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#sybil inkwell
gothpidgin · 11 months
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tfw your mother-in-law is the only one who shows up to your gig
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dhr-ao3 · 11 months
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The Unspeakables
The Unspeakables https://ift.tt/36F7wxz by inkwelled After the Second Wizarding War, Hermione Granger begins working as an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries, During a checkup at Hogwarts, she finds an item belonging to the Malfoy Family. Deeming it safe, she is approved to return it to it’s owners. Little does she know that when it makes contact with his skin, they are transported back in time to the Maraurders’ era. Hermione and Draco soon discover that they are unable to return to their own time, and they must work together to navigate the past and find a way back home. Along the way, they face numerous challenges, including coming face-to-face with the Marauders themselves and navigating the social norms of the past. Words: 30, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Not Rated Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: F/M Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Sirius Black, James Potter, Lily Evans Potter, Severus Snape, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Regulus Black, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Astoria Greengrass, Daphne Greengrass, Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley, Rachel from Duelling Club (Harry Potter), Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange, Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Molly Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Cornelius Fudge, Barty Crouch Jr., Pansy Parkinson, Fleur Delacour, Bill Weasley, Sybill Trelawney, Fenrir Greyback, Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Antonin Dolohov, Dolores Umbridge, Cuthbert Binns, Petunia Evans Dursley, Andromeda Black Tonks, Nymphadora Tonks, Teddy Lupin Relationships: Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy Additional Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Forbidden Love, Soulmates via AO3 works tagged 'Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy' https://ift.tt/uD5ZYPU April 21, 2023 at 10:02PM
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fyeahharryginny · 11 months
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The Unspeakables
by inkwelled
After the Second Wizarding War, Hermione Granger begins working as an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries, During a checkup at Hogwarts, she finds an item belonging to the Malfoy Family. Deeming it safe, she is approved to return it to it’s owners. Little does she know that when it makes contact with his skin, they are transported back in time to the Maraurders’ era.
Hermione and Draco soon discover that they are unable to return to their own time, and they must work together to navigate the past and find a way back home. Along the way, they face numerous challenges, including coming face-to-face with the Marauders themselves and navigating the social norms of the past.
Words: 30, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English
Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Categories: F/M
Characters: Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, Sirius Black, James Potter, Lily Evans Potter, Severus Snape, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, Regulus Black, Narcissa Black Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, Theodore Nott, Blaise Zabini, Astoria Greengrass, Daphne Greengrass, Harry Potter, Ginny Weasley, Ron Weasley, Rachel from Duelling Club (Harry Potter), Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange, Albus Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall, Molly Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Cornelius Fudge, Barty Crouch Jr., Pansy Parkinson, Fleur Delacour, Bill Weasley, Sybill Trelawney, Fenrir Greyback, Tom Riddle | Voldemort, Antonin Dolohov, Dolores Umbridge, Cuthbert Binns, Petunia Evans Dursley, Andromeda Black Tonks, Nymphadora Tonks, Teddy Lupin
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy, Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, James Potter/Lily Evans Potter, Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Additional Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Forbidden Love, Soulmates
Read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/m1wdvyP
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datsderbunnyblog · 3 years
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Discworld’s Best Autistic Power Moves
Vimes pretending not to understand things
Carrot pretending not to understand things
Vetinari pretending not to understand things (Going Postal)
"If you stick a broom up my arse I could probably sweep the floor, too," said a voice. Moist realized it was his. His brain was a mess. It had come as a shock to him that the afterlife was this one. Lord Vetinari gave him a long, long look. "Well, if you wish," he said, and turned to a hovering clerk. "Drumknott, does the housekeeper have a store cupboard on this floor, do you know?"
Drumknott joining in with Vetinari pretending not to understand things (Going Postal)
"Oh, yes, my lord," said the clerk. "Shall I--"
Vetinari asking for warning when Moist is joking (Going Postal)
“Oh, I’m sorry, I hadn’t realized,’ said Lord Vetinari, turning back to Moist. ‘Do tell me if you feel obliged to make another one, will you?’
That time Vetinari demanded a stim toy (The Science of Discworld IV)
“Lord Vetinari looked around and said, ‘Shouldn’t I have a gavel? You know, one of those things judges bang on the table. I feel quite naked without one.’
A gavel was acquired from somewhere at speed and handed to his Lordship, who banged it once or twice in a kind of happiness.”
[See also: Vetinari playing with Leonard’s post-it note in Men At Arms, Vetinari playing with the ice in his inkwell in The Truth]
Vimes keeping his office really cold
Vetinari keeping his office really cold
Carrot taking advantage of the fact that his literal thinking is common knowledge (please see: every single book Carrot appears in)
Sybil deploying Sarcasm™️ (The Fifth Elephant)
‘I think I recognize the type, yes,’ said Sybil, with an irony that failed to register with Sam Vimes until some days later.
The entire concept of the Thieves’ Guild is the single most autistic thing I’ve ever heard in my life
“Crime was always with us, he reasoned, and therefore, if you were going to have crime, it at least should be organised crime... That way, everyone could plan ahead, said Lord Vetinari, and part of the uncertainty had been removed from the chaos that is life.”
Sybil knitting and darning and cooking, despite being the richest woman in the city, because it’s What Good Wives Are Supposed To Do
Sybil getting angry at Serafine von Uberwald because she was Rude (The Fifth Elephant)
“Sybil strode towards the Baroness and grabbed her. ‘You never answered a single letter! All those years I wrote to you!’
The Baroness stared at her in amazement, as people so often did when struck with Sybil’s non sequiturs.”
Vetinari and Vimes developing a whole system of non-verbal communication (Thud!)
“He gave Vetinari the look which said: if you take this any further I will have to lie.
Vetinari returned one which said: I know.
‘You yourself are not too badly injured?’ the Patrician said aloud.
‘Just a few scratches, sir,’ said Vimes.
Vetinari gave him a look which said: broken ribs, I’m certain of it.
Vimes returned one which said: nothing.”
Vetinari and Vimes also using Very Blunt verbal communication in the same conversation (Thud!)
“’What would you do if I asked you an outright question, Vimes?’
‘I’d tell you a downright lie, sir.’
‘Then I will not do so,’ said Vetinari, smiling faintly.
‘Thank you, sir. Nor will I.’”
William de Worde very carefully rephrasing things so that he’s Not Technically Lying (The Truth)
Drumknott standing up to Vetinari on the matter of paperclips (Unseen Academicals)
"’I was wondering if I could just add something, sir,’ said the secretary solemnly.
‘The floor is yours, Drumknott.’
‘I would not like it thought that I do not buy my own paperclips, sir. I enjoy owning my own paperclips. It means that they are mine. I thought it helpful I should tell you that in a measured and non-confrontational way.’
Vetinari looked at the ceiling for a few moments and then said: ‘Thank you for your frankness. I shall consider the record straightened and the matter closed.’
‘Thank you, sir.’”
Throw the book at him, Carrot. (Guards! Guards!)
(More to be added as they occur to me, in my usual chaotic way, please do feel free to add your own. ADHD Edition coming soon, stay tuned!)
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skyriderwednesday · 3 years
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Hair
There's always an unmanageable phase to growing out your hair, and Havelock has hit it. Fortunately, Sybil is very keen to offer her services.
(The fabled 'Sybil brushes Havelock's hair fic', G rated but a teensy bit spicy for a moment or two, background VetSybVimes, 1835 words)
Also on AO3
Havelock's hair was... becoming a problem. It wasn't unruly as such, and the weather this year was not yet humid enough to affect it - his hair was used to humidity. No, the main issues he was facing could all be attributed to length. His hair had been longer. It had been far longer -- but he had been fourteen when his hair had reached his waist and he had not had the concerns of leading an entire city. Presently, it was just reaching the bottom of his shoulder-blades. He could hardly tie it tight enough, it would come loose after a handful of hours when it never had before. It would fall in his eyes, tangle with his glasses, tangle with itself... Put simply, more needed doing to it. He could not any longer simply comb out the most obvious tangles and tie it flat away, his hair had volume and (metaphorically) a life of its own. He could not remember how he had managed it as a teen. He might have braided it. Sybil had said last night that she liked it long, that it suited him, and given he deeply disliked having it cut...  "If you were the one to have to deal with it my dear, you may not be as fond of it," he had replied. That had been in error. Sybil always liked a challenge. She also had always greatly enjoyed his hair.
"Hello darling," she said warmly as she swept into the room. Havelock looked up wearily from his desk. "Good morning Sybil," he said, pushing loose hair out of his face. Sybil advanced across the office, conventions of politics and rules of tyranny meaning nothing against the tide of determination she exerted. Havelock let it overtake him, not having slept well enough to summon an effectual barricade of stubbornness. Sybil represented the theoretical unstoppable force by default, and presently he felt like a perfectly moveable object. "I see I've arrived in good time..." she said, reaching immediately for his hair. He lamely leaned away from her, knowing full well there was no point to doing so. "It would appear so." Havelock pulled a face as Sybil kissed his temple. "Oh, you are miserable dear," she said, touching his hair again. I wonder why that could be? He did not say out loud. Silently he moved his inkwell to where it was not liable to be knocked over. "Darling," Sybil said firmly. He had long noted that Sybil appeared to be able to read his mind at times. He turned his eyes heavily towards her. "Yes?" "I can come back if I've interrupted you," she said calmly. "No," he shook his head, and loose hair tickled his nose. "We had best have it sorted." "Right," she patted his shoulder, causing him to fail in an endeavour not to sneeze. Rather loudly. "Bless you, dear." "...thank you," he said, blinking. Sybil moved back a little, studying him. "Darling, you look as if your brain just fell out of your ears." "It feels that way," he replied, still a little dazed. "Well, stuff it back in and we'll get to your hair. I'm sure you haven't got all day." Havelock made a mildly disgusted noise. Sybil laughed. "Come on, dear." She walked around the front of the desk towards the fireplace. Havelock stayed where he was and shut his eyes. He wasn't having the best of mornings. He hadn't slept well, his back hurt, his leg was stiff… he had gotten nowhere with the backlog of yesterday, and now Sybil had decided they were going to do his hair. There was a noise. He looked over. She was moving the coffee table. "Sybil…" "I'll put it back when we're finished dear," she said, dusting off her hands – though if there had been any dust on the coffee table, he would have had to have a stern word with the servants. He watched her sit on one of the sofas with her legs out in front of her and open her handbag. She started to take things out of it. Multiple combs, a hairbrush, hair ties, pins… To think he ordinarily managed with a single comb, a piece of ribbon, and his fingers. "Darling," Sybil said warningly.
Havelock tried not to sigh as he got to his feet and laboured across the room. Sybil took his arm gently and guided him to sit against her legs. He put his head back into her lap and folded his hands onto his lower chest. She gathered his hair out from under him and smiled fondly. "Now this is an angle I haven't seen you from in a long time," she said. "You haven't needed to," he replied softly. "It used to be every week when I was home," she mused, picking at the ribbon that had been vaguely holding back his hair. "Glasses, dear." He took them off and relaxed into the process. That's right… Sybil had managed his hair when it had reached his waist. She must have tried to teach him, but he had a strong sense that he had usually been half asleep the moment she picked up the hairbrush. He tuned back in to her muttering to herself. "Gods, Havelock, what kind of pig's ear–-" Sybil made a triumphant noise as she managed to untie the ribbon with the aid of a sturdy pin. "I apologise for that," he said. "No worries dear," Sybil dropped the twisted ribbon onto his hands. Flattening it was now his project for the next ten minutes. "No, I haven't needed to," she said, resuming the previous train of thought as she weighed a wide comb versus the hairbrush. "You would have thought that someone would have taught you to properly care for your hair at some point, but…" "It's not a skill they teach to boys," he said, echoing a similar conversation that had been held between them long ago. "No," Sybil said, choosing the comb and beginning to detangle from the ends up towards his roots. "They should though," he replied, holding the ribbon close to his eyes as he worked to smooth it. "Exactly," Sybil said. "And then you went away for so long and when you came back you had cut it. I half-thought I'd never forgive you for that." "I couldn't manage it," he said, tilting his head back, "and the image was important." "Oh the image," Havelock could hear her rolling her eyes. "Everything was about the image. Is that why you stopped seeing me?" He sat up and turned around to her, the ribbon forgotten about. "Of course not. Our paths had diverged, and there was so much mess to clean up, and–-" Sybil's fingers brushed around his jaw and under his chin, gently closing his mouth. "Hush, darling, I didn't mean it." She turned him round and lay him back against her knees. She stroked his hair and kissed his forehead. "I understand. At the time, I was alone in a big house and angry, and I thought I hated you… but I'm glad to have you again now." He sighed deeply. "I am too…" "I love you darling," Sybil said, "I've always loved you. Now, I think I should finish your hair before one of us starts crying." "'One of us'?" he said. "Come now, we both know it would be me." Sybil snorted, "Havelock!" "I can cry if I want to," he said mock sulkily, "it's my office." "Well don't start now, I need that ribbon straightened out." He retrieved it from the carpet, "Yes ma'am." "Don't start that either." He smiled at her innocently. "I don't know what you mean." "Behave," she said, gently hitting him with the brush, "or I might pull your hair." She meant it. Yes ma'am, he resisted saying aloud for a second time. The first stroke of the brush tugged his hair anyway. He glanced back at her. "Sorry, dear."
He melted into the sensation of subsequent strokes, silently revelling in the odd scrape of the bristles against his scalp. The task of smoothing the ribbon continued autonomously, and his breathing deepened in content. Then the brushing stopped. Sybil's fingers entered his hair. He hummed in query. She shushed him. Then she began to massage his scalp, down into his neck, relieving tension he hadn't known his muscles had been holding. He moaned in quiet bliss. Sybil hummed. Her warmth increased as she leant over and pressed her lips to the top of his head. "Don't you think we should do this more often?" she whispered. Havelock had to remember how to speak. "Yes…" he breathed, "I do." "Good," Sybil kissed his head again, "though not in your office." She withdrew, leaving him with a pang of loss. She was right. As uncomplicated as their arrangement felt from the inside, it could result in unfathomable complications if walked in upon. After all, onlookers would see the leader of the city and a married woman. There would be scandal, words such as 'taking advantage' would be used…
"Have you finished with that ribbon, dear?" she asked. Havelock looked down at it in his hands. He had forgotten he was holding it. "Ah… it appears to have become crumpled again." Sybil looked down over him. "Well, it's better than it was," she said, faintly amused. "I won't need it for a few more minutes anyway." He nodded, and Sybil brushed out the tangles her fingers had caused. She sectioned his hair, gently straightening his head before beginning to braid it intricately from his crown to the top of his neck. It was tight, sturdy, but not uncomfortable. He felt pins and ties weaved into it. It was a style that locked his hair in place, and would keep it there until she could do it again or until he decided to take it down. Most likely the former. "Ribbon please, dear," Sybil said and he dutifully passed it up to her to tie the last loose portions of his hair at the base of his neck.
She sat back to admire her handiwork, "Beautiful, darling, even if I am saying so myself." He hummed warmly. "Thank you so very much." "You're always welcome," Sybil said and kissed the top of his head a last time. "Now..." she looked at him analytically, "we do now have to get you up from down there." "Ah," he said. "I had… neglected to think of that." "So had I… It makes it harder that you're sitting on my feet." He half shook his head and enjoyed that his hair wouldn't make him sneeze this time. "It would be harder if I were between them." "Could you turn around?" "That would involve crawling and may appear compromising." Sybil hummed in deep thought. "I should have allowed you to do this last night," he said. She shook her head, "Sam would have laughed at us for twenty minutes before helping." "Yes, he would..." "...under your arms?" Sybil suggested.
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thehedash · 3 years
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Genevieve finds her in the library. Which is certainly nothing new. There are numerous moments in the past 8 years where Sybil can perfectly recall the sharp sound of those particular shoes on the cold tile floors of Neverwinter Academy. At a time she had even tried to avoid them, but persistence, as it were, was much more resilient than her patience.
When the familiar outline of Genevieve fills her periphery, Sybil glances in her direction. She’s still in uniform at the very least; a surprise in and of itself. However, any sense of common decency is discarded in favor of a far too loose necktie and an untucked blouse.  
“So this is what you’ve decided to spend your time doing the night before commencement,” Genevieve says, lifting up one of the unattended papers littered over the table, pinched between her thumb and index finger. She shakes it in a limp grasp and the paper wobbles pitifully in the air, her look of disgust more than evident. “Studying.” Genevieve catches her eyes. “Aren’t we finally done with that?”
“Perhaps you are,” Sybil responds, maintaining eye contact as she plucks the paper from Genevieve’s grasp. “But some of us rather be prepared for what follows.”
Genevieve snorts, the roll of her eyes pronounced and meant to be seen, but Sybil doesn’t allow Genevieve the luxury of her attention. She places the piece of paper down next to her notes, runs her hands over the nonexistent wrinkles and returns to her work.
For the most part anyway. It’s hard with the noise as Genevieve rounds the table and noisily pulls out the adjacent chair. The legs screech as she shifts it closer towards Sybil’s before sitting down beside her with a huff. Genevieve tucks herself close, just behind so their arms overlap and she can easily rest her cheek against the back Sybil’s shoulder.
Things settle with Genevieve unusually compliant next to her, and Sybil uses the time wisely. Transferring the collection of loose-leaf notes into her journal would take her the better part of the evening, and she had intended for that to be spent alone. But if she was being honest, the company isn’t exactly unwelcomed. In fact quite the opposite. There was a certain calmness in Genevieve’s company that Sybil had done her best not to think about. 
And now, with the eve of commencement upon them, Sybil figures she never will.
“You’re really taking the apprenticeship?”
“There’s no reason why I shouldn’t,” Sybil says, matter of fact. She dips her pen back into the inkwell and then drags the tip along the edge, ridding it of the excess ink. Within moments, pen and paper meet again. “It would be stupid of me not to.”
Her only answer is the sound of her own writing, the scratch of the tip over the parchment a calming accompaniment to the sound of Genevieve’s quiet sigh near her ear. It’s a couple seconds before Sybil realizes she’s stopped writing, the pen still, the ink bleeding into the page.
Sybil straightens her spine, lifting the tip of the pen away from the paper. “Are you disappointed?” she asks.
Genevieve shifts minutely, but doesn’t answer. Instead she reaches up, pulling Sybil’s left hand down into her lap, holding it captive. Sybil fans out her fingers out of habit, welcoming the familiar shape of Genevieve’s hand in her own.
“Disappointed?” Genevieve repeats, as if testing the feeling first in her mouth--on her tongue. Genevieve squeezes her hand and Sybil feels it spread. “No. I’m not disappointed.”
“You are a horrible liar,” Sybil says quietly.
Genevieve chuckles. “And you call yourself smart.”
Sybil glances left, and for a moment finds herself lost. She studies the curls and waves of Genevieve’s hair under the lights--the slope of her nose and the subtle pout of her lips and it occurs to her now how much time has passed. They’ve known each other for years, practically since the beginning, and yet it's odd to think exactly how much has changed since then. And how much things will continue to change whether they want it to or not.
It’s when she manages to look away that she notices their observers. A small cluster of what appears to be 5th year girls with their dark blue robes and generous assortment of books. They stare unabashedly and Sybil has no qualms staring right back.
The girls mutter amongst themselves, grouped close and sharing glances, but soon one shuffles left and the rest follow, scurrying off towards the front desk. Once they’re safely out of sight, Sybil returns to her work, only slightly less efficient one handed.
“This is it, isn’t it?” Genevieve says softly, words mumbled into Sybil’s sleeve.
Sybil blinks slowly, once, twice, but the words spread out before her remain, and for once she pretends not to understand.
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ranger-thirty-nine · 3 years
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A Rather Chaotic Harvest Day
In which it is Harvest Day and Martin has to fix everything going wrong. 
Find it on Wattpad and Ao3! 
A flurry of papers showered down around Martin as he shot up from his chair. He dropped his quill. Scrambling to the door, he quickly ran a hand through his hair and straightened up his jerkin. 
“My lord!” he said. He clicked his heels together, lifting his chin up as Baron Arald poked his head into the office. “What can I do for you, my lord?” 
 Baron Arald smiled. He slapped Martin on the shoulder as he wandered inside. His face brightened at the plate of biscuits that sat on the desk. “Just checking in,” he said, picking one out for himself. “What’s on the agenda for today?” 
Martin jumped. He lunged for his desk, sifting through the stacks of paper to find his schedule. “Today is Harvest Day, my lord!” he said. “The festivities officially start at ten o’clock, and you are expected to make a speech. The grand picnic starts at noon, so you have a few hours of downtime before then. You will be seated with all the craftmasters, and the Heaped Platter will be providing the meals.” 
He took a deep breath. “There will be two shows. The first one at one o’clock, and the second at three. The results of the pumpkin carving contest and pie baking contest will be announced at five o’clock. You will be judging with Walter, the village constable, and Sir Rodney has agreed to be the third. At six, dinner will be served here in the castle. You will have to return beforehand to prepare. Joining you will be Sir Montague of Cobram Keep, Sir Maurice and Lady Sybil, who reigns from Norgate fief, and of course, the lovely Lady Sandra. You will be entertained by a choir and an ensemble of dancers. The day will be finished with yet another speech from you at about half past seven. Was there anything you would like to add, my lord?” 
Martin looked up. He blinked at Baron Arald’s blank expression. “My lord?” 
Baron Arald made a twirling motion with his finger next to his head. He waved his biscuit in the air. “Could you perhaps repeat all of that for me?” he said. “Slowly, this time.” 
Martin set down the paper, gulping down a big breath. He opened his mouth and began reciting everything he had just said from memory. He clasped his hands behind his back, tapping his finger to keep rhythm. “Today is Harvest Day, my lord!” he said. “The festivities official start at—” 
“You know what?” Baron Arald jutted in. “Why don’t you write it all down for me?” 
“Yes, my lord! Right away, my lord!” 
“In the meanwhile, I’m going to go have my breakfast. Drop that schedule off at my study when you’re done, okay?” 
“Yes, my lord. I will do just that.” 
Martin pulled open his desk drawer and retrieved a piece of parchment. Dipping his quill into his inkwell, he began to write. His handwriting was neat, some would say too neat. He agonized over each word, each letter, making sure it was all perfect. There was no excess amount of ink, and there was definitely no lack of it. Under his watchful eye and careful hand, there would be no mistakes. Everything would go the way it was planned. 
His door swung open. 
Martin scrambled onto his feet. His heels clicked together in an effort to make a loud clack, and he straightened his back. “My lord!” he said, almost knocking over the inkwell. “I did not expect you to return so soon. Did you need—oh.” 
He looked up to find Desmond, the head steward. His best friend. Martin relaxed, letting out a breath. He leaned against his desk and shook his head. “Good morning, Desmond.” 
Desmond was out of breath. His face was all ruddy, dark hair messily tumbling over his eyes. He grabbed Martin by the arm, lowering his voice. He whispered into his ear. “We have a problem,” he said. 
Martin frowned. “What happened?” he asked, hand going slack. 
“One of the singers is sick!” Desmond said. “We don’t have a replacement. He was supposed to lead the song after the baron’s speech.” 
“What?” Martin said, louder than he meant to. He winced. “Are you sure?” 
Desmond nodded. 
“Take me to him.” 
Martin grabbed his cloak as he passed his coat rack. Swinging it over his shoulders, he walked at a brisk pace and urged Desmond to walk faster. He put on a smile, nodding at the servants they passed. Nobody would know that there was a setback. Everything was the way it was supposed to be. Everything was fine. 
Desmond led him out of the castle and into the courtyard. Martin paid no heed to the blast of wind that crashed into his face. He pushed forward. He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the dark. With winter on its way, the sun was slower to rise and quicker to leave. That meant there was no time to waste. Daylight was precious. 
Running out of the castle grounds, they passed the drawbridge and dove into an array of colorful booths. The tents were red and gold and violet. They were bright, vivid colors, and they popped like a burst of fruit in the bleached morning. Orange and blue streamers hung from the posts, flowing in the wind like glittering flags. 
It was barren and empty despite the lively atmosphere it seemed to bring. There was no one around. The air held a serene quiet, peace before a day of live performances and fun games. Silent anticipation and excitement. 
Martin didn’t stop to catch his breath, pushing open the flaps of a dark purple tent. He pushed past Desmond and looked around. “What happened?” he demanded. 
“Oscar is sick!” The fair’s ringmaster said. “We don’t know what to do.” 
“Are you sure no one can take his place?” 
“We had to use our replacement to take Astrid’s place for the show. Everyone else is too busy! They don’t have time to learn the part.” 
“Everything is fine, guys.” A wheeze came from the corner of the tent. Oscar pushed himself up, struggling against the mass of blankets that had been over him. “I can do it.” 
“You shouldn’t strain yourself if you’re—” 
“Are you sure?” Martin spoke over Desmond. “Can you sing all right?” 
“Just get me some tea. I’ll get through it.” 
“No.” The ringmaster stepped forward. “I’m not letting you sing like this.” He turned to Martin, eyes set. “What are you thinking? We could just cancel this one song,” he said, dragging him outside by the arm. “I don’t want anyone else getting a cold because of this.” 
“But—” 
“He’s right, Martin.” Desmond placed a hand on his shoulder. “One song isn’t going to make a huge—” 
“Hey!” Martin shouted, darting away towards a lone figure. “You there! Ranger Will Treaty! You can sing, right?” 
Will looked up as Martin approached. His eyebrow rose. He had been taking a stroll before the day’s activities. “Hello, Martin,” he said. “Happy Harvest Day.” 
“Yes, yes.” Martin nodded. “Ranger Will, you can sing, right?” 
“I believe so.” 
Martin didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Will’s arm, running back towards Desmond and the ringmaster. “Here!” he said. “I found you a replacement.” 
“What?” Will pulled himself out of Martin’s grasp. He dusted himself off. “What am I doing?” 
The ringmaster stared at Will. He hummed to himself. “You can sing?” 
“Uh, yes?” 
Leaving them to it, Martin followed Desmond back towards the castle. He exhaled. “That wasn’t so hard.” 
Desmond chuckled. “It wasn’t like anything was going to stop you,” he said. “You never let anything like this cause some sort of problem.” 
“Well, there was that one time…” Martin trailed off. 
He looked up, standing at the edge of the drawbridge. Frowning, he strained his ears. “What is that?” he said. 
Arguing could be heard from the castle. They were too far away to decipher what was being said, but the fighting was clear. Sharp voices drifted into Martin’s ears, and from the sound of it, the two offenders weren’t even bothering to keep it hushed. 
Martin felt his cheeks flush hot red. He shared a glance with Desmond before sprinting up the drawbridge. “Hey!” he said. “Hey, what do you two think you are doing?” 
He slid to a stop in front of the stables. The two individuals in question spun to face Martin. To his surprise, it was a young stablehand and a member of the traveling fair. The stablehand had a panicked look about him. He seemed close to tears with a red nose and hair like a mop. The fair member, however, was angry. Her eyes were little flames, a beacon in the coming morning. She glared at Martin. 
“This fool took all the apples for apple bobbing!” she screeched. 
“It was an accident!” the stablehand said. “I said I’m sorry!” 
“But what about apple bobbing? It’s a tradition!” 
“I didn’t know!” 
“Hush it! Both of you!” Martin said. He crossed his arms. “You.” He nodded at the stablehand. “Why did you take the apples?” 
“I thought they were for the horses!” he said. Sweat dripped from the side of his head. He swallowed. “They were in the usual spot where we get our shipments!” 
“But they weren’t!” the fair member said. “You should have checked with someone!” 
“I didn’t think to!” 
“Whose fault is that, then?” 
“Stop stop stop!” Martin waved his hands in the air. A strand of his short, cropped hair fell down onto his forehead. He opened his mouth and looked for the words he wanted to say. “Let’s think this through! Are you sure we don’t have any more apples?” 
The fair member sighed. She huffed at a strand of her hair. “No,” she said slowly, drawing her words out as if what she was saying was obvious. “The cooks need the rest of the apples. They need to make enough apple cider, candy apples, and apple tarts for everyone.” 
“What if you don’t use apples?” 
Martin looked at Desmond. “What? Say that again!” 
Desmond cleared his throat. He awkwardly smiled at all the eyes that were trained onto him. “What if…” he said. “We don’t use apples. Pears? Can we use pears?” 
“But not all pears float.” 
“Then, mix it up.” Desmond inclined his head. The gears in his head turned methodically. “Use both pears and oranges. If you find apples, add them in too.” 
The fair member blinked. “That… could work.” 
“Yeah?” Desmond nodded his head like an excited puppy. “Come. I’ll take you to the kitchens.” 
Martin sighed when Desmond and the fair member went out of sight. He ran a hand through his hair. Closing his eyes, he took a moment to himself. 
“Excuse me?” the stablehand said. “Are you alright?” 
Martin waved his hand away. “I’m fine,” he said. “Just fine. Get back to work.” 
“Yes, sir.” 
Martin quickly left the stables, headed towards the doors that led into the castle. It wasn’t until he reached the doorway did he realize the sunlight that peeked through the clouds. He spun on his heels, and his eyes widened. Jogging back the way he came from, he looked towards the sundial. 
Ten o’clock. 
The festival was supposed to be starting. Baron Arald was supposed to be making a speech. But where was he? 
A gasp tore through Martin’s throat. The hairs on the back of his neck bolted up as realization struck him like a lightning bolt. He dashed towards the castle, climbing up the steps two at a time. Pushing the door open, he yelped in surprise as he ran into someone. 
“Excuse me—oh! Baron Arald!” Martin scrambled backwards. His heels instinctively tapped together, and he straightened up. He sucked in a breath, standing at attention. 
“There you are!” Baron Arald said. “I’ve been looking for you.” 
“I am so terribly sorry, my lord!” Martin said. “Some things came up, but I have them resolved now. You do not have to worry about anything.” 
“Martin, I actually—” 
“My lord, the people are waiting for your speech now. You should hurry. I will get back to writing down your schedule for you. Do not worry!” 
“Martin!” 
Martin was already scurrying along the hall. He walked straight to his office, not bothering to say a greeting to anyone he passed. His door was open when he arrived, and Martin frowned. He was sure he had closed his door. 
Walking inside, he looked around. Perhaps, he didn’t. The morning was all a blur, and Martin couldn’t remember half of the things he had done. 
He plopped down into his chair, relaxing against the soft cushions. Martin picked up his quill to continue writing. Dipping it into the inkwell, he paused. Where was his original schedule? 
Setting down his quill, he looked through his papers. He carefully fingered through each of them. Martin frowned. There was no way he could have lost it! It had been there earlier that morning. He hadn’t done anything with it, had he? 
Martin looked through his papers a third time. His heart began to pound faster and faster, hands slippery with sweat. He didn’t even hear the knocking of his door until it creaked open. 
“Excuse me?” 
Martin glanced up at the courier. “Yes?” 
“I bring a message from Sir Ellis of Aldstock Hold.” 
Martin paused. He set his papers down slowly, standing. “Sir Ellis?” he said. “I thought he wasn’t coming.” 
“That’s the thing, mister. Everything’s cleared up. He will be arriving in an hour.” 
“An hour?” Martin echoed. 
“That’s right.” 
Dismissing the courier, Martin muttered underneath his breath. He picked up his quill and began to scribble on a piece of parchment. Someone would have to warn Master Chubb to cook an extra dinner, and the servants were going to have to prepare more guest bedrooms. And from the looks of it, Martin was the only one in the castle who knew of Sir Ellis’s arrival. That meant he would have to tell them himself. 
He headed for the kitchens. The castle was quiet with the majority of people out enjoying the fair. Everyone had at least half the day off, and no one was going to waste it inside doing work. 
“Master Chubb!” Martin said, walking into the loud kitchen. He cleared his throat over the popping and sizzling. He raised his voice. “Master Chubb!” 
Master Chubb looked over at Martin. He motioned for another cook to take his spot. “Martin,” he said, wiping his hands on a towel. “Happy Harvest Day.” 
“Sir Ellis of Aldstock Hold will be here for dinner. Be sure to prepare something for him.” 
Master Chubb frowned. He tapped at his ear. “Speak louder! I can’t hear you with all this background noise!” 
“Sir Ellis!” Martin shouted. “He will be here tonight!” 
Shooting him a thumbs up, Master Chubb waved at a handful of servants. Sighing, Martin stumbled back out of the kitchen and back into his office. He could hear the laughter and chattering from outside. The small children screamed, chasing each other and begging their parents for sweets. Many of the knights took part in the games, and the hoop throwing one seemed to have been frustrating them. Even Baron Arald seemed to have trouble with it. 
Martin shut his curtains before taking a seat. Leaning forward, his elbows landed on his desk. His eyes skimmed over all his papers, his brain empty. He yawned. 
His eyelids drooped down, enraptured by the sweet lure of sleep. His hands were the only thing holding his head up, and his whole body had powered down with the thought of rest. Sleep came to him the way a fish would bite onto a hook. Slumber was a bait too strong for Martin to resist, especially after a restless night and hectic morning. He pounced on it, and his consciousness was no more. His head landed on his desk. 
It felt like seconds before someone was prodding at his arm. Martin groaned. 
“Martin! Martin, wake up!” 
Rubbing his eyes, Martin slowly sat up. He blinked as light entered his pupils. Someone had opened his curtains. “Huh?” 
“You fell asleep at your desk.” 
Martin froze. He knew that voice. He hopped out of his chair. “My lord!” he said, bowing down. “I am so—” 
“Relax, relax.” Baron Arald chuckled. “Desmond tells me you’ve had quite the morning.” 
Martin looked at Desmond, who stood next to his window. He glared at him, but Desmond didn’t seem to be affected by it. 
“My lord, I assure you I will make it all up to you.” 
“Martin, you really don’t have to—” 
“What time is it?” Martin looked back. “Desmond?” 
“A little past two.” 
Martin nodded. “My lord—” 
“Martin!” Baron Arald practically shouted. “Calm down for a minute, would you? Harvest Day is not ruined!” 
“My lord?” 
Baron Arald dug in his pockets, pulling out a piece of parchment. “I came to your office when you didn’t leave the schedule on my desk. I took your copy of it.” 
Martin stared blankly at the schedule in his hands. “Oh.” He opened his mouth to apologize, but the baron raised a hand before he could. 
“Don’t be sorry,” he said. “Just don’t.” Baron Arald paused. “Have you ever considered taking a break, Martin?” 
“A break? My lord, are you… what are you saying?” 
Baron Arald laughed. “I’m not firing you, Martin. You’re very good at your job, and I don’t know anyone else who would put in all the effort you do. But perhaps, you should take the rest of the day off. It’s Harvest Day, after all.” 
“My lord, you really don’t have to do that. I am quite capable of—” 
“That was an order, Martin.” 
Martin’s throat went dry. He stiffened, clacking his heels together. Standing up straight, he nodded. “Yes, my lord.” 
Baron Arald nodded. He turned to Desmond. "You too." 
Desmond bowed. He smiled as the Baron exited the room, humming to himself. Elbowing Martin in the ribs, he laughed. “You can be so dense, sometimes.” 
“Really? Should I do something about that?” 
Desmond rolled his eyes. “Nevermind,” he said. “Let’s go to the fair. We can make it to the last show.” 
Martin smiled. He shuffled in his position, shifting his weight around. It wasn’t often when he had nothing to do. It was strange. But orders were orders, and Martin soon found that it was a good strange. He could get used to taking days off. 
“Okay,” he said. He squeezed Desmond’s shoulder. “Let’s go.” 
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thegreatworkofmagic · 4 years
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The rules : repost and name your ten favorite characters from ten different things  (books/movies/shows/games) then tag ten people.
(To be clear this is in no particular order!)
The Men:
Steve McGarrett (Hawaii Five-0)
Aragorn (Lord of the Rings)
Killian Jones (Once Upon a Time)
Jamie Fraser (Outlander)
Sirius Black (Harry Potter) {muse}
Eric Northman (True Blood) {muse}
Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer) {muse}
Damon Salvatore (The Vampire Diaries)
Jackson Maine (A Star Is Born) {muse}
Deacon Claybourne (Nashville) {muse}
The Women:
Claire Fraser (Outlander)
Rory Gilmore (Gilmore Girls) {test muse}
Ally Maine (A Star Is Born) {muse}
Sybil Crawley (Downton Abbey)
Scarlett O'Connor (Nashville) {muse}
Snow White (OUAT) {muse}
Shireen Baratheon (Game of Thrones) {muse}
Piper Halliwell (Charmed) {muse. Obviously I adore all the sisters but I can only pick one of them and I can relate to her the most}
Leia Organa (Star Wars)
Diana Prince (Wonder woman)
Tagged by: @tanixrey
Tagging: Feel free to ignore this if you’ve done this already! Let’s see: @rpandrejevna , @anarmyofcanons, @ericbrandonrp, @onceuponxlove, @noblewitch, @the-solitary-monster, @charmed-redemption, @schwarzerengeltm, @whenthe-inkwell-runsdry, @mythsxndlegends & everyone else who takes the time to read this and hasn’t done this before!
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gothpidgin · 11 months
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Goodbye Sunset Valley!
From what I remember I was getting bored of Lora only being able to perform at one location as well as Sunset Valley lagging most likely due to overpopulation due to Story Progression, so the Inkwells moved. I also didn’t bring Sybil, Connor or any of the other Inkwells with (because I won’t be able to watch Sybil die of old age, I’m too attached at this point) 
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gothpidgin · 2 years
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And another birthday
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gothpidgin · 2 years
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family time
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gothpidgin · 2 years
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asking for mama’s blessing
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gothpidgin · 2 years
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proud grandparents
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gothpidgin · 2 years
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there are a lot of screenies from this so 
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gothpidgin · 2 years
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I love them <3
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gothpidgin · 2 years
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Poor thing got sunburned...
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