#cutlery boot

[driverlando]

Jealous biker lando being over protective of waitress reader 👀

Dangerous Territory ── biker!lando x waitress!reader ✧.*

The diner hums with its usual late-night rhythm. The faint clatter of cutlery, the buzz of conversation, and the smell of frying bacon and coffee fill the air. You’re moving from table to table, a practiced smile on your lips as you top off mugs and serve plates. It’s late, and your shift is dragging, but it’s familiar, comforting in a way. The neon lights from the diner’s sign outside cast a soft glow over the checkered floors, painting everything in a warm, nostalgic light.

From the corner of your eye, you spot Lando in his usual booth, sitting with his back to the wall, one arm slung casually over the back of the seat. He’s always there at the end of your shifts, watching you, not in an overbearing way but in a protective, silent kind of presence. His leather jacket creaks as he leans back, his dark eyes tracking your movements with a kind of lazy interest. The dim lighting throws shadows across his sharp jawline, making him look even more dangerous than usual. He doesn’t need to say much; just his being there is enough to let everyone know you’re not alone.

You try not to focus on him too much, knowing that whenever your eyes meet, something sparks in the air between you. But it’s hard not to notice him, sitting there like a storm waiting to break, his motorcycle parked just outside, ready to whisk you away once you’ve clocked out.

As you move back to the counter, you feel someone’s eyes on you—a different kind of stare. A guy at the counter, someone you haven’t seen before, grins at you as you set a plate of food down in front of him. His smile is too wide, his eyes lingering on you a little longer than you’d like as you bring him his food. “Another burger and chips,” you say politely, sliding the plate in front of him, already moving to step back when he decides to lean in.

“You work here every night, darling?” His words are slurred but sharp enough to make your stomach turn. His eyes rake over you, from your waist up to your face, and the sleazy grin spreading across his lips sends a chill through you.

You force a smile, trying to keep things professional. “Most nights,” you reply curtly, turning away to tend to the next table, but his voice follows you, dripping with entitlement.

“You’re too pretty for a place like this,” he says, louder now, drawing a few curious glances from nearby tables. “How about you finish up here and I take you somewhere nice, eh? Bet you’ve never been treated right.” His voice greasy, oozing with an unwanted familiarity.

You freeze, fingers tightening around the coffee pot in your hand, trying to keep calm. “I’m fine, thanks,” you say through gritted teeth, praying he’ll get the hint and leave you alone.

But, of course, he doesn’t. “Oh, come on, sweetheart. Don’t be like that. I’m just trying to be friendly. How about I get your number?” He leans further over the counter, and now you can feel his breath on your skin, the stench of beer making your stomach churn.

You’re about to respond when you feel a shift in the air, a prickle of tension that’s unmistakable. Lando’s watching. And this time, he’s not staying in his booth.

From where you stand, you can see the change in everyone else—the way conversations pause, forks freeze mid-bite, and even the jukebox seems to fade into the background.

Lando’s not rushing. He never does. He walks with purpose, slow and steady, his boots thudding against the tiled floor with a deliberate weight. His leather jacket is half-zipped, the collar up, his eyes locked on the bloke at the counter with a look that could kill.

You’re caught between wanting to stop him and knowing better. Lando’s never been one to start trouble, but he doesn’t shy away from it either, especially not when it comes to you.

The guy at the counter seems blissfully unaware of the impending storm, too caught up in his own delusions of charm. “What d’you say, love? You can do better than this place, yeah?”

Before you can open your mouth, Lando steps up behind you, his chest almost brushing your back as he positions himself between you and the counter. His presence feels like a shield, his hand lightly grazing your waist, a silent gesture that says, I’ve got this.

“You’ve got about three seconds to leave,” Lando says quietly, his voice low and controlled, but there’s an edge to it that sends a shiver down your spine. The kind of tone that promises hell if the bloke doesn’t listen.

The man’s smile falters for the first time, but he tries to laugh it off. “Oi, mate, no need to get all worked up. We’re just having a bit of fun, yeah?” His eyes flick between you and Lando, clearly trying to assess if this is worth pushing.

Lando doesn’t move, doesn’t even blink. “I’m not your mate,” he growls, his hand tightening slightly on your waist. “And she’s not interested. So, unless you want to be picking up your teeth from the floor, I suggest you leave.”

There’s a pause, thick with tension. Lando’s arm brushes against yours, a small but significant reminder that you’re not alone in this. His fingers twitch slightly, as if resisting the urge to do more, but his presence alone is enough to make the guy back down, finally clocking just how dangerous Lando is. He mutters something under his breath—something about not wanting trouble—and then fumbles to grab his jacket, to throw some money on the counter before practically tripping over his stool in his haste to leave. The bell jingles as it swings shut behind him, and the quiet that follows is almost deafening.

You exhale slowly, the knot in your stomach finally loosening. Lando’s hand lingers on your waist for a moment longer before he turns slightly, looking down at you. His jaw is still tight, his eyes softer now but still flickering with the remnants of protective rage.

“You alright?” His voice is gentler now, his thumb brushing your side.

You nod, offering a small smile. “Yeah, thanks”

Lando’s gaze softens as he looks at you, the intensity melting away now that the guy is gone. His hand moves to your waist, fingers brushing gently over your hip in a way that feels more like a reassurance than anything else. “Didn’t like the way he was looking at you,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough with protectiveness. “Bloke’s lucky I didn’t deck him.”

You laugh softly, though there’s a hint of truth in his words that makes you shiver. “You didn’t have to get up, I could’ve handled it.”

Lando raises an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, but why let you when I’m right here?” he teases lightly, though there’s no mistaking the seriousness in his eyes. He’d do it again in a heartbeat.

You roll your eyes playfully, but you can’t deny the flutter in your chest at how easily he steps in when you need him. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he says with a grin, tugging you just a little closer before pressing a soft kiss to your temple. His hand lingers on your waist as if he can’t bring himself to let go, even as you pull away to get back to work.

As you return to your shift, you can still feel Lando’s eyes on you, that quiet, protective presence watching over you from his booth. And though the diner’s back to its usual buzz, you feel safer, knowing Lando’s never far, ready to step in the moment you need him.

—

read After Hours here

[lennadanvers]

Winter back home

Simon Riley x Reader

He has a problem.

He’s had problems all his life. He’s got a lot of experience in dealing with problems, really. The ones that can be solved with bullets, anyway.

This is not that kind of problem. Well, maybe a bullet could take care of this. But he promised himself he would never take that path. So, he suffers.

His problem is the dichotomy. His problem is Ghost, months of suffocating under a stale mask, the orders, the blood, the uniform. His problem is Simon, weeks of nothing, the silence, the civilian comfort, being a person.

He’s gone. Somewhere between base and “home”- a cold, dark flat in the outskirts of London-, he lost his soul. Now he isn’t here nor there. None of his names fit him.

He is just a being, two legs on top of two feet that can’t stand the feeling of dry, clean socks inside of simple sneakers. A head, a neck, on top of a pair of shoulders too wide to fit the door of normalcy. A back too tight to bear the weight of actual life. Hands too strong to hold reality without breaking it, skin so rough it tears instead of caressing. A pair of eyes that do not know where to look if not for threats.

He's a storm waiting to happen. Too dark to be a person, too broken to be a man. Too heavy for a ghost.

The flat feels wrong. Especially the first few days. He has to open the windows to let the fresh air in- more like freezing air. It’s okay, he’s used to dealing with the cold. It’s actually being comfortable what makes him uneasy. The fact that he has so much space for himself. He doesn’t have things. He doesn’t own more than a couple changes of clothes. His sofa looks new, even though he bought it years ago. His bed is soft, his bedside table is empty. He owns a table, two chairs and headphones. One bottle of water. Four glasses, a cheap six-piece cutlery set. Some plates he bought on sale. One rug he doesn’t step on. A broom. Shampoo, toothbrush and toothpaste are in the bag he brings from base. Even his bike just takes up half his designated parking space.

Other than that, he has nothing.

The other thing that bothers him is the silence. He should be able to sleep in the quiet- he’s fallen asleep in active bombing zones, for God’s sake. But the white noise of the cars, the soft humming of the refrigerator- all they do is keep him awake. It’s always too quiet, too… Too safe. He knows it’s a trap. It always is.

That’s why he checks the windows.

Like now, when he enters the apartment in silence. The lights stay off until he’s cleared every room. Then he turns them all on. His duffel bag goes into the wardrobe, still closed. The boots under the bed. He changes into civilian clothes, checks the pantry- empty, always empty- and starts his rounds.

He checks the three windows: the small one in the bathroom, the one in the bedroom that looks over the neighbor’s rooftop, and the one in the living room. Usually, the last one is his favorite. The view lets him keep an eye on the street, alert in case there’s something suspicious lurking down there.

This time, though, he can’t look down.

He’s stuck in the window in front of his. The apartment building across the street is nicer than the one he’s standing in. By his standards, anyway. That means it looks warm and worn down. Brick walls instead of grey cement, wood stairs instead of metal. It has pots with flowers and an old mirror in the entrance.

There’s only one apartment with the lights still on. It’s late, he reminds himself, for normal people. Most of them are asleep at two in the morning.

You’re not. Through your open curtains, he can see your tired face. You’re curled up on a desk chair, with messy hair and reading glasses on. Your pajama is cute, it looks soft and a little too big. It fits you perfectly. You’re holding a steaming cup and frowning at the pile of papers on top of your desk.

When you fix the -presumably hand-knitted- blanket on top of your shoulders, he frowns. Aren’t you cold? You should close the window.

And go to bed, while you’re at it. What are you doing up this late, anyway? Working? He hopes not. A cute little thing like you should have a quiet job, with stable working hours and low stress. But you look very stressed. Maybe you’re studying. That’s it, probably. You don’t look his age, but he’d bet you’re in your late twenties, maybe thirties.

He pictures you getting a degree. It’s easy, you look smart. Oh, you must have a degree already. Surely, he decides, you must have one. You’re getting a doctorate now, aren’t you?

It’s a silly question, of course. He knows nothing about you, except that you should be sleeping instead of munching at a cookie. But it’s a relief to pretend he does. To believe he can see life through your window. If he had to guess, that’s what living looks like: a woman in the room, plans for the future, eating homemade treats and knowing you’ll survive the upcoming test, even if you don’t pass.

For the first time since he bought this place, he’s actually there. As if taking a deep breath, Simon is suddenly aware of his body. The t-shirt he’s wearing is soft, a little too thin for the weather. The place smells like leather- must be the sofa. Was the ceiling always this high? Simon makes a mental note to buy air freshener and a blanket.

It takes him a couple of days of staring out the window to realize what happened.

It’s Friday, and he’s checked your closed blinds for the third time this afternoon. Simon hasn’t seen you today. He sighs and turns around. He goes to open one of the kitchen drawers when it hits him.

There are cookies in there. Two different kinds. And he’s wearing slippers- they were on sale at the supermarket, and he didn’t even think about it. But he’s thinking about it now. Simon looks around. One of his jackets is hanging by the door. There’s lint on the rug. The cushions on the sofa are out of their place. He left a mug on the counter.

He's living again.

It a crushing discovery. Once he saw it, it’s impossible to miss. He made plans. He has tickets to watch a movie next Tuesday. When was the last time he planned something other than a mission? And cookies? Simon hasn’t eaten cookies since he enlisted. Maybe longer. His clothes are comfortable. Actually comfortable, he doesn’t need to ignore the fabric irritating his skin. The windows are closed: he’s not cold. It’s quite nice, honestly. And the place smells like someone lives here. A mix of cologne, tea and leftovers from lunch.

The flat doesn’t feel empty. Simon doesn’t feel empty.

His muscles give out. It’s not a dramatic fall, more like an extreme relaxation. It hurts a little; like clenching your fist for hours and then letting your hand open. The blood starts flowing back with a tingle. The oxygen gets where it is supposed to go. There is a strange open space in the palm of your hand.

The relieved smile is a side effect.

He still wears it when he settles back down on the couch. Someone is playing music outside, and the plants on your building’s hall are blooming. What a weird time to bloom, in the middle of the cold.

Simon understands, though, when he sees you finally open your blinds.

Yes, he gets the desire to be alive now.

A/n: I sat down to write and four hours later I'm posting this. It is not proofread and I'm a little too tired to care. Maybe I'll fix it later. Also, my anxiety has been a bitch lately (that means I freeze instead of being able to reply to messages and asks- my poor friends have the patience of a thousand saints stacked on top of each other), so I won't reply to the asks today. Maybe tomorrow, we'll see. In any case, I hope you're all having a great weekend, full of flowers and treats <3

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to A Great House (19th-20th Century) - Anatomy of the House

When we think of the Victorians, the grand old Gilded Age or the Edwardians, we all think of those big mansions and manors where some of our favourite stories take place. But what did a great house look like?

Layout

All great houses are different and some, being built in different eras, may adhere to different styles. But the layout of certain rooms usually stayed somewhat the same.

The highest floors including the attic were reserved the children's rooms/nursery and the servants quarters.

The next floor would be reserved for bedrooms. On the first/ground floor, there will be the dining room, drawing room, library etc.

The basement/cellar would be where the kitchens and other food related rooms would be. Servants halls and boot rooms may also be down here too along scullery, where sometimes a maid would clean.

Rooms used by Servants

Boot Room: The Boot Room is where the valets, ladies maids, hallboys and sometimes footmen clean off shoes and certain items of clothing.

Kitchen: The Kitchen was usually either in the basement or the first floor of the house, connected to a garden where the house's vegetables were grown.

Butler's Pantry: A butler's pantry was where the serving items are stored. This is where the silver is cleaned, stored and counted. The butler would keep the wine log and other account books here. The butler and footmen would use this room.

Pantry: The Pantry would be connected to the kitchen. It is a room where the kitchens stock (food and beverages) would be kept.

Larder: The larder was cool area in the kitchen or a room connected to it where food is stored. Raw meat was often left here before cooking but pastry, milk, cooked meat, bread and butter can also be stored here.

Servants Hall: The Servant's Hall was where the staff ate their meals and spent their down time. They would write letters, take tea, sew and darn clothes. The servants Hall would usually have a fireplace, a large table for meals, be where the servant's cutlery and plates would be kept and where the bell board hung. (these bells were the way servants where summoned)

Wine Cellar: The wine cellar was where the wine was melt, usually in the basement. Only the butler would be permitted down there and everything would be catalogued by him too.

Butler's/Housekeeper's sitting rooms: In some houses, both the butler and the housekeeper had sitting rooms/offices downstairs. This was were they held meetings with staff, took their tea and dealt with accounts.

Scullery: The scullery was were the cleaning equipment was cleaned and stored. The scullery may even also double as a bedroom for the scullery maid.

Servery: The Servery connected to the dinning room. It was where the wine was left before the butler carried it out to be served. Some of the food would be delivered here to be carried out as well.

Servant's Sleeping Quarters: All servants excepting perhaps the kitchen maid and outside staff slept in the attics. Men and unmarried women would be kept at seperate sides of the house with the interconnecting doors locked and bolted every night by the butler and housekeeper. If the quarters were small, some servants may have to share rooms. Servants' bathrooms and washrooms would also be up there, supplied with hot water from the kitchens.

Rooms used by the Family

Dining room: The dining room was where the family ate their breakfast, lunch and dinner. It was also where the gentlemen took their after dinner drink before joking the ladies in the drawing room.

Drawing room: The Drawing Room was sort of a living/sitting room. It was mainly used in the evenings after dinner where the ladies would take their tea and coffee before being joined by the men. It could also be used for tea by the ladies during the day. The drawing room was seen as more of a women's room but any of the family could use it. The drawing room was a formal room but could also be used for more casual activities.

Library: The library is of course where the books are kept. The family would use this room for writing letters, reading, doing business with tenants and taking tea in the afternoons.

Bedrooms: The bedrooms would take up most of the upper floors. The unmarried women would sleep in one wing with bachelors at the furthest wing away. Married couples often had adjoining rooms with their own bedrooms in each and equipped with a boudoir or a sitting room.

Nursery: Was where the children slept, usually all together until old enough to move into bedrooms. They would be attended to be nannies and nursemaids round the clock.

Study: The study was a sort of home office where family could do paperwork, chill and write letters.

Dressing room: Dressing Rooms where usually attached to bedrooms where the family would be dressed and their clothes would be stored. The valets and ladies maids would have control of the room.

Hall: The hall was where large parties would gather for dancing or music or to be greeted before parties.

Furnishings and Decor

Most of these Great Houses were inherited which means, they came with a lot of other people's crap. Ornaments from anniversaries, paintings bought on holiday, furniture picked out by newly weds, all of it comes with the house. So most of the time everything seems rather cluttered.

As for Servant's Quarters, most of the furnishings may have been donated by the family as gifts. Most servants' halls would have a portrait of the sovereign or sometimes a religious figure to install a sense of morality into them.

[flusteredmoonn]

i can see you; james potter

summary: "and we keep everything professional, but something changed," in which they meet at a meeting for the order.

tags: (SFW), drabble??, fast paced, implied gryffindor!reader, ordermember!reader, lily and james aren't together, she/her pronouns, third person y/n.

words: 1.0k+

speak now tracklist. request.

the popping sound which followed an apparation echoed through twelve grimmauld place. a group hogwarts graduates stumbled through the corridor, the murmuring of animated portraits was muffled by laughter as they made their return from a mission ordered by dumbledore.

their boots thumped as they entered the dining space, observing the long wooden table already set with cutlery.

"oi what's for dinner mckinnon?" james shouted across the room, causing her and someone else he didn't quite recognise to turn sharply toward the boy.

"pumpkin pasta," y/n, who stood next to marlene, answered for her, the bespectacled boy to move his focus to her. he paused for a moment, marlene chuckling to herself as she turned around to continue stirring the simmering pot.

eventually the boy turned around and followed his friends as they moved to one of the sitting rooms, joining in with their loudness which followed behind them. the sounds of their chaos echoed through the house, still being heard from where both girls were.

the faint call of james harassing lily could faintly be heard through the walls. sure that the boys were far enough away from the pair, marlene turned to y/n and laughed amusedly.

"what," she reciprocated in the same tone.

"james, i've never seen him like that before," the blonde waved her wand and summoned bowls to serve the pasta in.

"what do you mean?"

"he was like a deer in headlights when he saw you," a smirk ever present on her face, as she continued her preparation for supper, stepping behind her peer and summoned one of the black family's house elves and asked them to fetch some wizarding wine from the cellar.

the house elf agreed, and disappeared promptly with a pop.

"i'm sure that's not true, he's just gotten back from a mission so i'm sure that he's just disoriented," y/n justified to the blonde.

"mhm.."

soon enough, everyone who had been at headquarters had been called for dinner and the kitchen-dining room was filled with loud chatter from every corner of the room.

y/n had been seated next to dorcas and marlene, and coincidentally, by the time the boys who had made an entrance before had sat themselves opposite her. james flashed the girl a smile as they sat down, before reaching for a goblet and taking a swig and grabbing his cutlery.

she smiled back at him, before resuming her conversation with her friends.

"...prongs?" remus asked, a curious smirk on his face as he followed his friends line of sight.

james' head quipped around faster than light, "yeah remus?"

"pads wanted to know your thoughts on putting a new spell on the map," the werewolf clarified whilst sirius stiffled a snort.

"i mean we could definitely look into it, sounds good moons," he had already turned back around, trying to figure out where he knew y/n from.

he mulled over it from the ending of dinner, to when a meeting was called the next day. grimmauld place had never been so full, or at least not that james had seen it. even dumbledore had been present, which was a talking point for most as they entered the drawing room.

the black family tapestry almost seemed full of scowling portraits as the head master of hogwarts began to boom, "hello–"

"right, we've not got time for nothing profound, lets get straight to it," alastor moody cut off his superior, ignoring the look of shock on the old man's face as he hobbled to the centre of the room. james immediately locked eyes with y/n, sharing a smile with her as she tried to surpress her laughter.

"we've had some new comers, here at headquarters. i assume most of you know one another from hogwarts; lets give them a warm welcome," moody began a round of applause.

"alright, alright moody, let's get to business," kingsley shacklebolt cleared his throat before he spoke, clasping his hands together assertively and looking to dumbledore to lead the meeting.

throughout the meeting james and y/n kept making fleeting eye contact. which eventually led to james weaving his way through the room inconspicuously until he ended up standing next to the mysterious girl.

"hey,"

"hi," she swivelled slightly to look at james, before returning her attention, at least in part, to dumbledore's extravagance.

"i dunno why they can't just send us an owl with our objectives on it," he tried to jest, only to see her expression pinch, "well what if they get intercepted, i wouldn't put it past the opposition,"

"right, well– that makes sense actually," he laughed through his nose.

"what'd you want, james," the eyeroll which followed was evident from her tone alone.

"no, nothing, uh... i just haven't seen you at headquarters before, or any of the safe houses for that matter..." james gasped dramatically, are you a spy?" surprisingly, no one had noticed his movement yet, at least not outwardly.

"no, unfortunately– sorry to disappoint," she chucked silently. the pair continued to talk through the rest of the meeting, ignoring the responsibility that came with the encroaching war. remus would surely fill them in on anything important anyways.

after what could've been a lifetime, they parted ways, y/n immediately rushing off to marlene who couldn't hide her amusement.

meanwhile, remus was lurking around the corner knowingly.

"merlin, moons, goodness, what 'as that for," james laughed in reponse to almost jumping out of his skin.

"what're you playing at, james," he cut straight to the chase, "you know you shouldn't be pursuing anyone from the order, unless its a pre-existing relationship.. we're going into a war james,"

"'m not, i was just curious," he put his hands up defensively, "i know the rules, i haven't seen her since we graduated s'all," he faked a look of innocence before walking away.

"keep it professional!" remus shouted after james, rolling his eyes at the brushed off response his friend gave.

[theoxenfree]

TINCTURE OF ACONITE

werewolf x "magic" practitioner!reader | 2.4k

a man is told about a dilapidated inn on the outskirts of the village that houses a practitioner of unsavory sorts. he seeks you out to find a cure for his affliction—lycanthropy. with blood on his hands, at the mercy of a fate of cruel uncertainties, he has no choice but to take on the task you give to him and the catch that comes with it: he must decide if he deserves to live or die.

warnings; dark fantasy, mentions of blood and mutilation, a very dark interpretation of lycanthropy, very evasive interpretation of what a "practitioner" is, mc smokes, theological discussion, derogatory insult (e.g. bitch), roughly proofread.

this is the first of my prompts fulfilled for my personal october writing project! this was also the prompt that won the first poll!

i would appreciate it enormously if y'all would please reblog + leave me feedback on this! particularly if you'd be interested in seeing this as a full story down the line!

From the hawk-nosed widow selling stale bread and wrinkled, gray potatoes with mysterious growths, he'd learned about a dilapidated inn fringing the northwest end of the village. There, she had said warily, with keen and wise eyes showing wide whites and tiny bloodshot threads, he would find the answers to everything he had never asked for.

He would find the Practitioner.

It took him less time than he thought to find his way across the village, away from the cursory and reluctant and distrustful looks as he lumbered through in his heavy boots and loose-fitting black tatters he'd sewn together himself time and time again. His face was haggard, skin wet and ashen, and he couldn't remember the last time he held a blade to shave his face, tame his long, dark hair.

To the townspeople, he must've looked like a wildman; uncivilized; belonging to the deep wood and meadows and smelling thickly of untouched nature, mud, and musk. Perhaps, now, he was just that because he also could no longer remember a time where he'd been welcome to sleep in a bed, ate a meal cooked and seasoned to be used with cutlery, allowed himself to be gripped by scalding water and bath salts, reveled the touch of another person.

Upon reaching the inn sometime later, a tiered, hulking structure which seemed to rot from the inside out; the middle of the massive thing bowing inward as though slowly being sucked underground—into hell, he was greeted at the entrance without ever having needed to knock.

“Second floor,” was all the older fellow said. A man with unhealthy grayness to his complexion that rivaled his own. All of the vigor, pink liveliness was long gone from his face and his eyes reflected nothing—not a want, a wish, a worry, or thought beyond remembering to move one foot after the next to keep locomotion.

He moved beyond the gaunt, wispy fellow who quietly closed the door, then shuffled off through another threshold leading elsewhere. He'd been instructed to go to the left, to the end of hall and through the door which faced him.

When he did this, the somnolent dreariness of the world outside fell away and he was sucked into silence filled with static. The room was sentient, almost, swirling with immense wafts of burning herbs, fragrant flora, dark tendrils of smoke emerging from wilted candle wicks and the cherry flickers at the tips of them.

“Well, aren't you a sad sight!” Your voice was deceptively upbeat in comparison to this room, this place. He noticed you seated in a high-backed chair padded in ripped red velvet, a large table stretched out before you and sprawled with many, endless things. “It isn't easy to find this place. Who told you about me?”

“The potato seller at the village.” He said.

You pressed a flat, metal tip between your lips and sucked in on some weird instrument, blowing out a profuse cloud of faint, purple smoke which smelled otherworldly and familiar.

“You mean the widow with the crazy eyes?”

“I…suppose so, yes.”

“She's crazy, you know?”

“She told me you'd be able to cure me.”

You smiled like he'd just told you an amusing joke, wooed you a bit in the process. He watched your teeth come out from behind your lips and clench down on the metal tip.

“Cure you? She wouldn't have used those words. She despises me and likes to think people she sends my way meet their death. What a vindictive old bitch. She’ll get hers one day.” You said, then gestured to the empty chair opposite the table to you. “I’m flattered you think so highly of me, though. We’ve only just met. But, I know a desperate man when I see one. I know a cursed man when I see one.”

The chair was uncomfortable, not at all wide enough, strong enough to bear his form but it did not collapse under his weight, only creaked and whimpered. You were observing him as casually as he would have had a friend a long time ago, with such little regard for safety, little fear of this brawny and moody stranger sitting across from you at a table with countless, shatterable objects.

It occurred to him after an awkward moment of silence (on his end, you were perfectly at ease), you were waiting for him to diffuse his anguish, his worries, his curse—why he was really here in this room with you now. Only, he wasn't sure where to start, nor what information he could give that you'd consider pertinent apart from the rest.

He'd forgotten how to speak to people during his long, lonely solitude as well, it seemed.

“The woman—the widow—she told me you're a practitioner in the Devil’s Magic. Is that true?” he mumbled, for one second considering taking one of the hundreds of baubles on the table to turn over in his hands. “I do not much believe in any of that. The workings of any god or evil, it isn't related to my affliction. But, I want to know if you're actually capable of curing me, or a charlatan scamming the poor to be even poorer.”

You exhaled more of the luxurious smoke from your strange pipe before finally setting it aside to take up a round flask made of clear glass. Despite it appearing empty, something unseeable sloshed within—water, perhaps—and it smelled foul when you uncorked it.

“Devil’s Magic,” you seemed to consider his wordage with a derisive smile, but he had a feeling this wasn't about him. “That old wretch is something else. Handsome Sir, I am a lot of things and no one important. I am no witch, wizard, magician, druid, and I am certainly no charlatan. I might be able to help you with your case of lycanthropy.”

Hope reignited in his eyes, still but a dull flicker waiting to be snuffed as it had many times before, yet he always dared to feel this way whenever a possibility arose.

“I—never mentioned my affliction,” surprised as he was, he now knew he'd made the right choice spending his afternoon finding the inn rather than continuing onward for the next town. “How can you be so certain that's what I suffer—”

“A man of your destitute and good manners aren't the types who get stricken with vampirism or cursed by hags. You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, I'll bet. A good man, loyal to a fault to an… owner? An employer? A lover, perhaps?”

You were staring over his face searchingly at the end, carefully winding your wrist with the nauseating, invisible concoction in your hand. For a moment, there was nothing but silence as he considered the meaning behind your exact curiosity, trying to pry an answer from you with a stern look he'd used to terrify and award himself some small, scarce comforts.

When you didn't falter, he slouched deeper into his seat, clearly defeated by your eccentricity and dumb fearlessness.

“Thousands of miles away, I once served a Duke and a Duchess as their guard. One night, I was sent out as the baleful cries of some beast had sent My Lady into a frenzy, my My Lord into a fit of rage. Those lands were cursed, everyone was well aware, but I've never thought above my status and so I went.

“The night was all around me. Something lurked in the trees, perhaps lost souls, perhaps something else. The mist moved as though alive, a limb, an arm, an extension of the forest itself and I could scarcely see. But then, I saw it: an enormous, bent creature in a man’s torn clothes. It had the vicious face of a wolf, yet it could walk upright like a man and when I gave chase, it could sprint unlike anything I'd ever seen.”

You were leaning to one side of your throne now, an arm bent on top of the armrest while you swiveled the bottle, still watching him as though he were simply divulging some asinine discontent.

“I—” he paused, breathing arrested behind the rise of ugliness in his throat, something that tasted as vile as it was to remember.

Until then, he had been speaking to you quietly and sullen, like a man resolved to his fate. But now, he listened to his own voice fracture, quiver, and croak. Beyond that, his face and ears burned, aching from embarrassment, every emotion he had belittled himself into hiding away.

“I—was restrained by the damned thing and it took a chunk out of my side. I thought it would rip me apart; part of me wishes it had. Everything after that for a while is a blur to me even now, and I never remember the instances when I… change… only that the night calls to me, the moon a siren’s song.”

“Have you killed anyone as a beast?” you asked.

The mention made his gaze shift down to his hands which still groped the bauble, finding it a safe thing to concentrate on in that moment. Fortunately, the impossible heat in his head was quickly receding and he could once again fully regain clarity.

“I would have to believe so, yes,” he chose to say, honestly. “When I become the monster, I never have a recollection of the things that happen. But, I've awoken enough times covered in blood, surrounded by mutilation to ever claim otherwise.”

Now, you had the pipe back in your mouth and were inhaling the dreamy fumes. Letting the purple haze out of your nostrils. You were no longer looking at him, instead skittering the vastness of things across your tabletop, obviously in search of something.

“I want to be forthright with you, though you've only kept an air of mystery around yourself the entire time,” he started, replacing the object back on your table with the rest. “Either, I want your help for a cure, or I want you to develop a poison that will kill both myself and the beast inside of me.”

Your eyebrows ticked up, conveying the most emotion he'd seen out of you yet. “Those are both extremes. I cannot promise you anything because I am not a practitioner of magic or miracles. I am simply: the Practitioner. You will be the one to decide your own fate, for I cannot decide it for you.”

“I don't understand.” He looked at you helplessly, weathered and weighted.

From among the mass of stuff before you both, you pulled out a small notebook bound in leather, secured with a strap. You resumed puffing away on your pipe once he took it from you, studying it with some measure of apprehension and revulsion.

“This notebook contains many different specimens I've studied over, oh, some years. One of those specimens is a plant called aconite. You must find me a bushel, along with a handful of other things, and bring them back to me for me to create the tincture you need to either be cured or poisoned.”

He examined the notebook front to back several times, as though all of his answers would suddenly materialize across the covers. Of course, no such thing happened. “You have this table of the strangest things I've ever seen, and yet you don't have the things needed to create the tincture. I’m finding you to be a liar.”

You gave a great huff of exasperation, blowing purple smoke towards him in retaliation. “And I'm finding you to be among the dullest of men I've ever met. These things that I have do not serve a purpose to individuals. You must be the one to create the tincture for yourself. It is the intention behind it; your thoughts, feelings, beliefs, and desires. You have to decide what you truly think you deserve—what you truly want.”

“That is witchcraft,” he said, incredulous. “It's magic!”

Again, you gripped the metal with your teeth and smiled around it. “Is it magic, or is it the power of your own thinking? Is your lycanthropy the result of a beast or your own illness? Will you live or die? I can't answer those things for you.”

“Then, I must go.” He found a pocket inside his coat that hadn't worn or torn with all his previous transformations and tucked it there. When he rose from the crackling chair, wood springing back to life once he was out of it, you surprisingly stood with him. “I'll find the answers I need. I'll return to you with these things.”

You were less awful seeming up close, a normal person dwarfed by his size. It was an odd feeling to be in such close proximity to someone else, one who didn't shrink and cower beneath the severity of his face—the dark brows and dark hair and unshaven jaw. But, you stood there with him next to the door to let him out, unafraid and fixed in your confidence that he would bring you no harm.

It moved him.

It moved him so deeply that he reached for your warmth, or your illusion, and kissed you deeply. He relished the touch of your lips, the press of your body against his, and the taste of your fragrant smoke which was effervescent and sparkling in his mind.

He could have taken you to bed right then, lain naked with you, damp with sticking skin while tangled together in an embrace, luxuriating in the afterglow.

But, he could not answer those desires while with his affliction as you would die, and he couldn't burden that sort of grief after knowing the touch of another. He even wondered, with some shame, whether he deserved to know someone of your caliber, your mysticism and wisdom, after slaughtering men and women whom he'd never know the names of. Those whose families would never know closure.

He kissed you once more, letting it linger and swell with his feelings before he let you go and went for the door.

“I'll return to you.”

You still had your pipe and smoked it, smiling evenly and contentedly.

“I wonder what you'll choose in the end.”

[crookedkryptonitebeliever]

Blanche (Yandere Oc)

tw: depiction of abuse, stalking, heavy gore, violence, captivity, torture, human excrement, like really gross stuff, lots of words 4.5k

"Oh, why, hello my darling dove." You approached the man with the kindest, deep blue eyes you have ever seen. He sets his notebook and pen down on the table nearby. He stood up from his garden chair and opened his arms wide as he smiled, his sweet, downturned eyes closing into crescents. The corner of his eyes and mouth wrinkled in genuine happiness upon seeing you.

You hugged him, allowing his gorgeous, tight curls to brush against your arms. You wonder how he could maintain such Rapunzel-esque hair that reaches the back of his knees, especially when it's deceptively short. You remember unraveling one of his curls, to find out that it's twice as long than it originally presented itself as. If it was straightened, it would be pooling around his feet like a massive flood.

"How are you, my sweet? Did you have a wonderful day?" He asked, his voice honeyed and at a higher pitch than how he usually talks to others. His long, natural nails gently raked through your hair, while you played with his pitch-black but streaked with the lightest of grey strands.

You told him that you were thirsty, and you asked if he had anything for you to drink.

"Of course, my beloved flower. Come, let me lead you to my kitchen." You removed yourself from him as he wrapped his fingers around your hand. The man picked his cane up that was resting on the side of his chair. He then hummed a happy tune to himself as he leisurely walked away from his resting spot in the garden, bringing you along with him.

You peered up at the tall, loving man. You always thought that he had a peculiar sense of fashion, especially in this modern day. He looks like someone straight out of the romantic era, around the 1800s. The man, who you know as Blanche, would never be seen without his dark brown waistcoat, a tailcoat of a similar color, white frilly cravat, and long beige trousers. Likewise, he brings his antique, wooden cane wherever he goes.

You don't think you have ever seen him wear anything else other than his polished leather shoes and black garden boots. You certainly never seen slippers around his cottage home.

"Here you go, my darling." He handed you a cup of fresh juice. "I just squeezed them this morning. I can only hope to have my oranges as sweet as you, but I believe it should at least taste decent." Blanche caressed the side of your face as you drank, kissing the top of your head.

Once you're done, you grin and thank him earnestly. He simply nuzzled his charming Greek nose against yours. "You're very welcome, my dear dove."

You like how calm he is, it's evident in the way he speaks; he speaks slowly and softly as if there wasn't a single rush in the world, perhaps sometimes it's frustrating that it takes him an eternity to finish a sentence, but living in a reality where the fast and the furious is greatly rewarded, Blanche is a nice escape for you. Especially when you're exhausted and anxious.

His movements too, remind you of a carefree snail. He takes his time doing anything ever. You watched him pour himself some juice for himself in the same cup, you would have done it in half the time he took to do so.

"My light, are you hungry?" He asked before taking a sip of juice. You said yes, you're a bit famished after making that long trek into the forest to find his home, you just came right after your classes too. "That's wonderful. I just made a blueberry pie today." He walked to the kitchen window, where you saw a delicious, golden brown pie slowly cooling. Blanche picked it up and set it down on the chipped, dining table.

"How was school, my dear?" Asked Blanche as he opened his drawers and cupboards agonizingly slowly to find the appropriate cutlery for you and him.

You reminded him that you're studying in university, He seemed to ignore that. So you continued, telling him that it was exhausting and boring, you wished that your lecturers would be a bit more entertaining in teaching the materials.

"That's quite a shame." He cut a slice and placed it on a ceramic saucer with painted floral patterns on it. Blanche gently sets it in front of you, putting a small dessert fork on the same plate.

You then went on to tell him the good news: the creep who has been trying to get into your pants for the past few days must have given up because you didn't see him around anymore.

"That's nice, dear." He smiled, gathering a couple of serviettes from a drawer nearby and setting it on the table.

You dug in as always, the man smiled at you, feeling his heart swell in glee as you enjoyed his baking.

He gave himself a slice too and sat in front of you. Then, you asked him about his day.

"Oh, the usual. Deary and dull before you come along and fill it with such vibrant colors. I'm so happy that you're visiting me today, I was lonely." He replied, cutting the slice into small pieces first.

The way you met Blanche was somewhat bizarre, but you're glad that you met him. he's the comfort that you need in this world. You would always go to him when things get tough, he will tell you that everything is going to be okay; and you would only believe him, no one else.

You met him online, there was this website where people from all walks of life visit to make friends. You initially used it to date or do one-night stands to try and fill the void in your life, but you end up finding sweet, old Blanche. You find it humorous and sad that his own profile described him as a very lonely and eccentric middle-aged man, who is looking for someone to love. He didn't specify what type of love he is seeking, but he expressed his displeasure and sadness towards previous online 'friends' of his taking advantage of his kindness and desperation to have a companion- stealing his money, robbing his house and even beating him up numerous times because he was perceived as this weak, old man.

You felt your heartstrings being tugged at as you read the words, he was really begging whoever was making those numerous fake accounts to stop harassing him. Apparently, some younger folks thought it was funny to cyber bully him, reveal private information online, send him death threats, and send him disgusting, gut-wrenching hate messages just because he wasn't as well versed in the internet as the others.

Luckily, one day, they just stopped. Ceasing all torment towards the kind man. No one knew what happened, but from that day on, no one tried to talk to him anymore. It's all radio silence.

Until you came along and decided to give it a try. It takes him a good amount of time to type a string of text, but it's always meaningful, poetic, and beautiful. He sends paragraphs as if he's writing a letter to be sent through a carrier pigeon.

The first time you met Blanche, you were filled to the brim with anxiety. Shaking and gnawing on your fingers as you take the bus to the cafe you and him were supposed to meet. This isn't someone who's the same age as you, he is much older and you feel... Weird. There isn't anything wrong with seeking friendships with him because you're an adult, you know what you're doing.

But it's so... Different. You don't know what to expect.

You definitely didn't expect the instant warmth that brought your panic and anxiousness to an all time low. Something about his vibes, his looks and the way he carried himself was so soothing. He didn't have to say anything, all he did was look your way and gave you such a genial wave along with a toothy smile.

The afternoon went swimmingly, it wasn't awkward at all; it was as if you were talking with a close, guardian-like family member. You were comfortable, maybe a bit too comfortable because you realized you overshared after you went back home. You really didn't have to tell him about your stomach problems you're suffering at the moment in such detail.

The next time you met up with Blanche, he gave you a wooden box filled with teabags of his homegrown herbs. He claimed it will help cure your condition as long as you drink it.

You didn't really believe him, thinking he's just some old fart who practices pseudoscience and most likely doesn't agree with the use of vaccines. But you decided to brew some of his tea anyways, since he seems so excited to share you a part of his world.

To your surprise and embarrassment, it got rid of the symptoms. You're no longer bloated on most days and you feel great.

Now, you would just describe to him whatever is plaguing you; it could be insomnia, a common cold, or even your crippling mental health crises. Blanche would always have something growing on his land that would cure it.

That is where you learned that he lives in a cottage, in the middle of a forest. His garden is extensive, planting all sorts of trees, shrubs, shoots and flowers. He has the greenest thumb you have ever seen. You once gave him a pot of succulents which you thought were dead, due to your failure to water it at all. Blanche looked positively horrified at the condition of the poor plant in the beginning, but he assured you that it's okay, he can help it.

You were confused, you gave it to him because you thought he would use the clay pot. But instead, he returned it to you with its planty resident healthy and plump. You knew it was the same one because it looked exactly like how you first bought it.

Blanche gave you a handwritten card of instructions on how to take care of your new, leafy friend. You tried your best to follow it, but ultimately, you gave it back to him. It now rests on the windowsill beside his bed.

Your friendship with him grew as months went by. He would have you in his cottage, you would have him in your shared dorm. To which, he prefers not to step foot into the biohazardous student kitchen. That's why, you're usually visiting him, instead the other way round.

Blanche is lovely to have in your life. Whenever you visit him, you will always leave with a week's worth of groceries; mostly vegetables and fruits that happily grew on his plot of soil. But also, there would be containers upon containers of ready-to-eat meals he cooked prior to your visit.

You became healthier and your grades went up, thanks to the convenience of his delicious cooking. Although they're mostly vegetarian since he's almost solely using produce from his back yard, it's still so tasty even the average carnivore would scarf it down without hesitance.

You're also convinced whatever he adds into his meals are making you smarter. You get to focus on your classes better and you could retain much more information than before. He would excitedly tell you all about the strange and whimsical spices he added into your dish, describing what chemical compounds might be the culprit in helping you form more brain cells.

Aside from planting, he would crochet, knit or sew. And he would churn out items fast. It was so jarring to see his hands move like the insides of a racecar motor when you could fit five eye blinks in one of his own. He was the person who crocheted your laptop bag, your favourite winter and summer top, knitted your beanie, your comfiest pair of socks and your snow gloves.

Whenever there is a rip or tear in your clothes, even if the shoulder straps of your bag fell off, you could simply bring it over to his cottage and he would return it good as new. Being friends with Blanche allowed you to save up a substantial amount of money, you would then use it to buy him a new smartphone. It may not be the most luxurious, but it's definitely worlds away from the yellowed brick phone with a numerical pad he owns.

You think it is time for him to transition into the modern world, and you care for him enough to bust a hole in your already very empty university student wallet to help him. The next thing on your agenda was to buy him a new computer or laptop because he is using one that is ridiculously thick and cuboid; with a terrible screen resolution. It took him half an hour just to access the internet.

He was over the moon upon gifting it to him. To the point of tears, he was indescribably happy. You were worried as to why he was on his knees, hugging you close to him as he sobbed loudly on your shoulder. Initially, you thought you triggered something traumatic or did something to offend him, but Blanche assured you that wasn't the case.

Only after he calmed himself down, prepared a teapot of his homemade tea blend for the two of you, did he explain:

You are his one true friend, who consistently showed up for Blanche, cared for him, showed interest in his character, never hit him, and did not try to swindle money off him. It was surprising and melancholic, to say the least, that this was the only gift he ever received out of love and kindness; without the other party wanting anything in return. It was so nice for once to have someone around who isn't only after his wealth or free labor.

You didn't get how the world could be so cruel to such a kind spirit. It made you angry how he was badly mistreated in the past, but he simply smiled and told you that everyone must move on. Blanche has you, and that is all that matters to him.

You still weren't satisfied. You asked if he had gone to the police, told their parents, told their workplace- anything! They can't just get away without any repercussions, it makes your blood boil and heartache for your friend.

Blanche merely smiled, albeit ominously. He told you not to fret over them, as they eventually "Got what they deserved." He didn't elaborate on that further, you simply assumed that he said what he said due to his overly forgiving nature and not wanting you to worry about his torment.

It wasn't easy teaching him how to use the smartphone, though. Every little thing, he would call you using his rotary phone on how to use it; "Hello, darling. This is Blanche speaking, Could you please come over sometime this afternoon to guide me through the steps on how to surf the interweb on this lovely gadget you gifted me? I seem to have forgotten how to do so."

You think he's just using that as an excuse to hang out with you. Because there is no way he would forget how to tap on a couple of things after the 16th time.

You did ask him about his family. Blanche would tilt his head to the side and give you a saddened smile. Before telling you about how his parents weren't good people, he ran away from home and didn't know the fate of his other siblings. Because of his background and peculiar personality, he found it hard to create lasting bonds as they would always wound up abandoning him or abusing him. He said that he must be excreting some sort of pheromone that attracts people like these.

But he held no ill will towards them, as they "got what they deserved". You brushed that off again as Blanche being too nice to the cruel world.

You're concerned, though. It really seems like you're his only ally. He is definitely clingier now that the friendship has deepened. You're worried that you're going to have to say "no" to some of his requests to have your presence here as he grows more and more unbearable, it's definitely going to break his heart.

"My rose?"

You were snapped out of your thoughts upon feeling Blanche's fingers gently pushing your hair back. You're now back to the present, where you and he are comfortable with light skin-ship, you also liked how he would call you all these pet names. It made you feel so fluttery inside.

"Are you alright, dear? You seem to be distracted with something." He cupped your cheeks and inspected your face further. His eyebrows were knitted in concern.

You said that you were fine, just thinking about your daily obligations and how you should get going soon.

He frowned. "Must you go?" He whispered. "I'm so lonely out here. Please stay for a while longer."

You can't because you have a work shift starting soon. Plus, you have to complete that assignment that you're putting off because you were too busy accompanying Blanche in his isolated Cottage with the world's worst internet connection.

He sighed, looking miserable. "Please wait for a few minutes, I have something for you." Blanche stood up and made his way upstairs.

You watch him ascend the stairs with one hand on the handrails, and the other on his cane. You think that this might be an extremely dangerous lifestyle for a man like him to live, what if he trips and falls? He wouldn't be able to call for help, especially when phone reception out here is atrocious.

You continued eating your slice of blueberry pie, even taking another slice from the dish for yourself. You knew Blanche wouldn't mind, and you knew that he was going to make you bring the entire thing home anyway.

He came back down a few minutes later, holding a brown envelope. Immediately, you went on to reject it. You already knew what was in there and you didn't feel comfortable accepting it.

"Please, I insist, my love." He tried slipping it into your bag, but you wrestled it away from your belongings. You said that you have no use for it, you can make your own money.

For the past few weeks, he has been giving you regular allowances. It isn't anything to scoff at either, it's always one grand per envelope. Now you can see why there were so many people who tried to siphon as much funds out of Blanche as possible.

"I have no doubt in my heart that you are capable, but I... I'd like to buy your time, please." He clasped his hands around yours, bringing your fingers to his soft lips. "I want to spend more time with you, I want you to stay longer. Will you do that for me, my love?"

You paused, it was hard to say no to those big, pleading eyes of his. But you have to, even if you don't necessarily have to work with Blanche's financial help, you still need to put in effort in your studies to not fail.

So with a heavy chest, you said no. You promised that you would visit him again very soon, you just need to get your assignments out of the way and you will be golden.

His shoulders sagged in defeat as he softly whimpered under his breath.

"Alright." He muttered, before reviving the loving smile on his lips.

He opened his arms, to which you gladly threw yourself in. He laughed, picking you up and pressing kisses against your cheek. Blanche tenderly twirled you around, letting your legs dangle in the air as you too giggled. You rubbed your face against his frilly cravat, also enjoying the feeling of his lips on the crown of your head.

__

Blanche is now alone in his garden. His lips were pressed in a thin straight line. You left a few minutes ago with his personal cart filled with his fresh produce for the week. And also the remaining blueberry pie that is stashed away in a container for convenience. He hopes that the eggs he gave you are enough to last until your next visit, his chickens are producing a bit less than usual.

He picked up his pen and notebook he left on the garden table earlier. Blanche then tucked the cane under his arm before marching away without wasting any time. Without you witnessing, Blanche actually moves scarily quick, his graceful agility allows him to traverse the span of his garden speedily without damaging any of his crops.

Blanche walked deeper and deeper into the foilage until the sunlight could barely be seen through the dense vegetation.

Eventually, he reached a dilapidated wooden shed. Blanche stood right in front of the door with a heavy lock and took out his golden stopwatch from his breast pocket. The male noted the time before writing it down in his notebook.

He kept them away, Blanche then fished out a key, along with a hairband from another pocket in his trousers. His lower eyelid twitched as he tied his voluptuous hair into a large, very messy bun. But at least it's not going to interfere too much with what he's about to do.

He unlocked the door and pushed it open using his shoulder, it was hard to move it as the hinges had rusted to a considerable degree. Blanche dusted his sleeve off before taking out his notebook again, noting that he had to replace its parts soon.

Finally, he kept everything back in his pockets. Blanche tightened his fists in anger as pathetic muffled screaming and wailing reached his ears.

"Oh, be quiet, will you?" He snarked, a complete 180° from the Blanche that you're used to. Luckily, you're not here to see it.

He turned around to see your harasser. Completely naked and covered in bloody, infected lacerations. His face and body were blue from bruises and other injuries. He was gagged using his own clothes that were cut up by Blanche. His victim couldn't escape if he wanted to, as he was tightly bound by metal chains that were cutting circulation around his wrists and ankles.

There was rot, maggots, blood, and excretory products all around him as the bodies of Blanche's ex-friends decomposed around the creep. He was squirming in his own puddle of urine and vomit, as Blanche has kept him there since yesterday, right after you went home from your last class.

He is used to the smell of death. He worked with natural fertilizers, after all.

Blanche took long strides towards his trembling form, which only shook even more the closer he got.

He lets out a shout when Blanche strikes him using the end of his cane, the force is so strong that it instantly breaks the skin on his head, making him bleed profusely.

Blanche's eyelids twitched even more, he suddenly discarded his cane before pulling out two brass knuckles from his left pant pocket. He hastily puts them on before throwing powerful punches against his current, human punching bag.

Cracks, screams, and crunches resonated throughout the small space as Blanche let out all his frustrations on him. All his hatred towards the world, his anguish, and misery of not being around you, all of it- your harasser has to bear. Just because he chose the wrong person to mess with.

Blood, spit, and other fluids splattered on his once pristine clothing, dying his cravat red.

"Fucking disgrace." He mumbled as he managed to beat the man to a pulp, striking him hard and long enough to expose the broken bones to the stagnant air. Blanche continued scraping the flesh off his bone using the brass, there is an easier way to extract his bones, but he would very much rather use this method to relieve him of his rage. And, this delivers the maximum amount of pain and fear into your offender, a justified punishment for him, for disturbing Blanche's precious flower's peace.

Sweat beads down Blanche's forehead as he went on whaling on the unconscious, deformed mass that was starting to lose heat. Ichor pooled around his shoes, mixing with the other foul fluids around him.

Once he has managed to liquefy his flesh from his repeated, rapid pummeling, Blanche dug his bare fingers into the gory heap to extract the bones, gathering them in his arms and not caring that he has dirtied himself greatly.

He grunted as he ripped the bones from its weakened ligaments, spraying scarlet all over the already viscera-covered walls.

Blanche panted as he stood up straight, one arm holding his yield, the other hand taking out his once clean pocketwatch, now he's soiling it with bloodied fingerprints.

Five hours. Five whole hours of brutalization to pacify Blanche from his sorrow of watching you cut your visit short, due to some silly little assignments. He shook his head, he could have used all that time doing something else, but he needed to take care of this bastard anyway.

Now that he's not as upset, he took his time documenting whatever he did in his notebook which is equally covered in biohazardous grime.

He then turned around, and picked up his cane, not bothering to face the mutilated, unrecognizable mass of meat behind him one last time. Blanche was already thinking about what to do next as he locked the shed up, the previous bloodied fingerprints on the pad were washed away by the rain a few days prior.

He lets his mind wander to you, thinking about what you're doing right now. Blanche knows there is zero chance of you calling or contacting him through the phone because he knows that you're now at this stupid house party instead of working on your assignment like you told him.

Blanche isn't as tech-illiterate as you think. He is also not that gullible, he knows more than you believe or could ever imagine.

He wishes that you would be a bit more truthful towards him. But as of now, he's content with the amount and quality of bones he managed to harvest.

He made the long walk back to his cottage in the dark, his eyes already adapted to the darkness from decades of 'gardening' at night.

Blanche was mentally calculating the amount of time and heat needed to dehydrate the bones, to make them into bonemeal for his chickens. He suspected that they weren't producing as many eggs as usual because their calcium count was low, so the shell wouldn't be developing properly.

But thoughts of you kept interrupting his head. Blanche would smile, looking forward to your next visit. He would definitely have enough eggs for you by then.

[whiskersz]

oh I have a request what is you do a story about reader x Adam where she is seen like a swan 🦢 beautiful, elegant, and graceful while Adam is Adam and both are together and everybody is like seriously what does she see in him? And she’s like “he makes me laugh 🥰” then shows Adam stuff his face all in a messy manner and looking goofy while reader looks at him with love

This request was so cute! Thank you for dropping it in my inbox, hope I did it justice :3

Divider : benkeibear

Adam x Graceful! Fem! Reader

Your high heels made a clacking sound as you walked across the street; your flowy dress made many heads turn, just for Angels to be stunned by your beauty once they saw you.

Saying you weren’t used to this would be a lie, as every day many individuals would comment on your beauty and grace; you were quite modest about it though, always thanking them but never bragging about all the attention that you received.

This wasn’t what your day was going to be about though; in fact, Adam was.

You were going on a date with your boyfriend, and you were thrilled about it; you two hadn’t been able to go out for a while, since he was quite busy with shows and whatnot during that time of the year.

You always tried to be there for his gigs, but usually he was busy with band outings afterwards or he was too beat – and quite sweaty, too – to go out for a romantic date with you.

And when he wasn’t busy with gigs, he was too caught up in more confidential matters with Sera. Things regarding Hell, you guessed.  So naturally you allowed him to have some chiller dates with you in the weekend, prioritizing his desires a bit.

But this time you two had planned a whole day out together, with the first stop being a restaurant to eat some lunch.

Finally reaching your destination, you stopped in your tracks and fixed your hair to look as pretty as you could for your boyfriend. Not that he would notice if you had a hair out of place, he always called you stunning even when you were in your nightwear and you had just woken up, but you still wanted to look your best for your special day.

You checked your phone, and saw a message from him that said he was going to fly there to get there faster. You were about to reply when you heard a strong flap of wings from above you.

“Hey babe!” he descended from the sky, snaking an arm around your figure and kissing the top of your head. He was wearing his mask, as always when he was in public, but you really didn’t mind.

“Hey Adam! We arrived at the same time,” you pointed out as he tucked his wings under his arms. You noticed he was wearing his usual robe, but as the wind blew it around a little you could see his spiked combat boots underneath.

“We did, wanna go in?”

“Sure!”

You chatted about this and that as you entered the fancy restaurant, the carefully designed decor catching your eye immediately. He even had to ask you if you were listening as you got caught up staring at the luxurious furnishings.

A waiter welcomed you and lead you to your booked table near a window overlooking a beautiful garden, you could touch the bush of white roses outside if you leaned out a little, if you wanted.

You didn’t need much time to choose your orders; both of you decided to go with your favorite food as a treat, Adam’s being ribs, and as soon as the dishes arrived you dug in. You made a mental note to leave a positive review to the restaurant as even the food tasted heavenly.

“Holy shit, these ribs go hard as fuck! Want one?” Adam asked between bites, picking one up with his free hand and handing it to you. You grabbed it helping yourself with your cutlery, and chuckled at your boyfriend’s behaviour.

You were just about to take a bite out of the rib when you heard something that you probably shouldn’t have;

“...I wonder what she sees in him?”

You turned around swiftly and caught the two Angels commenting on your relationship red handed; one of them had the appearance of a sheep, fur pristine and styled into ringlets, the other resembled a cat.

They immediately averted their gaze when yours fell on them, but you still shifted so you could face them better.

“Well, he makes me happy and makes me laugh. Isn’t that enough?” you stated with a kind smile, no malice in your words, and pointed at Adam with your fork. The two girls grimaced as they looked at your boyfriend, hands dirty and mouth stuffed with ribs; he was enjoying his lunch so much that he hadn’t even noticed the food had left a stain on the sleeve of his robe.

“Suit yourself...” the sheep Angel commented once again, and it was Adam’s turn to reply.

“You’re damn lucky I’m busy eating ribs and being on a date with my girlfriend. Do you even know who the fuck you’re talking to?”

“The first man, Adam.” You finished his sentence fondly.

The Angels shivered; you’d dare say you never witnessed anyone leave a place faster than they did that restaurant.

[robsdiary]

GOOD LOOKIN’ GIRL

ᴠᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ : ▮▮▮▮▮▮▯▯▯

INCLUDES: loser!ellie, black!reader, masc!reader, fluff, ellie has NO game

You’d been working under your uncle, Seth. Ever since the pair of you arrived in Jackson. The late hour shifts of you two fooling around making new recipes. He had a knack for sandwiches. It was mind blowing how he’d be able to make a turkey sandwich different from the next ten times.

He wasn’t truly your uncle. He’d found you on your lonesome years ago. You were malnourished, one hand broken and damaged, the other clutching on an empty pistol like your life depended on it. Your nose bloodied, all you had to your name was bright yellow rain boots and a jacket large enough to be considered a dress on you, and your thick curls in a frizzy uncared for bun. It was astonishing you managed to last that long.

Deciding to take you along with him in pursuit of finding a place of his own. You were a tough case.

You never talked, face always holding a blank stare. You’d seen things, Seth knew, and he didn’t pry. Your eyes carried a haunted shine, something you could never shake. Being alone most of your life is just what you’d gotten used to. Your parents had decided to flee from the Louisiana Quarantine Zone. They’d been shot in the process. Your father killed on impact and your mother lasted long enough to get to the next town over. You were only ten.

You wondered in solitude with your fathers pistol. Slowly making your way into Arkansas. Being forced to use your fathers pistol for your own safety. Gunning down two runners and a man that’d been charging at you. Five bullets.

It’d been about a week. You ducking behind buildings, scavenging for anything edible. Having to narrowly escape hungers or hordes, surviving off pure perseverance and fumes clearly didn’t prove helpful for a 10 year old. You collapsed, face up at the scorching sun, you didn’t cry, just stared. Staring at nothing in particular you stomach felt as if it were twisting itself inside out. A soft groan leaving you lips as you slowly faded into unconsciousness.

Eyes opening one last time to see a figure with a beer gut standing over top of you.

So here you were. Wrapping your hundredth sandwich of the day. Handing them off to people preparing for patrol. That’s how you met Jesse.

Over a while, you began to break from your shell. You kept a small circle, a few people who volunteered to work in Jackson’s theater, putting on plays and performances when the movies available got stale. And Jesse. He mocked you for your accent, you mocked him for his, you’d sneak him extra food, have arm wrestled over the freshly polished wooden counters, and banter. You couldn’t ask for a better friend that understood you.

Your uncle seemed to think the opposite.

“You and that Jesse seems to be getting along swell.” He muttered quietly. Peeling potatoes hurriedly.

The Tipsy Bison was quiet. The wooden floorboards creaking intermittently whenever someone took a step. It was just the two of you. Prepping for open, you’d rather be doing anything else.

“He fine.” You shrugged dismissively. Washing the used cutlery and beer glasses.

“Look out for that boy. You know their type only want one thing.” He huffed. Wiping his nose against the sleeve of his shirt, continuing to peel the dirty skin.

You bit your cheek. Keeping quiet as a soft exhale left your lips. Blinking slowly, divulging into thought. Jesse was an alright guy, they got along, had fun hanging out. But you never considered him in such a way. It made you snarl and cringe at the thought, gross.

The door to the establishment opened slowly. Your head quickly wiping to the entrance. Ready to cuss out the same alcoholics that kept entering every ten minutes to question if you were open. But it was someone completely different.

Taking notice of the shorter girl who’d found her way inside. Short auburn hair being put into a lazy low bun, clothes randomly mismatched, and impressively dirty converse, soft freckles peppered her face. Her eyes quickly flickering from your face to look down at the polished table.

An uncomfortable silence fell between the two of you. Your brow furrowed in confusion. Waiting for her to state her business.

“Can I help you?” You questioned snappily. Cocking your head to the side, coming off more unpleasant than intended.

Her head swiftly came up. Seeming to come up from whatever daze she’d been in. Gulping and nervously clearing her throat.

“Two sandwiches, please?” She asked quietly, sounding more of a question than a order. Her voice cracked and brittle, a clear anxiousness on her face. A shake in her tone. Looking down at her hands as she played with them.

“We’re clo—”

“Nah it's good. Maria gave special orders for them.” Seth interrupted from the kitchen.

“Ellie.” A pale hand met your field of vision. Apparently so, you were left with her.

You returned the shake. Exchanging names with her. Returning back to your duties, a look of disinterest on your face. Scrubbing away at the cutlery.

Clearly, the situation was somewhat awkward. Ellie nervously shifted on her heels as your eyes bored through her soul. You weren’t one to catch onto social cues.

“So you’re friends with Jesse?” She piped up. Returning your gaze, anxious to look a way.

“We hang out time to time.” You responded dismissively. Unsure as to why she cared, specks of water from your scrubbing splashing onto your cheeks and the table

“Yeah. I see the two if you together all the time.”

“You’ve been watching me?”

You questioned. A stern look on your face as your jaw clenched. Head tilted as you watched her body language. Watching how her eyes nervously darted around the room to avoid yours. Taking a long exhale.

“I’ve just seen you around, I dunno, you seem cool.” She shrugged, a light tinge of pink on her cheeks

“I am?”

Time felt impossibly slow. Seth was able to make a sandwich in less than three minutes. It felt torturous as to how long it was taking him.

“Some friends and I were planning on sneaking out..” Ellie whispered, wide eyes peering up at you with hope.

“Jesse’ll be there…”

You choose to stay quiet. Not used to being around much people. You weren’t the social setting type. But that and spending your off week peeling potatoes and washing dishes. The choice was clear.

Uneven footsteps could be heard from behind you. Seth lugging two sandwiches in his hands. A thin lipped smile as he handed them off the the auburn haired girl.

“Two steak sandwiches.”

“Thanks, Joel will love ‘em.”

Silence fell between the two of you. Ellie biting her bottom lip, Seth standing wide with both hands on his hips, and you, straight faced and stiff.

Seth looked between the pair of you. Analyzing the both of you, Ellie’s poker face subpar at best.

“Right. Well, best get back to work.” He smiled at Ellie, softly patting your shoulder and turning away.

Ellie watched intently as Seth hobbled away. Turning her attention back to you as he turned the corner. A shy smile on her face as she looked up at you expectantly.

“Think about it. Alright? You could bring your boyfriend or whatever, and it’ll be fun.”She nervously stammered, voice slowly trailing off. Waiting for you to acknowledge her not so subtle inquiry.

“Boyfriend?” You questioned, tilting your head cluelessly. Your tone dull.

It was hard for anyone to truly have a conversation with you. A difficult girl to crack. The tension between you was palpable. You on the other hand, none the wiser.

“I’ll come.”

“Really?” Her eyes lit up. A dorky grin etching across her face. A soft uncontrollable giggle leaving her lips

“Alone.” You clarified. Arms crossed against your chest defensively, for what? You weren’t sure.

She smiled like a child. Feeling giddy enough to race around the bar. Settling on controlling herself.

“Okay, i’ll see you around— tonight! I’ll see you tonight and around.” She placed an emphasis on the ‘and’. A blush creeping across her face as she slowly crept towards the door.

“Bye..”

“Bye, Ellie.”

She pushed open the door. Scurrying out of sight. You watched from the windows as she walked to the stables. A small pep in her step.

You felt.. odd. Blinking irregularly, you’d never interacted with a person like this. It felt nice, enjoyable even.

Hearing familiars rough footsteps heard from behind you. A calloused hand landed on your shoulder. Seth’s eyes following yours.

“I know a cat fight when I see it.” His voice rasped. Eyes narrowed as he watched Ellie practically skip away.

“Don’t fight over that, Jesse. There’s better guys here, you’ll find the one.” He gently patted your shoulder, walking off.

You shook your head in amusement, Gripped the dish rag tightly. Brows knit together. Something that could be considered a smile etching across your lips.

You looked forward to tonight.

[tinybabiebear]

cheap stores to find agere objects!

in person

dollar stores

often in dollar stores you can find a specific baby section with low-priced baby objects! though sometimes there are objects that only specifically babies can use, there are some agere friendly objects as well!! some of the things you can usually find here are:

- teethers

- sippy cups

- baby powders / lotions

- bath toys

- baby toys / blocks / rings

- stuffed animals

- hair bows / accessories

- rattles

- off-brand bigger kid toys

- colouring books + crayons

2. walmart , target, etc

though this can be less cheap than places such as dollar stores, there’s often either more options or more on-brand objects here. here you can find toys and themed objects for kids from popular tv shows, or branded stuffed animals. there’s a variety of options for many different agere age ranges! some of the things you can usually find here are:

- baby bottles ( be careful of the teet )

- sippy cups / themed sippy cups

- kid cups

- teddy bears / stuffed animals ( of shows and other popular brands )

- dolls / barbies / trucks / etc

- bigger kid toys & popular brand toys

- baby lotion / powder / oil

- baby food ( either the squeeze type / liquid or puffs! )

- teethers / ice teethers

- pacifiers ( i wouldn’t recommend, they will hurt your teeth ! )

- security blankets

- kids plates

- baby / kids books

online

etsy

etsy can be tricky! a lot of the time there are shops that aren’t sfw, which isn’t always comfortable or available for minors under the age of 18! if you’re uncomfortable with that, make sure to add ‘ sfw ‘ and ‘ agere ‘ to your searches, aswell as checking description boxes of either the listing or the shop in specific. also watch the shipping on certain listings as they can be very expensive ! some of the things i often find myself searching for and you can find here are:

- adult bottles with adult nipples ( this means that you can use them without hurting your teeth as much! ) / these can also be themed towards shows and characters aswell as have themes in general!

- adult pacifiers ( these can also hurt your teeth much less and are safer to use! )

- baby hat / mitt / boots in adult size

- adult onesies

- baby sensory cubes

- sensory objects ( chewies, sensory books, fidget toys, etc! )

- adult diapers / training pants ( make sure to be extra careful with brands if you’re uncomfortable with not sfw shops!! also, make sure to be very careful with sizes as sometimes these can be sized weird. )

- adult length pacifier clips

- adult sized bibs

- bloomers

- rattles & stuffed animals

2. amazon

amazon is a limited place for specific agere products but it has a wide variety for baby products in general! not only this, but their shipping is often very discreet and also fast + inexpensive! keep in mind shops that aren’t sfw again if you’re uncomfy with that! some shops that are popularly available on amazon are: LFB, rearz, landofgenie, etc. some products you can find here are:

- adult onesies

- adult pacifiers

- adult bottles

- adult bibs

- sippy cups + cutlery, plates, cups, etc

- stuffed animals, rattles + sensory

- adult diaps / cloth diaps

- teethers / ice teethers

- baby powder/lotion

- bibs

- adult pacifier clips

- fidget toys / toys / dolls, fandom/theme plushies + toys

- footed jammies

- changing pads

- overalls

- colouring books

- play tents

- mobiles + crib accessories

- DS + DS games

- leapfrog toys

- accessories ( ex: boys, headbands, clips, necklaces, etc )

- bubble bath / bath toys

- night lights

- long socks / paw socks

3. aliexpress

make sure to be careful here!! you can find most things that you’d be able to on amazon here, but make sure whatever you buy has reviews!! if not, it’s easy to get scammed. not only this, but it takes a long time to ship!

4. shein

shein is probably the most limited out of these options! you can find more discreet things here rather than more open things! some things you can find here + what to search for to find them are:

- onesies! i often use the words ‘ bodysuit / t-shirt bodysuit ‘

- cute water bottles!! sometimes you can find sippy cups here but they take a bit of searching for! ‘ cute water bottle / kids water bottle / sippy cup ‘ usually work!

- thigh / knee high socks!

- overalls

- nightlights

- fidget toys / stuffed animals

[sassymajesty]

Alycias newest post w the black pants, white button up and vest PUHLEEEEEASE !!$&! I just pictured Clarke calling out sick and Lexa coming over w that bouquet of tulips in oifan. The way Clarke would loathe the fact that she missed seeing that outfit in action all day at work 😩🤣

[grabs your shoulders] listen to me. i've been going to sleep and waking up thinking about this for the past two days. it's gotten out of hand. [grabs your cheeks] i cannot thank you enough for this.

because consider this—

—arriving at clarke's place around 4pm (ungodly early for the hectic time they're having at the company) with a target bag and takeout

raven, who by then is working with them, gives lexa her keys and tells her to let herself in because when she left, clarke was running a fever and would never get up from bed. and lexa does just that. she's been in the apartment often enough that she beelines for clarke's bedroom and finds her financial analyst/friend with benefits (yes, just that, nothing romantic happening here, no ma'am) under three blankets, barely keeping her eyes open

"oh, you're actually sick. i could have sworn you were playing rookie."

clarke's eyes get wide open, as if she's scared her fever has made her hallucinate. "lexa?" then takes her in "you brought me flowers?"

with a solemn nod, lexa places the flowers and all her bags on a dressing table, and sits beside clarke. brushes sweaty hair out of her forehead, lets out a worried hum when she feels how warm clarke is.

"you look like a dream. i can't believe i missed all this vest action."

"it's the only reason i came by. i couldn't let this outfit go to waste." but then she's digging around clarke's closet to find fresh pajamas (she knows where they are, she's borrowed them before) "can you take a lukewarm shower by yourself? it'll help with a fever. and have you eaten at all?"

clarke says that yes, she can shower by herself, she's not a child. and yes, she has eaten... some toast raven brought her before she left. it's the way lexa purses her lips that shows she doesn't like that one bit.

lexa helps clarke get up, take the sweaty clothes off and get in the shower. then she leaves her there with the door ajar just in case, and gets fresh linen for the bed, a vase with water for the tulips that go on clarke's nightstand and cutlery for the soup she brought.

when clarke gets off and finds her with cozy fleece pajamas and wet hair, lexa makes her sit down with her legs crossed and back towards the edge of the bed so lexa can gently blow dry her hair while she eats all of her soup. "yes, all of it, clarke."

once she's all fed and has taken more meds, lexa tucks her back in with enough blankets for her to sweat the fever out, and takes her shoes off before settling beside clarke and looking at her like she'll stay there all night just to make sure clarke is okay.

"do you want to take a nap?"

"i've slept all day, i'm more awake now."

then lexa reaches into the target bag, "i've brought you this. raven mentioned you used to play video games when you were sick in college. i thought it might be the cure." and very nonchalantly hands clarke a white, red and pink box.

"you bought me a nintendo switch?" clarke is in pure disbelief as she stares at the gaming console for a solid minute before opening it

"i figured the cozy games might be some comfort. and you can play from bed. i hope the color is okay."

"you bought me a nintendo switch. the animal crossing edition."

"the guy at the store said it comes pre installed. i figured it'd be a good start as any. i'm sure there is an array of different games for download, if that's not something you'd be interested in."

clarke knows that when lexa starts being super formal, it's because she's getting more and more nervous. so clarke just boots it up and turns to give her a soft kiss on her cheek in thanks, "have you ever played animal crossing?"

"i have no idea what it is. i didn't even know what a switch was until a couple hours ago."

"then get comfortable, you're in for a long night."

and they share a pillow while clarke introduces lexa to the world of animal crossing. lexa is happy to watch clarke play, checking her fever every now and then, bringing her teas and cuddling her even with her business casual outfits.

when 8pm rolls around, lexa finally gives in and borrows a pajama set (more lightweight than clarke's) and cooks them dinner while clarke sits at the counter, still playing. they eat, clarke takes more meds, then they go back into bed. by then, clarke is exhausted again and uses the last of her energy to create a new use in the nintendo switch for lexa to play — and lexa herself has no intention of playing, but she entertains the idea for clarke's sake.

clarke falls asleep in her arms, guiding her about what controls to use. lexa doesn't try to move her, only stay there, serving as a pillow, while she checks clarke's fever with her lips on her forehead, makes sure she's warm as she can be.

it's 2pm when clarke wakes up again, her body hurting from sleeping the whole day, but feeling good as new.

and she finds lexa fast asleep, with the console on her hand, halfway through hopping islands to find a new villager. she pulls lexa closer to her, enjoying the warmth and the way lexa reaches for her even in her sleep.

tomorrow she might actually play rookie and talk her boss into doing the same so they can spend another day playing video games in bed.

[ghoulsister1]

This fanfiction is for my sister @spookshollow whom requested a fluffy story with David Howard Thornton❤️

Here you go, @spookshollow I hope you like it ;)

Made With Love

David Howard Thornton X Female!Reader.

David cooks a simple yet favourite meal to welcome the reader after a long day at work. A story that's all fluff!🎀

It's around 7:30PM by the time your shift at the local veterinary clinic is over for another day. It's a tough and sometimes hard job but you don't regret it a single bit. Knowing you are there, treating and saving animals and people's dear pets, knowing that today because of your help, a pet gets to go home, all healed up and ready to continue their usual routine of fetching or in cases with cats, knocking stuff off counters and table tops.

As you clock out, you say goodnight to your colleagues. Some of them are staying behind to help with certain animals that require round the clock care, others are heading home just as you are.

You walk to the car and get in, starting up the engine and away you go, going home. To your husband, David who has most likely returned home from the studio. You think of him as you drive home, his goofy smile making your heart flutter.

Meanwhile, David is already home, preparing dinner. It's a simple recipe, a classic chicken curry complete with fluffy rice and a little bit of spice. He knows you love your curry with just a little kick but not hot enough to make you guys go running to the local supermarket for some ice cold drums of milk.

He hums a little song to himself as he stirs the curry, the smell of chicken and curry sauce wafting throughout the air, with just a hint of some spices and little notes of herbs sprinkled through it.

He lets the curry simmer and goes to dish out the cutlery. He brings out two wine glasses, a gift from a friend and sets them on the table. He goes to pick out a good wine to go with dinner.

"White wine always goes well with chicken curry" Mused David as he browses through the wine collection, stopping on a particular white wine with a little sweet hint to it but not overly sweet, perfect for this occasion.

David smiles as he looks at the clock, knowing any minute now, you'll be walking through the door.

"She'll be here any minute now" Smiles David. He turns his attention back to the curry cooking away.

You pull up to the driveway of your home, a modest house with good space for you and your green thumbs. You smile as you get out and take in the sight of your hanging plants, their leaves swaying gently. You lock up the car and head inside.

You are greeted by the aromatic smell of spices and the unmistakable scent of chicken mixed with a delectable aroma that could only be curry. You shed your coat and kick off your boots, hanging up your coat on the hanger and placing the boots in a corner. You smile as you make your way into the kitchen where you see David dishing out dinner.

"Hey sweetheart!" Greeted David, smiling upon seeing you home. You grin as your heart flutters upon seeing that big, goofy grin of his.

"Oh David, this looks delicious!" You Smile, looking over at the steaming fluffy rice now flowing with curry and chunks of tender chicken, mixed with veg. Your mouth waters at the sight.

"So how was work today? Any critters giving some of the vets some mischief today?" Asks David as he helps you with your handbag, plopping it down on the nearby couch in the living room.

"Not much, though we had a chihuahua with a BIG attitude, swear the little guy was possessed!" You Smile, chuckling as you remember the tiny dog look completely unhinged as it snarled and threatened to show off just how hard his bite was though you and your fellow colleagues were okay and even had laughs about it with the owner, an elderly woman.

"No way!" Laughed David, he could imagine how the scene would have looked and the thought of the chihuahua going full demon mood was hilarious.

"So how about you? How was your day?" You Asked as the two of you sat down for dinner.

"Well, we were just wrapping up a few kill scenes, I think we've got some pretty good gorey kills and we're looking forward to seeing the final results for the movie" David Explained, grinning as you listened to him.

David uncorked the wine bottle and poured you and him a glass.

"Wine too? David you're spoiling me!" You Laugh, David chuckling as you blush.

"Hey, anything for my girl am I right?" Saud David as he raises his glass amd you raise yours. Clinking the glasses together with a smile, a simple yet loving toast to each other. You both tuck into the meal, savouring the taste and just enjoying the moment of a homecooked meal, made with love by the most wonderful man in your life.

"Love you sweetheart" David Says softly.

"I love you too David" You Reply, softly as your eyes lock, the twinkling of the soft lighting reflecting in each other's eyes.

You both lean over and share a sweet, loving kiss. A perfect end to a perfect day.

The End.

[saladscream]

This was too good. Couldn't resist. Here's the short nonsense fluffy ficlet this artwork inspired. Thank you @discessio !! ❤️

Title: Misstep (crap title, I know)

Pairing: Merlin/Arthur

Warning: sappy, fluffy, cliffhanger, unbetaed

Wordcount: 1377

The first time it happens is by complete accident, Merlin can swear it on his mother’s life. Well, it’s an accident that turns into an opportunity, really. Let’s say it’s half-accident, half-neediness. And let’s keep Merlin’s mother out of it.

What’s for certain is that the first time it happens, it’s definitely not on purpose. Merlin doesn’t engineer it. He simply reacts instinctively and freezes the course of time in order to avoid the loud, inevitable clatter of the falling tray. Arthur’s still fast asleep and Merlin knows the prince’s sleep has been a little elusive over the past few weeks, so really he stops time for all the right reasons.

He picks the suspended goblet, plate and cutlery from their arrested tumble, mid-air. Accident averted. Gaius wouldn’t be happy with this, but again, at no point did Merlin actually think it through. He merely reacted. There’s a surreptitious lick of unease down his back as he realises he is somewhat playing with fire here.

But Merlin wants to concentrate on the positive outcome – Arthur’s uninterrupted and much-needed sleep.

In a rare show of self-indulgence, Merlin stands by the bed for a moment, gazing at his prince. His sweet, brave, arrogant prince who’s such an insufferable clotpole but also the most important person in Merlin’s world. The most aggravatingly beloved man in Merlin’s guarded heart. The most forbidden idol in Merlin’s unmentionable fantasies.

Merlin blinks himself out of his nebulous and slightly lascivious thoughts.

And finally realises he hasn’t unfrozen time, lost in contemplation of the darling bane of his existence as he was. It’s just that Arthur is so pretty when he’s asleep, all tousled blonde hair and soft lips and peaceful features. It’s such a rare occurrence to be able to look upon him being so care-free and utterly safe.

Merlin releases the flow of time.

And immediately wishes he’d used the suspended pause to stroke Arthur’s hair.

Merlin gets to touch Arthur in many rather intimate ways throughout the day, but he’s never been at liberty to simply indulge in a fond ruffle or a gentle caress – for obvious reasons. He’s always wished he could. He can’t help it. He’s a tactile kind of person, though it may not seem like it. To him, touch is a crucial, under-used language that conveys love and affection like nothing else can. And he finds there’s never enough of it in his life. He’s made his peace with it. It is what it is.

But he wishes he’d thought of reaching out and stroking Arthur’s hair while time was frozen. No one would’ve been the wiser, yet it would’ve meant so much to him.

Merlin presses his lips into a resigned line and resumes his morning duties, delivering the offending tray safely to the table.

And that’s the first time it happens. Complete accident. Missed opportunity. Bittersweet musings.

The second time it happens… Merlin’s again caught wrong-footed. The knife that’s just slipped off the plate is about to stab through his boot, and so everything stops for the almighty warlock. Merlin huffs an annoyed breath, puts down the plate and grabs the suspended knife. The damn thing is sharp and heavy as hell, and Merlin scowls at the hole it would’ve punctured into his boot – and possibly his foot.

And then he realises he’s done it again. Caught Arthur in the bubble of frozen time. He should feel terrible – and he does – but he also feels something else. Like, just a frisson of euphoria. A guilty thrill of elation at being given a second chance.

His hand shakes just a tiny bit as he places the forgotten knife on the bedside table, but he then takes a steadying breath and turns to the bed’s occupant.

The prince is arrested in slumber, slack-jawed and slightly drooling on the pillow, and alright, he looks more ridiculous than dashing right now, but it is this very vulnerability that makes the knight so absurdly dear to Merlin.

Merlin reaches out and his fingertips brush, feather-soft, over the tangled blonde mess of hair. It feels wonderful. Intimate. Illicit. There are shameless butterflies dancing in Merlin’s belly as his fingers caress their treasure. He pushes an errant strand this way and then that way in search of ultimate perfection, as he probably would if Arthur were his. Something in him trembles at the forward gesture.

But enough with these stollen familiarities. Merlin shakes himself out of his tender thoughts and releases time.

And Arthur gives an undignified snore.

The third time it happens… Well, much to Merlin’s own unease, the third time is deliberate. Nothing to startle him, no impending jarring threat, no excuse whatsoever. It’s just that… today was a close call and Merlin truly thought he’d failed his destiny and his prince, and Arthur looked so deathly pale as the poison crawled through his veins, and so now Merlin needs a bit of quiet time alone with the unwitting other half of his soul.

He just wants to look at him. He won’t touch Arthur, he promises himself sternly. It feels too terribly good to touch him – as well as a little wrong.

And so he freezes the course of time, and it feels odd and strained because he seldom does this voluntarily. His magic itches and writhes in discomfort but obeys, and now he can look his fill.

Arthur is still awfully pale and there’s a sheen of sweat dewing his face and throat. One that spreads to his shoulders and upper chest – and Merlin isn’t strictly touching him, just lifting a corner of the covers to check that the bandage hasn’t slipped. But Arthur’s alive. He’s safe now. And Gods, Merlin wishes he could touch him, if only to ground himself and chase the residual fear that lurks within his battered little heart. Just a caressing sweep of his thumb over the crook of the shoulder would do it. A reassurance. An offering. A blessing.

But Merlin has promised himself he wouldn’t touch and he wants to prove to himself that he has a measure of self-control and a modicum of decency. That he’s not one of those sorcerers who abuse their powers. The cover flops back down and Arthur is left to recover in peace.

The fourth time... Alas, there’s no good excuse for the fourth time. It’s the middle of the night and there’s something dreadfully fragile and needy to Arthur’s moans as he struggles with a nightmare. The prince’s chest is bare and heaving, his hands clutching and clenching, his whole sturdy frame restless in the throes of a distressing dream. And truly, Merlin has no other choice. He can’t just stand there and watch and do nothing. He kneels on the bed behind Arthur and leans over him, bracing a light hand on Arthur’s hip while the other rests on the headboard.

“It’s all right,” he murmurs very gently. “You’re all right, Arthur.” And before he can honestly help himself, he’s brushing a soft, tender, timid kiss over Arthur’s damp cheek.

He’s so anxious to make all the bad things go away for his beloved prince. So selflessly ready to do anything and everything to spare his beloved prince any ache of any kind. So damn in love with the clotpole and so unable to exorcise it any other way. The gentle rub of his lips over Arthur’s cheek feels pure and wanton, and tremors of pitiful bliss shimmer though him, miserable wretch that he is.

Which is when Arthur shifts beneath him, tilting his head up for more.

It is at this precise juncture that Merlin, this untold genius, becomes aware of two things.

First, it is not a nightmare. The dream is of a completely different nature, and it is not anguish that strains at Arthur’s features and rocks his body, it is lustful hunger – as the grunt of pleasure confirms.

Second, Merlin forgot to suspend the course of time. He is therefore kneeling over Arthur – pressing a kiss to the man’s cheek, for fuck’s sake – while the prince is having a very natural, very private and very pleasant dream. In real time.

Arthur opens blurry, confused eyes, gazing straight up into Merlin’s blinking, confounded ones.

Now this should be fun to explain.

*the end*

[ihavemanyhusbands]

The Assassin's Apprentice

PART TWO: FATE IS A CRUEL TRICKSTER

Part One // Mini-Series Masterlist

Also on AO3

Pairing: Duncan Vizla x Fem!Reader

WC: 5.0k words

Summary: Duncan decides to start teaching you how to defend yourself, and tensions begin to rise as you get to know each other more.

Chapter Warnings: reluctant allies to lovers, mutual pining, slight power imbalance (mentor/mentee), age gap (reader is mid 20s), shooting lessons, smoking, brief and vague mentions of violence, sooo much tension, very light inebriation, angst ending, aaaand i think thats it but lmk if anything else!

-------------

“Can I get you anything else, honey?” The waitress asked as she set down a plate of pancakes in front of you.

“Just a top-up of coffee, please,” you said, smiling at her appreciatively.

As she poured, you involuntarily glanced at Duncan before looking down. There must’ve been something in your expression that misled her because she grinned slyly and raised an eyebrow at you suggestively.

“You two have a long night?” She asked.

You blinked at her in surprise, immediately wishing you’d sink into the sticky vinyl booth and disappear. Your smile turned into an awkward baring of teeth, especially as the tip of Duncan’s boot nudged yours.

“Just got up early is all…” you mumbled, trying to subtly kick him back. 

She chuckled, misinterpreting your reaction yet again, and turned to Duncan.

“And what about you, sugar? Need a top-up, too?”

“Sure,” he said, seemingly nonplussed by her teasing. “Keep it coming.”

She winked at him conspiratorially and let out another delighted chuckle. Now you wanted to jump across the table and throttle him, but you held onto your self-control by your fingernails.

“Alright, well, I’ll leave you to it now. Just holler if you need anything else.”

With that, she left, completely ignorant of the tension that remained in her wake. You sliced at your pancake with a vengeance, unwilling to look up at him but sensing he was observing you.

“What?” You snapped after a minute, setting your cutlery down.

“Nothing,” he said, methodically spreading butter on his toast. “Just confirming you’re not very good at hiding your emotions, is all. Gonna need to work on that.”

You gaped at him. “So you were intentionally provoking me?”

He shrugged one shoulder as he took a sip of coffee holding your gaze. You narrowed your eyes at him, your pride instinctually making you want to lash out. It was true that in a lot of ways you had your heart on your sleeve, so even if you didn’t want to admit it, he had a point. It was just a little strange that patience was the first lesson he seemed to want to impart.

Perhaps that was one of the reasons he had thus far been so uncooperative – a lesson in and of itself. You drummed your fingers on the table as you thought, and in that introspection, you gave him no reaction at all.

“That’s better,” he said, bringing your attention back to him. “I’m more observant than you may think. My silence allows for it.”

“And what else have you figured out about me, hmm?” You said, a challenge edging your tone. “How tough am I going to be to break into the perfect, stoic killer?”

He huffed in amusement. “I would say that’s more dependent on you.”

You leaned forward slightly, not backing down. “What? You’re not going to try to mold me in your image?”

He looked away then. “Far from it.”

A thought struck you then and you stopped drumming your fingers. You didn’t even want to mention it, but at that point, curiosity had sunk its claws into you. Still, you leaned back and took a bite of your food, letting the silence hang for a moment longer.

“So, last night… Was that some sort of lesson, too?” You asked, trying to sound casual. “Maybe about pride or something?”

He shook his head, spearing some egg with his fork but making no effort to actually eat it. 

“No, that was just us doing the best with what we had then. Sometimes that’s all you can do.”

You nodded, contemplating this. The rest of the meal went by in silence, both of you unsure of what else to say. He had put things in a strangely tender light, somehow, but neither of you could acknowledge it. You snuck furtive glances at him, thinking for the first time that perhaps you’d made the right choice staying with him. It was nice to be surprised from time to time, and things finally seemed to be moving in the right direction in terms of your training.

Once you were done, Duncan went up to the counter to pay. The waitress said something to him that you couldn’t hear, but you saw a small smile on his face. She waved at you with a smile and you tried to wave back as naturally as possible, your polite smile watery at best. 

He ushered you out of the diner’s warmth and into the crisp autumn morning, your breath lightly fogging in the air. He lit a cigarette on his way to the truck, fishing his keys from his pocket.

“Where are we headed now?” You asked, hoping to get an answer of some sort.

“We’ve got a couple of hours before we have to move out, so I’m going to take you somewhere quiet for some target practice,” he said.

“Are you the target?” You asked, half-joking.

He shot you a look that was both reprimanding and amused as he opened his door. “I didn’t say who would be practicing, did I?”

You hummed as if to say touché, opening your own and sliding into the passenger seat without any more protest.

—-------------

Duncan lined up what he could find on a log a few yards away from you — pieces of a broken glass bottle, a bent tin can, a couple of acorns, and what seemed to be the remnants of a boot. 

He walked back over to your side and made sure the angle and distance were just right. Given the mountainous area, you were on a very slight incline, surrounded by nothing but clusters of tall pine trees. There was almost no wind, so it was quieter than you’d expected, but not unnervingly so.

He handed you the pistol he’d demonstrated how to load earlier and you tested its heft in your hands, even going so far as to pantomime drawing it out of a holster and pointing. He stepped behind you, assessing your posture. 

“Alright, little bit of a wider stance,” he said, nudging your feet further apart with his boot. You tensed as he put his hands on your arms, adjusting you slightly. “Great, shoulders squared. And keep both hands on it for now, too.”

Raising your arms once more, you aimed it at the largest object on the log first – the worn-out boot. You slowed down your breathing, steadying yourself so your arms wouldn’t tremble. You were more nervous about the loudness of the shot rather than the actual weapon, but you had to get used to it eventually. On an exhale, you gritted your teeth and squeezed the trigger. 

Crows exploded into the air from the surrounding trees at the resounding shot, their alarmed calls mingling with its distant echo. The boot had been knocked backward, falling behind the log. You let out an elated little laugh at actually having made it, finding yourself looking back at him for his approval. 

“Good one,” he said, smiling. “Nice and easy, right?”

“Well, this one, sure,” you said. “Can’t say if I’ll make it as a sniper later on, but it’s a start…”

He chuckled. “One step at a time. Why don’t you try it again?”

This time, when he adjusted your posture once again, you welcomed it. Still, you were very aware of it – the slight touch of his fingers on your elbow to raise your arms a little more, his other hand covering one of yours to correct your grip. Your body lost some of its initial tension, even as he hovered close, whispering pointers as you focused on your aim. 

After a couple more shots, your ears were ringing, but you went towards the log to see how you’d done. Splintered bullet holes in some of the tree trunks showed where you’d missed, but at least you’d managed to get one of the acorns and the side of the tin can.

“We’ll keep working on it, but not bad at all,” he said, seemingly impressed. “How do you feel?”

“Like I could move on to moving targets next,” you said, raising both eyebrows, and the two of you laughed at the insinuation.

Returning to his side, you tried to hand the pistol back to him but he shook his head. 

“Keep it, it’s yours,” he said. “You’re gonna need it going forward.”

“Thank you,” you said with a slightly surprised grin. “Not the kind of gift any regular girl would expect to receive… But I’m not complaining.”

“Well, clearly you’re not just any regular girl.”

He held your gaze for a strangely charged moment, the weight of his words slowly sinking in. You looked away first, your smile lingering just faintly. You were sure he didn’t really mean anything by it, but it still managed to have an effect on you. Whatever unnameable emotion tried to rise from it, though, you immediately tamped down. 

He cleared his throat as if to dispel the new sort of tension that precariously hung between you, the moment vanishing into thin air.

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you smile this much,” he said, changing the subject. 

“Yeah, well, now I’m being given reasons to,” you said, making sure the safety was on before tucking the pistol in your jacket pocket for the time being. “Maybe it’s the spike in adrenaline.”

“Guess I’ll have to find more ways to keep you busy like this, then.”

You shifted your weight, needing to ask the question you’d been wondering all morning. 

“What, um, made you change your mind?”

He hummed in thought, gazing out at your surroundings as if trying to save the quiet beauty of the forest in his mind. Then, he nodded in the direction of the truck and the two of you hiked back down the hill side by side. 

“In terms of your training?” He asked and you nodded. “Well, I figured I had to make sure you knew how to defend yourself, at least.”

“I know how to defend myself,” you argued with a scoff, which made him raise an eyebrow.

“In some ways, sure,” he said, huffing with amusement. “If it was just an argument, you’d have that in the bag.”

You pursed your lips, conscious of your earlier conversation about being so blatant with your emotions. You realized he probably ribbed you so often for a reason, and you couldn’t just let him get the best of you so easily. He was far more patient than you were giving him credit for, too, taking your attitude and your habitual biting words with grace.

It was still too early to tell, but maybe he wouldn’t be as bad of a teacher as you — or maybe even him — might have originally thought. You kicked a small stone in your path, watching it roll down ahead of you.

“Well, what if I don’t have a gun, then? Or any other weapon?” You said.

“We’ll get to hand-to-hand combat at some point,” he said. “But for now, we’ve got some work to do.”

—————-

Only an hour after Duncan’s assignment had been carried out, both of you sat in his truck eating fast food. You’d gotten a vanilla milkshake that you occasionally dipped a fry into, which was not a treat you indulged in too often — at least not since you were a kid. The mood was celebratory, though, given how well things had gone with your “test drive”, as he had put it.

The whole affair had gone by relatively quickly – Duncan had you stand outside the room to make sure no one came around while he conducted business. You’d been so nervous that you felt as if your heart was trying to crawl up your throat, rehearsing excuses in your mind while you tried your best to blend in. To your immense luck, though, the hallway stayed empty. 

The sounds of a scuffle only lasted a couple of minutes, but then there was a silence that seemed to stretch on for much longer. When Duncan finally emerged from the room, he ushered you down the back stairwell, taking off the bloodied maintenance uniform he’d stolen on the way. He was wearing his regular clothes underneath, prepared for a quick escape, and he discarded the uniform in a back alley dumpster after making sure there were no witnesses. 

Adrenaline had you lightheaded and kind of giddy as you hurried back to his truck, finally being a little more involved in an assignment. Usually, he had you do stakeouts, which were by far your least favorite, but now you understood why. 

He still insisted that you were not ready for the rest of the work yet, which you could agree with, but it was nice to be a part of it anyway. So much so that you were already eager for the next time, even if you weren’t sure when that would be.

“So… where are we headed now?” You asked, turning down the radio.

“Well, we’ve got nothing on the docket for now,” he said, sipping on his drink. “I was thinking we could drive back to Triple Oak in the meantime, and train you some more while we have the time.”

You nodded, trying not to seem too overeager, and leaned back against the seat. “It’ll be nice to be off the road for a bit.”

“You might want to change and get rid of that before we cross state lines, though,” he said, gesturing at your clothes. 

You were still wearing the cleaning staff uniform you’d stolen from the hotel the target had been staying at, but you were wearing his jacket over it to hide most of it. The jacket smelled like him – smoke, gunpowder, and an aftershave with bitter notes. Was it strange that you felt a little comforted by it?

“I’ll do it in the back seat, but don’t you dare look,” you said, pointing at him menacingly. “I’ll gouge your eyes out if you do.”

He huffed a laugh, waving you off. You climbed into the backseat and rifled through your bag to try and change quickly. Mostly, he kept his gaze ahead on the parking lot trying and failing to concentrate on whatever song the radio was playing. Involuntarily, he glanced at the rearview mirror, catching the barest glimpse of skin before he quickly looked away. 

He swallowed hard, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He had definitely felt a shift in your dynamic after that night, like you were starting to become a team, rather than keeping each other at arm's length. It was a good thing, to be sure, but he feared getting too accustomed to it. 

What’s more, he worried about your safety more and more. It was the real reason why he had suddenly decided to take action, so he wasn’t exactly lying about you needing to know how to defend yourself. He tried not to think of you being out in the field all by yourself, but luckily there was still time before that happened. 

How he would fare after you were gone, well, that was a problem for him to figure out later on. In the meantime, he would have to untangle the mess of what he was beginning to feel towards you… If he allowed himself to feel it in the first place.

You climbed back into the front seat, bringing him back from his thoughts. You’d left his jacket in the back, unsure if you should put it back on and deciding not to. Before you had a reason to, but now it would seem too… intimate, in a way. 

“Long drive ahead of us,” he said, starting the truck. “You ready?”

You nodded and soon enough you were back on the road. You stayed up to keep him company for as long as you could, but as soon as the sky began to lighten, you were unable to keep yourself from drifting off. 

In your deeply unconscious state, you did not realize your body slowly slumping sideways. He glanced over at you in surprise when you leaned against his side, head on his shoulder. He didn’t try to rouse you, though, knowing you needed the rest. He felt an unexpected rush of warmth but kept himself from wrapping his arm around you. 

You slept for a few more hours before you stopped at another motel so he could rest for some time. After that, the rest of the drive went by smoothly, the beautiful, ever-changing scenery making time pass by faster. 

In those long hours, you swapped stories and got to know each other better. It was surprisingly nice to talk about things that weren’t related to your line of work, but it also made you realize it was the most you’d actually shared since you’d met.  

There were moments where a part of you wished you’d met in different circumstances, staying together for reasons other than duty. When he laughed, uninhibited by his usual worries, and sunlight hit him just right… Sometimes it was easy to forget the rest, if only for a second.

Finally, up in the mountains of Montana, the truck pulled up in front of an old, mostly isolated cabin. Getting out of the truck, you stretched your whole body like a languorous cat and took in your surroundings. 

You breathed in the fresh air and felt revitalized by it. A little slice of paradise, perfect for some well-deserved unwinding. Not to mention, ample space for you to explore and hone your skills. 

“Well, it’s not exactly the Ritz-Carlton, but…” you trailed off, feigning being unimpressed as you crossed your arms over your chest.

You looked back to see his reaction, unable to help a snicker as he shook his head, rolling his eyes playfully. 

“Close enough, though,” you finished saying.

In response, he tossed you his key and nodded toward the front door. 

“Why don’t you go ahead, princess?” He said pointedly. “Take a look inside and I’ll bring our stuff in a minute.”

“Eugh, don’t call me that,” you said, shuddering unpleasantly and wrinkling your nose at him.

“What should I call you then?”

You shrugged, making your way up the front steps. “I don’t know, but I’m sure you can come up with something more creative.”

He hummed, pretending to think for a moment. The word brat was the first thing to come to mind, but instead of saying it out loud, he let his sly grin communicate it instead. 

You scoffed, more amused than irritated, and turned to open the front door. The inside wasn’t much more impressive than the outside, but you immediately loved the quaint, rustic feel of it. Since Duncan hadn’t been back for a while, the place was definitely in need of some dusting and livening up, but you could see its potential. What thrilled you the most was the fireplace, which would certainly make things cozier. 

You smiled. You didn’t actually need anything fancy, just a place you could call home. Somehow, you felt like this would be as close as you would get to it.

You took the liberty of opening the windows to let air circulate throughout and went to the kitchen. You rummaged through his cupboards to see how much you’d have to stock up on and found some oatmeal, a couple of cans of beans and tomato soup, and a half-empty bottle of whiskey.

The latter made you perk up with renewed interest, taking it out as you heard his heavy footfalls cross the threshold.

“Look what I found,” you said in a slightly sing-song voice, raising the bottle to show him. “We could have our own housewarming party.”

“I’m not so sure if that’s a good idea,” he said, setting your bags down by the old couch.

“Oh come on, at least one drink won’t kill us,” you said. “And not to mention, we totally deserve it.”

He hesitated for another moment, still resistant, but then you wagged your eyebrows at him comically and he had no choice but to give in.

“Fine, one drink it is,” he said, sighing dramatically as he went to retrieve some glasses.

He handed you one and took the bottle from you, uncorking it with his teeth. He poured less than a finger for both of you and you clinked your glass against his in a toast. The amber liquid burned unpleasantly down your throat, making your eyes water. You tried your best not to cough, repeatedly clearing your throat as you grimaced.

“Oh, that’s disgusting,” you said hoarsely, but still you raised your glass again. “Give me some more.”

He laughed at your reaction, already used to the sting. “We said one drink.”

“That hardly counted as a drink, it was more of a sip,” you argued, beginning to feel a little warmth spread through your limbs. “Didn’t think you were stingy like that.”

He scoffed and poured more generously this time. “Is that enough for you, huh?”

And so time slowly began to lose meaning as the two of you finally began to relax. A second drink turned to a third, but that seemed to be enough to get both of you loose-limbed and giggly. You half-heartedly attempted to unpack and set up a bed for yourself on the couch. Duncan swayed and almost took down a lamp with him, both of you dissolving into a fit of laughter. 

Night fell and he started a fire in the hearth that you two sat in front of. You shared a can of tomato soup and a few more sips of whiskey, your knees touching casually. His jacket found its way back to your shoulders, his smell a welcome comfort.

“Has anybody ever told you that you’re cute when you’re drunk?” he said, shining eyes scanning your face. “Your whole face is flushed and your eyes are barely open from how much you’ve been laughing.”

Your face felt even hotter under his notice, but you tried to roll your eyes dismissively. 

“I’m cute all the time, but maybe you’re just noticing,” you said.

“No, I’ve always noticed,” he said without a hint of hesitation. 

Even when you looked over at him with surprise, he didn’t look remorseful. There was a fuzzy feeling in your chest and things came into sharper focus. You swallowed hard and looked down with an unsure chuckle. 

“Feeling bold, are you?” 

“Had enough liquid courage,” he said, shifting nervously. “I don't… mean anything by it, though. Was that creepy?”

You shook your head, unable to look at him. “I’m just not used to being complimented by you is all.”

And I’m liking your attention more than I’d want to admit. The thought came to your mind unbidden, but you couldn’t ignore the truth behind it. You liked him, but you weren’t sure if there was much that could be done about it. Well, perhaps there was one thing, but you didn’t know if you could bring yourself to do it yet.

He bumped his shoulder against yours and you finally looked up at him. Your eyes darted down to his lips before returning to meet his gaze. This stirred something deep within him. How had he not noticed? Or perhaps he just hadn’t dared to see what was right in front of him.

“Oh,” he said, voice low. “Is that what you want?”

You nodded, the longing in your gaze undeniable. “Can I?”

He dipped his chin in assent and didn’t move, silently letting you take the lead. You leaned closer to him, eyes dropping back to his lips nervously. You tilted your head slightly to one side and your lips touched his, lingering for a moment, before you pulled away uncertainly.

He still didn’t move other than to nod in reassurance. You brought a hand to his cheek and kissed him again, less hesitant than before. You kept it slow, in no rush to try and deepen the kiss lest the spell be broken. His fingers brushed your arm as he kissed you back, nearly letting himself get lost in it.

But there was a nagging thought in his mind that went against his wishes. It felt right, but that didn’t mean that it was. He was your mentor, after all, and he wasn’t supposed to be anything else but that, as much as he might want to.

He also knew you weren’t meant to stay for a long time, and you both had to be prepared for that. At least now he knew what it felt like to kiss you, but that was about as much as he would let himself indulge.

He pulled away and took a long look at you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“I don’t think we should be doing this,” he said softly. “It’s not…”

“Appropriate?” You offered.

He nodded and you felt a flush of shame that made your skin prickle. Your want had eclipsed everything else, and you hadn’t really considered the implications, much less the consequences.

You pulled further away from him, the familiar poisonous words that you used to protect yourself rising to the surface. But you found that burning tears threatened to spill out, too, but you kept both of them at bay as you tried to stand up. 

“U-um,” You stuttered. “I’m-I��m sorry, it was just the whiskey and I-”

“It’s okay,” he cut in, grabbing your hand before you could walk away. “I wanted it, too.”

You looked down at him, at the earnestness — and was that sadness? — on his face. It made it worse, especially since a part of you knew he was right. You nodded, unsure of how to respond to that, and took your hand away from his grasp.

“We should just sleep it off,” you said softly. “Who knows? Maybe tomorrow we won’t even remember.”

But you would, you knew you would, and you were sure he would too. You could just hope that the remaining time you had with him was not too torturous.

-------

[cyb-by-lang]

Cascade (part 6)

Kei is maybe not taking this super seriously.

Also, hooray, no one knows what Bloodcurdle does yet.

“Let’s go back toward the street,” Midoriya insisted. “We have to get help from the pros.”

Kei thought they would be as helpful as a chocolate teapot, but what did she know.

But there was more actual bad news when Iida groaned, “I—I can’t move my body. It must be his Quirk. Since he caught me, I’ve been paralyzed.”

That tracked, unfortunately. Kakashi hadn’t reported a lot of defensive wounds on Ingenium, despite the mauling his arms took. That had been targeted. If Stain could just keep his victims pinned like this, he barely had to worry about a fight once he got the critical first strike.

Taking advantage of that, Stain was also loaded down with more cutlery and sharp bits than anybody Kei had met since arriving in Tokyo. Putting aside the state of his katana, apparently villains got to flout weapon regulation laws as well as Quirk laws as long as they were badass enough not to get caught. The Hero Killer even had eight nasty spikes on the tips of his boots.

Kei was a little bit envious of the confidence to lean into his preferred style, at least. The actual quality of the weapons was less impressive.

“You two…don’t get involved…” Iida gasped from behind them. “This isn’t any of your business.”

Midoriya spared a second to look at Iida in horror.

Kei did not kick Iida for being an ungrateful bastard. Instead, Kei kept her eyes on Stain and said, “Iida-kun. We talked about this.”

“Gekkō-san—”

“No hunting serial killers until you’re forty.”

Iida sputtered.

[homeofthelonelywriter]

Let's call it Fate | Part 8

(A/N) Okay, I think I escalated a bit again, but I enjoyed writing this chapter a lot. The Reader sitting in Copia's lap the whole day. Aaaaaahhhhh.

Pairing: Cardinal Copia x Reader (no Y/N)

Warning: google translate translations, abusive parents (especially mother), arranged marriage, age gap, bullying, talk of grandparents and death of a grandparent, mistreatment of Ghouls,

Prologue | Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13

As soon as you walked into the mess hall, it felt as if all eyes were on you. Well, most of them were on you. After all, it was the second time you walked in there late and with a high-ranking member of the clergy. You didn’t want to think about all the rumors that were surely already circling. Instead, you kept your head down, quickly prepared a plate for you as well as two for Papa Primo, and put both of them onto a tray.

Copia followed your lead, grabbing beverages for the three of you before he followed you back out. As soon as the doors closed behind the pair of you, you started giggling, Copia soon joining in.

“That was so awkward.”

Copia agreed with a nod, before glancing back. Once he had made sure no one was following you, he turned back around, grinning like a little kid.

“I have to admit, life here has been more interesting ever since you joined.”

“Oh? Is that a good thing, Cardinal?”

You couldn’t help the little smirk that found its way onto your face. He quickly glanced at you before looking back ahead.

“The best, cara. The best.”

You smiled, averting your gaze to the tray in your hands as you felt your cheeks heat up. Was bad that you really wanted to kiss him at that moment?

The pair of you soon reached the greenhouse and you gently knocked with your boots, not trusting your balance to hold the tray with only one hand. After a few moments, the door swung open and Papa Primo stood there, a surprised smile on his face.

“Tesoro, fratello. Come in, come in!”

You entered and gently placed the tray down on the table, before grabbing the third chair that had been hidden away, and carrying it over for Copia, who met you halfway and took it from your hands.

“I got it, amore.”

You froze for a second as you recognized that word. Everyone knew it after all. ‘Love’. Copia had just called you ‘love’. He didn’t seem to notice as he simply carried the chair over to the table, before turning to look at you. You’re sure you had a stupid, lovesick smile on your face as you watched him for a second, before joining the brothers.

The three of you spent lunch chatting about everything and nothing, joking around and telling funny stories about your lives. You loved listening to Papa Primo telling you about all the shenanigans Copia would get up to when he was still a child. Of course, Copia would constantly try to defend himself, but you always just shushed him so you could keep listening to Papa Primo.

By the time all of you were done with lunch, you had a tummy ache from laughing so hard, while Copia’s cheeks had a slight red tint to them. While Papa Primo was telling another one of his stories, you suddenly felt a hand, reaching for yours. You glanced at Copia as you intertwined your fingers with his, giving his hand a light squeeze when he gently pulled them into his lap. His second hand gently covered them, softly stroking the back of your hand while he smiled to himself.

“Ah, you two probably have better things to do than listen to me ramble. Grazie for spending lunch with me. Go, I’ll be right here.”

With a glance in Copia’s direction, you nodded and as the two of you stood up, you kind of expected him to let go of your hand. But he didn’t. Instead held on tight as he pilled all the cutlery and plates onto one tray before picking it up with his free hand.

“Grazie Fratello. E non una parola su questo, vero?”

Papa Primo chuckled and nodded as he was waving the pair of you out.

“I’ll come get you for dinner, okay?”

“Si, si tesoro. Have fun.”

After a quick stop at the mess hall to return the tray, you walked back to Copia’s office. Once inside, Copia let out a deep sigh before smiling at you, raising your hand to his lips to press a quick kiss on your knuckles. As your cheeks began to heat up, he let out a deep chuckle, before dropping your hand and walked over to his desk. You quickly followed and sank down into the chair beside his as he once again gave you a small amount of the paperwork he had to do, before you began working in silence.

The hours passed quickly and before either of you knew, it was the middle of the night. You only took a quick break for dinner before getting back to work, but there was still some left.

“It’s okay cara, I’ll take care of the rest. You go to sleep, si?”

You glanced at him, your eyes barely staying open.

“Are you sure? I can stay a bit longer and help.”

He chuckled, gently cradling your face before pressing a quick kiss to your forehead.

“I’m sure. I promise, and tomorrow, we’ll spend the day together.”

You nodded, a big yawn escaping you before you slowly stood up and grabbed your things. You were about to get out the map when Copia interjected.

“Swiss should be outside, he’ll get you back to your room safely.”

You smiled and thanked him, before walking to the door, turning back to look at him before opening it.

“Good night, Copia.”

He looked up, smiling.

“Buona notte, amore.”

Once you stepped outside, you immediately saw him. Swiss was hard to miss after all.

“There is my favorite girl.”

As he swaggered up to you, you immediately lifted your arms, making grabby hands at him. He chuckled, but without another word, scooped you up and started carrying you to your room. At first Swiss stayed silent, something that surprised you, but you wouldn’t complain. But then he had to talk.

“So? Finally believe me that he has the hots for you?”

You whined and weakly slapped his shoulder, making him laugh. But then you stopped and thought about everything that had happened over the last few days. All the hours spent together, the touches, him calling you ‘love’. Maybe Swiss was right, but…

“It doesn’t matter if he does…’m spoken for.”

A humorless laugh left your lips as you cuddled further into Siwss’ chest. He slowed down a bit, lowering his head to peer at you, but he didn’t question you further. Instead, he held you tighter until you arrived in front of your room. He gently sat you down, only letting go once he was sure you were steady.

“Are you alright?”

You looked at him, a blank expression on your face as you asked yourself that question. But you couldn’t come up with an answer.

“Jury’s still out…thank you for bringing me back here. I’ll see you for the picnic tomorrow?”

Swiss forced a smile onto his face as he nodded.

“Yeah, Cumulus has been in the kitchen all day. Said she can’t wait.”

That made you smile. You were also excited about the picnic, and meeting the others.

“Good night, Swiss.”

“Good night, little dove.”

The next morning, you were woken up by a loud knock on your door. A mumbled ‘go away’ did nothing to deter the person on the other side though, so you got your feet, almost falling over, and opened the door, just to find a way too happy Swiss on the other side.

“Good morning, sunshine!”

Without asking, he barged into the room, starting to make the bed.

“Wha…?”

He glanced at you over his shoulder.

“Come on, it’s picnic time. The others are already there, everyone’s waiting for you.”

He finished fluffing your pillows before giving you a quick once over. With a chuckle, he hoisted you over his shoulder and carried you into the bathroom, forcing you to brush your teeth while he combed through your hair and put it in a ponytail. It still looked messy, but at least not like you had just fallen out of bed. Once you had rinsed your mouth, he asked you if you wanted to change into something else, and when you declined, he easily threw you back over his shoulder, grabbed your still-packed bag, and walked out of your room.

You completely zoned out, even almost fell asleep as Swiss was carrying you through the halls of the Ministry. You knew that it wasn’t too early, since you saw some members passing you by, and looking mildly concerned, but they didn’t stop Swiss. So either, they had seen the two of you hand out before, or they didn’t care. Not that you cared either.

“Better close your eyes, sweet-cheeks, about to go outside.”

You grumbled an insult at him, but he just laughed it off and kept walking. You had forgotten all about his warning when he suddenly pushed through the doors and walked out into the backyard. You groaned and quickly closed your eyes, before slowly opening them until you got used to the brightness.

“Where are we going?”

“You, aren’t going all, okay? That’s all me.”

He pinched you in your thigh and you immediately slapped his ass, making him chuckle.

“Stop or I might think you’re flirting with me…anyway, I’m carrying you to the edge of the forest, where the others are waiting. A certain Cardinal might also already be there.”

You hummed, too tired to care about anything at all, so you just kept dangling until shade encompassed you and you were suddenly lifted up.

“Look, I brought a present.”

Swiss sat you down on your feet, or at least he tried to. But once he realized you were not even attempting to stand up, he slowly lowered you until you sat on a soft blanket. A strong arm quickly wrapped around you and pulled you towards them. When you glanced up, you saw Copia, looking at you concerned.

“Hey, are you alright?”

You nodded before leaning against his chest and closing your eyes.

“Just eepy.”

He chuckled and pulled you onto his lap, ensuring you were situated.

“Then sleep a bit more, cara. This can wait.”

Copia pressed a gentle kiss against your forehead before you passed out. If you had seen him in that moment, you would have seen the love in his eyes as he looked down at you.

You don’t know how much time had passed when you woke up, surrounded by soft chatter and birds chirping. You heard laughter and felt whatever you were resting against vibrate. A chest, you were resting against a chest.

With one eye open, you peered up and instantly recognized Copia. One of his arms was around you, holding your back up, while the other held a glass of what looked to be orange juice. As soon as you moved, his gaze landed on you and he sat the glass down, instead reaching up and tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

“How are you feeling?”

“Still eepy, but less so.”

He smiled and nodded toward whatever was in front of him.

“Then come, eat something. Meet the others.”

With Copia’s help, you slowly sat up, still in his lap, and turned to look around. You were surrounded by a group of Ghouls and Ghoulettes. There were eight of them, spaced out on two large blankets that covered the grass. In the middle of everything laid a pile of food and snacks, and everything looked delicious.

“Ey! Look who’s awake.”

You glanced to your right and saw Swiss sitting right beside you and Copia. He grinned at you and you couldn’t help but smile at him. Once he realized you were truly awake, he gestured to the others before listing off their names. You already knew Dewdrop and had heard of Phantom, a younger Ghoul. Then there was Rain and Mountain, and the Ghoulettes, Cumulus, Cirrus, and Aurora. They all smiled and waved when mentioned and you waved back.

Cirrus, who was sitting to your left, immediately offered you some food, preparing a plate full of different fruits and baked goods.

“Cucu had been in the kitchen all day yesterday, making these.”

She motioned toward the other Ghoulette who smiled and waved before she returned to her conversation with Mountain. You quickly thanked Cirrus and took the plate from her hands, before leaning back slightly, quickly touching Copia’s chest. As if out of instinct, his right arm immediately wrapped around your waist and pulled you closer, before he leaned down and whispered in your ear.

“Eat, enjoy yourself.”

You glanced back at him, before nodding with a soft smile, relaxing against him. For the rest of the day, you stayed like that, eating and drinking in Copia’s arms as you got to know Swiss’ friends. You quickly grew close to the Ghoulettes, as they practically adopted you as their baby. Phantom was shy at first, but quickly warmed up to you, starting to annoy Swiss and the others when his hyperactivity started to show. Rain and Mountain sat the farthest away from you, so it was hard to interact with them, but they seemed kind and sweet.

Shortly before lunch, Mountain and Rain got to their feet and started walking up towards the main building. You looked back at Copia, confused.

“They are getting Primo. I assumed you wouldn’t want him to be alone during lunch.”

You smiled, whispering a quick thank you, before you turned back around and continued your conversation with Aurora. At some point, you had started talking about books. You quickly pulled the one you had found in the library and showed it to her, grinning when she went on a rant about how much she loved the author and the series.

Soon, Mountain and Rain returned with Papa Primo and a chair. They helped the old man get situated, before handing him a plate with different snacks. While he was eating, he mostly just watched everyone, from time to time chatting with some of the Ghouls.

After Aurora and you stopped talking, you decided to take out your index cards and study for a bit. Copia did announce last lesson that there would be a vocabulary test next time and you wanted to be prepared. As you went through them, you started feeling more and more confident as the translations got to you fast. But then the momentum you had stopped and you started struggling, putting more and more on the ‘nope’ pile.

You sighed when you were done, the ‘nope’ pile almost as high as the ‘yes’ one. You were about to pick them up and shuffle them when a squeeze around your waist stopped you. Copia reached out and picked up the ‘nope’ pile, shuffling them before placing it down.

“Go on, I’ll help you.”

You glanced back but nodded when you saw his confident smile. So, you picked up the pile and started going through the cards. Whenever you were stuck on a word, Copia would lean down and whisper hints in your ears. And with Copia’s help, you made it through the pile once, twice, and by the third time, you didn’t need his help at all.

“Brava ragazza. I knew you could do it.”

You turned, beaming at him as he smiled back at you. Pride sparkled in his eyes as his gaze jumped from your eyes to your lips and back again. He whispered your name, slowly leaning down when…

“It’s getting late.”

Copia and you turned to look at Papa Primo, who was already looking at the pair of you. Copia took out his pocket watch and cursed under his breath.

“He is right. We should get you to bed, you have classes tomorrow.”

Without waiting for your response, he got up, pulling you along with him. He grasped your hand and interlaced your fingers as you said goodbye to everyone.

In comfortable silence, Copia led you to your room, but halfway there, you remembered something.

“Wait, wasn’t there a black mass today?”

Copia glanced at you and nodded.

“We were thinking about going, but you were too tired, so we decided against it.”

“Isn’t attendance mandatory?”

He chuckled and shrugged.

“Technically. I sent Phantom to let my family know I won’t attend, and I doubt they noticed your assenza. There are simply too many members.”

You nodded, feeling a little sad that you missed it, but you knew there would be another one next week.

Too soon, you arrived in front of your door. You turned to look at Copia, a soft smile on your face as he reached out and tugged a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Good night, Copia.”

He leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to your temple, before retreating.

“Buona notte, cara.”

Translations: cara...dear tesoro...darling Grazie Fratello. E non una parola su questo, vero...Thank you brother. And not a word about this, yes? Brava ragazza...good girl assenza...absence Buona notte...good night

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Ghost Masterlist

Master-Masterlist

Tags: @antoniamarie1989

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[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

I've been dreaming of the Knight of Lightning.

He vowed to have all bend the knee to his sovereign. That had been his wish, once upon a time. Not like this—he hadn’t wanted it to be like this.

How does a moment last forever? How can a story never die?

Today is meant to be a joyous occasion.

Their friends, their Diasomnia family, gathered around for a grand party. Good food, good drink, and good company. A send-off for their seniors, a toast to their glorious futures.

This should be the happiest they've ever been.

So why?

Why has the chatter died and the celebration ceased? Why do their guests look positively disturbed? Why does Silver brandish his baton at the young master?

Why does he reject this happiness?

Why?

"What are you doing, Silver?!" Sebek angrily demands, punching a fist into a table. The cutlery laid upon it violently clatter. "I'd had enough of your crude jokes--lower your weapon at once! You're making a mockery out of the young master and Lilia-sama's celebration!"

"I'm sorry, Sebek. I'm afraid I can't do that." His aurora-colored gaze is serious and fierce.

"You cur! You DARE turn your sword against your master?!" Sebek takes a defensive step in front of Malleus, staring daggers at his friend. "You're breaking your oath of loyalty to your country, your prince--"

"Sebek..." For a moment, Silver hesitates. There is genuine hurt in his face, eyes wide and wet like those of a doe. But it is there no longer the next second, hardening into a steely shine. "Please stand down. I must do this."

"You've gone mad!!" Sebek's yell echoes in the decorated lounge. Mad, mad, mad... reverberated off the stony walls.

The first year tenses, putting a protective arm in front of Malleus. "Young master, get behind me! I will remove him from your sight."

"Do as you will, Sebek," Malleus replies coolly. His expression presents as almost disinterested, but there is no mistaking the slick of venom in his voice, the raging fire in his eyes.

"Boys!! I thought I taught you better than to brawl over trivial things like this," Lilia cries out to them--but Malleus lays a hand on his shoulder, silencing him.

Sebek produces his own wand--a baton of the same design as Silver's, green magestone embedded into its handle. He raises it to Silver, its end already crackling with an intense energy.

The impact comes, harsh and swift as a bolt of lightning.

"Rrgh...!" Silver braces against the strong blow, skidding several feet. His boots scuff the floor, marking how far he has flown.

Sebek is upon him in an instant, his baton pushing hard against Silver's. He meets the aggressive offense with a quick block and parry, pushing with shaking arms.

"I don't want to fight you!" Silver begs hoarsely.

"You think I want to?!" Sebek roars. His lungs sting, hurting with betrayal.

Silver grits his teeth and ducks--Sebek hurtles into a stone wall. The second year slides under his friend's legs and emerges on the other side, springing back onto his feet.

Sebek faces him, waving his baton in an arc.

"Listen to yourself, Silver!! Lilia-sama's magic is diminishing... Lilia-sama is leaving school and retiring?! The young master having an outburst... forcing us into a deep slumber?!"

With each declaration, he calls forth a new strike of lightning. CRASH, CRASH, CRASH!! They come down in a line, attempting to take Silver down.

He sprints, outrunning them by a hair. A curtain of smoke rises, the air smelling of ozone and destruction.

"They're the ravings of a lunatic!" Sebek shouts, summoning another wave of lightning. "Lilia-sama would never abandon us. The young master would never abuse his powers! They are..."

His everything.

Without them, what is he? What purpose does he serve? Sebek shudders at the thought.

Silver senses it--how his hand falters, his glare softens, his lower lip trembles. He calls out to him, an olive branch extended.

"I know you, Sebek. I know you're a kind person. That's why you want to put your faith in them. Believe me, I do too!" Silver pleads. "But this... This is wrong! It's twisted."

"You're dreaming!!"

"No." He shakes his head. It's you who's dreaming. I'll make you see for yourself...!!"

Silver charges, his baton clashing with Sebek's midair. They're even twin swords, crossing blades and trading blows in a deft, deadly dance.

Neither relenting.

"Open your eyes." Silver's whisper is a loud prayer. It's the moonlight in pitch black darkness, sunlight cutting through a murky swamp. "WAKE UP, SEBEK...!!"

"ACK...!"

Silver shoves with all his might, sending Sebek sprawling onto his back.

Memories spin, colliding in his head and calling forth thunder. Flashes go off. Light and sound gather, sparking a buried image and setting it into motion.

It's a tangle of ebony thorns knitting over Diasomnia. He sees himself standing among the bramble, his face crumpled with immense terror--and sadness. From somewhere in the memory comes a familiar drawl.

"Do not fear. You will no longer have to suffer. Rejoice!! This is my gift to you all: an eternal happily ever after."

Th-This is...!

Sebek bolts up, clutching his head with a groan.

He regards his dorm leader with newfound horror. "M-Malleus-sama... It can't be. Y-You...!!"

"Aaaah..." The prince draws out a sigh. He sounds like a child disappointed with a broken toy. "How unfortunate. It seems that you've been roused awake as well. Really, Silver. Not only do you defy me, but you actively recruit others to your rebellious cause."

Silver tenses, silently putting himself between Malleus and the still-dazed Sebek.

"Fufufu. No matter. Please, allow me to put you all back to rest. A sleep so deep... you have no chance of waking again!"

A black haze encases Malleus, and all Sebek can see are the bright, glimmering eyes from the darkness. Malleus dispels it with the wave of his hand and reemerges like a demon from an inky summoning circle.

Lattices of pointed vines wrap over his body, a tattered cape fluttering out behind him. His horns and tail glow with an eerie green light, skin greyed and zombie-like. But what frightens Sebek the most is the calmness in his smile.

it does not match the quiet fury in the rest of his face.

This cannot be.

"Y-Young master, wait!!" he stutters, trying to get onto his feet. "I-I beg for your forgiveness! We mean you no disrespect! If you could please just hear us out--"

"The time for talk is over." Malleus raises a hand--and with it, a wall of emerald flames erupts from the earth. "Sweet dreams, Sebek."

The ground at their feet caves into a jagged fault. Thorns creep out from below, seeking out their next victims. Sebek leaps away from them, but they do not stop advancing.

"Ready yourself!" Silver hollers. He lets loose a blast of fire magic, which whittles away at the closest thorns. "Malleus-sama won't listen to reason. We--you--have to fight!!"

"B-But...!"

He takes in the sad scene. The castle is crumbling, the party come to a sudden stop. Briar is quickly overtaking the area, covering furniture and swallowing up students.

And there is Silver and Malleus--light and darkness, mirror reflections of one another. On opposing sides. Enemies.

Sebek is trembling, finding it difficult to swallow the bitter truth.

But swallow he does.

This is a waking nightmare.