#i’ve realised that i used ‘acquiesce’ twice… need to remember to change that

[englass]

WIP Day

Tagged by: @fadedjacket and @derelictheretic - thank you lovelies! 💖 And so sorry for how late I am!!! 😓

Tagging: @chyrstis @chazz-anova @starsandskies @words-and-seeds @weekend-writer @shallow-gravy @deputyash also going to throw it back at @derelictheretic and @fadedjacket because of how long it’s been — oof, sorry again 😓 — and also at anyone that also wants to share/participate.

Oof, post-Christmas crash has hit me hard. I was doing so well too… had a manic writing moment after being ill on my birthday (I swear, being unwell is surprisingly good for motivation) but it’s drained and faded now. What motivation I’ve got is being put into a request that I’ve… gotten stuck on 😅; I’ve written myself into a bit of a corner– but it’s fine! I’ll figure something out. Until then, have a part of the sick/comfort-fic I was working on:

-/-/-

Nodding briefly in acquiescence you reach for the cup, content in trusting that he knows far more than you do in such things, before pausing at his gentle retraction and head shake.

… Huh?

“Um…” glancing between him and the cup you can’t help but quickly wrack your muddled brain for something you may have missed. You’re pretty sure he was just talking about the tea making you feel better so why would he suddenly take it away? Did you mishear him?

“No need to trouble yourself,” he starts upon seeing the blatant confusion on your face, “I did say I would aid you in your road to recovery after all, and although there is no written contract to finalise this pledge, I am man of my word. Now,” he leans forward with a noticeable shift in the set of his shoulders, cup just shy of brushing your lips, “drink.”

…

……

Well, you cough with a betraying warmth across your cheeks, he didn’t need to say it like that.

“A-are you sure?” you protest, “It’s no trouble, really, I can do it myself. Y-you don’t need to go that far–”

“Nonsense,” the gloved fingers of his free hand raise, tips easing along the line of your mandible before hooking under, gently tipping your head back to properly look up and into the unique design of his golden eyes, “I said I would take care of you, and it would be most impertinent of me not to do so.

“So please, drink.”

With a heavy swallow that irritates the dry and prickly feeling in your throat, you acquiesce hesitantly to his order-sounding request.

[fester-ing-blog]

unearthly thing (4/?)

a jane eyre inspired AU / read on ao3

It was long past nightfall by the time Will had returned to the estate.

He discovered that a walk that normally took him no longer than an hour took twice as long with a dog in tow, particularly a dog that kept attempting to chase after wild rabbits, leaving Will to scramble after him. Not to mention his distraction after meeting the stranger on the road who somehow knew his name – the town nearby was a small one, and though he had not socialised greatly with its inhabitants, he was sure he’d recall seeing the man if they had previously met in passing. Besides, he was dressed far too well for a village local. Perhaps he had come to visit the estate and somehow heard his name there?

He headed straight for the porter’s annex, hoping he could at least borrow a pail from Jimmy to wash the worst of the dirt off of Winston before they went inside.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” Jimmy chuckled as he opened the door.

Will hadn’t even considered how he must look after wading through fields and running after a dog for hours. He’d rolled up his breeches so his trousers would be saved the worst of it, but he’d had to hold onto Winston more than once and his jacket was undoubtedly filthy.

“And you’ve brought home... A beast of some kind?”

Will sighed. “A dog, yes. I found him wandering the moors, and thought I could at least bathe him. I know I can’t keep him in the house, but perhaps he could stay here with you? At least until Count Lecter returns home and I can ask him if Winston might be permitted inside once I’ve trained him.”

Jimmy raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?”

He grinned. “Let me get a basin first. The poor thing’s more dirt than dog.”

Will washed Winston slowly and thoroughly, making sure to rid him of every ounce of dirt. He grew even filthier than before, covered in the brown water that ran in rivulets off Winston’s fur. It was almost certain that the shirt he was wearing was now completely unsalvageable.

Once Winston was clean – and significantly smaller than he had appeared when Will found him – he left him with Jimmy, hoping he could get to his quarters without being noticed to change his clothes before dinner.

He had just made it through the front door, glancing around him to make sure no one was around, when he collided into something. A warm, tall, solid something.

Will looked up into the eyes of the man he’d met out on the moors.

“Mr Graham, you seem quite determined to knock me to my feet,” he said, smiling.

Will’s eyes widened in recognition. “I am so, so, sorry, sir. Entirely my fault, I was not paying attention-”

“Will!” Alana was walking quickly down the staircase towards them. “Ah, good, you’ve met Count Lecter – Will, what on earth happened to you?”

Oh, God.

His clothes. And the count, of course he knew who he was, the new addition to the household. Will sent a quiet prayer for the earth to open up beneath him.

“Indeed, Mr Graham and I were fortunate enough to meet on the road.” The count said, seemingly unbothered by Will’s current state of disarray.

Will could not remember ever feeling so humiliated. “Excuse me, sir, but I should change into something clean.”

“Yes, of course. But won’t you do me the honour of joining me for supper in the drawing room once you are dressed?”

At that moment, Will wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and hide in shame for the rest of the foreseeable future. Still, he knew he could not refuse the offer. He nodded, bowing slightly before turning to make a hasty retreat.

“Mr Graham?” Count Lecter called after him just as he was climbing the stairs.

Will stopped halfway up the stairs, turning back to face him. He hoped the blush he could feel burning his face would pass as the aftermath of a hike through the fields.

“Where is your canine friend?”

“Oh, I – he’s with Mr Price in the porter’s lodgings. I didn’t think you’d want him inside, sir.”

The count smiled wide again, baring sharp teeth. “I see no harm in letting the beast inside on occasion. I trust you to keep him well trained.”

“Of course, sir.” Will hesitated. “And thank you.”

Count Lecter just continued to smile up at him as he finally made his way upstairs, walking as quickly as he could without seeming rude.

*

After changing into clean clothes and splashing his face with water in an attempt to lessen the redness of his cheeks, Will made his way through the endless maze of hallways to the drawing room. It had taken him quite some time to learn his way around without a servant to guide in, and, in all honesty, he still lost his way on occasion.

Somehow he made it without getting lost, aside from the slight diversion when he accidentally turned left instead of right. He hesitated at the door, suddenly unsure if this was a good idea. After all, had he not already made a bad enough impression upon his employer? There was no need for him to demonstrate how hopeless he was in prolonged social interactions.

But the count had asked him here himself, and it would be unspeakably rude to turn around now.

Will knocked.

Miriam, Abigail’s handmaid, opened the door and smiled up at him unsteadily. She was a mute, and the story behind the loss of her voice had become a sort of legend at the estate. Will did his best not to listen to any of the fantastical tall tales. She was a kindly woman, if a little nervous and on edge.

“Thank you, Miriam, you may leave us.” Count Lecter called from where he sat by the fireplace.

She hurried off without so much as a look back, leaving Will to step inside and close the door behind him.

“Mr Graham! Mr Graham, look what Count Lecter brought me!”

Will startled for a moment before realising Abigail was sat on a stool by the feet of the count, obscured behind him.

“Abigail, should we not start conversations with a ‘good evening’?” Count Lecter admonished.

The girl frowned slightly. “Sorry. Good evening, Mr Graham.”

“Good evening, Abigail.” He replied, standing awkwardly behind the count’s chair.

Count Lecter looked up in amusement. “Please, sit.”

Will murmured his thanks as he sat in the chair opposite, staring into the flames. He could feel the count’s gaze burning into him.

“Supper should be served momentarily. Perhaps you might show Mr Graham after we have eaten, yes?”

Abigail nodded, moving from the stool she was perched upon to sit next to him.

“Abigail speaks very highly of you,” the count said as the servants began to set the table. “She assures me that you are the best tutor in the county.”

Will felt his cheeks redden slightly, and glanced down at his plate. “I think perhaps my talents have been slightly exaggerated, sir. But I do enjoy teaching Miss Abigail greatly.” He turned to look at the child to find her beaming up at him.

Count Lecter observed them thoughtfully for a moment, before turning his attention to his meal. “Nonetheless, I am most grateful. I hope you will stay with us for many moons to come.”

“Mr Graham will stay with us forever.” Declared Abigail, delicately cutting into her dinner with a table manner surprisingly unlike that of most children.

“Is that so?” Hannibal caught Will’s gaze, his eyes twinkling with mirth. “Well, then. To our Mr Graham.” He raised his glass.

Will looked away, doing his utmost best to concentrate on eating without choking and embarrassing himself further.

*

Supper passed slowly, Will growing more and more uncomfortable each time the count caught his gaze. When they had first met, he had seen nothing in those eyes, but now, up close, he felt as if the veil there has shifted just ever so slightly. The mask had moved just enough for Will to observe the emotion lying beyond, namely amusement at Will’s obvious discomfort at being praised so openly.

Later, once their bellies were full and Will felt he was growing feverish with blushing so frequently, Abigail sat by the fire and showed him the gift Count Lecter had brought her. It was a brass telescope, clearly an expensive one – though he would have expected nothing less, naturally. It was an odd gift for a young girl, perhaps, who would be expected to prefer lace and ribbon and fine gowns, but Will had never been one to believe in such rigid roles between genders. It was a gift she clearly treasured, much more so than she would have any frills or silk dresses.

As he watched her peer through the telescope, face illuminated by the flickering flames behind her, Will felt warmth spread through him and settle in his bones. He cared for the child deeply, in a manner that could almost be called paternal, despite the obvious face that he was only a handful of years her senior.

More than once, he felt Count Lecter’s eyes boring into him. He gazed without judgement, simply observing the two of them while he continued to sip his wine.

“Abigail, dear,” he said eventually. “I believe it is time you went to bed. Miriam must be waiting on you outside the door by now.”

The child acquiesced immediately, packing up her telescope and bidding them both good night. Will smiled softly as she watched her leave, taking Miriam’s hand after opening the door and waving at him with the other.

“She is very fond of you.”

Will glanced back at the count. “And I her, sir.”

He hummed. “Good. Her last tutor was not of your disposition. I am most glad to see the two of you get along.” He stood, walking over to a table in the corner where a glass bottle stood. “Do you drink whiskey, Mr Graham?”

“Yes, sir.” Though only whatever cheap spirit he and Matt could find, nothing like whatever Count Lecter offered.

He walked back with two glasses in hand. Will had already drunk more than one glass of wine with supper, and hesitated for a moment. But he could hardly pass up on what was sure to be the finest whiskey he had ever tasted. He thanked the count, sipping from his glass.

“Do you not wonder how I knew you on the road, Mr Graham?”

“Will,” he said automatically, and ah, that would be the wine talking. “I-I only mean you – could call me Will if you wished, sir.”

The count’s lip quirked. “Then I should instruct you to address you by my given name, Hannibal.”

“Oh no, sir,” Will’s eyes widened. “That would be improper. Forgive me-”

“William,” he said softly. “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. I know I am your employer, but I would certainly not be opposed to a certain closeness. God forbid we become friendly.” He grinned.

Will suddenly found his mind stuck on the phrase a certain closeness, and he swallowed. “Yes, sir.”

“Hannibal.”

“Yes... Hannibal.” The name felt heavy on his tongue.

“Good,” Hannibal refilled his glass. “And now that we are friends, I shall ask again: Do you not wonder how I knew you on the road, good Will?”

Will frowned in confusion. “I thought you made the assumption upon learning that I was returning to your own estate, sir, and, since you did not recognise me, deduced that I must be the newest of your household.”

“Well, there is that,” Hannibal acknowledged. “But I must admit that I already knew your face.”

Will’s eyebrows shot up.

“I visited your academy once, perhaps three years hence,” he explained. “And I saw you there, working. Your teacher seemed to question you the most harshly, yet you responded correctly each time, proving yourself to possess intelligence well beyond that of most your age. I have somewhat of a good memory, and I could recall the moment with complete clarity as soon as I read your advertisement.”

Stunned, Will took a long sip from his glass, draining it once more. “You knew of me?”

“Indeed I did. I was most delighted to know you were looking for employment. I knew that there was no one better I could find to tutor Abigail, and ensured that Mr Crawford would allow me to offer you a position.”

Will nearly dropped his glass. “You talked to Mr Crawford...” He said slowly. Indeed, it had been strange how the man was so willing to let him go. He was notoriously stubborn when it came to accepting resignation.

“He is an old friend,” Hannibal admitted. “I hope I did not overstep.”

“No, I,” Will rubbed at his head, beginning to feel a lightness. Perhaps drinking so quickly was not a good idea, especially when the wine had already had some effect on him. “I’m not sure what I should say, in all honestly.”

“Then say nothing,” Hannibal told him. “Simply know that I have the utmost respect for your skills.”

“...Thank you,” he replied after a moment. “I think – I think I should retire to bed now, sir. The whiskey may have caught up with me.”

“Certainly,” Hannibal said smoothly, standing as Will did. “Good night, William. Sweet dreams.”

“Goodnight, Hannibal.”

He shut the door behind him gently, before leaning to rest his weight against the aged wood, letting his head fall back.

Count Lecter was nothing like he had expected.