#Table Runner Velvet

[zebaworld1]

#Buy Dining Table Covers Online India #Embroidered Cushions Cover #Table Mats and Napkins Cotton #Door Sheer Curtain Polyester #Table Runner Velvet

[daenylothbrok]

Oxfordshire Mudroom Hall Large trendy ceramic tile and white floor entryway photo with white walls and a black front door

#renovation #round tables #carpet runner #white floor #blue velvet #curved staircase #hallway

[timeofmodern]

Tiffany Lamp

Are you searching for tiffany lamp? The tiffany floor lamp will provide brighter light than from a table lamp. The lampshade of the tiffany floor lamp will be even more spectacular than that of the table lamp, because it is generally larger and therefore more impressive.

#Tiffany Lamp #dinnerware set #decanter set #table runner #velvet tablecloth

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Azure Haze.

Pairing: Yandere!Dottore x Reader (Genshin).

Word Count: 0.9k.

TW: Unhealthy Relationships, Controlling Behavior, Manipulation, and Psychological Abuse.

[Commissioned piece. Donate to Palestinians in Gaza here.]

You’d never taken Dottore for the marrying type.

Not to imply that he was more of a rouge romantic, either, or dedicated enough to the Tsaritsa and her grand machinations to be married to his work, although he did clearly have a passion for experimentation. As a foot soldier, little more than a glorified errand-runner for the higher-ranking officers, you used to think of him (and the other Harbingers, by association) as almost god-like – gifted by your archon with eternal life and distorted by the weight of his many centuries, made too divine to ever feel tethered to something so intrinsically human. When you’d worked more closely to his side, you’d seen him as more demonic than anything; emotive but malicious by nature, uninterested in those beyond the part they played in the progression of his studies.

You wondered, sometimes, if his treatment of you was all a part of some elaborate, prolonged experiment. You wouldn’t put it beyond him, even if it did seem a little less gory than his usual whims. The heartlessness of it fit, though.

If Dottore could be relied on to be anything, it was cruel.

The ring, itself, is surprisingly unoffensive. You turn it over once, then twice in your hand, running the pad of your index finger over the sleek, silver metal. A pinpoint of sapphire glints up at you from where it’s nestled into the unornamental base, and a part of you is thankful that it’s not something more ostentatious, that he hadn’t committed to his musings on palm-sized diamonds and gold so pure and so polished, the archons would be able to see it from their thrones in Celestia. Another, disparate faction can only be devastated that it would take so little for him to claim you so completely.

“Is it not to your taste, love?” Dottore, your soon-to-be betrothed, asks. He’s positioned himself strategically, in spite of the limited space; on the other side of the exhibition table, allowing you just enough distance to breathe, but remaining between you and the door to the jewelry shop’s only private consultation room, ensuring you wouldn’t be able to run, not without passing him. The jeweler is mysteriously absent, but you can’t be surprised. Dottore has never been especially possessive, but he seems to prefer it when your attention remains undivided. “There are several more options, if you find my preferences lacking.”

Your eyes fall to the neat line of ring boxes on display in front you. Some are more gaudy than others, but they’re all silver, all studded with the same vibrant sapphires. Your gaze catches on one with curved, pointed teeth locking a roughly cut gem into place, then fall back to your lap. “Are you going to pick one out?”

His response comes in the form of a quick shake of his head, a coy smile. “Jewelry tends to get in the way of lab work. I’ll have to find another way to show my affection – a breastpin, perhaps, or a scale replica of your heart mounted on the wall of my office.”

You try to summon the revulsion you once had for his grisly humor, but fail to feel anything at all. At least he only claimed to want a replica, this time. “I won’t have to wear mine, then, will I?”

“You will.” His tone leaves no room for debate, but he continues regardless. “Unless you want me to remove your ring fingers and ensure it remains on a part of you myself, that is.”

You swallow dryly. “Both ring fingers?”

“One can never be too thorough.”

You purse your lips. Your fingers twitch once, then twice before dropping the ring in your hand and taking up another from its bed of velvet. The base on your newest selection is unique – crafted in disparate, thorned bands to make it seem as if it’d been made from braided vines, a pair of softly curling leaves encircling the jewel bed. It’s the gem that holds you, though; a shade lighter than the others when it catches the light, closer to a ruddy aquamarine than pure, never-ending blue. You slide it in front of Dottore before you can think better of it. “This one.”

To his credit, his smile doesn’t waver. “Are you sure? The gem is—”

“I’m sure,” you cut him off, almost breathlessly. “I… I like the color. I think it’s charming.”

He takes another moment to evaluate the ring, and then, to evaluate you – fighting not to shake in your seat. Finally, with an airy sigh, he shakes his head, his grin taking on a softened note. “Of course, love. Whatever makes you happiest.”

Measurements are jotted, the ring taken in for resizing with promises of swift craftsmanship. Days later, one of Dottore’s foot soldiers (and your former colleague) delivers a small, gold-foil wrapped box to you – a note from your dearly betrothed attached. You throw away the note without reading it and tear the box open. On a bed of cerulean velvet sat a silver ring of braided thorns, adorned with a single—

You let out a shallow, shuddering breath, tears already welling in the corners of your eyes.

A silver ring, adorned with a single, glimmering stud of the purest, darkest sapphire you’d ever seen.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #genshin #yandere dottore #dottore x reader

[steddieasitgoes]

Cake Testing

written for 'cake' | wc: 311 | rated: g | cw: food | @steddiemicrofic

“So, do we have any front runners?” The young bakery employee asks.

Steve studies the various slices of cake taking over the small table. All of them have chunks missing — some more than others. Eddie sits opposite him, eyes narrowed as he surveys the cakes like one of them holds the secrets of the universe. 

“I like the vanilla,” Steve shrugs, going for another bite. 

Eddie scoffs. “Absolutely not.” 

“Why not? It’s classic!” 

“Because,” Eddie says. He waves around his fork frantically — a giant dollop of frosting falls with a plop onto the table. “Vanilla is boring. And there is nothing vanilla about us.” 

“Uh.” The bakery employee glances between them. “I’ll give you someone some privacy while you discuss.”

“It’s just a cake, Eds.”

“It’s our wedding cake,” Eddie gasps, fork clattering to the floor. He stands abruptly. The legs of his chair squealing across the tile flooring of the bakery. “It’s a symbol of who we are and how we love, Stevie! Don’t be so cavalier.” 

Steve didn’t think Eddie would get this worked up over cake, though, in hindsight, he should have seen it coming. He has been a complete and total groomzilla despite claiming he didn’t care if they got legally married. 

“Which do you prefer, then?” 

“Red velvet, obviously.” 

“You’re just saying that because it looks the most metal.” 

“Well, yeah,” Eddie says, collapsing back onto the chair. He swipes Steve’s fork and stabs it into the half-eaten red velvet cake slice. When he’s satisfied with the size of the bite, he turns the fork towards Steve and offers it to him. “But that’s just because our love has been and will always be very metal.” 

Steve accepts the bite, eyes closing as the rich velvet cake and tangy cream cheese frosting flood his senses. “Alright, you win,” Steve concedes. “This one is better.” 

#steddie #steddie ficlet #steddie fic #steddie fanfic #steddie fanficition #steve harrington fic #eddie munson fic #steve harrington x eddie munson #stranger things fic #steddie microfic #dani writes

[blueraineshadows]

Blood Bound Part 7

Sebastian Sallow 🔺️ F!MC 🔺️ Leander Prewett

Whilst Sebastian falls even deeper into darkness, MC heads into the Ministry for the return of her wand. Drowning in her own struggles, faces from the past offer glimpses of light in the darkness as she gravitates even closer towards her Auror.

14.7k words. Tags: NSFW / Violence / dark magic / torture / physical injury and self harm / murder / mental health struggles / sexual tension / angst

Chapter Master List and Ao3

Taglist at the end

Seven: Full Dark, Hints of Stars

Sebastian 

Night was settling over London, shadows deepening in the twists and turns of Knockturn Alley, and the clientele in The Black Rose pub were just getting started. It was the place to go when one wanted to escape reality for a while, losing oneself within the alcohol and the boys and ladies of the night. The bar room was a heated, rowdy crowd, raucous laughter driving Sebastian into the calmer and more private area at the rear of the pub, seated in a quiet corner whilst those in Rookwood’s inner circle sat around the large table and played their cards. 

Sebastian twirled his whiskey glass in his hand, the amber liquid shimmering in the glow of the lamp light, the burn of it on his tongue from the few sips he had taken tempting him to drain the fiery brew and scorch out the gloom that settled around him like a familiar cloak. Brooding over his run-in with Anne, he couldn’t shake that old fiend loneliness, his chest aching with the need to feel like he belonged somewhere. It curled and coiled like a snake, waiting to strike at him, tearing him up until the call of the whiskey or the fighting pit won out.

Where was she? Where was MC?

Nobody had seen her, no sightings by those he had asked, and none of the members of the gang had heard any whispers where she was concerned. It was like she had vanished as soon as she had stepped out of that cold fortress, and Prewett had disappeared with her. Skulking around outside the Ministry in the hopes of catching a glimpse of the Auror had turned up nothing. Another visit to Weasley proved fruitless, and Andrew Larson was annoyingly close-lipped, merely promising to pass on another message and nothing more.

Someone had to know where she had gone.

Pulled from his moping thoughts by the sounds of a struggle outside the door, he turned his head in that direction as some of the gang members began to stand. The door burst open, Marvolo dragging a whimpering man in with him, Rookwood strolling in behind them, his blue eyes like chips of ice. Sebastian fought the urge to sneer in disdain at the theatrical stroll that Rookwood cut as he crossed the room, seating himself in a chair next to Carrow who was taunting the young, male whore he favoured. 

All attention was on Marvolo as he shoved the trembling man to the floor, brushing off his black velvet waistcoat as if it had been tainted by the poor wretch, the harsh lines of his face frozen in a look of hatred as he stood menacingly over him.

“Behold, ladies and gentlemen, we have discovered a rather nasty little rat in our midst,” Rookwood said, gesturing towards the man on the floor. Sebastian sat up for a closer look, his eyes narrowing. “This rat has been whispering in the ears of our good friend, Auror Harrington. Now, what do we think about this?”

Sebastian put down his glass and stood, stepping forward slowly. He recognised the name of that Auror. He had seen it written in the visitors ledger at Azkaban next to MC’s prisoner number, and he had seen the man himself down in the pits with Prewett. As his boots drew closer towards where the man had got onto his hands and knees, Sebastian slid his wand from his holster. He recognised the man as one of Rookwood’s messenger runners. He would have known details regarding the prison break, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that he had blabbed the news to the Auror.

The tip of his wand touched under the man’s chin, making him flinch, his eyes reluctantly looking upwards at Sebastian’s face. “You told them we were going to get her out, didn’t you? You let me go into Azkaban knowing that Aurors would be aware of it.”

“N-no, no,” he protested feebly, shaking his head as tears flooded his eyes. “I didn’t tell them that.”

“You told them something, though, didn’t you little rat?” Marvolo hissed, swinging a foot to kick at the bloke’s side, sending him sprawling to the floor again. “Dirty rats who squeal get punished. How should we punish you, hmm? Perhaps we could remove your tongue so that you can’t spread secrets anymore.”

Sebastian felt the shadows closing in. All the darkness that he tried to fight back began to curl around him with welcoming arms, pushing inwards and making him quiver with anticipation. His fingers flexed slowly around his wand, and he shifted his gaze towards Marvolo, who met his eyes with a cold smirk.

“He almost dropped you in it, Sallow. He told the Aurors about the prison break. It probably led to them moving our little witch out of our reach,” he said, his words dripping with icy malice. “Hurt him.”

Staring down at the rat, his shadows beginning to smother him, Sebastian raised his wand arm, the darkness blooming in his eyes as he aimed. They had taken MC away because of him. It was his fault. The words were like a whispering mantra, twisting through his head as he summoned the desire needed to do what had to be done. Cold calm slid over him and his eyes narrowed, his intent so fierce that he barely registered the look of horror on the rat’s face as he flicked his wrist, the end of his wand blistering with red.

“Crucio!”

The screams that filled the room seemed to echo off the walls, a horrifying sound that made shivers travel down Sebastian’s spine, like fingernails down a blackboard but a million times louder. The coldness and terror of Azkaban seemed to flow through his veins, the image of the old hag spitting and screaming on the stone floor filling his head as the man writhed on the floor before him in a cruel mimicry. That coldness seeped slowly towards his heart, the thud of its life force filling his ears as darkness claimed him for its own. He felt the pull of it, the urge to intensify the pain inflicted as the yearning filled him to see MC’s face.

For her. He would do anything for her. Even this.

His hand twisted, and the screams became broken, high-pitched sounds that had the others in the room wincing and turning away, but Sebastian kept steady. He couldn’t seem to let it go, all the turmoil trapped behind his ribs, channelling down his arm and through the end of his wand in a scorching blast of red.

“Enough,” Marvolo said firmly, his hand grabbing at Sebastian’s wrist, his fingers cold and hard. He met Sebastian’s eyes, his glare dark and glittering with warning, jarring Sebastian out of his trance. “Enough.”

Blinking, the black fog clearing a little, Sebastian looked down at the man on the floor, breathing harshly at the sight of the blood coming from his nose and mouth. Shocked, he relinquished the spell, his hands shaking as he took a step back and rubbed a hand over his face. The realisation that he had almost lost himself there for a moment made him shudder. Casting a glance around the room, he realised that everyone was staring at him, there was fear in the depths of the eyes of a few, but Rookwood was watching him with a cold curiosity that made him grit his teeth and straighten his spine.

“It might be worth those present noting not to cross you, Sallow,” Rookwood said silkily, rising to his feet. “That was quite the performance.”

Sebastian remained silent, but a few others in the room exchanged looks and stepped back. Breathing heavily through his nose, Sebastian kept his feet planted despite the wobbly feeling in his legs. Rookwood turned his gaze towards Marvolo and gave a subtle nod.

Marvolo calmly took out his wand and aimed at the twitching, garbled mess of a man on the floor. The poor bastard had pissed himself, his fingers in the shape of claws as he tried to gather himself against the pain riddled agony his body had endured. Sebastian felt the first glimmers of shame sink through him and expected death to erupt from Marvolo’s wand as the final blow. But, he was wrong.

“Magicus Extractio,” Marvolo uttered, his voice frigid calm as wisps of silvery white swirled from his wand and made for the man’s chest.

The room became utterly silent as the man arched up off the floor, the agony on his face almost too much to bear as Sebastian felt horrified realisation slam into his mind.

No. This couldn’t be happening.

Six years ago, he had persuaded Ominis to open the Scriptorium below Hogwarts, a day he would never forget. In doing so, he had laid hands on a most valuable spellbook. A grimoire written by the hand of Slytherin himself. Delighted and hungry to devour the secrets of such a man, Sebastian had spent hours poring over that book, committing to memory some of the darkest words to have been inked that he had ever seen. 

With fascinated horror, he fixed his eyes on Marvolo, the cold mask of his face eerie from the glow of his spell casting. Marvolo had Slytherin’s blood in his veins. Like Ominis, he was a descendant of that most clever but dark souled man. Clearly, it was more than blood that had been passed down through his lineage. The grim satisfaction on Marvolo’s face made Sebastian swallow hard as strands of light began to be extracted from the man on the floor.

It was as Sebastian had suspected. The incantation had been exactly the spell he had remembered, and he was frozen still with the horror that Marvolo dared cast it. This was a fate worse than death for a witch or wizard, to have one’s magic syphoned from their bodies, robbed of their abilities and their birthright by the casting of a most dreadful spell.

The man could do nothing but struggle feebly like a rag doll as his magic left his body, gathering above him in a swirl of golden light, the threads of it glittering and shimmering with such beauty in the room. Sebastian felt the burn of tears in his eyes, his horror turning to bitter grief as he imagined such a thing being done to him. It was unbearable to even imagine, and yet he did nothing. He stood there and watched as a wizard was robbed of something so personal and precious.

“It worked,” Rookwood said with awe, moving closer to stare at the beauty of the magic, reaching out a hand towards it. “Now, all we need to find out is how to absorb it.”

Sebastian stared in shock. “Absorb it?”

His words may have been breathless, but Rookwood heard him well enough. He turned sly eyes Sebastian’s way. “Of course,” he said softly. “It would be a shame to waste such power. Don’t you agree?”

“We don’t know the spellwork for that part yet,” Marvolo said, shrugging. “But, we will. For now, sadly, this one is useless.”

With a flick of his wrist, he cast towards the shimmering magic swirls, and they engulfed into flame, burning away quickly until nothing was left. Gone. 

Sinking back down to the floor, the man looked wasted, drained and empty, his eyes glassy as he stared unblinking up at the ceiling. Rookwood frowned down at him and nudged him with a polished boot. “Oh dear, it would appear our little rat is dead,” he said, without a sliver of remorse to his tone. He turned to one of the men standing nearby. “Get rid of him, will you? I’d rather not have him stinking up the place.”

Rookwood and Marvolo were both cold bastards, their indifference almost harsher than the brutal acts they performed. Watching the essence of the man's magic evaporating into flames had been gut churning enough, but it made bile burn in Sebastian’s throat as he wondered what Rookwood had meant about absorbing it. 

Sebastian began to back up, rubbing his forehead as he tried to process what he had just witnessed, his heart thudding so hard behind his ribs that he was fighting for his breaths. Turning his back on Rookwood and Marvolo, he heard the scramble as the deceased man was hoisted from the room, no doubt headed out to become a cadaver for the Body Snatchers who loitered at the far end of Knockturn Alley. Grabbing up the glass he had put down before, he threw back the contents, wincing at the burn of the whiskey as it went down. 

Killing a man would be kinder. To extract his magic was quite another. The violation of it had left Sebastian speechless, and he felt as though the water level had enclosed over his head. He was drowning in darkness, his eyes wide and unseeing as he tried to get hold of himself. 

Unable to bear the enclosed grimness of the room a moment longer, he headed for the door, slamming it open and striding with purpose down the hallway. He vaguely heard his name being hollered after him, but he kept walking. He didn't even know where he was headed, and when he found himself in a shadowed alleyway, the brick dark and the air foul, he stopped. Bracing a hand against the rough brick, he bent forward and retched, losing the contents of his stomach as shameful guilt slammed him from all sides. 

He hadn't even asked the man's name. He had wrought such pain on him, blamed him for MC being missing, and then stood by as Marvolo sucked his magical ability from him. The savageness of such acts had been too much, and the man had lost his life, the ultimate sacrifice unwillingly given. 

Eyes burning, a whimper left Sebastian’s lips as he shrugged his left arm from his jacket and unbuttoned his cuff, yanking up the sleeve of his shirt to expose a tally of black lines on his inner forearm. The first tear escaped his eye as he fumbled for his wand, and he sniffed it back, gritting his teeth as he aimed to scorch one more black line in the tally. 

He groaned, his breath hissing through his gritted teeth at the sting of it, but he berated himself for being such a coward. This pain was nothing compared to what he had inflicted on that poor soul. Once the new black line had been added, he stared at the marks on the inside of his forearm, stark against the paleness of his skin. He may not have dealt the final death blow, but he had played a part in that back there. It was worthy of the added reminder.

His count of lives stolen was growing, and he fought back the burn of more tears, too scared to imagine how many more lines he may need to add before his revenge was done. It was always said that the first one was the worst, but he carried the guilt of every single one.

Pulling down his shirt sleeve and straightening his jacket, Sebastian wiped the dampness from his cheek, the shadows draping him in a darkness he feared he would walk in forever.

This couldn't be all there was. He had never meant for things to get this bad. He had never meant to go this far. He was losing himself day by day. He closed his eyes and thought of Anne, imagining her looking well, her skin glowing with health and happiness. He thought of MC, her smile, the way her eyes used to twinkle when she met his gaze, the fire in her soul when she fought at his side.

Oh, how he ached for both of his girls. This was all for them. 

He took the blood amulet locket from his pocket, his thumb caressing the joined blood of the pact, the ruby red stone still managing to shimmer in the utter dark of the alley. He brought it to his mouth, closing his eyes as he pressed his lips to it in a kiss, clinging on to the bond it represented to try and ease the gaping hole of dark in his chest. 

Looking upwards, he tried to seek out the glimmer of the stars, but as usual, the smog of London obliterated such beauty. He was down amongst the scum and filth of the city. How he longed to be out of it, but where would he go? Back to that empty, cold house in Scotland? There was nothing for him there. Only memories that ripped at his insides. No, he needed to be here. He needed to find MC and finish Rookwood. He needed to cure his sister. 

Straightening up, he turned back for the main path. The night wasn’t over yet. There was still work to be done. 

MC

The bustle of witches and wizards passing her by as they arrived and exited the Ministry was a cacophony of noise that seemed unbearably loud after the desolate silence of the beach house. MC felt the now familiar tightening of apprehension as she watched all manner of people about their business, unconsciously taking a closer step towards Leander, who walked along beside her. Unperturbed by the crowds, he walked with confidence, even nodding his greetings to some as they made their way past many Floo network fireplaces. 

After so long in solitude, it was going to take some time getting used to being around so many people. 

Not one to let her insecurities show, MC set her face into one of careful neutrality and walked onwards, the effects of the speedy Floo Travel giving her legs a wobbly sensation. Looking up and around, MC's gaze took in the grandeur that was the Ministry Atrium, glossy tiles and polished wood floor, a curved arch of a ceiling lending it a feel similar to the style of the new Underground train stations. It was her first time in this part of the Ministry, and she took the opportunity to soak up everything that she had missed out on when they had hauled her to the prisoner holding bay in the depths of the establishment. This world of magic still had the power to amaze and awe a person.

Today, she arrived as a visitor. Still accompanied by an Auror, but here for a more positive reason than the arrest of murder. Today, Leander had brought her here to return her wand into her possession. The hunger and anticipation to hold it in her hand gave her the strength to hold back her anxiety at being so exposed in public, to be reunited with her wand would surely mean to feel whole again.

Pausing by the Fountain of Magical Brethren, she took a moment to listen to the spray of the water, the droplets shimmering on the gold of the statues. The one of the centaur reminded her of the time she had spoken to those who lived in the Forbidden Forest. It led her thoughts towards Poppy, the girl who had joined her on more than one adventure to protect beasts. Wondering where Poppy was now, MC wrapped her arms about herself, conscious of the curious stares fixed on her from those who had taken notice of her presence. 

She had seen the article in The Daily Prophet announcing her release into the world, her prisoner photograph printed for all to see. A murderer, free to walk the streets. There was no outright hostility on the faces turned her way, but none of them bore smiles either. No doubt those she had once called friends would be the same way, blank and indifferent towards a girl they thought they had known, but she no longer fit into their lives.

A light touch to her elbow made her look up, Leander’s soft gaze unfailing as he nodded towards a security desk. “I need to check you in as a visitor, and then we can go down to the basement level to collect your wand. Are you alright?” 

Taking a steadying breath, MC nodded and let him escort her towards the desk, his touch at her elbow so light it was barely there. Sliding a sideways glance up at him, her gaze lingered over the neatly combed hair and close shaved skin, his mouth invitingly soft as he smiled at the witch behind the desk. Ever since the kiss they had shared in his kitchen, he had been so achingly polite, courteous, and kind. 

It had been what she had wanted, what she had asked for, and he was respecting her wishes. He was a true gentleman, acting cordially and respectfully, despite those moments when she would catch his eyes and have the breath stolen from her lungs at what she found there. 

He would hide it quickly, turning from her, a flush spreading across his cheeks and up his neck. Despite the complications that would arise from anything developing between them, she could not help but wonder what may have been had she knocked on his bedroom door that night. 

Despite her past misdemeanours, she had the feeling that Leander felt something towards her, and whatever form those feelings took, surely it wasn't a stretch to hope that others would accept her, too. Watching him present his Auror badge to the security witch, her gaze lingered over his hands, hands that had touched her with kindness and desire, a flutter of warmth dared to kindle in her chest. 

Through the coldness of her loneliness and despair, perhaps she had nurtured some feelings for him, too. Fearing what that could mean, she hurriedly pushed those thoughts aside, not ready to examine the teases of warmth that glowed whenever she allowed her barriers to slip.

“Sign here, please.” The cool, firm voice of the security witch pulled MC from her thoughts, making her look into a pair of eyes that seemed hard and distant. “You need to sign the form to gain entry without a wand. I shall notify the Criminal Stores Office of your pending arrival.” 

Hardening her features against the obvious disapproval on the witch's face, MC picked up the quill and signed her name on the dotted line, taking pride that her hand did not shake in the process. The parchment immediately folded itself into the shape of a bird before flapping its papery wings and taking flight, soaring off and upwards to join many more swooping above their heads. 

“Let's go,” Leander said, lightly touching her elbow again. “We need to take a lift down to the basement level.” 

Crowded into the rear corner of the lift as others began to pile in, MC stood rigid, her palms sweating at the close confinement as the lift lurched into motion. Her stomach dipped as the sensation of fast movement made her wobble on her feet, her hand darting out to steady herself and finding Leander’s robe. 

He glanced downwards as her fingers curled into the fabric, the momentum of the lift pressing her against his side. Their eyes met, and she swallowed hard. “Sorry,” she mumbled. 

“Not to worry,” he said, the faint smile on his lips accompanied by a blush as his hand positioned itself at her back to help steady her. 

Even here, in a lift filled with Ministry workers who could hear and see everything, he was supporting her, refusing to let her flounder and fall. A gesture that was one of simple kindness, and yet it had the power to make her throat close with emotions too huge to deal with right now. It reminded her that he was the only anchor holding her steady as she readjusted to outside life, and it occurred to her that one day she would have to let him go. Lowering her gaze from gold flecked, brown eyes, she grit her teeth and waited for the lift to stop. 

After 3 stops, her hand was still holding tightly to his robe, and the warmth of his palm on her back was a little too comforting. The urge to lean her head against his chest had been strong, but she had remained rigidly upright. As the last remaining witch and wizard who were with them disembarked, Leander’s hand slid away.

“This is us,” he said, nodding out at a shadowed corridor she recognised. 

Reluctantly, she let go of him and followed him out into the tiled hallway, the dark green gloss of the tiles reflecting light in an eerie glow. The last time she had walked along here, she had been in chains. 

Memories crashed through her head of that day, the weight of the chains, the burn of her eyes from the tears she'd cried. Sebastian’s pleas to let her go still ringing in her ears after they had ripped her from his desperate grip. She remembered the fury of the betrayal, Anne’s lies leading her towards a sentence serving time for a murder she didn't commit. 

Her breathing quickened as the memories swamped her, her hands twisting anxiously as she tried to block the image of Anne’s face from her thoughts. How could she not hate that manipulative bitch?

The searing burn began to snake through her blood, her pact to never hurt Sebastian reminding her that to wish pain on one twin was to destroy the other. Gasping at the burn, MC put a hand to her heart as it throbbed, pausing to press her other palm to the coolness of the tiled wall. 

“What is it?” Leander asked, a look of concern creasing his brow as he turned to her. 

“This place,” she muttered through tight lips. “It's not exactly filled with fond memories.” 

“Of course,” he nodded, wincing slightly as he carefully took her elbow. “It's not much further, and we can get off this level as soon as you have your wand, I promise.” 

Breathing slowly, MC nodded and let him escort her down the hallway, their echoing footsteps joined by another set as they rounded a corner. MC gasped aloud, coming to an abrupt halt as she took in the familiar figure of Ominis with his wand held aloft so he could find his way, the tip blinking red. He, too, came to a pause when he realised they were blocking his way. 

The cool, haughty look on his face was very much how she remembered the boy, but the man cut a fine figure standing before her now. Tall, almost as tall as Leander, slim and dressed impeccably in a black suit, his blonde hair slightly shorter than she remembered, Ominis had grown to be very handsome indeed. 

“Ominis,” she said, a swell of emotion blooming behind her ribs as she remembered fond moments spent in his company. 

Ominis tilted his head, his mouth parting slightly as his sightless eyes moved quickly from side to side. He angled his wand in the direction her voice had come from. “Announce yourselves,” he said, an air of command laced through the softly spoken words. 

Leander cleared his throat, his eyes darting between her and Ominis. “Good morning, Ominis. It's Leander Prewett standing before you, along with an old friend of yours.”

Ominis raised his eyebrows, his mouth pursed in thought. “Intriguing,” he said softly, turning to fully face MC now. “Is it really you, MC?” 

“It is,” she said, her voice catching slightly as her eyes stung. Faced with a former friend, her worries clawed at her insides, the fear of being rejected needling at her as she waited. 

The moment stretched in the eerie silence of the corridor, and MC glanced towards Leander, an odd feeling shivering down her spine as she expected the backlash of the last four years to pour from Ominis’ mouth in a lecture. However, his brow smoothed into a look that could almost be described as soft, a hesitant hand reaching towards her. 

“Are you well?” He asked, his head tilting slightly.

“According to the Healer, I am as fit as a fiddle,” she said, knowing that while her body was regaining its strength, her mind was still trapped back in that cell.

Ominis stretched his hand out towards her a little more, and she looked down at it. Knowing how reluctant Ominis could be regarding physical intimacy, she hesitated before she let her fingers touch against his, the coolness of his hand immediately wrapping around hers, bringing a lump to her throat. 

“Why don’t I give you a moment to get reacquainted,” Leander said, offering MC a smile. “I will go on to the reception and get things started. You can come along and find me when you are done. Is that alright?”

Her eyes widened as she looked up at Leander. “You’re leaving me unattended?”

His smile faltered a little, a flicker of sadness appearing on his face. “MC, you’re not a prisoner anymore. You need to remember that. I won’t be far away, and Ominis can point you in the right direction if you’re unsure.”

“Of course,” Ominis said, inclining his head towards Leander. Amusement teased at his lips. “Don’t worry. I shall escort her back to your side, Prewett.”

Leander looked uncertain for a moment, a frown creasing his brow as he looked at Ominis, but with a reassuring smile towards her, he turned and walked away down the corridor. MC watched him stride away, a fist of panic lodging in her chest as he disappeared around a corner. With him out of sight, it felt like a safety net had been stripped from underneath her, and her hand gripped Ominis tightly as she swallowed hard.

“Prewett has been taking care of you,” Ominis said shrewdly, stepping closer towards her. “Are you really alright, MC? Azkaban is a terrible place. It did not wholly sit right with me what happened to you.”

The tightness in her chest stretched to snapping point, being here and speaking of such things stirring up memories she didn’t care to revisit, her features twisting with painful grief. “Not enough to stop it from happening, though. Anne lied, and nobody stopped her, not you, not even Sebastian.”

The sharp twist of bitterness at the mention of their lack of help made her release his hand, a shaky breath leaving her lips. Hating how vulnerable she felt in that moment, she backed against the wall, her hands splayed against the cold hardness of the tiles behind her as she put up the familiar mental barriers around herself. These mental wards had been a defence against the Dementors whilst incarcerated. Now, they were protecting her from the unfamiliar world outside and the emotional daggers she feared being cast in her direction. 

“I am sorry, MC,” Ominis said, bowing his head slightly. “You are right. I did nothing back then. I can only imagine the horrors you have faced, but I have sought to remedy my lack of action when I was younger. I have a seat on the Wizengamot, and when your case was presented to us for review, I voted in favour of your release.”

Her eyes took in the smartness of his suit again, trying to picture him seated in the courtroom, making judgement on a person’s crime, and realised that it wasn’t so hard to imagine. As students together, he had always been the moral compass trying to urge her and Sebastian to make better choices. She wondered if he was still close with Sebastian considering his job now.

“So, if you sit for court, you know the terms of my release?” 

“I do,” he said, one eyebrow curving upwards. “You must have agreed to them in order to be standing here. Do you think you can do it? Can you infiltrate the Ashwinders and help bring them down?”

“I will do what needs to be done. Rookwood won’t get away so easily this time,” she said, her taste for vengeance making her fingers flex. 

Ominis hummed thoughtfully, his head tilting at an almost predatory angle. “Even if that means bringing Sebastian down with him?”

The image of Sebastian in Leander’s case notes came to her, blending with the memories that she had clung so fiercely to whilst in prison, and a deep, aching longing filled her chest. Has the bond she had cherished in her protected heart been lost? Perhaps it had been too long. Maybe what they had felt when they were younger was no more than childish whims, but the thought of letting that all go felt like tearing off a chunk of herself.

“Have you seen him? Has he really aligned himself with Rookwood?” There was hope in her voice despite her efforts to remain neutral.

Ominis sighed, shaking his head with a resigned look of despair on his face, his pale, sightless eyes almost luminous in the shadowed corridor. “Sebastian is on a path of self destruction, and I honestly can’t see how he will find any kind of redemption without a small miracle. You know what he is like, stubborn and prone to fixating on his own goals regardless of the consequences. I won’t lie. I fear for him. I can only hope that you choose a better path for yourself, MC. Do not lose yourself in acts of revenge. Don’t bow down to Sebastian’s folly. That’s not what made me vote for your freedom.”

“Why did you vote for my release?”

“A second chance at life, MC. A life that uses your potential, for you are a wonderfully gifted witch,” he said, leaning forward slightly with a small smile. “Don’t waste it. The next time I read your name in the newspaper, I want it to be regarding good things. I never imagined you as the villain in your story.”

Taken back to late nights in the common room at Hogwarts when they would read and discuss the novels they had enjoyed together, MC felt a lump stick in her throat as she stared at her old friend. He had not dismissed her, or cast her aside like gutter filth. He did not paint her as a villain, but then, he did not know about the darkness that lingered inside of her. His despair for Sebastian should cloak her, too, for they shared a kindred spirit. She had nursed her thirst for revenge, and the path was already there under her feet, and she would walk it, even if she had to do it alone.

“I thank you for the chance, Ominis,” she said, her voice tinged with an edge of sadness. “I never wanted to be a villain, but sometimes one must walk through the darkness in order to do what must be done. I will fulfil the terms of my probation, but I can’t promise that my methods will meet your approval. I’m not sure I am cut out to be the hero of the story, either.”

“Just be careful, MC,” he said, his brows drawing together. He reached out his hand again, his fingers tentatively brushing against her arm before withdrawing back into the comfort of his own space. MC noted the gleam of a wedding band on his finger, her gaze curious as she studied him. A respected job in the Ministry and a wife. All signs of how life had moved on without her whilst she drifted in cold darkness. Her loneliness yawned in her chest. 

“Don’t worry about me, Ominis. I am a survivor.”

….*….

The slim, black box sat upon the table in the Criminal Stores Office, just a box with no fancy design, and yet it contained something so deeply valuable to her. MC could feel the disapproval drifting from the woman guard standing on the other side of the table, her eyes slightly narrowed as she waited for MC to open the box. Four years ago, her wand had been taken from her possession after her arrest, placed into this box, and stored away. MC had been lost without it. It felt like she had been only just becoming one with the smooth piece of wood, the contours of it becoming as familiar to her as her own hand through the use of it. 

Reaching out to remove the lid of the box, revealing her wand nestled in a soft bed, the memory of the day it had chosen her inside Ollivander’s shop flooded through her. The feeling of holding it within her grasp compared to nothing else, and as she plucked it out of the box now, her eyes burned at the feeling of it against her fingers. Smoothing her touch along the wood, she took a steadying breath, allowing the moment to sink in as she reacquainted herself with her connection to her magic.

The wand chooses the wizard, she was told, and her wand had chosen the tempest of ancient magic that slumbered in her veins. She could feel it now, pulsing with eager energy now that there was a conduit to release its power. Gripping the handle of the wand, she held it up, her ancient magic simmering and throbbing with the need to be released, but she remained steady as she gazed at the graceful twist of the pale wood. This was neither the time or the place, and she had another spell in mind to cast first. She swallowed and uttered the charm.

“Lumos!”

After so long in the darkness, the simple matter of seeking out a spark of light was enough to bring the sheen of tears to her eyes. Holding her wand up, the orb of light glowed in the office, reflecting off the pale skin of her face and making her eyes glitter like stars. With the return of her magic, she could do anything.

Villain, or hero? Ominis had urged her towards the light, but it was likely she would pull the shadows with her if she did. Whatever path she chose, it was ultimately her choice. Now, with her wand back within her grasp, her destiny was of her own making. She didn’t have to rely on others to save her. She could do that herself.

Movement at her side made her break from the reverie she held on the sphere of light, her gaze shifting towards Leander as she muttered the counter charm to put it out. Staring up at his brown eyes, she knew she had much to thank him for. The shifting feelings behind her ribs over him were enough to steal her breath sometimes. It scared her. She could admit that.

“How does it feel?” He asked, his lips curving into his familiar soft smile.

Almost smiling in return at the loaded question considering the thread of her thoughts, MC looked down at her wand in her hand, her fingers flexing as she considered her feelings. The thrum of ancient magic still begged for a release and she bit her lower lip, choosing to ignore the unfurling and simmering flame that teased at her whenever she looked too closely at him.

“It feels rather good,” she replied, a slight smirk playing on her mouth. “I also feel the urge to release some pent-up energy. I’m rather inspired to throw a few explosive spells around, you know, unleash some of the frustration at being locked up for so long.”

Her devilish eyes glanced towards the guard still standing opposite them, and the tightened expression of disapproval on her face brought out the full smirk onto MC’s lips. A familiar spark of mischievousness came to life within her, a freeing and exhilarating feeling that only charged the need to express her magic. Turning her gaze back towards Leander, she was intrigued to see a rather amused and playful smirk on his own lips.

“Plenty of time for that,” he said, and he even dropped her a wink that almost disarmed her completely. “Hold that thought.”

Leander

There was definitely something different about MC now that she had her wand returned to her. There was a spark in her eyes, a glimmer of the exciting young girl who had walked the halls of Hogwarts and turned his head when he had been an awkward teenage boy. He was still slightly awkward when it came to the opposite sex, but he was more settled in his own skin to know that she could still captivate him despite everything.

He could hardly tear his eyes away from her as they travelled in the lift together, her body pressed close as she held onto his arm, the speedy momentum of the vessel making them lean against one another whilst he held onto the strap above their heads. He couldn’t deny how good it felt to have her there, to feel her so close. It worried him that he was becoming too attached to her, and soon, she would be leaving to join the Ashwinder group. 

He marvelled at his own restraint around her, the memory of her soft lips was seared into his mind, and the hunger to seek out more of the same kept him awake. The sensible part of his mind knew it was folly to dream, and yet he couldn’t help but sneak longing glances her way. Allowing her to be so close was a dangerous game, but one he was clearly playing, seemingly unable to resist the ease of placing a polite hand against her lower back, or touching her elbow to guide her through the myriad of corridors and turns of the Ministry Headquarters.

Stepping out of the lift at level two, Leander couldn’t help the burst of pride that showed in his smile as he guided MC along the red carpeted corridor. “Welcome to the British Auror Office,” he said, holding out his hand towards the doors that opened into his department. 

“Are you sure I will be welcome here, Lee?” Her eyebrow curved upwards as they headed towards the doors. “I am a convicted Auror slayer, after all.”

“Don’t worry. We are just passing through,” he said, opening the doors and ushering her through first. “I want to ask Andrew a favour before we leave.”

Walking past the desk cubicles, curious glances were thrown their way as he led MC towards the research department. He noticed how she stiffened her spine, that cool mask of indifference slipping onto her face. Outward appearances did give her the look of a hardened woman, cold and capable of death, and he didn’t miss the disapproving frowns and curled lips of disgust as they passed some older Aurors. They didn’t know what lay beneath her hard exterior, the vulnerable and soft side of her that he had seen glimpses of over the last few weeks. He had seen her broken and lost. He had felt her fire under his hands and mouth, and he held his head up a little higher. He was not ashamed to walk beside her, and he touched his hand to her elbow in support as well as guidance as they approached the doors that they needed. 

Taking her to Andrew Larson was a hope. The possibility that he might be able to turn up information that could help seemed like a step in the right direction. Through her vulnerability, MC had made him question everything that he had read in her file. She was just a young girl, and no more than a child when she had been thrust into this world of magic, blessed with a power so far out of comprehension and with limited knowledge on how to wield it. If there had been others before her, surely there had to be buried records somewhere.

He still couldn’t put the cold-hearted killer alongside the girl he had seen and spent time with and come up with a logical match. There had to be more to all of this, and his mind wouldn’t stop rooting around for answers.

He also wanted to help her, to keep her a part of his daily life, to build a stronger connection than just being here as her probation Auror. She really was more than just a job to him, despite the fact that he did indeed have a job to do.

Andrew was at his desk, files open before him, and he looked up as they approached. His smile of greeting faltered, and his eyes widened as he stared at MC, his hand pushing nervously through his hair as he got to his feet.

“Morning, Leander. I haven’t seen you for a few days. I was beginning to wonder if you were alright,” he said, his eyes anxious as they darted between him and MC.

The last time Leander had seen Andrew, he had been planning to go down into the duelling pit. Despite sending an owl since, Leander had been rather vague in his details, not wanting to put too much into writing. He nodded and offered Andrew a reassuring smile.

“I’m fine, Andrew, honestly,” he said, glancing at MC. “We have been going over details regarding the case and making plans to move forwards. It’s one of the reasons I am here, actually. There is something you might be able to help us with.”

“Oh?” Andrew’s gaze slid reluctantly towards MC. “What can I do for you?”

“I was rather hoping that your expert eye could seek out information from the archives on MC’s behalf, as a favour to me,” he said carefully. “As you know, she can wield ancient magic, but she isn’t the first to do so. I was hoping you might find evidence of others. It’s not exactly common knowledge, and everything appears to be shrouded in mystery.”

Andrew studied MC with interest, curious despite his obvious nervousness at being in her presence. Leander hoped that by appealing to Andrew’s love of research, and it being a subject matter so intriguing, it would work in their favour. 

“You want me to open classified files and share information with…with MC?” Andrew asked, faltering on his words a little.

“With a criminal, you mean,” MC said, a cold smirk twisting her lips. She folded her arms and lifted her chin. “You can say it. There is no point trying to pretend it didn’t happen. I can promise you that any classified information you pass to me regarding my magic will remain a secret. I already have a dangerous man seeking me out because of what I can do, I definitely don’t want to encourage anyone else to do the same.”

A pink blush stained Andrew’s cheeks, and he scratched the back of his neck, shifting awkwardly. “Apologies, MC. I did not wish to offend,” he said. “I only hesitate because digging through old classified files might raise a few eyebrows if I’m not careful. The information could be dangerous in the wrong hands. Plus, I would need somewhere to start, a clue, perhaps. There are thousands upon thousands of files here in the archives, not to mention the library.”

“It would mean a lot to me if you could do this, Andrew. I would owe you one,” Leander said, a slight pleading edge to his voice.

He could feel MC’s eyes on him, knowing full well that he was going above and beyond his duty for her, and she knew it, too. He felt heat creeping into his own cheeks, but he stood firm and resolute, determined to do right by her. 

MC stepped forward, her gaze softening slightly towards Andrew. “I understand the risks,” she said, unfolding her arms, her voice losing its cold edge. “I can give you some clues on where to start from what I know already, but I would ask that whatever I tell you must remain between us. As you said yourself, this information is dangerous in the wrong hands. Can I trust you, Andrew? I hope we can trust each other.” 

The deep-rooted hunger for knowledge blazed in Andrew’s eyes. Leander had known him long enough to understand how excited he became at the prospect of learning about something new, remembering their conversations back in their school days during shared study sessions, and the times here at the Ministry working on cases together. The prospect of discovering the history behind ancient magic was surely tempting for the brilliant Ravenclaw, and his next words proved Leander’s theory.

“Alright, you have a deal,” he said, nodding. He even managed a shy smile in MC’s direction. “Tell me what you know, and I will see what I can find.”

“Brilliant. Thank you, Andrew,” Leander said, turning to look at MC. She met his eyes and returned his smile. He placed a hand lightly on her shoulder. “Do excuse me for a moment. I shall leave you to speak with Andrew whilst I pay a visit to my desk. I need to check on some paperwork. I won’t be long, I promise.”

Leaving them both staring awkwardly at one another, Leander hurried off towards his desk, finding it as neat as he had left it only days ago. Fiddling with his tie, he took a seat and checked his in-tray, flicking through the parchments and marking some notes in a little book he carried. 

The delicate scent of perfume found his nose, and his desk creaked as Odessa McKinnon perched herself against the edge of it, her hand placed gently near his arm, her wrist adorned with an expensive looking bracelet. Looking up at her, he was greeted with narrowed eyes and a curious smirk.

“You have decided to make an appearance, then, Prewett,” she said, her gaze travelling slowly over him. He felt heat creep up his neck and resisted the urge to adjust his collar. “Where’s your little pet? I saw her walk in with you. She is looking well, you must be taking good care of her.”

The last time he had seen Odessa had been that night in the safe house, disappearing with MC in his arms and leaving her in a fit of temper. She no longer looked vexed, but there was a glint of something in her eyes that he couldn’t quite decipher. He sat up a bit straighter, smoothing his fingers down the front of his tie.

“Did you speak to Harrington?” He asked, deflecting her query about MC. 

Her smirk did little to hide the curiosity in her gaze. “If you are referring to the little issue of a leak, I think he is no closer to the culprit than he was when he came blustering in here the other day. If you ask me, there is probably more than one. It isn’t exactly unheard of, and when you think about it, these things work both ways. Rookwood has snitches in his own camp, divulging secrets to us. It’s obvious there will be those who return the favour.”

“How can you be so calm about this?” Leander frowned. “We all swore oaths to serve and protect. How could anyone go against that? Certainly not anyone who stands for loyalty and justice.”

“Oh, sweetie, I just love how honourable you are,” she said, moving her hand to his forearm. “You are a rare soul who truly stands for honour. It is commendable and one of my favourite things about you. I mean, look how seriously you have taken the role of being MC’s probation Auror. Most wouldn’t have gone to such efforts for the likes of her. I just hope she doesn’t let you down, Leander.”

He looked down at Odessa’s hand, her fingers caressing gently against the sleeve of his jacket. She was leaning closer, smiling softly at him, and he felt warmth bloom across his cheeks.

“All MC needs to do is get us closer to Rookwood,” he said, concentrating on the case rather than anything more personally linked to MC. “If she can do that, then she will have served the terms of her probation without letting any of us down. I’m just doing my job, McKinnon.”

“And you do it so well,” she said, leaning even closer, her eyes darkening. “Now that you have returned, perhaps we can arrange that drink we spoke about.”

The sound of the gentle clearing of a throat made them both turn, Leander’s face burning even hotter when he saw MC standing there watching them with narrowed eyes. He realised just how close Odessa had leaned in towards him and shifted in his chair, his hand reaching to adjust his tie as guilt flooded through him. Odessa smirked and took her time moving away from him, her hand lingering on his arm long enough for it to draw MC’s gaze towards it, her mouth tightening slightly. He could almost see her withdrawal into herself, that spark he had noticed dimming in her eyes.

“Pardon the interruption, Auror Prewett,” MC said coolly. “I have finished my interview with the research team. I thought I would come and find you, but I can always make myself scarce if you are…otherwise occupied.” 

“Oh, no…there’s no need for that,” he said, clearing his own throat before grabbing his little notebook and holding it up. The cold formality of her tone made his heart clench. “I think I am done here.”

“You look well, prisoner 2757. Life on the outside must be agreeable to you,” Odessa said, her voice like silk against a knife edge. Leander winced, but she only smiled wider. “I’m curious to see how things work out for you.” 

MC’s eyes were hard and cold as she glared at Odessa. “I’m not usually one for cliches and old sayings, but the one about the cat and what curiosity did to it seems rather apt right now.”

Leander stood quickly and adjusted his jacket, moving towards MC, feeling the tension in the air between the two girls. Feeling rather uncomfortable, he didn’t dare touch MC, merely holding his hand out in the direction they needed to walk. “Shall we?” 

“I’ll speak to you later about that drink, Leander,” Odessa said smugly, twirling a lock of glossy hair around her finger. “Do enjoy your afternoon.” 

They left the Auror Office in silence, MC walking with her back straight and stiff, her face hard and cold. She wouldn’t look at him and barely nodded her head as he held the door open for her. He bit his lip, not sure if he should apologise, or insist that there was nothing between himself and Odessa. One could argue it was really none of her business, but they had shared that fiery kiss in his kitchen. He didn’t want her to think he was a rake, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. This was new territory for him having two ladies to worry over, and he knew he had the potential to put his massive foot in it. 

“So, what now? Are we leaving?” She asked, her gaze moving around the long corridor, looking everywhere but at him. 

“I had thought of getting some supplies for lunch. We could take it down to the beach near the house, and maybe you could do some wand practice whilst we are there. Of course, if you wanted to practise alone, I would understand.” He glanced her way, trying to gauge her reaction, but she remained cool and distant.

“You keep leaving me unattended. You ought to be careful, Prewett,” she said. “Aren’t you worried I might betray you?”

Leander swallowed hard as they made a turn towards the lifts. Anxiety twisted behind his chest as he wondered if he was putting off the inevitable. She would pull away from him at some point, and maybe he ought to start accepting that. Maybe it was best to start putting the distance between them in order to prevent further confusion. It didn’t seem like an easy prospect, especially when he didn’t really want to.

“As I said earlier, MC. You are no longer a prisoner. You could walk away from me right now, and I would not be obligated to chase after you. I’ve just been trying to help you and give you the best start possible before throwing you at Rookwood’s mercy,” he said, barely keeping the disappointment from his voice. He took a steadying breath as he came to a pause before the lift, one hand grasping the handle. “I’d like to think you wouldn’t betray me, but all I can do is hope that you won’t. Either way, I’m here to help you. You can take it or leave it.”

“You mean I can just leave?” 

“If that’s what you would rather do,” he said softly, already preparing himself for her to do just that. “I can give you a time to meet me so we can exchange information as per your terms, and then you can walk away.”

She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face, and he bit his lip again. He gripped the lift door handle tightly, his cheeks no doubt red from the constant blush that seemed to stain his cheeks around her company. It was hard to read her thoughts, her face still carefully blank. Pulling the door aside, he gestured for her to enter the lift. Stubbornly silent, she did so, dipping her gaze and stepping past him. 

This time, she braced herself against the wall, keeping a respectable distance between them as they lurched through the dizzying ride back towards the Atrium. He remained quiet, his teeth worrying at his lower lip as he agonised over mentioning Odessa, but people kept boarding the lift, and it wasn’t the time. He was also certain that she was going to leave, and the part of him that held a longing ache for something he could never have didn’t want to push her further away from him.

The walk through the Atrium was quiet, her shoulders still held with tension, her face pale and drawn as they neared the glow of the Floo fireplaces. She followed him towards the one they needed, and he paused, turning to give her a hesitant look. Was she going to ask to leave separately? If she did, he would have to keep his word and let her go. 

Without looking at him, her hand reached out and sought his, her cold fingers wrapping tightly around him as she moved closer. “I’m ready. Let’s go, Prewett.”

He looked down at their joined hands, something shifting behind his ribs that he was too scared to examine up close. He squeezed back firmly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders as he closed his eyes and pictured the rugged coastline of Cornwall, the idyllic Shell Cottage set against the heathland. She was still calling him Prewett, and her face still held that cool indifference, but she wasn’t running down the hallway away from him. She was still happy to go home with him. The relief flooded through him as he stepped forward into the green flames, and she followed, the power of the magic sucking them through the void.

Sebastian

Wincing at the burn of the whiskey as he swallowed it down, he eyed the pretty witch opposite him, his gaze travelling over a mouth he knew rather well, her lips curved into a teasing smirk as she stared back at him across the table inside the Black Rose bar. Sweet talking Luella around had been easier than he had expected, his smart mouth that had pissed her off the other day now making her eyes sparkle, seemingly placing him back in her favour.

“Another whiskey?” He asked, holding his empty glass up.

She twirled her glass on the table top and gave him a dark look through her lashes. “Perhaps we could take this one upstairs,” she murmured, her hand sliding across the scratched wood to brush her fingertips along the back of his hand. 

Sebastian felt his stomach muscles tighten, fighting the heat that stirred in his blood. It had been a while, but he wasn’t about to climb into bed with her again. He wasn’t made of stone, and of course, his body was going to react to a lovely woman offering him such pleasure, but he couldn’t. Not anymore. He withdrew his hand from the table top and out of her reach, his eyes glancing around them to see if anyone had noticed her suggestive touch.

“Do you want us to be found out?” He said, his voice hushed. “Daddy dearest will castrate me if he finds out, and I would rather keep my Crown Jewels intact.”

“You act as though you’ve already lost your precious jewels considering the lack of fun we’ve been having lately,” she huffed, leaning back in her chair. 

“Don’t sulk, darling. It doesn’t suit you,” he said, getting to his feet. “I’ll get that drink, shall I?” 

Luella watched him leave the table, his charming smile slipping from his lips as soon as he turned his back on her. It was becoming tiresome keeping up the pretence, but now that he was in this situation, he was kind of stuck with it until he could come up with a new plan.

Leaning on the bar, he rubbed his face with his hands, his eyes scratchy and tired from lack of sleep. He avoided his bed most nights, but whenever he did seek his pillow to lay his head down, restlessness stopped him from finding proper sleep. It was that, or it was the nightmares that left him sweating and trembling under his blankets chasing him from his bed. 

The sound of someone entering the bar made him turn his head, his eyes widening as the familiar shape of Ominis appeared around the door, his wand held out and blinking. Shocked to see his old friend in such a place, it was clear he was here for either Marvolo or him. Sebastian abandoned the idea of ordering another whiskey and hurried to Ominis’ side. 

“Hello, old friend,” he said quietly, his eyes scanning the bar to see who was watching and finding that most were giving them curious glances. “What are you doing here, Ominis? Everyone knows who you are.” 

Ominis looked annoyed and uncertain, and he clamped a hand around Sebastian’s arm. “Trust me, this is the last place I wish to be, but I came to find you,” he muttered. “Is there somewhere we can speak?”

“What is it? Is it Anne? Is she alright?” Panic gripped him, and he focused all his attention on Ominis.

“Anne is fine,” Ominis assured him, but his grip remained firm on his arm. “Not here. We need to leave.” 

“Come on,” Sebastian said, leading Ominis back out into the cobbled street. Walking around the corner, he glanced through the shadowed dark before Disapparating away from Knockturn Alley, where the very walls had ears that heard too much.

“Where are we?” Ominis asked as soon as they had their feet on solid ground again.

“Leicester Square, deep in Muggle territory where nobody will know us,” Sebastian said, standing close like a shield around Ominis. “Put your wand in your cane so nobody notices it.”

Ominis moved swiftly, adopting the gentleman’s cane that disguised his method of sight on Muggle streets. There was still the pinch of worry on his brow, and Sebastian was growing impatient. 

“What was so urgent that you wandered right into the viper’s nest?” 

Ominis sighed and shook his head. “I’m still not convinced that this is a good idea. I could get into trouble if I was discovered speaking out of office.”

Sebastian’s brows lifted with interest. “Out of office? Alright, you’ve got my attention. Surely, you won’t leave me hanging after that kind of statement.” 

Dressed in a fine black suit, his hair neat and his profile like classic marble under London’s gaslights, Sebastian assumed that Ominis had come from the Ministry. Knowing his role there, he waited expectantly for Ominis to speak. Ominis rubbed his hand against his chin and sighed again.

“Merlin, curse me, alright,” he said, wincing as he made the decision. “Just tell me one thing. How serious are you about bringing Rookwood down?”

“Deadly serious,” Sebastian said darkly, his heart in his mouth. “What do you know, Ominis?”

“It’s more a case of who I spoke to,” he said, his teeth catching at his lower lip. “I met her, Sebastian. MC. I spoke to her this morning.” 

Sebastian tried to draw a breath, a gasp, anything, but his lungs betrayed him. He stared at Ominis, lips parted. His hands reached to grip Ominis’ arms, holding him tightly. “Where? What did she say?”

“Let me go, you fool,” Ominis said, batting his hands away, scowling and scoffing. “She was at the Ministry this morning collecting her wand, and you were right. She was with Prewett.” 

Sebastian’s mouth became set into a grim line, his brows drawn down low. “I knew it!”

“Now, now, Sebastian. Before you get your wand all in a knot, you should be aware that Prewett has been ensuring MC receives the best care after leaving the prison. By her own mouth, she is doing well and feeling better. Prewett even left her alone with me so that we could talk. She is not his prisoner, Sebastian. The intentions are honourable.”

“Honourable? Pfft, I find that hard to believe,” Sebastian scoffed, pushing his hand through his hair. “Prewett has always had a thing for MC, and no doubt he is relishing having her so close. He lied to me when I asked him outright where she was, and I bet the smug prick was loving every minute of it. It wouldn’t surprise me if he was trying to bed her under the guise of being a good, little boy.”

Ominis arched one eyebrow, his mouth twisted with an ironic smirk. “Not everyone thinks as you do, Sebastian. You’ve spent too long rolling around in the gutter. And, even if MC did allow Prewett to court her, would that be so terrible? He is a respectable young man with good prospects. Perhaps that is just what she needs.”

Sighing in irritation, Sebastian clenched his fists and glared. “What does any of this have to do with Rookwood?”

“Ah yes, Rookwood,” Ominis said, his gaze becoming sly. “What if I told you that the Auror office plans to send a decoy into his ranks? They want to bring Rookwood down just as much as you do, and they are willing to plant a powerful weapon within the Ashwinder camp in order to do it. If it works, you could very well be brought down with them.” 

“Are you suggesting I cut my losses and get out? After all the effort I’ve put in!” Sebastian asked, incredulous. 

“No, Sebastian,” Ominis said, sighing in exasperation. “Although, that would solve a few problems if you did. No, what I am actually suggesting, and I can’t believe I’m doing so, is that you work alongside the Auror’s plans and get the best of both worlds.” 

“I’m not siding with no Auror scum,” Sebastian bristled, clenching his fists tighter. The image of Harrington dragging MC out of his arms that day sent a cold shiver down his spine. He would never forget it. Ever. 

“Technically, you wouldn’t have to,” Ominis said, tilting his head. “Think about it. You assist in bringing down Rookwood, and in doing so, you gain the protection of not being sent to Azkaban for your efforts. All you would have to do is assist with the weapon.” 

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed as he considered Ominis’ words. “And what is this weapon they seem so confident about?” 

Ominis smiled, a smug, knowing smile that made him look every inch the Gaunt he hated to be. “Why, it’s MC, of course. That’s why she was let out early. That’s why they want her fighting fit so they can send her into Rookwood’s ranks and cut him out from the inside.”

Sebastian felt his jaw drop, staring in disbelief as he tried to wrap his head around those words. “MC is turning spy for the Aurors?”

“After speaking with her today, she seems quite determined to succeed. She signed a contract of probation terms to seal the deal,” Ominis said, lifting his chin. “It made voting for her release all the more satisfying.” 

“You…you voted…” Sebastian huffed a shocked breath out through his mouth, his hands pressing against his forehead as he stared blindly around Leicester Square, not paying any attention to the busy pubs and music. 

“She wants revenge just as much as you do,” Ominis continued, his smirk still smug. “You know me, old friend, I may not have my sight, but I am pretty good at seeing between the lines when it comes to people. It’s not so much what she said, but how she said it. She will bring down Rookwood, and she isn’t afraid of how. She even asked after you, despite you leaving her to rot in that awful prison.”

“She did?” Sebastian’s heart leapt behind his ribs. “What did you say?”

“I told her the truth,” he said, with a little shrug, amusement tugging at his mouth. “That you're still the same degenerate running around causing trouble. I'm sure she will seek you out once she is ready. I don't think she has let go of you yet.”

“And why would she? I haven't let go of her,” Sebastian said, flares of hope thundering through his pulse points. “When she does come, I will be ready.” 

Ominis nodded, his face growing serious. “Just be careful, Sebastian. These are dangerous games at play. The only reason I am telling you all of this is because I would rather have you come out of it all alive.”

“I appreciate it, Ominis. More than you will ever know,” Sebastian said, a softer tone entering his voice. 

For the first time in a very, very long time, Sebastian felt a glimmer of hope kindle in his chest, his gaze dropping to the thin, red scar on his palm. Could it be bright enough to chase back the shadows that haunted him?

MC

The constant roar of waves filled her ears, and the sky was a canvas of deep oranges and pinks as the sun slid away for another day. The air was brisk, the sea breeze pulling at her braid as she thrust her arm towards the twilight sky yet again, her shoulders aching from the effort as her magic poured from the end of her wand in a blast of blue and white. The magic swirled and twisted, soaring up towards the sky in a writhing mass of power before splitting into a million fluttering wings. Fireflies of ancient magic danced on the breeze, drifting and dispersing across the beach. 

She had been out here for quite a while, relishing the freedom of being able to cast her spells and release the pent-up fire of her magic. With her wand in hand, she felt unstoppable, a sense of wild abandon making her cheeks flush and her adrenaline spike. Her education had been cut short, but she knew enough to be able to handle herself safely, despite the desperate tremor on the edge of her control. Ancient magic was powerful, and she kept a tenuous grip on it, heeding the memories she had witnessed in those pensieves of the witch, Isadora.

Pausing to catch her breath, MC pondered her brief conversation with Andrew Larson earlier that day and dared to hope that he managed to dig something new up from the Ministry archives. Despite his obvious nervousness in her presence, she had sensed his eagerness to discover the information, his tentative questions for her hinting at a deep curiosity. She could not deny the excitement at the prospect of hidden knowledge regarding her magic, and she knew she had Leander to thank for the chance to find it.

Leander.

A soft sigh escaped her lips, and she relaxed her shoulders, sitting down on the soft sand of the beach to stare out at the rolling waves of the great Atlantic Ocean. Flutters of uncertainty danced behind her ribs as she thought about Leander, her teeth catching at her lower lip as she remembered soft kisses that had quickly turned into flame, the lingering warmth left on her skin after he had touched a hand to her back or her arm. How could she ignore the way he looked at her? Oh, he tried to hide it, but it was there, and she was looking for it whenever she met his gaze, now.

There was only one way anything like that could end between them, though. Heartbreak. 

Closing her eyes, she hung her head downward, her arms balanced on her knees, her wand still firmly in her grip. Seeing him with Odessa had bothered her. It had clawed at the vulnerable scars behind her ribs, tearing at the softness she had hidden there, a softness she was developing for her Auror. Yes, hers. Because that is how she thought of him now. It had snuck up on her, caught her unawares, and now she had no choice but to look at it. 

Seeing that sly, smug woman put her hands on Leander, lean towards him like she had every right to claim him as her own, it made MC want to whip out her wand and blast the bitch across the desks of his office. Shaken by the depth of her discomfort, she had tried to keep her distance from him ever since, shocked at the clear burn of jealousy she was drowning in. She had no right, no claim. It had only been one kiss, and she had told him to stop. He owed her nothing.

And yet…

Opening her hand to reveal her palm, she looked down at the thin scar on her hand, tracing it with her finger as her eyes stung with unshed tears. Missing Sebastian had consumed her for so long, for years she had been utterly alone and lost in darkness, and she still lingered in those shadows.

Was it so terribly wrong to seek out some light?

She wanted to feel something other than empty and cold. She had stepped out of that prison, unsure of where she belonged, and she still felt like she was adrift. The only thing holding her down right now was Leander. He had held her, wiped her tears away, sheltered her…and when he had kissed her, the empty hollow behind her ribs had flooded with warmth.

Sebastian was somewhere out there, far away from here and working under Rookwood’s orders. It was in the case files Leander had shown her. He had been seen with Rookwood’s beautiful daughter, and even Ominis had said that Sebastian was on a path of self-destruction.

Had he fallen so far into darkness that he was out of her reach? She just didn’t know anymore. It scared her more than she wanted to admit that she may have lost her first love, the boy who had stolen her soul and bound it with his in blood. Now, he was a man that she feared she wouldn’t recognise. What if he was walking a path she didn’t want to follow? Perhaps Ominis was right, and she might need to make some choices for her own survival.

Alone and lost, it was tough to know where to start, but she needed to have some faith in herself. She had always been alone since she was a child, and this was no different. She had always relied on herself, and that hadn’t changed. She just needed to take the first steps.

Getting to her feet, MC trudged across the sand towards the cliff path that led back to the cottage. The sky had now darkened into a blue so deep it was almost black. The first stars of the night were blinking their brilliance, and the pale moon had shown her face. Lost in her own head, she didn’t see Leander until she was upon him, jolting at the sight of him leaning against the stone wall that surrounded the cottage garden with a glass in his hand. She gasped and put a hand to her chest.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, smiling softly.

“I didn’t see you there, I was…I was miles away,” she said, biting her lip and dipping her gaze. She had hardly spoken to him all afternoon, wrapped up in her own petty jealousy over Odessa. She eyed him through her lashes, fiddling with her wand before gesturing towards his glass. “A tipple before bedtime, is it?”

He tilted the glass slightly as he glanced at it, nodding. “It’s my father’s firewhiskey. There was a bottle in the kitchen cupboard. I thought it might help me sleep. Would you like one? I can pour you a glass.”

MC wrinkled her nose as she moved closer towards him, her earlier frostiness with him melting away. “I was never really one for whiskey,” she said, shrugging. “Maybe I could try a sip.”

“Sure, here,” he said, holding out the glass towards her.

She took a small sip, the liquid coating her tongue with spicy heat. Her eyes watered, and she coughed as it went down her throat, the burn tingling all the way to her stomach. Leander chuckled and took back the glass as she shook her head. “Nope, still not for me,” she said.

“Fair enough. I can make you some tea if you’d prefer that,” he offered.

She shook her head and moved to lean against the wall beside him. “I’m fine, thank you. I will take some water up to bed with me.”

“That was quite the show you put on down there,” he said. “Do you feel better now?”

“You were watching me?” She looked up at him as he nodded, brushing back strands of hair caught on the sea breeze. His hair was slightly dishevelled, and she wondered what it would be like to brush back his hair with her fingers. She was grateful for the cover of darkness as she blushed at the thought.

“It feels good to be able to cast magic again,” she said, looking down at her wand. “After discovering that I was a witch and beginning to learn about my magic, I felt quite lost without it.”

“I’m sure I would be at a loss without mine,” Leander said. “I’m glad you feel better. What with your wand back in your possession and your strength returning, I am sure you are almost ready to leave. How do you feel about all that?”

Gazing ahead at the darkened ocean, she slipped her wand away and sighed softly, feeling oddly exposed and vulnerable there under the stars with him. “Lonely,” she said, her voice low and tinged with sadness.

His silence made her turn her head to look up at him, the look in his eyes making that cavern in her chest twist with longing. 

“You’re not alone,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m here, remember? I will make sure that you will always be able to find me, no matter what happens.”

Swallowing past the lump in her throat, she studied his face. That warmth was right there, and all she had to do was reach for it.

“What about McKinnon?”

He straightened, placing his glass down on top of the wall behind him, his face serious. He shook his head, his hand reaching for her, and then hesitating. “What you saw earlier, it was nothing. She flirts like that with everyone. There is nothing more than professional camaraderie between myself and Odessa. I would never…”

“Don’t…” She said, her voice cracking. She put her hand gently over his mouth to stop him, knowing that if he said too much, it might push them even further across a line that was already blurring so quickly.

His eyes burned with words left unsaid, his lips parted against her fingers, the warmth of his breath against her skin sending shivers through her. Her hand shifted against his mouth, her fingers lightly caressing against the soft, fullness of his lips. His breaths quickened, and she felt her pulse come alive. He was so warm, so soft. The temptation was crippling, but she would only hurt him in the end.

His long fingers curled about her wrist, holding her hand against his mouth as his lips pressed soft kisses against her fingertips, holding her gaze as he mouthed along towards her palm to press a firmer kiss there. She opened her mouth to speak, to stop him, but she wasn’t pulling away, and words failed her as he closed his eyes and pressed a lingering kiss against the pulse point at her wrist. He had to feel it against his mouth. He had to feel the rush and flutter of her blood as he held his lips against her like that. 

He lifted his head slowly, opening his eyes as he gently held her hand. “I try to hide it, but I think you know how I feel about you. I can’t explain it. You just drive me crazy. But, I’m not a fool. I know this isn’t what you want.” 

“I don’t know what I want,” she said, her honesty making her breathless. “I’m just this lost girl without a clue, and I’m so numb, Leander. It’s like I’m hollow, empty, and you deserve so much more than that.”

He looked pained, biting his lip as he looked out to sea, shaking his head as if trying to deny the truth. Reaching for her, she found herself pressed against the warmth of his chest, her cheek nuzzled against the soft wool of his jumper as he stroked her hair. To be held like she was fragile should have brought forward the stubbornness and pride she used as shields against emotional vulnerability, but she found herself clinging to him instead. The pressure of his embrace eased the ache in her chest, and she closed her eyes, savouring the feel of him, breathing in his scent and allowing warmth to seep through to her bones.

What harm could it do to borrow some of that unfailing stability he had? Just for a moment.

They stood there for a while in each other's arms, not speaking, and she felt the gentle press of his lips against her head a few times. She let him, her body so starved of human contact that she thought it might cause her pain to let go, but the air was growing chillier, and she shivered against the breeze. 

Reluctantly, she stepped from his embrace as he suggested they go indoors. They went about closing things down for the night, putting out the fire and drawing the curtains. When she moved for the stairs, she paused and turned towards him, placing her hand against his cheek with a soft smile.

“Goodnight,” she whispered, standing on tiptoe to press a kiss on his cheek that was dangerously close to his mouth. 

He didn’t seek more. He merely bid her goodnight back, his eyes full of all the things they had left unsaid.

….*….

Her fingers slid down the old wood of the bedroom door, nerves fluttering behind her ribs as she once again found herself standing in the hallway outside Leander’s bedroom in the middle of the night. She had to stop this. Loitering outside his room was madness, and this was the third night she had found herself here, debating the idea of knocking and crossing into unchartered territory. Tonight, she felt the hunger with a sharpness that made her ache, sleep eluding her as she went over every detail of the day in her mind. 

That kiss goodnight had left her wanting, his mouth so close, and yet not close enough. Standing there in just her nightgown, she shivered, so tired of being cold and empty. His arms felt too good wrapped around her, his chest the ideal place to rest her head…

Her sigh came out as a pained moan, and she brought her hand to her mouth, stifling the noise as she hesitated outside his door. She stared at the handle, her fingers reaching for it. This was crazy. It was inappropriate behaviour for a young lady to do such a thing.

The door clicked off the latch and swung inwards, her bare feet slipping quietly across the floorboards as she entered the darkened room. Closing the door gently behind her, MC turned and glanced around the bedroom. It was neat and tidy, clothes folded on a chair and shoes sat neatly to one side. The double bed claimed the centre, the blankets covering Leander as he slept. He had not moved, the soft sounds of his breathing filling the space. She should leave. She was invading his privacy.

Ignoring the sensible side of her mind, she moved closer towards the bed, pale moonlight highlighting the shape of Leander. Pausing, she took a moment to study him at rest, his hair falling haphazardly onto the white pillow. Her hand moved with a will of its own, her fingers sliding into soft strands of copper hair in a tentative caress. He stirred, his head shifting against the pillow, and then his eyes blinked slowly open.

“Sorry,” she whispered, withdrawing her hand. “It’s only me.”

Rubbing his eye, Leander pushed himself up onto an elbow, a frown creasing his brow. “MC…are you alright?”

“I can’t sleep,” she said, biting her lip. He was wearing a striped sleep shirt, and she would bet her last possession that he was wearing matching trousers beneath his blankets. He shifted to sit up, his hand grabbing the edge of the blanket.

“Can I get you anything?”

“No,” she said firmly, putting her hand over his to stop him from throwing the blanket back and getting up. He met her gaze, slightly confused and sleep dazed. Her heart thudded hard against her ribs. “Don’t get up. I…I was wondering…”

Her throat seemed to close up, words not forming as she stared at him. He looked so soft and sleepy, and yet the curve of his mouth and the defined line of his jaw were drawing her gaze, making her imagine things far more fiery and urgent. She eyed the strength of his neck, the width of his shoulders, his open collar revealing his throat, and a glimpse of chest. Fire curled within her, her hands desperate to reach out and find warmth. 

She could see the question in his eyes, but instead of speaking, she lifted her hand and traced the line of his jaw with her fingertips. Leaning forward, she admired the full pout of his mouth before pressing her own against it, claiming a soft but determined kiss as her fingers pushed deeply into his hair and gripped. Leander didn’t move at first, perhaps surprised, but he didn’t stop her as she pressed more kisses against his mouth. The emptiness in her chest bloomed with fire, spreading outwards and filling her with something real, something that wasn’t dark or a heavy weight dragging her down.

“MC,” he whispered between kisses, his lips responding through heavier breaths. “Are you sure…this is…what you want?”

Inside, she felt like she had been losing everything human about herself, lost in shadow and sadness with no way out. Somehow, Leander had slipped through the cracks of her shattered soul, and his light was seeping through her, waking her up and making her feel like there was hope. She ached to feel that in the physical sense, her skin tingling in anticipation of his touch, the desire to feel his palms sliding over her flesh making her certain that this was exactly what she needed right now.

Cupping his face, her mouth reluctant to leave the plush softness of his, she brushed her lips against him, sighing softly, her body giving in to its demands. “Yes,” she breathed, sliding her tongue out to swipe it across his lower lip as she met his eyes.

Strong hands gripped her waist, and she moaned into his mouth as he pulled her down onto the bed with him, their kiss deepening until she was adrift on a wave of flickering flames. She had given in to temptation and was now lost in the feel of his hands and his mouth, her curves pressed close against the hardness of his body. As he cupped her hips, urging her against him, her nightgown sliding up her thighs, she knew there would be no turning back this time.

To be continued...

Tagging: @evaslytherpuff @eternalremorse @writing-intheundercroft @marketfreshfics @loving-him-was-red13 @slytherin-paramour @sevprince-91

#hogwarts legacy fanfic #sebastian sallow #mc x sebastian sallow #leander prewett x mc #leander prewett #blueraineshadows #blood bound

[drunkinchicago]

coriolanus snow x lucy gray baird

link: chapter 1, link: chapter 2, link: chapter 3 link: chapter 4 link: chapter 5, link: chapter 6, link: chapter 7

Chapter 8: sweetest kill

I thought you were the sweetest kill

Did I even know?

And all the time we thought we did

Was it just for show?

If they try to pull you out

Would you even go?

All the time, we get by, trying to figure out our lives

Like a fadeout

When we took the level ten

Was it just a twelve?

And when we went to where we've been

Was it just for self?

Broken Social Scene, ‘Sweetest Kill’

I don't know what I heard

Or what it takes to forgive

You were mad at the whole world

You were angry, I didn't stop when you did

Searows, ‘Older’

It was shortly after eight when Coriolanus and Lucy Gray retired back downstairs, his hand swallowing the small of her back as they walked through the corridor. They remained wordless, swimming in the simultaneous familiarity and newness of touching each other. Lucy Gray could tell that Coriolanus was upset, and now felt certain that she wasn’t entirely at fault - he had no reason to be angry with her presently. She recalled the words he’d told her only moments before: “you can let me in, you can talk to me.” Shouldn’t the same be true vice versa? Did she even want it to be? She was beginning to feel lightheaded, a combination of neglecting to eat and the way it felt for Coriolanus’ chest to rise and fall against her as he breathed.

As they entered the dining room, Lucy Gray noticed that the table was perfectly set for two, silverware and plates awaiting at each head of the table. A red velvet runner occupied the space between the settings, splitting the table down the middle and adding to the sumptuous environment. “You should change for dinner,” Coriolanus said softly. It was strangely disconcerting to see her in her nightgown, as upsetting as it was attractive. Thin silk danced against her protruding ribs, her wrists bruised and breakable. As he made sense of the shape of her, he was struck by the recollection of the question she’d asked him only days prior - are you going to rape me ? His fingertips went numb at the thought of how easy it would be to do such a thing. She was nothing. She was everything. She couldn’t fight him, could she? But she could take everything from him. She had before. Seeing Lucy Gray this way, stripped down and bare, hardly clothed - it was fantastically overwhelming. Coriolanus felt void of control. He was engulfed by the possibilities of what he could do to her. He wanted to adorn each of her little fingers with heavy rings, expensive and rare, the weight of them dragging her to the floor and leaving her on her knees - rubies and emeralds and diamonds and Lucy Gray. He wanted to hunt her like a deer, sobbing after he shot her, taking note of all the ways her face reminded him of a wounded animal - large, brown eyes encompassed by a sharp jawline and hollow cheeks. He could see himself soaked in her blood, laden with regret and holding her against his chest, praying that being seeped with her would invent some goodness within his being. He wanted to invent her and hurt her over and over and over and over, if only to marvel at how perfect she was at every version, how impossible it would be for him to not need her.

“Why?” Lucy Gray’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, her arms crossing over her chest in sudden self-consciousness. Coriolanus instinctively reached out to touch her shoulder, utilizing the same tenderness he’d adopted on the roof, holding her as though she was about to shatter. He hadn’t been aiming to create shame - it was just making him too crazy to see her this way. He leaned down to meet her, relishing in the novelty of their height difference.

“It’s a nice dinner, Lucy Gray,” he said, noticing her slight flinch as he circled his thumb closer to her collarbone. “Do you not like the clothes I got for you?”

“I do like them.”

“So put them on.”

Lucy Gray locked eyes with Coriolanus briefly, an air of contestation brimming. Coriolanus knew that she found his orders dehumanizing - she always had, even when such demands were for the better and at the sake of her own life. She had provided rations to Jessup against his will, she hadn’t run when he told her to at the start of the Games. Lucy Gray aimed to exercise her autonomy in the most challenging of ways, which made Coriolanus want to control her even more. He found it stupid.

Coriolanus removed his hand from her shoulder and stood to his full height. “Go.”

He won. Lucy Gray broke their stare sharply and retreated without looking back, her footsteps landing in all the places he’d walked a hundred times.

Imagining that he had at least five minutes, Coriolanus ambled toward his own room. In solitude he could feel the full force of the last hour, excitement fresh on his tongue. She’d let him touch her - even leaned into it. Coriolanus couldn’t hide his smile as his door slammed behind him, the muscles composing his cheeks already burning with elation. He knew his image was far from normal - six feet of striking blondeness grinning maniacally with his lights off. And he wasn’t right, and he didn’t care. She made him feel insane and he liked it. Lucy Gray made him sharper, smarter, sicker. She made him a victor, then she made him a Gamemaker. One day she’d make him a President, wouldn’t she? What else would she make of him? What would he get to make of her ?

Coriolanus pulled at the string of a fringed lamp to illuminate the room, his eyes flitting around the meticulous nature of it. Since finding wealth, he’d become strangely compulsive about cleanliness, hallucinating the movement of rats in his peripheral vision. What this place had once been haunted him - and it’d been that way for the majority of his life. He couldn’t forget it or get rid of it no matter how hard he scrubbed his windowpanes, but he would try. Coriolanus stared at the right corner of the bedroom, envisioning the space where his rusted metal bed frame had once lived. He’d outgrown it at fourteen, his feet hanging off the edges, permanently cold and uncovered.

It was strange to recall that that was the very bed he’d slept in when he met Lucy Gray, handing her a white rose at a train station as though he reeked of privilege and purity. He was none of those things, not then - he was just a boy sleeping on a rotting mattress with a red eviction notice stamped on every fiber of his being. Having grown accustomed to his current luxuries, Coriolanus was reminded of his recent reality as though it was water thrown in his face. Such vulnerability was an assault to what he wanted to achieve, yet Lucy Gray hadn’t thought anything of it. In fact, Coriolanus was beginning to realize that the broken fragments of his life were a drawing point in her eyes, a piece of common ground. In their roots, she was not quite District 12, and he was not quite Capitol. Perhaps others thought of this as a downfall, but Coriolanus knew the truth - it made them better.

And it did, he thought as he moved toward his mirror to adjust the collar of his shirt. They were anomalies, mysteries to figure out and puzzles to break apart, yet no one else would be granted the opportunity to make out the truth of them. He would make sure of it. There wasn’t a price on Earth he could be paid to give her up. Their indistinguishable allure is what Coriolanus planned to use to dominate anyone who’d doubted either of them - the runt girl from Twelve, poor little songbird, a Snow without a pot to piss in, the sound of Snow falling. Lucy Gray just needed to let him in and make amends with the edges of herself she’d feebly attempted to iron out.

There’s a reason you can tame snakes, don’t you know? Don’t you see that they recognize the deceit in you? Coriolanus knew this, because he saw it too.

Coriolanus was cued to dinner by the knock of an Avox, two slow drums against the hardwood of his door. He strode toward the dining room with anticipation and demanded a bottle of red wine from the maid mulling outside the kitchen. Strangely, he found himself nervous in his own home, unable to reconcile with the insecurity that somehow Lucy Gray was not real, that she was not actually here, that she was nothing but sand slipping through his fingertips.

She saw him first, long legs and curly hair and a maroon button-up he must’ve changed into. He watched her longer, grabbing the back of his chair harshly.

Her hair was wet.

Wet.

Water dripping down her cheeks, messily applied makeup, features made sharper by the strands of hair clinging to her supple skin - he was dizzied, because she was perfect, but also because she looked just as she did back then, her hand on the doorframe and her empty words reassuring him that she was simply fetching katniss. The water was all over her, droplets racing down her chest and stomach to find purchase in places his hands hadn’t yet touched.

Had Lucy Gray even bothered to dry off? She was soaking her dress, satin and light blue and strappy and low slung - one of Coriolanus’ favorites from the order. Of course she’d picked it without encouragement. Of course she knew what he liked. Coriolanus’ heart pounded faster as he imagined the steam that likely still remained in her bathroom, dying out by the minute. How lucky it’d been to be breathed in by her, warming her throat and lower belly. Had she shaved? Did her sides smell like the lavender soap he’d purchased for her?

“Hello,” Lucy Gray said. She brought her elbows to the table and balanced her chin between her hands, her hair falling forward.

Now the water was dripping on the table, circular stains flushing on the tablecloth and beading on her plate. Water, everywhere, wet , everywhere. Coriolanus was flustered, his hands shaking as he pulled his chair out and willed himself to sit.

“You look nice.” He practically choked on the words.

“Nice?”

“Gorgeous.” And she did. So much that it hurt.

Lucy Gray seemed more satisfied with that answer, a slight smile playing on her lips. Coriolanus could tell that she liked the dress, which in-turn granted him great pleasure. The semblance of confidence enumerating off of her reminded Coriolanus of the Lucy Gray he once knew.

“Do you like my hair wet?” She asked, her eyes dark and antagonizing.

So it was intentional. He would have to be honest.

“I’d like to pull your head back by your hair so far that you see whichever version of me you liked the best.”

Lucy Gray blinked, expressionless. “And then what?”

“Then I’d wring you out, wash my hands with you.”

“Would your hands be cleaner or dirtier, then?”

“Both.”

They were both silent as the first course was delivered, an ensemble of oysters soaked in a citrus vinaigrette. The bottle of red wine Coriolanus had requested was brought shortly thereafter, the sound of their cups filling swallowing the emptiness of the room. Lucy Gray nor Coriolanus broke their stare, Coriolanus’ fingers on his right hand tapping against the table one-by-one.

“Right before we first kissed, when you gave me the compact,” Lucy Gray finally said, her voice soft and afflicted.

“What?”

“My favorite version of you.”

Coriolanus felt the sensation of something deep within him breaking, quickly transported to the moment she’d recalled - how he’d cried before her, the taste of peaches on her lips, her begging for him, so hurt by the idea that he’d disliked her ballad, the jealousy of it, the newness of it, the lingering scent of roses in the air. His rare bird. Lucy Gray had noticed his perception of her back then and cared enough to articulate it. She’d wanted his approval. It had felt so good.

“You called me extraordinary,” Lucy Gray continued, her voice barely a whisper. “In every way, you said. The most incredible girl you’d ever met.”

Coriolanus remembered. “I meant it.”

Lucy Gray looked away when he said it, focused on moving her food absently with her fork. “The most incredible girl you’d ever met,” she repeated.

“You were,” Coriolanus said firmly. If she wanted an ego boost, she could have it. It was true. He could see that moment as vividly as she could, the rawness of it, the fragility. “You are.”

“I’d rather it’d have been a lie,” Lucy Gray stated plainly as she merged her attention to her glass of wine, bringing it to her lips.

“Why?” Coriolanus had no other response, swallowing the hurt dryly.

Lucy Gray was interrupted by the silent shuffle of the second course. Coriolanus didn’t care to notice what the plate carried, considering neither of them had touched the first one. He set his gaze on Lucy Gray, refusing to stray from her face, willing her to see him for who she wanted him to be. A natural goodness is born into everyone, she’d said in the forest that day, his mother’s shawl decorating her upper back. Coriolanus couldn’t read her intentions or her opinion of him - her admitted attraction the day she’d arrived, her refusal to say she hated him, how she’d drifted into his arms in the rose garden only an hour before. This could not work if they weren’t able to have an intensive conversation, and it had to. It had to work.

“Why?” Coriolanus repeated, his lip quivering. He tried to cover such a vulnerability by bringing his hand onto his chin and resultantly over the corner of his mouth, but his hands shook too. Lucy Gray noticed.

“Because you saw me that way, and even yet that was the best we got - lies and a shotgun, Coriolanus. If that’s what you would do to the most important person in your life, what better is there? Aren’t we just waiting for the other shoe to fall? How am I supposed to have any hope for this? How was I?” Behind her protective exterior, Lucy Gray was showing signs of equivalent emotional affliction, her voice catching on the word ‘we’. Her eyes were beginning to water, wide and deer-like, reminding Coriolanus of his prior fantasy to hound her. He would feel better if she began to cry.

“I was out of my mind, Lucy Gray, because if you remember correctly, I was not the only one who lied that day.”

“You were going to kill me.”

Coriolanus slammed his hand on the table with such veracity that the forks and knives jumped at his force, Lucy Gray flinching in a manner that he found performative. “I was not going to kill you, Lucy Gray. I just wanted to disarm you, to… I’m a sharpshooter, Lucy Gray. Nothing would’ve been fatal, I-I would rather kill myself, I-” he paused, gesturing to their surroundings. “Don’t you see that I want to prove something to you, prove myself? What is it going to take?”

A single tear streamed down the left side of Lucy Gray’s face, merging with the water that continued to drip down her arms from her hair. “So you just wanted to shoot me?” The question was asked with an accusatory scoff.

“Yes, I wanted to disarm you. I said that. I said it wouldn’t have been fatal.”

“Wow, thank you. How inspired.”

They’re just not inspired, I guess. Sarcasm hung still in the air. Coriolanus wished she would stop trying to demean him. He was being honest, wasn’t he? What could she possibly want? “You’re confusing me and I’m frustrated,” he said plainly.

“How do you think that I felt alone in the woods for months, Coriolanus? Don’t you realize that I wouldn’t have done that if I didn’t believe I had to for my own survival?”

“That was your choice.”

“I didn’t see it as a choice.”

“I can’t control that, can I? I’m sorry that poor little Lucy Gray had to sit in a tree with her thoughts for a while. You don’t seem to be any more at peace in a penthouse with anything you could desire, either. Maybe that’s a choice.”

Lucy Gray was crying now, giving pause to the maids approaching the table with yet another wasted entree. Coriolanus waved them away. “Maybe I do hate you,” she said, the words ugly and unwelcome in her mouth.

Coriolanus stood from his chair in a single cohesive movement, ignoring the abrasive sound the action made as he tore it across the flooring. Lucy Gray’s eyes were covered with her hands, but he could tell by the way she retreated against the back of her seat that she knew he was coming. It seems we are both overwhelmed, he thought to himself as he approached her slowly, modestly. Once close enough, he sank to the floor beside her, letting her look down on him, his knees on the carpet.

“You don’t,” he whispered, noticing that even here, he was almost her size.

Lucy Gray looked at him through the gaps of her fingers, spreading them wider to memorize the sight of him submitting to her.

“You have a knife there,” Coriolanus directed his eyes to the right. “Sharp enough to slit my throat, if you want. You could do it fast and precisely. I wouldn’t be able to stand fast enough. Then you could take the elevator to the first floor, tell my driver that I requested you to go to the train station. There’s a line to Twelve every four hours - I used to check. By the time these wordless Avoxes could be of any benefit to serving me justice after they find me, you’d be gone, back to the Covey, the woods, wherever you’d like. And maybe Peacekeepers would come looking for you. Maybe they’d find you. But I never would again. I’d be dead.”

Lucy Gray brought her hands to her lap, twisting them together. She looked horrified, but Coriolanus simply leaned his head back, exposing his throat to her. His hair, long and unruly, fell across his forehead, and he looked nowhere but her. “Do it, Lucy Gray,” he said through gritted teeth. “Show me that you hate me.”

She was wordless as she moved to grab the bulky handle of the steak knife, Coriolanus unmoving. She wouldn’t do it. He knew that she couldn’t, and it was making him feel better and better by the second, his heart drumming. Lucy Gray could talk all that she wanted, say whatever she pleased - it was talk, that’s all. Here, in the moments shaped like life or death, was where he could find how she felt about him. These were simply the Games they played.

As she leaned over him, the water from her hair now falling onto his face, he decided this wouldn’t be a bad way to die. He opened his mouth to lick what came off of her, smiling at the taste of lavender. She had used it, it’d been the right choice - he’d spent five minutes in the market deciding whether lemon or lavender would suit her better. Lavender, yes. Definitely lavender. Lucy Gray was still crying, and Coriolanus welcomed that on his tongue as well, drinking whatever he could of her. She choked on her sobs as Coriolanus put his hands on her knees, leaning closer to the angle of the knife.

They remained in this position briefly, Coriolanus beginning to run his fingers up and down her thighs, bunching up her dress. Her hands shook, almost dropping the knife once. But she tightened her grip, then, her hand going white around the handle - because she didn’t want it to fall on him, cut him by accident. He noticed it.

Finally, Lucy Gray threw the knife across the room, crying harder as Coriolanus raised himself slightly off the floor to hug her. He wrapped his entirety around her, squeezing her against his chest as she moved to the edge of the chair to entwine her legs around his midriff. She was still taller than him like this, only barely, him remaining on his knees and her seated. Coriolanus ran his hands up and down her spine, letting her cry against him. “Shhh,” he murmured. “See, Lucy Gray, you don’t hate me. You don’t hate me. Quiet down, you’re okay.”

All in due time , he reminded himself as he nuzzled his lips against her neck. She’d failed another test with flying colors, just as he’d wanted her to. Her hair fell over his face, drowning him in her scent. It was the smell of shame, what wrong and right became when they mixed together - lavender and roses.

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games #thg series #thg #tbosas spoilers #coriolanus snow #snow #president snow #snowbaird #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus x lucy gray #lucy gray baird #lucy gray x coriolanus #suzanne collins #archive of our own #ao3

[snickerdoodlles]

Same anon: Pete's taste in decor doesn't improve as he figures himself out. If anything, it gets weirder.

(prev)

oh, absolutely! Pete is a funky lil guy and his tastes reflect that 😤👏 it gets worse even before he starts figuring himself out because Khun starts inviting him to craft nights again, because Pete's needs more PIZZAZZ in his life. Vegas puts his foot down on the kitchen jars having feathers, but we're talking sparkly kitsch to a whole new level. bedazzled lights. glittered vases. sequinned table runners. gold painted everything. nothing is of remarkable quality yet works bizarrely well with Vegas's luxurious velvet. Vegas is immensely irritated and delighted every time someone points this out, and takes it out on one (very delighted) Pete.

#shortly after i first posted interior design my mom and i started making pinecone hedgehogs for holiday decorations #we have. SO MANY pinecone hedgehogs now #(she put out 18 last christmas iirc?? we are home of the hedgehogs now) #and a friend was also sending me pics of all the hedgehog decor in her family's home too at the time #so my point: Khun picks up from somewhere that Pete likes hedgehogs and then its ALL THE HEDGEHOG CRAFTS for 4 months before they reconcile #and then even more after they do naturally #Arm gifts Pete a doorstop hedgehog that's dressed like a bodyguard #it's not a *good* doorstep hedgehog dressed like a bodyguard #it's suit sleeves are wonky its tie is construction paper its passable at best #Pete *loves* it and gives it a place of honor in his home #Vegas is still deciding how he feels about it #he will be deciding how he feels about it for the next five years min #fic: interior design #kinnporsche #vegaspete #fic headcanons #thank u for sending this in anon 😂 <333

[dankmemes23]

My Slavic heritage feels so called out! My home contains many pieces of antique furniture, doily table runners, lamps with fringed shades, velvet curtains...

#dank memes #slavic

[zebaworld1]

#shop home furnishing in india #Buy Printed Cushions Covers in India #Door and Window Curtains India #Table Runner Velvet #digital print cushion cover #solid cushion covers

[heliosthegriffin]

Bad Advice

Jaune slouches over the table, angling his head to Nora: I don’t get it,

Nora, scientifically testing how much spaghetti one fork can hold: Get what?

Jaune: Why my flirting never works.

Nora still swirling spaghetti: Go on.

Jaune: Well, my dad says never to back down, my sisters say girls like strong and dangerous guys, and my mom says women like men who won’t hurt them.

Nora, still twirling fork, it creaks in pain: Hmm, I think I need a full pictures here. Describes to me your methods, Fearless leader.

Jaune nods: Alright, well I always try to get they’re attention so that way I don’t surprise them and scare them off.

Nora: Of course.

Jaune: So, I yell at the top of my lungs at, “HEY, I SEE YOU OVER THERE!”

Nora: Then what?

Jaune: Well sometimes they run, or just freeze up, but I’m always make sure to say, “DON’T MOVE I”M COMING AFTER YOU!” That way they know I’m going to over to them, and It wasn’t someone else.

Nora nods: Sounds like standard procedure boss.

Jaune: Well, anyway, if this is when they start running, so to make sure they know I’m not a quitter, I run after them as fast as I can. Keeping pace with them as fast as I can, and I usual catch up after a minute or two, after they run out of breath, but sometimes the chase lasts up to an hour if they’re athletic, but I always catch them.

Nora’s fork breaks.

Nora: What do you do if they freeze up?

Jaune: Oh, I go up and grab them by the shoulders and turn them around to see me, that way they know who they’re talking to. I’ll introduce myself, and ask they’re name. But, sometimes they give me a fake name, or suddenly pepper spray, or tase me.

Nora; Ouch.

Jaune: Eh, you get used to it. I make sure to not let that deter me, Saphron always said self-defense is the first step to love. So, I keep my grip tight and stare them in the eyes, and ask if they have anything going on later.

Nora: Guess they say no?

Jaune: That, or scream. That’s usually when they’re dad, teammate, or brother shows up.

Nora: So, what about the runners?

Jaune: Oh, I usually corner them in a alleyway or chase them into a deadend, the usual.

Nora; It’s what I’d do.

Jaune: I always makes sure to point at them when I finally catch, and say “You’re not getting away now,” Before I walk up to them, and slam my hand on the wall or whatever behind them. But to make sure they know I’m not a danger. I’ll tell them. “I’m not a threat! You can trust me!” Before giving them my best smile.

Nora: Hmm, *Stares at her broken fork*. Then what?

Jaune: Well, that’s when I usual wake up with my head throbbing and a restraining order.

Nora; Oh.

Jaune: Haaa, Nora, what am I’m doing wrong? It’s ok, I can take my some criticism. You can let it rip.

Nora: Really? Well... You’re being too passive! You can’t just let a concussion or a piece of paper stop you! You got to let the ladies know that nothing will stop you, not walls, the laws, pain, or even they’re consent!

Jaune: Yeah! Wait, what was that last one?

Nora: Don’t worry about it, there’s Velvet go get her champ!

Jaune: Damn right, Velvet! Don’t move I’m coming for you!

Velvet see’s Jaune, seizes up, pales, then bolts: AHHAHH!

Jaune: Don’t run, I’m not a threat! *Proceeds to chases her at racecar speed*

Nora nods her head, see’s Ren: Don’t move! I see you Ren, mama’s coming for you!

Ren: AAHAHH *Runs aways, while Nora pursues!

#Jaune Arc #Jaune Arc crack #Nora Valkyrie #velvet scarlatina #Lie Ren

[timeofmodern]

Advantages Of Choosing The Best Table Runner

Table Runners are used regularly in homes for adornment and practical purposes. They are a few forms of Tablecloth with a typical width of 30-50 cm and duration among 120-a hundred and fifty cm. Table Runner fabric fluctuate consistent with the place and characteristic to be applied. Embroidery may be used with inside the center or corners as designs. Tassels, fringes, etc., are connected to the ends of the veil.

What are the blessings of a Table Runner?

Table Runners are positioned at the Table as reciprocal covers. They are positioned in which the visitors use the dinnerware. Thus, the maximum infected regions of the Tablecloth are protected. They additionally keep the furnishings offer a further layer of safety from warmness whilst including an “all together” appearance.

Table Runners are good sized and once in a while even life-saving factors for dinner functions (picnics, best eating etc.). They upload texture, shadeation and visible hobby to the Table, in particular in festive vacations which includes Christmas or Easter! Picking silk as a fabric for each unique and normal days is the quality alternative despite the fact that they may be now no longer cheap, they may be used for a extra prolonged period.

The exceptional varieties of Tables want to be embellished with the aid of using linen portions for them to appearance appealing and additionally to cowl them and shield them from the herbal factors. Table Runners are a first-rate ornamental object this is usually used on many varieties of Tables in particular for dinner Tables all around the world. Table Runners are slim lengths of fabric which might be commonly positioned on the centre of the Table commonly as an ornamental object that is going properly with the décor. There are diverse varieties of Tables in which you want a Table Runner however it's far predominantly used for eating Tables and facet Tables. You ought to test out our respectable internet site for a number of the quality velvet Tablecloth along with Table Runners.

#Table Runner #velvet tablecloth #white dinnerware #british tea set #dinnerware set #bone china tea set

[meydia]

🎥 FOOD (1992)

11 Nov 2022 | Day 4/∞: Food (1992) - Jan Švankmajer Trigger warnings: cannibalism, auto-cannibalism, light body horror

Had a hugely busy day, so I watched a short film by Jan Švankmajer, a renowned surrealist, stop-motion Czech filmmaker. You can watch the video yourself above. This is a three-part short film, each of which I will discuss below. This is apparently a dissection of Czech life in a newly modern and capitalist society post-Velvet Revolution, which saw a non-violent transition from Communist rule, though some also claim it is a critique of food rationing in the USSR. Švankmajer's cinematography is beautiful and unsettling and his stop-motion skills are admirable - the entire film is live action but stop motion, lending an unsettling tableau-like quality to every scene. Real eye candy! His other stuff is definitely going on my to-watch list.

Onto the feast!

Breakfast follows two people who sit at a table. One appears to be a mechanical automaton with instructions hung around their neck. The other prods and enacts violence upon the other as if they were truly a machine, causing their stomach cavity to open, revealing an ascending dumbwaiter containing the least appetising meal I have ever seen (mustard, a hotdog and some bread).

It's eventually revealed that after each person consumes the meal, they become the automaton - and the previous machine regains their humanity and leaves. The final person leaves to reveal a long line of people waiting to get their meals this way. Perhaps this is a critique of the food system, whereby people exploit each other in order to receive food. It could reflect the rationing of food via tickets. Or maybe it's a reflection of a capitalistic society where we dehumanise workers to the services and goods they provide us (I'm thinking of people who treat waiters shittily).

For lunch, two people sit at a table together - one, on the left, is cultured and seemingly rich. The other is dishevelled and seems financially worse off. They both fail to catch the attention of their waiter, someone who zooms around like a machine, completely disregarding them. They fall prey to hunger. They begin to eat everything on the table, their own clothes, and eventually eat the table and their own chairs.

Throughout it all, the poor man attempts to emulate the rich man - and yet the rich man becomes less and less cultured in his hunger. Ultimately, they eat their cutlery, only for the rich man to reveal his deception - he regurgitates the cutlery, then, it is implied, cannibalises the poor man. If this isn't a commentary on class dynamics I don't know what it is, man. The waiter may represent a society that doesn't care, or a government that fails to address hunger and greed in its population.

Dinner is perhaps the most straightforward, showing people eating essential parts of themselves after much seasoning - the first man cuts off his hand and removes his wedding ring. The second is a runner who eats his own leg, then a woman who eats her own breasts. Lastly a man eats his own dick. Crazy! Something something greed and hunger in a capitalistic society makes you lose yourself / harm yourself in many ways. Sometimes literally!

Sometimes you're just hungry I guess!!! Maybe Buddhism is the way guys.

(PS: This reminds me strongly of Hylics in the transmutation of objects to different forms: everything, in a sense, to food, and the automation of human beings. Hylics, on the other hand, makes everything the same in different, beautifully sculpted shapes. Still need to finish it!)

#film #jan svankmajer #czech film #film review #movie review #movie #movie rec #short film #stop motion #animation #Youtube

[senorablack]

I'm a Fool to Want You

Words: 7755 Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson Characters: Steve Harrington's Parents, Robin Buckley, Chrissy Cunningham Additional Tags: Film Noir, Murder Mystery, Possessive Sex, Nonbinary Character, Alternate Universe - 1940s, Infidelity, Jealousy, Angst, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Minor Eddie Munson/Original Character(s), Reunion Sex, Blow Jobs, Cock Warming, Cock Slapping, Minor Robin Buckley/Chrissy Cunningham, Drama & Romance, possible anachronisms tbh, Bottom Eddie Munson, Sex Work Summary: Steve Harrington is a regular at Valentine’s, a word-of-mouth, traveling party for queers. As a hard-knocked detective in a town meant to kill you slowly, he’s not meaning to be anything but drunk at tonight’s shindig. Somehow, with the help of a gorgeous pianist, he finds himself in love.

No city did violence like Hawkins, and there was no better reprieve than Valentine’s.

They called the traveling party a mine. Said that you could find gold if you knew where to dig. So he dug. Over and again, he dug. True to tale, tonight’s locale was dressed down in the color. From the shimmering table runners, to the stem of every champagne glass, and to all the glittering jewelry that hung from the neck and wrists of this town’s tipsy, queer underground. 

Valentine’s was an unofficial title and never did once fall on its namesake. It fell whenever and wherever they could find a spot discrete enough to host it. Valentine’s because you were meant to find a sweetheart. Or so it goes. He wouldn’t know. And wasn’t ever expecting anything sweeter than a cube of sugar dropped in his highball. Sweetheart? Sure. Nothing’s been sweet on his heart for years. No, sweet was hard to find in a town hellbent on turning you sour.

Detective Harrington grimaced. He sat back and loosened his tie. Rolled up the sleeves of his white dress shirt. Looked onto the lively crowd with a smile that felt real enough, watching his best gal con another into a dance. It’d been their third time attending and Robin always begged him to try. Try to have a little fun, she’d say, let loose. Try to find what they all came here for, she didn’t. Which was fair enough, he supposes. He never said so either—hadn’t it in him to tell her that he’d gone off trying a long time ago.

As if sensing his mood, the music shifted. Where once was the jaunty trumpet and drums that had spelled the room to twirl and shimmy, was now replaced with something softer. Somber. Subdued. The room mellowed out with it. Pairs either embracing closer, or falling apart and retreating back to the bar for refreshers.

The sax—it weeped. The bass was plucked at like a nervous tick. The shy brush against the high hats came in as if it was unsure of its welcome, but nonetheless continued on persistently at its turn. All of this had instantly weighed something fierce in him. His body gave in. His fingers almost let loose of his drink. Until the piano came in. The piano came in like fishing wire—hooked in at the core of him, drawing him taut and pulling him to his feet. There was no fighting the hold, so he let himself be reeled back to its caster.

Sat there at the keys was a vision in black velvet. A delicate cut of shoulder peeking out of a mink shawl. Rouge shiny at their lips and dusted at the high points of their cheeks. The siren, god, they played like a whisper. Like a secret long coveted and longing to be shared. And Steve wanted to be so badly its keeper, that he didn’t wait for the coda. He couldn’t. He could steal a bottle of extra dry. He could pour two glasses. He could very well perch himself opposite of the pianist in quick, silent appreciation until they take notice. But patience, he could never do. Nor coy.

“They’re the fools, you know.” He said.

“Who?” Asked the pianist, without a look his way.

Their voice was sweet and potent—refreshing, like a mint julep. And Steve was reminded of last years dog days, browning his shoulders and blushing his cheeks, as he went warm all over and thirsty. Then a strand of decadent brown curls fell from its up-do and Steve had smarted up, reaching out to softly brush it from the pianist’s porcelain shoulder.

“Everyone in this room who’s not watching you play.” Steve said quickly.

#steddie #steve x eddie #steddie fanfiction #did i just post about this? yes #am i posting again? also yes #really loved this one 4 me #my steddie fic

[lgcdowoon]

HOLLYS CAFE VLOG FILIMING: solo COUNT: 737 words

his first solo gig. no fellow anything--just a crew and whatever charisma a much more confident dowoon had convinced the casting agents he had. he knows he shouldn’t be as nervous as he is as he arrives at the filming location. they chose him out of however many people had auditioned, saw promise in whatever he had done. he remembered how excited he was for this audition--thought it was made for him when he read the casting call. 

god couldn’t have given him a better first step into the modeling world. this being his first opportunity, he had a lot of hope for what the future held for him. of course, his focus was always on type zero--establishing their name and getting them out of the dreaded 2nd place spot (that they seemed to be their home as of late) as soon as possible. if being apart of this campaign could help them grow and achieve all they wanted, he was even more eager to do it. 

“hmm, i’m not sure what i want to choose.” he said to the camera, tapping his chin as he considered the menu. “summer time is coming up, maybe i could do something refreshing for the drink? i do really like coffee though...maybe a latte would be good?” he thought aloud as he looked at the drinks. he tried a few of their lattes, knowing those would fit his personal tastes well. then, he moved onto more of their refreshing drinks. “ooh this jeje honey tea is delicious! this could be a front runner” he said aloud, reacting brightly to the tea.

transitioning to the food items he quickly noted on one of the standout, “an egg mayo sandwhich...? i’ve never heard of that.” he looked a little concerned, but took a bite of the sample. his facial expression changed, more delighted than disgusted. “that’s actually not bad--it’s kind of good!” he considered the other options, “but i think my fans know i’m more sweet than savory” he joked, looking at the sweet items. “ooh a chocolate chip cookie! you can never go wrong with a chocolate chip cookie, can you? hmm...but strawberry cookie cake sounds good as well!” he considered aloud, “there are too many good options! how will i decide?” he said frustrated at having to chose just one food and drink.

breathing, moving his hands down to calm himself. “ok, everyone, we can do this. what’s important--they should pair well together, shouldn’t they?” he said to the camera, before looking back at his options. deciding that sorting his favorites with what he thought would go well together, he paired the mint chocolate latte he tried with the american chocolate chunk cookie and set them aside. then, he put jeju hanrabong honey tea and strawberry cookie cake together and set them aside. finally (after some deliberation, where he last minute switched one drink for another) he paired cold brew latte with the red velvet macroon. he looked confident, satisified with his choices as he let himself sigh in relief. “now with them sorted i just have to pick which pair...” a look of defeat once again spread over his face as he realized he liked all of the combinations together. he looked dead at the camera, “why is this so hard!?”

after much deliberation, all said out loud for (hopefully) the enjoyment of viewers, he said, “i think i know which one--could someone help me put this apron up?” he asked the staff behind the camera with big puppy dog eyes--who graciously got up and held the apron in front of where he was hiding his final choice. “drumroll...” he tapped the table lightly but with enough force to make some noise. he smiled sweetly, greatly satisfied the staff were putting him with his antics, “tada!” he said and they followed the queue to drop the apron and showed off his set, “mint chocolate latte and chocolate chunk cookie! aka the chOHcolatte set!” feeling the need to further explain he pointed to himself, “because my family name is oh and” pointing at the latte “it’s a latte..you get it right?” he laughed, cringing at himself.

“thank you all for tuning in and make sure to stop by holly’s cafe and get my set! or if you don’t like this set, get something else! there is a reason i could barely make a decision--all of their menu items are delicious.” 

#file under : solo #lgc:gig021

[nhaamazu]

FFXIV Write - Day 20 - Anon

Been playing around with a Fantasy/Cyberpunk AU with some fellow connoisseurs and this is the result...... It started out as Bright via Shadowrun and has honestly strayed into full Cyberpunk/Altered Carbon at this point. May end up a full fic, may not but damn am I having fun with it. Estinien and Haze (WoL) are runners who take contracts from the Mysterious corporate liaison Mr Blue (Aymeric).

“Should have never taken the damn job,” Haze muttered.

“Bit late for that now, isn’t it?” snapped Estinien. “Just keep your head down and leave the talking to me.”

More curious than Mr Blue’s interest in her was her companion’s lack of concern over it. Estinien Varlineau - the man who was racking up a dizzying body count based on interactions with her alone. Ok, so he trusted the guy. But a corpo was a corpo no matter what colours they wore. If Estinien didn’t see that then maybe she had overestimated him.

Mr Blue had reserved his own private braindance suite, in The Silver Steed of all places. A private suite with the security jammed: she could see that clearly now. Great. No cameras. No backup. Only her and the idiot meathead and his lance. They were screwed.

He didn’t skimp on the muscle either: two thugs in crisp black suits flanked the door, more chrome than flesh. From the tales that Estinien told, she presumed they were merely for show. Mr Blue could handle himself, he just chose not to. After all, why lift a finger when you can pay someone else to get their hands dirty?

The thugs did not so much as acknowledge either runner. No welcome, no attempt to bar their way. Inside the suite, the ambient noise of a mid-week evening ceased to be as the dampening kicked in. When the door sealed behind them, all connection to the outside was lost. Mayhap as he intended.

Within the circular room, she chose the cushioned section of bench as far away from Mr Blue as physically possible. He noticed. Must be running some preem tech behind that mask, she surmised. Because of course he was clad in the clandestine garb of all corporate fixers - black folds of fabric, complete with a wide hood and mask that would have rendered anyone with ‘ganic eyes completely blind. All that she could see of the man himself were his lips, which had twisted into a lop-sided smirk. He barely moved as Estinien rested his lance atop the table. Even here? Alright. She un-holstered her weapon, lay it flat on the table, within reach. Follow Estinien’s lead. That’s all she had to do.

“I was beginning to wonder if you would show,” said Mr Blue. He was well-spoken, and his voice was like velvet. All the better for his line of work.

“Almost didn’t,” said Estinien. “You any idea what that last job almost cost us?”

“Almost.” Mr Blue did not so much as uncross his legs, so unconcerned was he with Estinien’s ire. “And you pulled it off - as you always do.”

“Thinking about upping my fee.”

“Then make sure you make it worth my while.” Now, he moved; unclasped his hands and turned his head towards the stranger in the room. To him, at least. “I must say, the data you delivered was alarmingly crisp. Not so much as a line out of place. I’d be glad to pay triple for a runner of your skill.”

“My skills aren’t for sale. Not to someone like you.”

His smile widened. A game, it seemed to say. Yes. I shall play. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. 

"Then mayhap I should purchase the whole package? What do you say - would you work for me? I guarantee I would make it worth your while.”

#FFxivWrite2022 #aymeric de borel #estinien varlineau #cyberpunk au #ffxiv