus, wolfstar, & drarry (playlist)

regulus black goes to school with the golden trio.

solar flare (WIP 22/?): jegulus, wolfstar, rosekiller, dorlene, & pandalily

a jegulus twilight au.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧

Completed

salus excorio (M. 31k words): jegulus, wolfstar, & marylily

regulus is dying, all he wants is to spend his last few months alive with his brother

a memory stolen, a memory gained (E. 30k words): wolfstar

sirius loses his memories, his friends are confused.

one last party (before we meet our end) (M. 51k words): peter/barty

peter pettigrew and barty crouch jr. have to take care of a rapidly de-aging tom riddle after a ritual goes wrong.

scarlet oak (E. 10k words): jegulus

a centaur creature fic

a torment of themselves (E. 16k words): wolfstar

a veela sirius fic

white snakeroot (E. 42k words): wolfstar, jegulus

cowboy remus and vampire sirius

one shots

the moon dog (M. 3k words): wolfstar

remus decides to break sirius out of azkaban, despite his guilt

constant vigilance (E. 4k words): jegulus

CNC one-shot with auror/death eater roleplay

bottom of the inkwell (E. 4k words): wolfstar

slytherin remus + academic rivals to lovers fic

an omen of death (G. 6k words): regulus & sirius

canon compliant regulus black character study

sloppy seconds (E. 13k words): wolfstar

remus watches several men have sex with sirius

honey, don’t feed me (E. 8k words): jegulus

stalker james au

cosmic entanglement (E. 10k words): wolfstar

multiverse wolfstar

secrets, timelines, and missing boys (T. 5k words): marylily

let the right one in au

[mi---amor]

Where The Heart Is

A//N: Chef Saltbaker x Self Insert OC

°•°•°•°•°

The funny thing about going off to explore the world was, at the end of the day, there was no place like home. 

Chalice had roamed the isles of Inkwell for several centuries; infinite freedom to witness the passage of time and march of progress at the cost of not being able to experience any of it. However, her postmortem predicament had recently relented and she was now free to venture on two solid feet wherever she desired. 

The change was nice. It was new. It was exciting! 

And most thrilling of all, it was tiring.

All credit went to accompanying the two knucklehead cup brothers on whatever adventure they embarked. Dueling grown adults, monsters, and Satan himself was no longer a pastime, thankfully. They could finally just enjoy being kids. 

As much as Chalice loved those two to death (quite literally) and would gladly take on a million brawls for them, a girl her age needed time to herself. Two whole weeks of romping around Isle One left her sore from straw to toe, not to mention incredibly homesick. 

After a prompt but sound boat ride, Chalice twirled and skipped towards the humble town square of Isle Four. The day was drifting into late afternoon, meaning the bakery would be closed, but her pops would be on the lookout for her.

He always waited down by the old well, and once they caught sight of each other, he'd open his arms and smile big. Chalice would smile even bigger and rush up into his awaiting softness. It was probably the best feeling since returning to life, she'd say. 

That and gobbling down a plate of her favorite fig and almond tarts he'd make as a welcome home present, just for her. They'd go inside and Chalice would chatter on about her two weeks of non-reckless-but-maybe-rowdy fun while her father listened with interest, happy she had returned safely, happy she was happy.

And Chalice would be happy- as soon as they were reunited. 

The cup girl crossed the cobbletones before a bare spot at the well’s side. She craned her neck and hopped around like a twitchy bird. Her father wasn't where he usually sat right at the front. He had to be somewhere, though- hopefully not at the bottom of it. But no, he wouldn’t let falling down an old well stop him from missing her first day back.

Chalice's excited heel taps slowed as she checked the entire circumference of the area. She even called down the dusty stone reservoir, just in case. Nothing but her confused little voice came back up to greet her.

She pouted, but shrugged off the slight disappointment. Her pops was a busy guy. The best baker in the land. He often made time for her, but Chalice knew he wouldn't always be able to. She’d been an adult before, hadn't she? There had been many occasions where she may or may not have wished to get the hassle of living and dealing with so many responsibilities out of the way. She understood the struggle perfectly. 

Anyways, despite being returned to the mortal realm as a child, she was ‘a smart little cookie crumble’, as her pops liked to put it. She could figure things out for herself. 

Chalice shouldered her backpack and scurried toward the bakery, which doubled as their house with an upstairs floor. The sun dripped down the windows like melting golden butter. A chalkboard sign at the door read: Closed. Chalice checked the knob. Locked. Not a problem. Fishing a key from a necklace hidden under her collar, she unlocked the door and stepped right in.

The warm, cozy smell of home embraced Chalice, and if she could have given it one in return, she would have. She'd missed the place terribly. Something about Saltbaker’s bakery had tugged at her soul when she first explored it as a specter. She knew now it was because it had been built over a mausoleum, with enough astral energy to draw in powerful beings of the past like herself. Nowadays, it was just magical in its everyday simplicity and, most important of all, safety. 

Maybe it was where she was meant to be all along… although luckily not in a tart tin.

The storefront had been left neat and tidy, same as before she’d left. Given how much he prided in presentation, Chalice could believe her father had missed the time while cleaning or finishing some other end-of-the-day matter. 

She wouldn't hold it against him. In fact, she pitied the poor guy. He often got swamped with work and cheerfully waved away any concern he could clearly use.

Because of this, Chalice had suggested he at least entertain the idea of hiring more staff. Like any good daughter, she helped when she could with chores. But after the whole… Wondertart fiasco… the chef didn't seem entirely comfortable having a child carry out hours of unpaid manual labor in his workplace. 

Chalice appreciated the consideration immensely; he'd learned his lesson and was being the best dad he could be. But still, he was through with community service. He didn't have to toil alone as a consequence anymore. Hopefully he’d heed her advice and quit being such a big stubborn dummy. 

Heading toward the stairs of their living quarters, Chalice overheard an unmistakable belly laugh coming from the kitchen. She paused and listened closer. The radio was on too, playing a merry melody. 

Her pops loved listening to music while he cleaned. 

Grinning, the cup girl rushed behind the counter and through the swinging door, ready to tackle him for his forgetfulness, which she would easily forgive over a plate of fig tarts. 

And there he was, leaning back against a counter, stirring a full wine glass. Chef Saltbaker was chuckling in a noticeably giddier pitch with a rosy hue dusting over his glass features. Across from him stood a stranger Chalice couldn't see since they were turned away, but it seemed to be a woman.

“Pop?” she asked, not hiding her slightly bewildered tone. 

The chef caught sight of his daughter through a distorted view in the wine glass raised to his lips. He choked into it, and after a brief coughing fit, he seemed to suddenly speak fluent gibberish. 

“Chalice! Ah-! I- um- you- drat! Today!”

“Don't get your cap in a twist,” Chalice muttered, stepping slightly closer to the guest who had an apparent VIP pass to loiter in their kitchen. She didn’t mean to crinkle her nose at them, but she felt like she had a good reason to. “Who’re you?”

The woman was short and stocky, a little on the chubbier side, and had a semblance to one of the pastries in the bakery's many display cases. She was kinda pretty, which wasn't a good thing as Chalice tried filling in the blanks of whatever this oddly intimate situation was while awaiting a proper explanation. 

The woman cleared her throat, looking toward the chef as he hurriedly set down his cup and switched off the radio. 

“She doesn't speak English, I’m afraid,” Saltbaker said. He went and knelt beside Chalice, seeming a bit sheepish. “I had hoped you might’ve overheard the news since word travels at the speed of light around here, but I digress.” He then held out a palm toward the mystery woman. “This is Amor, my new baking assistant! Amor, esta es mi hija, Cáliz.”

“Oh! Mucho gusto.” Although stiffer than the peppy chef, the woman offered a hand and smile to the girl as Saltbaker translated.

“She says it's nice to meet you.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Chalice said. Without returning the gesture, she stared at the woman, the wine glasses, and then her father. She waited, letting the awkwardness sink in perhaps a bit too cruelly, before asking, “So… she’s just an assistant?” 

“Of- of course.” Chef Saltbaker’s not-very-convincing stutter was out of pure confusion. He had no idea what on Earth his daughter was trying to insinuate, but a child's imagination was terrifying and he wasn't about to start guessing.

The Amor lady mumbled something Chalice didn't quite catch. She was familiar with Spanish as well as a variety of other languages, and although she didn't exactly remember how, she knew her past life had something to do with it. 

There was an oddity to how Amor spoke. Her Spanish had a twang, like a Southern accent. Chalice had never heard it before, nor had she even seen the woman on any of the isles in her two entire lives. It was strange, and unfortunately just made her plain weird. Worst of all, now she had her father acting all strange and weird and secretive too. 

Sensing a souring atmosphere, Chef Saltbaker calmly replied to Amor while ushering Chalice out of the kitchen. As soon as they were alone, like they were supposed to be, he knelt and cupped his daughter’s shoulders. 

“Oh, sweetheart, I completely forgot about walking you home! I'm real sorry, really I am. I've been busy showing Amor the ropes, see. She's not just new to the job, she's from another archipelago entirely.”

“Huh,” Chalice said. “That explains it.” 

“Explains what?”

“She's… well. Different.” Chalice made sure to pick her words to sound judgment-free. She didn't really know why she had the urge to do the exact opposite… but she had a good guess. Ever since the Wondertart incident a year or so ago, she had a rightful amount of wariness for anyone who seemed too friendly on the outside. 

And that was pretty much everyone. 

Chef Saltbaker was a firsthand witness, if not the guilty culprit. She wasn't going to get over the instinct anytime soon, but at the same time he really didn’t wish for her to feel that way constantly. 

“Yes, she is different,” he said. “But different doesn't mean bad.”

Chalice rolled her eyes. “I knowww. C'mon, I ain’t five.”

“Then why the suspicion?” 

Her father seemed to genuinely want to know, and Chalice hadn't even noticed that was the exact emotion she felt. Having it pointed out aloud made her sound… pretty harsh.  

“I don't know,” she admitted. “Maybe because she randomly showed up? And last I checked, you don't need a bottle of wine and mood music to chit-chat.”

Chef Saltbaker hadn't the foggiest clue as to where his daughter had pulled such an assumption from. It bordered on impudent, but he didn't think admonishing her would solve the issue. He believed there could have been a better way to present the situation. And darn it, presentation was his thing, he knew better. 

“Sweetheart, part of getting to know someone is to make conversation and be polite,” he reasoned. “Where we come from, pouring a drink is a gesture of hospitality as well. Amor is bright and has a great attitude, a marvelous culinary background, and she's leaped at the chance to work here… even with knowing about my- ah. Record.” 

Chef Saltbaker dodged the sore subject and waggled Chalice's shoulders with great enthusiasm. “She's proven to be a great help in only a few days! I'm ahead on my orders and she could take over a few tasks to free up my schedule! Isn't that what you were telling me I needed?”

When he put it like that… not to mention looked so happy while telling her about it… maybe Chalice had been too hasty. She'd said it herself; she knew nothing about Amor. While there was still a persistent fear that she had other intentions, there was also a chance she could have been an angel who'd dropped down to their doorstep. 

Meanwhile, the chef had paid his daughter's wishes mind. Didn't that also mean he was thinking of her? To make more time? Because he cared? 

The little cup girl twisted her foot behind a calf, downcast. 

“Oh,” was all she could manage to say. 

“Oh?” Chef Saltbaker gently teased. He chucked Chalice under the chin, meeting her guilt-ridden gaze with an endlessly loving one. “I wouldn't hire any random person off the street, y'know. Part of the ongoing interview process is assessing if she'd work well with another helper around, should I need you. You're a much bigger priority to me than anything else, dear, even my old bakery, and if things don't work out for whatever reason, I'll see to it. Alright?”

A warmth lit in the depths of Chalice's soul at his assurance, lifting her eyes and mouth high. Playfully, she flicked her father's nose. It made a funny spring door stopper noise. 

“Since when did they start calling you Chef Sappybaker?” she asked. 

Her father retaliated by pinching both her cheeks and squishing them around. “Oh, since I had the pleasure of looking after you, cookie crumble. You won't hear the end of it, I promise. Ah! Before I keep being a forgetful fool…”

Chalice gasped in delight as her father flourished a hand and summoned a sparkling plate of fig tarts from thin air. Steam swirled above them, and the dollops of cream glistened like freshly fallen snow. 

“Amor helped make these when I told her you were coming home today,” Chef Saltbaker said. He meaningfully tilted his head toward the kitchen. “She's shy at first but opens up to kindness. She's looking forward to meeting you. Now, I won't force you to make conversation, but I do request you be polite. Do you think you could introduce yourself a bit better?” 

Chalice stood straight and nodded like a steadfast soldier. Her father couldn't resist giving her cheek another doting pinch. 

“That's my girl.”

Amor waited in the kitchen, every second tightening like a vice around her heart. Had she said something wrong? Looked the wrong way, worn the wrong clothes?

She hated social cue guessing games like that, but sadly that was the only way she could afford to try and fit in at the moment.

Maybe it was the clothes. It was always the clothes. She could wear what she wanted back home, back where no one batted an eye at a woman with short hair wearing pants. But here, everyone noticed. If your hair was long and your pants were short, they noticed. If your hair was cut and your dress flowed to your ankles, they noticed.

You could work harder than anyone, get more cuts and tears and dirt stains all over those blouses and jeans, and still, all they saw was how badly you stood out like a sore thumb.

Amor leaned anxiously from foot to foot. She could only hope that the little cup girl saw her like her father had. See she was trying to make a good first impression and not seem weird or mean on purpose. First impressions meant everything these days when so many others were next in line to snatch a job.

The kitchen door swished open and Amor turned, hands fidgeting in place of being nibbled on. That had been fast. Had they talked about her? Was her financial fate really going to be set in the hands of a child? 

Holding onto her plate of goodies, Chef Saltbaker gave his daughter a push and wink in Amor’s direction. Chalice smiled at the visibly apprehensive woman and held out a hand. 

“¡Hola! Soy Cáliz. Es un placer conocerte, Señora Amor, y agradezco que estás ayudando a mi papá con nuestra panadería.”

The little girl's tooth gap adorably complimented her earnest expression and perfect Spanish. Any suspicion Amor had initially sensed was long gone, having been swept aside to reveal something much sweeter and approachable like she'd seen in the head chef himself. 

It was excellent customer service in the making if Amor had ever seen any. To top it off, the sound of her native language alone made her feel right at home.

“Gracias, señorita. Me siento muy bienvenido aquí.” 

[enderwoah]

what's stronger than a diamond?

take this antarctic empire inspired fusion design of phil and techno! he was real fun to design (my favourite bit is his cape, it turns into mist at the very bottom like a waterfall (or into snow, your choice)) :D

also fun fact, this was lined with a feather pen that i had to dip into an inkwell :D my lining pen was broken by my siblings but this had the perfect nib !

red king design by @cherrifire + the gemcyt au by @chrisrin!

stupid doodle under the cut:

[littlest-w01f]

Chapter Ten

Series Masterlist

Cw: Necromancy, torture, slight mention of sa

The dinner had a rather abrupt ending to it after Rhysand mentioned visiting the Bone Carver with Feyre, the Death God was nothing new to Rheana, having read all his tales, but she'd never met him, visited The Prison all but twice to lock up traitors.

She had seen him in passing though, when the curiosity got better of her and she made her way down the prison, in the form of a young female with bright firey hair, light bronze skin, violet eyes, and large Illyrian wings, sitting in the cell, playing with bones. The female looked eerily similar to her, at the same time, she carried a stranger's face.

Rheana took a step closer to the cell, her heart pounding in her chest as she calmed herself down. She could feel the energy radiating off the girl, making her feel both uneasy and strangely drawn towards her at the same time.

But she knew better than to converse with the Carver, so she had left, even still, the thoughts of why he had shown up as that female haunted her, all because it was a question she didn't know the answer to.

The new morning she saw outside on her balcony in the townhouse, a piece of parchment in front of her, an ink pot and the fancy quill she preferred beside her, with some chamomile tea in her hands.

As Rheana sipped her chamomile tea, her mind wandered back to the Bone Carver, and the peculiar sight of him appearing as a young female, it had been years since then, centuries even. She picked up her quill and dipped it into the inkwell, changing her thoughts from the Bone Carver to Tarquin, the High Lord of Summer her brother had asked her to write to.

Rheana, despite the view people had for her Court, was very nicely received among the royal families of other Courts, she spoke in the language people wanted to hear, and read people so well that she knew what they expected without breaking into their minds.

So, the words flew freely, asking Tarquin for a visit to Summer, for herself, Rhysand, Feyre and Amren, spinning a tale of wanting to mend Court relations, after Amarantha had destroyed Prythian, she did feel a visit to other Courts would be important, especially after she had killed Tarquin's mother, an old friend of hers, along with his father for the Summer Court trying to rebel against her.

Rheana knowing full well how persuasive she could be when writing letters, hoped that this one would have the desired effect. Kallos took the chance to jump in her lap in the form of a little kitten she kept them as, purring like one too, but their skin was as scale-like as it had been when she met them. She finished writing her letter, dipping the quill again to sign her name elegantly before placing everything neatly aside, she hovered her hand over the parchment, using her magic to dry the ink.

She held the paper, and folded it thrice before summoning an envelope, setting the letter inside, and sealing it with hot wax and her court's emblem, using the quill she made three stars on the bottom of the envelope with Night Blooms under the stars, her own personal mark for Tarquin to know who it came from.

With the letter sealed and marked, Rheana stood up and walked over to the balcony, gazing out at the city below. She felt a sense of anticipation building within her, wondering what response she might receive from Tarquin. She closed her eyes, letting the warm breeze caress her face, and whispered a silent prayer to the stars, hoping that her efforts would not be in vain.

Kallos appeared on the windowsill and with a wave of Rheana's hand, they turned into a raven, a deep black coat that still had its scaley texture, bigger than most birds, Take this for me. She said in their mind.

Kallos mindlessly picked the letter with their beak and nodded, for you, They then took flight, and Rheana cast a glamour on them to keep them invisible to anyone who looked to the sky.

Rheana watched intently as Kallos took flight, carrying her letter towards its destination. A pang of worry briefly crossed her heart but she quickly banished it, trusting in the strength of her words and her bond with Kallos, they would get the message to Tarquin. She returned to her seat, pouring herself another cup of chamomile tea, she pulled a book from her shelf, settling back comfortably with the intention to pass the time by losing herself in someone else's fantastical world until news arrived.

Rhysand and Feyre returned earlier than Rheana had expected, sensing how upset Feyre was, and told her enough of the fact that they hadn't visited The Prison.

Feyre had said nothing but locked herself in her room, and Rhysand had simply asked Rheana not to try to make her come out, giving her space.

Rheana nodded understandingly, sympathizing with Feyre’s pain. "Of course," she murmured softly, casting a glance towards the door of Feyre’s room. "Give her time." She advised gently, reaching out to place a comforting hand on Rhysand’s arm. "And you should give yourself some time too. It must be difficult to see your mate hurt."

Rheana could tell from the set of Rhysand's shoulders and the distant look in his eyes that he was indeed struggling too. His emotions were so closely tied to Feyre's, that it was hard for him to remain unaffected when she suffered. Rheana moved away from him slightly, stepping over to the fireplace to stir the embers and add more wood, the crackling flames providing a comforting sound.

Rheana left Rhysand with himself and some of the calming tea she had been drinking, and made her way up the House of Winds, if she had been in a hurry, she would've flown, but for now, she had the time to walk up the spiral staircase to the top.

10,000 stairs may seem daunting to many, but for Rheana, it was a familiar trek, one she often undertook when seeking solitude or clarity. As she climbed, the air grew cooler, the scent of saltwater and seafoam wafting in through the open windows that lined the staircase. By the time she reached the top, her legs were pleasantly tired, and her mind felt refreshed.

She had the House of Winds to herself, Cassian had gone to Illyria to see how the training for the males was going, she herself would be leaving soon to train her females, as she did every morning and afternoon, but she also had business to care for before that with Azriel, who waited for her.

Her thoughts went to the library in the House of Winds, on the new Priestess that had joined them almost a few days ago, when her temple was infiltrated by Hybern soldiers, the soldiers that Azriel had ripped apart with his Siphons and the general that he had beaten till his death.

After a few moments of peace, she took flight into the caves of the mountain the House of Winds was built on, as she stepped past a spell of glamour, the dungeons formed in front of her, muffled cries coming from deep inside, the place was dark, Rheana was sure many bats lived in the cracks and crevices in the caves, which might also be why Azriel always came with a new batch of captured insets every time he visited.

"Azriel?" Rheana called out when she felt a few shadows shifting around her, she knew every knock and cranny of this place, having worked alongside Azriel to contain her power and rage before she found much more suitable ways to manage herself.

She felt the shadows move behind her and she sensed Azriel, who simply moved past her when he knew she felt him, "How nice of you to join me, Rhea, this will be like old times."

Azriel led her to a cell, where a dead body lay, the body of the Hybern general, the only physical thing left of the people who attacked Sangravah, Rhysand had been quite pissed that Azriel had left no one standing to interrogate but after what he had told the siblings, Rhysand hadn't been that mad, and besides, Rheana could make it work.

"Ah, so this is him?" Rheana tutted, her clothes transforming, leather replacing cotton, armour, and Siphons on display, the look of death in her eyes, the male's face was bruised and battered, frozen in a look of terror from when Azriel had unleashed himself upon him, "Doesn't seem too intimidating."

"He looks like someone who picks fights with people who can't fight back." Azriel growled and Rheana rested a hand on his shoulder in comfort.

"Hey, why don't I do this alone? You take care of anything else..." Rheana sighed softly, "Perhaps see over the Illyrian females, while I'm busy."

Azriel left with a huff, he'd clearly wanted to see the male suffer, but they needed information more than sadistic pleasure. The second Azriel winnowed away, Rheana exhaled, the room filled with darkness, she looked at the male, tied up to a chair with chains, body slagging in it, covered in cuts and bruises, some received way after he was dead.

Rheana weaved her hand through the dead general's hair, with a sharp inhale, her eyes turned completely black, her skin going paler than the moon as she let go of her darkness and daemati powers, weaving them both together to take control of the dead mind of the general, bringing his body back to life with a gasp of harsh breath the body took, it's eyes dark just like Rheana's were.

The general blinked open his eyes, groaning in pain, staring blankly ahead as though trying to focus on something just beyond reach. Rheana stood before him, her form barely visible amidst the darkness, that swirled around her. She wasn't the dainty princess her father had wanted his daughters to be, clad in warrior leathers, muscles tense from power, biceps flexing from her grip in his hair, nails digging right into his skull, wings flared wide, dark purple Siphons gleaming in the darkness, in front of the general stood The Lady of Darkness, the witch of the dark the Illyrians feared, and the dead general had the right mind to look frightened. She leaned down closer to the male, her voice a low whisper against the silence of the dungeon.

"Speak," She commanded firmly, her eyes burning with an otherworldly intensity. "What were you doing in the Sangravah temple? What did you take?"

The general's lips parted, but no words came out at first. He tried to struggle against the restraints holding him in place, but they held firm. Fear shone brightly in his eyes, a stark contrast to the darkness of Rheana's own gaze. But still, he remained silent. Rheana frowned, her grip tightening even more. A curl of her hand sent another surge of energy coursing through the general, forcing him to obey.

"I… I was following orders!" He finally managed to stammer out, voice almost hypnotized, fear making his voice tremble. "We were tasked with finding and retrieving something specific."

"The feet of the Cauldron, that's what missing, there would be no need for it if you didn't have the Cauldron hidden with you." Rheana's eyes shone dark like a starless cold night sky, "Does your king have it?"

The general nodded, his mind in her hands, quite literally, fear etched across his face as he struggled to keep his composure. "Yes… Yes, he does! It's hidden somewhere safe. No one knows its location except for the king and those closest to him!"

"Like you," Rheana smirked like darkness and death herself, her hold on his mind tightening, "So, where?"

The general grimaced, pain shooting through his head as he fought against the compulsion Rheana exerted upon him. His eyes darted around wildly, searching for some kind of escape, but there was none, because he was dead, nothing about him quite alive. "I… I don't know exactly! Only that it is far from here, somewhere secluded and well-guarded," He confessed, desperation creeping into his tone.

"Fine, guard it in your mind, you only can for so long." Rheana hummed, her voice dangerously sweet, "And the young female you assaulted? Was that an order too? Or do you just liked having power over a defenseless female?"

The general paled further, his mind recoiling at the mention of the assault. "It wasn't an order! We… I acted on my own, without permission. I just couldn't resist her, she was so beautiful and helpless… And that bitch hid the children! It was an easy way to punish her..." He trailed off. "Please, forgive me, I swear it won't happen again!"

"Oh no it won't. Because you suffered and died, and I brought your mind back to torture you again," Rheana smiled, "But her? She suffered, and she will heal."

The general shuddered, his entire being trembling under the weight of Rheana's command. His eyes closed tight as tears began to stream down his cheeks, Rheana was sure the male had wet himself too, there was always that downside of bringing a mind back with magic, it jolted up some other functions too. "Please… Please don't hurt me anymore," he begged, voice cracking.

"Well, if you're lying to be general, you'll wish your body was obliterated like the rest of your soldiers," Rheana cooed as if talking to an infant, "Because I will be back, and that would hurt so much more."

Rheana withdrew her hand from his head, her fingers and palm soiled in blood as the male went limp again, looking more dead than he was before.

{General Taglist- @nox-ceur @lilah-asteria @paleidiot}

{Flames and Darkness Taglist- @anuttellaa @tuggboatfishin @inloveallthetime}

[inseasofgreen]

FRIDAY KISS TAG

I was tagged by @the-golden-comet and I finally have a kiss I can share!!

“I don’t like how easily you can bring me to smile. It feels unusual and odd,” Sciosa said frowning. She chewed on her lip in thought for a moment. Kas evoked a sense of comfort around him she hadn’t felt with anyone outside her own family. She was still coming to terms with marriage, she detested the idea that it could grow into love. It made her vulnerable, it made her susceptible to falling prey to making mistakes all in the name of love. Kas brushed a dark umber finger over her bottom lip pulling it free from her jaw’s grip. The calloses on the pad of his finger catching lightly. Their eyes met again, Kas looked around before leaning down and pulling her up to meet his lips. She gave in and kissed him back all the while yelling at herself to pull away. It had been too long since Sciosa had been able to kiss someone, and she had missed it. Kas's lips were warm and soft against hers inviting her into his embrace. Sciosa pulled away too soon for both of them. She couldn’t give in to the charms. There was too much on the line to let herself feel something for once. There was power in the prison she locked herself away in. The less she cared, the less she felt, the better.

Ahh yes. The tale of the avoidant-dismissive and avoidant-fearful coming together in marriage. Whatever could go wrong there.

Tagging my POTO taglist and leaving this an open tag!

POTO TAG LIST:

@lord-fallen @inkingfireplace @rhikasa @leahnardo-da-veggie @satohqbanana

@real-fragments @the-inkwell-variable @tildeathiwillwrite @oldfashionedidiot @heycerulean

@sonnetery @wyked-ao3 @fifis-corner @thelovelymachinery