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pepsichrry · 2 months

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Touch Me || Regulus A. Black

Summary: You and Regulus are best friends and have been since childhood, every moment you spend is together, even ones that aren’t so platonic…

Set during the Marauders Era!

Warnings: Smut, Sexual Content, Innocent!Reader, Innocent!Regulus, Best friends to Lovers? kind of, Virgin!Reader, Virgin!Regulus

Rosier!Reader

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It was a dreary spring evening in the library when you and Regulus sat studying for your upcoming Potions exam. It was also when you’d decided to bring something up that you never had before.

As you were both approaching the end of your fifth year at Hogwarts, it wasn’t uncommon for people to start getting into relationships. In fact, couples seemed to be everywhere you looked, kissing, touching and giggling together. You couldn’t help but be jealous. As a Rosier and a respectable young Pureblood girl, you were expected to stay far away from the opposite gender, and therefore stay a virgin until you were inevitably married off. Of course, these rules had been broken by other Purebloods, like your brother Evan, but not you, nor your best friend, Regulus Black.

Regulus sat opposite you in a secluded corner of the library, the sun breaking through the window panes and casting a heavenly glow over his pointed features. Beneath the table, your ankles interlocked as yours bounced lightly, but Regulus didn’t seem to be affected, he never was.

“Reggie.” You blurted, not wanting to hold your thoughts back any longer. His pretty grey eyes didn’t look up at you despite the call of his nickname that only you were allowed to call him, he only hummed in acknowledgment as his quill kept scribbling against his parchment. You continued. “Do you think that I should date somebody?”

At that, Regulus frowned, slowly lifting his head to look at you, a hint of disgust over his face.

“Why would you want to do that?”

He asked incredulously. You knew that you two were closer than most best friends tended to be, as Evan so kindly reminded you every time he saw the two of you together, but Regulus made no move to suggest that he wanted anything more than a friendship with you, so you figured the idea of a boyfriend would be okay.

You smiled bashfully. “Well, lots of my friends have been getting into relationships and telling me how great it is. I can’t help but feel I’m missing out.” You informed him quietly, mindful of the somber atmosphere of the library.

He frowned further, inky lashes meeting his brow. “Missing out on what?”

You looked down at your book, starting to feel shy at the question. There was lots that you were missing out on. You shrugged, feeling your neck grow hot.

“I dunno, like hanging out and talking and touching. It just all seems so nice.” You admitted half of your thoughts, looking up at him again.

Regulus shook his head dismissively and looked back down to his parchment before continuing his writing. “You don’t need a boyfriend for that! You have me and all of your other friends to do that.”

You laughed lightly under your breath. “I know that, but there are other things.” You tell him, finding his obliviousness sweet. You knew that Regulus was pretty much a genius, a true master at everything he did and tried, but Merlin, how he was stupid. Especially when it came to people.

“Like what?” He scoffed, quill etching a little harsher now.

“Like kissing, and…” You trailed off, making a little noise to suggest what you meant. Regulus’ head snapped up, his look of shock almost made you ashamed.

A second passed as he looked at you closely. “You don’t mean…” You did.

You knew that Regulus was just as inexperienced as you in the matter of sex, but you never knew he’d be so shocked at the mention of it. By the look of his face and the shade of pink he was turning, you began to think bringing up the idea was wrong, maybe it could have stayed between you and your girlfriends.

You gave him a guilty look and he placed his quill down onto the table, recoiling.

“Dove!” He hissed. It had always been his nickname for you, ever since you were young. Now, it nearly sounded like a term of endearment.

“Reggie, it’s really not that outrageous to want to try it.” You told him, but he wasn’t having it.

“It is! You’re a respectable young woman, you shouldn’t want for some boy to take your purity.” He took your hand, resting his warm palm over your knuckles. “You’re too good for that, Dove.”

You knew he was right. You didn’t want to regret anything that you did or lose your virginity to the wrong person, but you wanted to experiment, to be a normal teenager instead of worrying about what your mother would think. You knew she’d have a heart attack if she found out what your brother got up to in his spare time.

“I know, but plenty of other Pureblood girls have done it. Merlin, Evan has even done it!” To that, Regulus made a face of disgust.

“He has and he shouldn’t have. The Rosier name is worth more than some experimentation.” Regulus shook his head, you truly hated to see the disappointment in his eyes when he looked at you.

You sighed. “And what about the Greengrasses? All four of the sisters have slept with someone! Nothings happened to them.”

Regulus retracted his hand, folding his arms in front of him like a teacher reprimanding a student. “The Greengrasses are nowhere near our standing, Dove. We are better than them, you are better than them.”

He was right again. Rosiers and Blacks were far more important than the Greengrasses, it was just common knowledge. Your family name would be slandered in High Society if anybody found out that you’d lost your purity to anyone, the Greengrasses didn’t suffer the same issue, fortunately for them.

“I suppose you’re right.” You agreed, sinking back into your seat.

“I am. You’d be best not to mention it again, Dove.” Regulus said, looking back to his parchment and continuing like the conversation had never happened, the only trace of it being the pink dusting his cheekbones and your own memory of it.

You did wonder why Regulus was so dismissive of the idea, you had been taught the same things by your parents and had similar thoughts and experiences, so how come you both disagreed on something like this? Was it just because you were influenced easier by hearsay than he was?

“Reggie.” You called again, and he hummed, again. “Aren’t you curious about what it’s like?”

The question made him sigh and press his quill firmly down onto the table.

“No, and you shouldn’t be either.” He scolded you, flipping his potions book shut with his incomplete essay inside. “Now come on, we need to get to dinner.”

Nothing more was said as the two of you collected your things and exited the library. But that wouldn’t be the end of it.

The next time the subject was brought up was when you were lying on Regulus’ bed as he read.

It had been a week since your conversation in the library, and it hadn’t been discussed since, you were too worried about what Regulus would say. His tone alone made you feel sheepish about your questions and ideas, so you wished to avoid any further reaction from him. Except this time, he was the one to bring it up.

“Dove?” He said from beside you, gently closing his book and resting it flat against his chest.

“Yeah?” You replied, turning your head to look at him, but his eyes were trained on the ceiling firmly like he was avoiding your gaze.

He drew his bottom lip into his teeth, gnawing as though he was nervous. Finally, he spoke. “Why were you speaking to Avery in the common room today?”

Avery had come to speak with you about your astronomy assignment that you’d been paired with each other for, but the conversation lead pleasantly to recent gossip travelling around school. You found him to be good company, albeit a little dull.

“He just came to talk to be about our astronomy homework.” You answered honestly, playing with your fingers that were folded across your stomach.

Regulus hummed. “Really?” He asked, turning his head to you.

“Yes.” You frowned.

He looked at you closely, stormy eyes circling your own as though he was searching for any hint of a lie in your words. Suddenly, he pushed himself up, off of the bed and started towards his bookshelf. You sat up, watching him move away from you. After waiting for a moment for any sort of conversation from him about the subject, you decided to speak first.

“Why do you ask?” You drew your legs up to your chest and rested your chin against his knees. You weren’t blind to when something was bothering him, usually he would keep it to himself until he exploded, but sometimes, he just needed a small push in the right direction and he’d let loose.

You watched his back straighten as he took in a breath.

“I was worried that maybe you were considering him…” He turned to you, and upon seeing the confusion on your face, he added, “…As your boyfriend.”

“What?!” Your face scrunched up. Why on earth would you want to date Avery?

Regulus scratched at his forehead, shrugging slightly awkwardly. “I just thought… After our conversation in the Library…” He trailed off quietly.

“You thought that I’d want to date Avery?”

“Well, maybe not date but-“ He cut himself off, eyes widening as though he had realised what he said. He quickly turned and busied himself in the bookshelf behind him. He didn’t dare to turn and see your face.

Of course, that wasn’t originally your intention, he just wanted to talk about astronomy, but you couldn’t help but think of it once or twice whilst you were talking. You wouldn’t have gone through with it, but you couldn’t help but wonder what it’d be like. And as always, Regulus knew you too well. And he knew he was right too, he was just too embarrassed to mention the act.

“Regulus-!” You began, desperate to defend yourself, but he snapped abruptly.

“You wanted to, didn’t you?” He looked at you, eyes wide. You opened your mouth to speak, but once again he cut you off. “With Avery of all people?”

“I wasn’t going to do anything! That wasn’t my intention, I’m just curious.” That much was true. You wouldn’t let Avery anywhere near you if it came down to it, but you thought about it, what he’d be like when he took his clothes off, what he’d feel like, what he’d sound like. It was vile and perverted, but you couldn’t help it. Not when the idea had been put into your head.

“Well you need to stay curious! Don’t you realise how stupid you’d be to go through with that with someone like him?” Regulus stormed over to his side of the twin bed since you were sat on one side. He avoided your gaze, but it wasn’t out of nerves.

“Someone like him?” You asked.

“Someone who sleeps around as much as he does! Someone who wouldn’t treat you right!” Regulus said, his words filling you with irritation. What would he know about that?

“And you’d know all about that would you?” You scoffed, knowing that he could deny the fact that he’d never been in close proximity with a girl except for you.

His face burned red now, and he looked at you with a mixture of anger and something close to sham. Why should he be ashamed when he was pure, something that he’d been reminding you to stay being?

“I know far more than he does about treating you well.” He sat back against the headboard, a bitter sneer on his mouth.

“And how would you know that? You’ve never even touched a girl who isn’t me! What could you possibly know about sex that he doesn’t?” You snorted, amused at his little frown. As much of a dick that Regulus could be, he was still your best friend and he was still adorable to you.

He seethed where he sat, jolting forward in anger to growl in your face. “I may not have whored myself around like he has, but I’ve known you, I’ve touched you, I’ve seen nearly all of you. I know every part of your body, that’s something that he’ll never know like I do.”

You shook your head, a smile on your face. “Well, there’s one part he would know better than you if it came down to it.” You reminded him, enjoying the moment of silence that befell you. You knew you’d hit a sensitive spot, but you didn’t care.

Regulus fell back against the headboard, not saying another word and you knew that you’d won. He may have been angry, but it was the price he’d pay for being cocky.

You knew he wouldn’t stay angry at you for long, so you curled up, resting your head on his lap, expecting for him to break his facade. Except this time, he didn’t bring his hand to run over your scalp or untangle your hair, he kept his arms crossed, though he made no move to disturb you, it still felt as though he was rejecting you. You let it be, figuring he’d get over it. Except he didn’t.

“I don’t understand your need to sleep with somebody.” He said finally.

You sighed, you knew well before then that he didn’t understand your thoughts about the matter. “You can’t tell me that you’re not curious.” You smiled slightly at him once you’d turned onto your back to look up at him from where you rested on his thighs.

You glanced down at you but looked away quickly. He shrugged with the shake of his head. “I’m not.”

You heard him perfectly, but something about his tone surely indicated that he was lying. You laughed, bringing a hand up to his face and running a finger over the smooth skin of his cheek.

“Oh, Reggie, you know you can’t lie to me.” You grinned ear from ear when he looked down at you with a stern expression.

He shook his head again. “There’s a difference between being curious and trying to find out.” He told you.

“So you admit that you’re curious! See, you’re no better than me.” You quipped and he rolled his eyes. “You don’t need to keep your curiosity a secret, Reggie, I won’t judge.”

He took in a deep breath and a strange unsureness crossed over his face. It was unusual to see Regulus unsure of anything, he always seemed to know everything about everything. Which was why you were worried you’d crossed a line. At least you were until he began to speak again.

“I- It’s just curiosity, it’ll pass.” He said softly, looking down at you and running gentle fingers over the crown of your head.

“You can keep telling yourself that, but don’t you want to know what it feels like?” You pester him with an answer as the back of your hand goes to nudge at his chest, faintly feeling his rapid heartbeat.

He purses his lips and nods so faintly that if you weren’t paying full attention, you’d miss it.

“So why don’t you try?” You ask simply.

His eyes shoot down to you, oddly calm as his chest rose and fell heavily.

“You know I can’t do that, and neither can you. There are other ways to go about things.” Your attention peaked at that.

You frowned. “How do you go about it?” Regulus flushed and opened his mouth to protest before you cut him off. “Please.”

He fell silent as he looked over the room as though he was searching for an answer to give you. He was so quiet for so long that you were worried he’d never speak again, until he shifted lightly under your head and you watched as he swallowed and how his adam’s apple bobbed. You often forgot how much Regulus had grown and how he isn’t the little boy you used to play Gobstones with in his back garden. Now, he was a beautiful man, standing tall and proud like he was supposed to, but you knew him as your Reggie, he was still yours.

“I can tell you, but you have to promise not to stop pursuing these things.” He whispered.

You sat up, facing him now. “I promise.”

He observed you for a second before nodding. “Do you remember when your mother took us for a walk when we were young? Just you and me.”

You frowned, there were lots of times that she’d take you two out whilst your father was teaching your brother duelling tricks. Regulus continued despite your evident confusion.

“She told us why we weren’t the same, because when we used to take baths together we knew that we didn’t look the way the other did.” He explained simply, as though he was talking to a child.

“Regulus, I know you have a dick and I don’t, I don’t need to be reminded.” You said, scrunching your face up in embarrassment at the idea of Regulus having to give you a sex talk.

“I know, I know! What I’m saying is that she taught us how they were different and how they can feel.” He said softly, reaching down to play with your fingers. Despite how uncomfortable the conversation was, he didn’t shy away from you or your touch.

You still weren’t catching on. “Yes?”

“We can… Feel good without having to have sex. Or at least that’s what I took from it.” He looked down shyly.

“How?” You asked incredulously. Despite your mother and your friends having told you about sex, you were nearly entirely clueless, which is how you were supposed to stay according to Pureblood Society. And now it was coming back to bite you in the ass.

Regulus stuttered at your question. “Uh- Well, you can… Touch there.” He said, shifting uncomfortably on the bed as he fiddled with your hand.

You looked at him questioningly. “Is that what you do?”

He looked at you, wide eyes and eventually he tilted his head to the side. “I have before. It’s meant to feel like the real thing, but I don’t know.”

“How do I do it?” Your question was abrupt and rather shocking judging by his face, but you tried to ignore the awkwardness that came between you two.

He began to smile, presumably to diffuse the awkwardness that overcame him. “You, uh, have something that feels nice to touch.” He told you, breathing starting to get rapid.

“Where?” You lean in to him like he was about to whisper a dark secret to you.

“I’m not completely sure.” He admitted, looking at you fully now as you were so close to him.

“Show me how.”

He fell silent, staring at you, unmoving.

“What?!” He hissed.

You frowned. “What?” You asked innocently, not seeing any issue with the request.

“I can’t do that!” He drew away slightly, but still holding your hand firmly.

“Why not?” You whined.

He sighed. “It wouldn’t be right, I can’t touch you like that.” He swallowed.

“Yes you can. You touch me all the time! You’re doing it right now.” You remind him.

“That’s different!”

“How? It’s just touching, I’m not asking you to have sex with me, Reggie.” You told him honestly, you knew that he was against the idea of sleeping around.

He watched you for a second. “If our parents found out-“

“They wouldn’t, nobody has to find out.”

You watch his eyes slowly trace over you. You hadn’t been back to your dorm to get changed, so you remained in your uniform as you both hung out in his room. He took in a long breath before he met your eyes again, then, something was different.

He shifted his leg slightly, so that there was a wider space between them. He patted lightly.

“Sit.”

You obeyed, dropping down into the space. You were used to sitting like this with him because of how you both read together, so this felt no different except for the anticipation running through your body. You rested your back against his chest and his chin found the crook of your neck.

You shifted to get comfortable before he spoke again. “Take these off.” He instructed as he ran a nimble hand over your tight-clad legs.

You slipped a hand beneath the band of the tights and slipped them down over your calf’s before he took them from you and dropped them on the wooden floor. He placed a hesitant hand on your thigh.

“Just say the word and we can stop, Dove.” He told you and pressed a kiss on your clothed shoulder. You hummed a quick ‘okay’ in response and his soft hand traveled up slowly to grip at the inside of your thigh. A sudden burst of warmth engulfed you beneath your underwear at the sudden attention on your leg.

He then pressed a wet kiss on your neck and the warmth intensified slightly. Without warning, his cool touch slipped beneath the elastic band of your underwear and began to pull them off. You allowed him to unhook them from over your feet and place them in a small bundle beside him. Your lower half was completely exposed, but not for him to see, he made sure of that to preserve some kind of modesty on your behalf.

He brought his slim fingers to his lips, wetting them with his spit before he brought them down onto you without warning. You let out a shaky breath as his fingers spread moisture over your sensitive folds. It was a feeling completely new to you, but it was welcomed as his fingers focused attention on you, circling and rubbing over an area you weren’t sure of.

You sighed suddenly as he pressed down harder and your feet pushed you back into his chest. His mouth opened slightly, almost shocked that he could spur this reaction out of you. His hot breath fanned onto your neck as he worked further into your pussy.

His finger slid through the steadily gathering wetness around your hole and you felt a strange tinge run through your groin. He ran the slippery wetness over you, bringing it all back up the top of your fluttering pussy. You wet your lips as you watched his perfect hands roll over the flesh gently, and you wondered how he was so good at what he was doing.

“How did you learn to do this?” Your voice surprised even you as it came out desperate and gravelly. He sighed into your neck at the sound before he replied.

“My brother used to tell me how.” It was true, Sirius would come home and regale Regulus with stories of whichever girl he was shagging that week, so it was no surprise to you that he’d picked up some knowledge over the years.

His finger began to circle harder, causing you to let out a mewl, a sound that Regulus liked. You could tell by the way he nuzzled further into your neck with a soft sound of his own.

“Oh my Merlin.” He sighed and you wove your fingers through his dark tresses, pulling him closer into you. You wondered if he liked this as much as you did, after all, he’d never even touched a girl before.

Your mouth hung open, legs spreading further open, allowing him to touch more of you as you opened up for him. Your sounds grew more desperate at the you warmth spread more intensely around you.

“Reggie.” You whined, you didn’t know what to ask him to do. Whether you wanted him to go faster or press harder, you didn’t know. You just needed him to do anything he could.

But what you didn’t expect was for him to whine just the same into your hair as his hand seemed to work on its own. He circled both faster and harder, it was like he read your mind.

His spare arm held you tighter, keeping you taut to him as the warmth spread.

Your breathing quickened and your heartbeat heightened and your stomach began to ache? But that couldn’t be right, it felt too good to be a stomach ache. You called to him again, he had to know.

“Reggie.” It somehow sounded more desperate now. Your hand grappled onto his hair as you grew warmer and warmer. “It feels- It feels strange.” You told him as best as you could.

He nodded into you, fingers still working the same as they were, like he knew how to make the ache go away. He shushed you gently. “I know, I know.”

You cried out, legs beginning to close on their own accord despite how much you wanted to keep them open. You shook, you couldn’t help it, not as the warmth exploded and the coil of aching disappeared into a sweet tang in your mouth and a fog over your brain.

Your jaw hung ajar, like you would scream at any moment, but nothing came out, it felt too good to scream.

With his fingers slowing, you could finally feel sense as your legs dropped apart, tingling from the force of pleasure that captured your body. Regulus placed another array of kisses over you, whispering things that you couldn’t hear as your heartbeat slowed down at last.

“You’re amazing.” He said, now wrapping both hands around your waist as you came to your senses.

You couldn’t reply, you could only make a tiny breathy sound to counter him. You felt him smile against your skin.

“So good.” He breathed against you amongst the rest of his sweet nothings. You lay against him, wet and burning at the same time as he cooed at you. You were sure you could fall asleep against his chest as the minutes went by and you grew sleepier than before. Until it washed over you.

“Maybe Avery doesn’t know that part as well as you do.”

#regulus black #sirius and regulus #regulus black fic #regulus black smut #reggie black #harry potter fic #harry potter #harry potter oneshot #regulus deserved better #regulus black oneshot #marauders #marauders era

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shebunie · 4 months

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could you write about a reader who helps run an underground black market? while others are specialized in murder and money, her trade centers around secrets, blackmail, and information. she likes to see justice being served and will only give information if she feels the person’s reasons are honorable.

mizu came to her once to learn more about violet. there, mizu is forced to share her story with the reader. the reader feels that mizu’s revenge will bring justice and she told her some really helpful information. because of this good interaction, mizu decides to come back to learn more about fawler.

when she comes back, she realizes that the reader got into some trouble (maybe with shindo) because their reasons were not reasonable and they resorted to kidnapping and torturing her to get information. mizu decided to go rescue her, but it’s unclear whether or not she’s doing it out of affection or purely for the information.

𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐡𝐚𝐝𝐨𝐰𝐬

𝗠𝗶𝘇𝘂 𝘅 𝗜𝗻𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝗮𝗻𝘁! 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗱𝗼, 𝘃𝗶𝗼𝗹𝗲𝗻𝗰𝗲, 𝗿𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻𝗴𝗲, 𝗱𝗮𝗿𝗸 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗲𝘀, 𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗹𝗶𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼𝗿𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲, 𝗺𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗲𝘀, 𝗲𝗺𝗼𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗮𝗹 𝗱𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘀 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟮.𝟱𝗸 𝐀/𝐍: 𝗛𝗲𝗹𝗹𝗼! 𝗦𝗼𝗿𝗿𝘆 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴 𝘄𝗮𝗶𝘁, 𝗜'𝘃𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗯𝘂𝘀𝘆 𝗽𝗮𝗰𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗰𝘂𝘇 𝘄𝗲'𝗿𝗲 𝗴𝗼𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲𝘄𝗵𝗲𝗿𝗲, 𝘀𝗼 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝘂𝗽𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗲𝘀 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝗲 𝗱𝗲𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗲𝗱. 𝗟𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗶𝗱𝗲𝗮 𝗼𝗳 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗯𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮 𝗱𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗲𝗿 𝗼𝗳 𝗶𝗻𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻, 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗮 𝗽𝗼𝘄𝗲𝗿𝗳𝘂𝗹 𝗽𝗼𝘀𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻 <𝟯𝟯

In the shadowed heart of the city, where the lights whispered secrets and the night held its breath, there existed an underground black market that thrived on the currency of secrets, blackmail, and information. In this clandestine realm, enigmatic and veiled in the shadows, you reigned as the orchestrator of whispers and dealer of knowledge.

A master of intrigue and keeper of delicate truths, you believed in a peculiar sense of justice. Only those with honourable intentions could pry open the sealed envelopes that held the city's darkest truths. For you, it was not about the money or the power, but the satisfaction of seeing justice served.

On a fateful night, as the moon hung low in the inky sky, a figure cloaked in mystery and determination stepped into your dimly lit sanctuary.

“A newcomer, what business do you have to visit me at this hour?” You spoke, eyes never leaving the inked stained paper, with each brush stroke holding grace and poise.

The stranger, behind those orange-tinted glasses, were piercing eyes that seemed to carry the weight of unspoken stories, stepped further into the dimly lit room. Their voice, like a carefully orchestrated melody, cut through the silence. "I seek truths that have eluded the grasp of justice, and whispers that dance on the fringes of the consciousness."

You looked up from your work, a subtle curiosity in your eyes. "Not many dare to tread into these shadows without a clear purpose. What truth do you chase, and what drives you to seek it in the obscurity of this place?"

“I’ve come to fulfil a vow, revenge, I’ve come to know the whereabouts of a white man.”

Your keen eyes studied the stranger, gauging the sincerity in their words. The air seemed to thicken with the weight of their purpose. The inked quill paused on the paper as you leaned back, shrouded in the ambience of secrets.

"Revenge, in pursuit of a white man. Such tales often unravel threads that bind destinies," you mused, the subtle glow of your lamp casting flickering shadows on the walls. "But before I delve into the shadows of information, I must know more. Who is this white man, and why does he stir the flames of revenge in your heart?"

The stranger hesitated for a moment, as if deciding how much of their truth to reveal. Finally, they spoke with a mixture of determination and sorrow. "His name is Violet. He is a man of influence, a puppeteer in the daylight, orchestrating schemes that ruin lives. I've sworn to kill all four white men that resided in Japan, for cursing me with the blood of impurity, a demon."

Your expression remained unchanged, but a glimmer of sympathy flashed in your eyes. The pen resumed its dance across the parchment as you spoke, "Revenge can be a treacherous path, often blinding the seeker to the consequences. What do you seek from me? Information, evidence, or perhaps a way to dismantle this puppeteer?"

The stranger's eyes bore into yours, reflecting a mix of determination and desperation. "I seek all that you can provide. Names, connections, his hidden lairs, and the strings he pulls. I want to expose him for what he is and make him pay for the lives he's ruined, including my own."

Nodding slowly, you set aside the parchment and ink, the tools of your trade, and leaned forward. "A perilous journey, but I understand the weight of injustice and the burning desire to right the wrongs. I will help you, but you must understand the rules of this realm. The information I provide comes with a price, not in currency, but in actions. You must be prepared to navigate the shadows with precision and, if needed, dance on the edge of morality."

The stranger's gaze remained steadfast, a silent agreement passing between you. "I accept the terms. I will do whatever it takes to bring Violet and every white man in this forsaken place to justice and end their reign of manipulation."

"Good," you responded, a sense of purpose resonating in your voice. As the stranger rose to leave, the room seemed to absorb them into its shadowy embrace. The lights outside flickered, casting an ethereal glow on the figure disappearing into the night. The underground market, fueled by the currency of secrets, had found a new player in this unfolding tale of revenge and justice.

As the door closed, leaving only a faint echo in the quiet room, you returned to your desk, resuming your work with renewed purpose. The city's secrets were about to unfold, and justice, like a silent guardian, awaited its cue in the heart of the shadows.

In gratitude for your assistance, Mizu vowed to return, her purpose now intertwined with the unseen threads of fate that bound them. Time passed, like the silent footfalls of a forgotten melody, until Mizu returned, seeking enlightenment about another elusive figure—Fowler.

“I can’t help but notice your business, dear orchestrator,” Your sanctuary has been disturbed. Trouble had come knocking in the form of Shindo, a ruthless force that recognized no boundaries in its pursuit of information. You decide to humour him.

"Shindo, my old acquaintance," you replied with a calm demeanour, though a spark of caution glinted in your eyes. "What brings you to the heart of secrets? Your reputation precedes you, and I have no doubt that your visit is not a mere social call."

Shindo, a towering figure with a cold gaze, smirked as he approached your desk. The dim light reflected off the polished surface of his leather coat, giving him an air of calculated menace. "Cut the pleasantries. I hear you've been delving into matters that don't concern you. Secrets that dance on the edge of my territory."

You leaned back, steepling your fingers, your expression unreadable. "I simply provide a service, Shindo. Information flows like a river, and I merely guide its course. What concerns you is not my concern unless it becomes a transaction."

Shindo's eyes narrowed, and he leaned in, his voice a low growl. "There's a name echoing in the city— a samurai. What do you know about him?"

You hesitated for a moment, carefully choosing your words, "I've heard murmurs of a shadow in the night, a samurai navigating each crevice to find your white devil," you replied, keeping your tone measured. "But as you know, my dear Shindo, information is a delicate currency. If you seek to exchange, you must bring something of value to the table.”

Shindo's gaze intensified, and a sinister smile played on his lips. "I don't play games, woman. Give me what I want, and you may continue your little charade in the shadows."

Your response carried a subtle defiance, "Information is not a commodity to be demanded, Shindo. It's earned. If you wish to dance in the realm of secrets, you must learn the steps." The tension in the room thickened, a silent standoff in the theatre of whispers.

“Then you leave me no choice—" With a mere tilt of his head, a large man came into view "Take her," closing in you swiftly, you tried to pry yourself away from his grasp.

Assessing the giant's imposing presence, you quickly analyze potential weak points and notice a subtle hesitation in his movements. Without revealing fear, you calmly address Shindo, "Physical force may bend the body, but the mind remains unbroken. We can find a more civilized resolution, gentlemen."

Shindo's icy gaze meets yours, contemplating your words. The room hangs in suspense, the shadows concealing the unfolding drama as the dance between power and subtlety continues.

Mizu, arriving at the dimly lit hideaway, to question you about Fowler's location, sensed the shift in the winds, the discord that had disrupted your sanctuary.

The wielder's eyes narrowed as she surveyed the aftermath, her fingers brushing against the ink-stained remnants of your meticulous work. The once-calm hideaway now bore the scars of a struggle, a battle waged in the name of hidden truths.

Determined, Mizu traced the whispers of witnesses until Shindo's name echoed through the clandestine passages. Fueled by a blend of concern and determination, she sought answers, discovering the brutality that had unfolded within the walls of your secret refuge.

“You're a stubborn one, all bloodied up and you won't even say a single thing.” Shindo snickered as he watched your shackled self breathe heavily, crimson red flowing down your body.

Shindo's taunting words echoed in the hushed air, you spat at him, “I'd rather dwell in despair than give you what is not meant to be.”

“He will cut you with a knife.”

Mizu's eyes flashed with a mix of fury and concern as she stepped forward, her presence a force to be reckoned with. "Shindo, this violence serves no purpose. If you seek information, there are other ways to obtain it."

Shindo chuckled, seemingly amused by Mizu's defiance. "This one," he gestured towards you, "holds the key to the knowledge I desire. A stubborn whore who values secrets over their own well-being."

Mizu's gaze shifted between you and Shindo, her resolve unwavering. "Release them. I won't stand idly by while you desecrate the pursuit of truth."

Shindo, unfazed, signalled to his henchmen to loosen their grip slightly. As the pressure on your shackles eased, Mizu's, eyes locked onto yours. As the room fell into a tense silence, the weight of the unspoken negotiations hung thick in the air.

In that precarious moment, Mizu's motives blurred like reflections in rippling water. Was it affection that spurred her into action, or merely the pragmatic pursuit of information?

Mizu's gaze remained locked with yours, a silent exchange of understanding passing between you. Her motives were a complex dance of affection and pragmatism, each step carefully measured in the shadows of the dimly lit room.

Shindo, still revelling in the perceived power dynamic, grinned wickedly. "Well, Mizu, if you're so eager to play the hero, let's make a deal. I'll release this one," he gestured towards you, "if you come join me for tea."

Mizu's jaw tightened at Shindo's proposition, her eyes narrowing in a blend of defiance and calculation. She considered the implications of Shindo's twisted offer. "Tea?" She scoffed, her voice cutting through the silence. "You mistake me for a fool. Release them, and we can talk about information. But I won't indulge in your sick games."

Shindo's laughter echoed in the room, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "Ah, Mizu, always so serious. But you see, this isn't just any tea. It's a meeting of minds, an opportunity for understanding. And if you refuse, well," he trailed off, his gaze lingering on you.

You felt the weight of the unspoken threat in his words, and a flicker of concern passed through Mizu's eyes. The delicate balance between affection and pragmatism teetered on the edge, the room holding its breath in anticipation.

Mizu's voice, calm yet laced with determination, sliced through the tension. "We can discuss what you want to know. But know this, harm them, and you’re dead."

Shindo's smirk faltered for a moment, the first crack in his confident facade. He glanced between you and Mizu, weighing his options. The room seemed suspended in a fragile standoff, the outcome uncertain.

After a tense pause, Shindo nodded to his henchmen. The pressure on your shackles eased further, and Mizu's eyes never wavered from Shindo's gaze. As your shackles fell away, the samurai stepped forward, shielding you from Shindo's view. The room breathed a collective sigh of relief.

"Very well, We shall discuss matters over tea, and perhaps you'll see the wisdom in cooperation."

Mizu, her eyes never leaving Shindo until he disappeared from sight, leaving you two alone in the empty, cold dungeon. The sword-wielder waited for a moment to confirm he had left before turning her attention to you.

Concern etched on her face. Gently, she examined the wounds that adorned your battered form. The faint rays of the moonlight cast a soft glow on her features, revealing a mix of emotions that played out in the depths of her eyes.

She approached you. With gentle hands, cupping your face as she assessed the damage, the cold metal of the shackles leaving angry imprints on your wrists.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her voice a low murmur in the dimly lit dungeon. You managed a weak nod, vision blurry as you couldn’t handle the pain any more, passing out in her hold.

Time blurred in the darkness, and when you awoke, the dim glow of the moon had given way to the soft hues of dawn that shone through the cracks of the cabin. Mizu, ever watchful, was seated by your side. As your eyes fluttered open, she met your gaze with a mixture of relief and concern.

"You're awake," she said, her voice a gentle whisper. "How do you feel?"

The pain lingered, but it was bearable. Mizu's care had brought a measure of comfort, and you managed a faint smile in response. Her hand found yours, a silent reassurance.

"What happened with Shindo?" you asked, the events in the dungeon still a fragmented memory.

Mizu's expression hardened as she recounted the negotiations. "He wanted information, and he thought he could use you as leverage. But we made a deal. We'll talk, share what we know, but no more than that. If he harms you, he's signing his own death."

A flicker of embarrassment passed through your eyes, realizing the gravity of the situation. Cerulean eyes softened as she sensed your vulnerability, her thumb gently tracing soothing circles on the back of your hand.

"Don't blame yourself," she reassured. "I won't let anything happen to you."

“I— I know.” You held your gaze, as the dawn's light painted a soft glow on your features, and for a moment, in the swordswoman's eyes, the weight of the world seemed to fade. “But you did not have to go through all that hassle to save me.”

Mizu felt a warmth within her that transcended the dimly lit surroundings. Tilting her head down while she turned around so that her back faced you.

"It wasn't a hassle, and you're worth every risk," she said over her shoulder, her tone carrying a sincerity that echoed through the quiet cabin.

As the dawn's light continued to filter through the cracks of the cabin, a newfound closeness enveloped the two of you. The air seemed to hold a lingering tenderness, and Mizu's words hung in the quiet space like a promise.

Silence settled between you, broken only by the distant sounds of the waking world outside.

"I meant what I said," she spoke, her voice a soft murmur. "I won't let anything happen to you. We're in this together."

A gentle smile graced your lips, as you scooted closer to the samurai, leaning to place a light peck on their cold-tinted cheek “I appreciate everything you’ve done, Thank you.”

Mizu's cheeks warmed at the unexpected gesture, hand adjusting the kasa on their head down to block your view from her flushed face. Letting out a low hum of agreement.

"I'm just glad you're safe," She admitted, her voice a soft murmur.

A soft giggle left your lips, placing your head on their shoulder as you embraced the warmth of the moment.

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thanotaphobia · 6 months

Text

alas

i'm brainrotted over these two and their dumb little relationship

crossposted to ao3

⋆

Missa doesn’t even know Phil has wings until eight days in.

Yesterday, they received a son. Missa is kind of choosing to think of it as “received” rather than “had” or “adopted,” because honestly the circumstances were and are kind of weird. That said, he loves his son, because Chayanne is the cutest little thing on this planet earth and Missa would move mountains for him.

He’d also move mountains for Phil, but Phil would probably get there first and move them first. The man works hard. Missa watches him stay awake for nearly thirty hours before he finally crashes, descending into the house they’re supposedly sharing now with a yawn and a wave. Missa lets him be, for a while– takes care of Chayanne, puts Chayanne to bed. Works on some farm stuff, collects resources, nearly dies by a skeleton once but doesn’t. Dies to a creeper. Oops. At least he can harvest the skeleton’s face for another skull mask, because his was kind of getting dinged up.

Before he knows it, almost a full day has passed since he’d last seen Philza.

He’s not concerned, he’s just– well, he’s worried. He has no idea when Phil last ate, and food at least is something Missa can provide instead of something like physical protection. He cooks for himself and Chayanne and then makes up a plate of steaming hot potatoes with cheese and sliced pork and goes to find Phil. He thinks he knows where his bed is, so after opening and closing a couple doors, Missa opens one and finds Phil, in bed, asleep–

–shirtless. He nearly drops the plate. Sure, they’re raising a child together and yes, Missa isn’t going to deny the fact that Phil is handsome, in a weird, kind of DILF-y way, so sue him for being surprised. He stands in the doorway for a moment, chest rising and falling in rapid succession as he pretends his cheeks aren’t on fire.

He also takes a closer look, because Phil is… very much still sleeping. One arm thrown wide, the other tucked under the pillow, mouth half-open and eyes shut tight. He might be snoring.

(Missa is smitten.)

He lets himself look, taking a few near-silent steps into the room and glancing down at the plate of food. Maybe he’ll just… leave it. Phil looks so peaceful. And he deserves the rest, after everything he’s done for Missa and for Chayanne so far. He moves to put the plate on the nightstand, eyes dragging from Phil’s face to his chest to his arms to the place where his skin meets the hastily-stitched bed sheets, back to his arms– when he stops.

There, just above his shoulders is a puff of inky darkness. Rising from the awkward slab of his shoulder blade, sitting fluffy and light on his (admirably strong) deltoids and spread out over the covers behind him are wings.

They’re not big. That’s what surprises Missa. It feels like they should be big, somehow. Phil sleeps as though there should be something grand and sprawling behind him, leaving enough room on the rest of the bed that he’s nearly falling off the side of it. But instead of huge wings, they’re small, small enough to easily be tucked under a jacket or a backpack. Where Missa expects feathers, he finds a smooth edge of cut quills, and some bare skin where it’s been plucked raw.

He stands there for a long, long time, looking at Phil. Tracing the edges of his wings with his eyes and wishing he could do it with his hands instead. Would the feathers feel soft? Could he soothe some of the aching that surely comes with the plucking? He imagines it– imagines a Phil who lets him, who wants him to.

That idea is the one that sends him spiraling. His hands put the plate of food down before his brain catches up, still stuck skipping like a broken record over that thought; that image of Phil smiling at him over a bare shoulder, hair unbraided and loose in his eyes. Telling Missa it’s okay, he wants him to touch. How warm Phil would be in the morning sun, streaming in and making the bedroom golden. Hearing the sound of his breathing up close.

Missa already has the privilege of seeing this, though. Phil allowing him unguarded access to his bedroom, and not so much as making a peep at his entry. Missa might be a coward, but he’s no fool– he’s not going to risk losing that over something so small as a mouthwatering want to touch Phil’s mysterious, clipped wings.

He puts the plate of food down on the bedside table, and he makes his strategic retreat into the kitchen, where it takes one cup of hastily-brewed coffee and forty minutes of staring at nothing to calm his racing heart. He’s almost calmed down completely when the door leading in the direction of the bedroom opens again and he jumps halfway out of his seat in surprise.

It’s Phil– awake, and dressed, and looking at Missa.

For a second, Missa imagines Phil accusing him of peeking. Of seeing. But instead, Phil just shuffles past with a yawn and a smile. Then Missa realizes he’s holding an empty plate, scraped clean.

“Thanks for breakfast,” Phil says from behind him. Missa does not dare to turn around. There’s the sound of running water and cutlery clinking, then Phil comes around his other side and stops. “You alright, mate?” Phil asks, leaning on the counter. Missa is… impressed by how well he hides it, honestly. There’s not even a bump on the back of his jacket, and for a second Missa thinks maybe he imagined it all. Maybe Phil doesn’t have wings, and it was just a weird hallucination. Wouldn’t be the first time something had gone whacky on this island.

“Good,” Missa says, forcing a smile. He’s probably just going crazy. “Just tired.”

“Why don’t I take this,” Phil says with a grin and a little laugh, reaching out to slide Missa’ half-empty mug away from him and hitch a thumb over his shoulder at the bedroom door, “and you go take a nap, yeah?”

It takes a minute for his words to process, and Missa wonders about the phrase lost in translation. Could there be a way to say I need you without actually saying it? It might be the coward’s way out, but he’s fine with that.

“Okay,” he says, a second too late. Phil is already herding him towards the door he’d just come out of. “Okay, okay, I will go to bed, okay! Tell– tell Chayanne I love him when he wakes up.”

“I will,” Phil says warmly. Missa wants to crumple onto the floor and die, but instead he just smiles at Phil again and then turns away before he does something stupid, like kiss him. Instead he heads back into the bedroom where Phil had gestured, closing the door behind him with a sigh. He’s just tired, and definitely going crazy, he’s decided, shedding his outerwear and tugging off his boots. He sits on the edge of the bed, sheets crisply made and tucked in at the corners, and digs his hand underneath them. Missa’s tired and a little loopy and, when he pulls back the covers to crawl in– frozen in quiet shock.

There, lying so perfectly in the center of the bed it might have well been planted there, is a single dark feather.

#qsmp #pissa #q!philza #q!missa #philza #missasinfonia #qsmp shipping #my writing

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highvern · 5 months

Text

In the Lake

Pairing: Yoon Jeonghan x fem!reader

Genre: romance, light horror, greek mythology!au

Warnings: drowning, mention of drunk Hannie (once), talk of a dead body, briefly suggestive moments

Length: 2.5k

Note: not proofread, just me spitballing. monster!reader is a hybrid of a naiad and a siren

Bonus

Monsters live in the lake.

That’s what Jeonghan’s dad tells him.

Monsters with round wet eyes and needle teeth. Who will drown anyone who comes too close to their shores with a laugh of glee. Monsters that will gorge on a man’s heart, and decorate their underwater gardens with his bones.

Jeonghan is never allowed to visit the lake.

And he doesn’t.

Until he turns eight.

—

Breathing glass.

The inky blue surface of the lake can only be described as breathing glass, reflecting the heavy full moon that illuminates the skies about and the ring of black trees circling the shore.

A perfect reflection. Clear enough Jeonghan is convinced that if he jumped in, his body would shatter the smooth surface into crystals of glass rather than clapping waves.

The bright moon lights up the clearing, making Jeonghan privy to every detail from one shore to the other. No one is here. Nothing is here. Not an single animal looking for a cool drink in the late night, the thicket of trees obscuring the hideaway silent. Even the wind seems to hold his breath here, unnaturally yielding.

But Jeonghan is eight and he’s not afraid of the stories his dad tells him around the hearth.

And as eight year olds are wont to do, Jeonghan steps in the dry rotted dock with a sure foot, and peaks over the edge.

Only to meet the eyes of the monster his dad warned him about.

Jeonghan scrambles back, the shrill scream of fear breaking the fragile silence. Nearly toppling into the water in an effort to escape the demon, only to have splinters bite into his hands as he manages to regain his balance.

The monster is on this side of the water too.

Only a hair away from Jeonghan’s face, his breath disturbing the beads of moisture clinging to its forehead.

It reeks of death and fear.

And when Jeonghan makes it to the tree line, it’s gone as if it never existed in the first place.

—

The second time Jeonghan comes to the lake, he’s sixteen and forgets the childhood nightmares that came to life one autumn night.

The daughter of the village baker asked him to meet her there, with droopy eyelids and a bitten lip.

But the moon is high in the sky, a waning sideways grin, and she’s nowhere to be seen.

Vague memories of a night years ago attempt to surface, but Jeonghan can’t decipher reality from the realm of sleep. But he distinctly feels that this place, this eerie wrong place, is frozen in time. That the hedge of trees is a portal between worlds, and this lake is a pocket beyond any.

The dock creeks under his soft steps, gently bobbing ripples across the water with each shift of his weight.

At the end of the dock waits the baker's daughter. Only her eyes visible above the water, milky hue eclipsing the swampy green; flesh swollen and bloated.

And behind her is the monster, eyes crinkled in horrific amusement as Jeonghan untangles what happened.

And the monster is gone when he looks back from the safety of the trees, just like when he was a child.

—

The parchment bleeds ink from rushed sketches of the horrific creature Jeonghan encountered.

None do his terror justice.

Oil slick hair clinging to its scalp, eyes round and horrifically human. Two times he’d seen the monster of the lake, and both only from the bridge of its nose up.

But the fables of his childhood form in his memory and his dreams once again.

Below the surface of the glass lake was a mouth full of quilled teeth, eager to eat his heart and suck his bones. Webbed clawed hands, to snatch him underwater when it got the chance.

None of the drawings are right.

So Jeonghan goes back.

—

Apparently the monster talks.

And the monster has a lovely voice.

It’s waiting at the end of the dock this time. In the same place Mina’s body floated weeks ago.

You’ve returned. She laughs in his mind, light like the chime of a tin bell.

And for a second, Jeonghan thinks he might have dreamt everything. How could this creature kill Mina? How could it be the subject of nightmares, yet sound like an angel?

But he knows he’s not smart enough to imagine any of this.

“You talk?”

Of course I talk. Do you listen?

“You drowned my friend.”

We were just playing.

Her eyes don’t leave Jeonghan’s face, and her nose remains beneath the surface of the water, but she tilts her head as if she’s innocent.

We can play too.

Her voice croons, and his blood heats at the breathy tone.

Jeonghan musters all the venom he’s capable of. Hatred on Mina’s behalf, on her parents behalf. “I don’t play with monsters.” He spits, turning to leave.

Pity. She pouts. You’d look great in my garden.

—

The moon calls Jeonghan to the lake again a few months later. Silent and expectant, she reaches her peak as he breaks into the clearing.

His monster is waiting for him too.

I was wondering when you’d return.

Jeonghan would say he doesn’t know why he’s here. But that’s a lie.

His room is filled with drawings of this place, drawings of her. A stack of books he bought with his measly salary at the mill, stories about demons and monsters who call water their home.

None of it compares to the eerie serenity of being here.

“What are you?” He asks from the safety of the earth at the mouth of the dock.

Standing on the dock had been foolish, the only sure thing he’d learned in his patchy research. Jeonghan will stay out of reach and out of her stomach.

Come here and I’ll tell you. She whispers, voice tickling through his ears and down his spine.

“No.”

Boo. She pouts. Jeonghan can almost imagine a childish stomp and cross of her arms below water. But all he can see is her eyes.

“What’s your name?”

What's your name?

“What will you give me if I tell you?”

I can show you the bones of your friend.

Rage flares on his tongue, white hot and acrid. A step on the dock sends a giggle through his mind.

You humans are so simple. The monster admonishes.

“Would you be happy if your friend was drowned by some ugly beast?” He screams at where she floats, veins popping on the side of his neck, the whites of his eyes visible.

My friends don’t drown. She sniffs, as that’s the problem at hand. And I’m not ugly.

“Must be if you hide your face.”

The wet squelch of her hands hitting the wood of the dock shocks Jeonghan. Human hands, distinctly human except for the necrotic tint to her fingertips. And her human-like hands lead to human like arms, feeding into a very human-like torso.

She smiles beautifully as Jeonghan averts his gaze from her breasts, nipples peeking through the long matted tresses of sopping hair.

Am I a beast, boy?

“Yes.”

Her lower body remains obscured below the dock, dangling to the water. But Jeonghan spots the flare of her hips, the bite of her waist.

Not a beast at all.

She stays perched on the dock long after he’s gone.

This time, Jeonghan doesn’t look back.

—

Jeonghan dreams of her.

Fantasies of her rising on to the dock, beckoning him with a black tipped finger to come closer.

Imaginations of her mouth, how her unmistakably human body would feel in his palms.

And when she’s sucked his breath away, she pulls him under the water and into darkness forever.

—

A drunk trapeze through the forest is a fool's errand. But Jeonghan knows each tree by name, every trail by its curves.

He’s at the lake again.

And she’s not here.

The urge to call for her arises, but what does he call her? Beast? Monster?

I don’t have a name. She whispers to his mind, forcing Jeonghan to scan the surface lake with the grace of a ragdoll.

“So what do I call you?” Jeonghan asks to nothing.

Come here and I’ll tell you.

Eager for an answer, Jeonghan stumbles forward. “Where?”

Here. She calls, head slowly rising in the same spot at the bottom of the dock.

Jeonghan’s feet stop before they touch the wood.

“You’ll drown me.”

Not a question but a truth.

She drags herself up at the end of the dock, this time sitting. Her lower body is human like too; legs glistening in the moonlight.

But her face fills with curiosity.

Would that be so bad? She argues. Then you can stay with me forever.

“How long is your forever?”

For the first time, Jeonghan senses her hesitate.

“How old are you?”

Time means nothing to me.

Jeonghan is familiar with her tone. The same tone he used when he lied about Mina. A lie he’s convincing himself is the truth.

“Have you always been here?”

Yes.

“Are there others?”

Am I not enough for you, human?

If Jeonghan could believe it, he might argue she sounds jealous.

“Seems lonely.”

I have plenty of company. Would you like to see?

His silence at her threat gets her to speak again.

My sisters left. They abandoned this place because humans were interesting enough.

“You can leave this place?”

None of his books mentioned that. But none of the books mentioned anything like her.

If I wish.

“And you don’t?”

I don’t find humans that interesting.

“I think you’re interesting.”

She disappears into the water without a splash.

—

It becomes a routine.

Under the watchful eye of a full moon, Jeonghan sneaks from town to visit his lake. Sometimes she’s waiting for him, body forming puddles on the ancient dock. Others, doesn’t rise beyond the bottom curve of her eyes. And a few times she stayed deep below the surface.

Jeonghan refuses to dwell on the stench of rejection that reeks through his blood on those nights.

Humans age and wrinkle. I will stay beautiful forever.

She explains why she doesn’t want to leave her home, rolling onto her belly and pushing her breasts together tantalizingly; as if proving her point. Jeonghan would like to claim her attempts to charm him have lost their luster.

He sits a safe distance away, firmly out of reach of her hands but not her words.

“What’s beauty if no one else gets to enjoy it?” He asks, munching on an apple from his cottage. There meetings stretch into hours now, and he’ll need the fuel for his early call into the mill.

Do you believe you're the only human to find me?

Deep in his gut, Jeonghan realizes he had. The idea of another person, another man, talking with her, being charmed by her, boils his blood. But she’s a demon, and he can’t claim jealousy to something beyond his understanding. So instead, he plays with her.

“Did you play with them?”

They look lovely in my garden! She claps, a macabre type of glee.

Jeonghan reclines on his back, watching the sky above. The earliest tinges of sunlight are starting to bleed into the dark night, signaling his time to leave.

What's your village like?

The question shocks him. She’s never asked about the world beyond the trees. A comment about something he brought with him such as a book or a treat for her to try. But she only cared about what came into her realm, not what existed outside it.

“Like any other I suppose.”

How do you explain something as familiar as the back of your hand, to someone who doesn’t even know what a hand is?

She snorts, continuing to brush her hair with a comb Jeonghan refuses to think more of. Very helpful.

“It’s a village, with lots of people. And when the spring comes, people hang garlands of flowers everywhere. It’s beautiful.”

Beautiful…

She ponders the imagine, silent for the first time this night.

Pressing his luck, Jeonghan continues.

“You’d just have to see it to understand.”

When she dunks into the water as he leaves, there’s a sadness hanging around her shoulders like a lead weight.

—

“Hannie! Jeonghan!” The gruff of his father’s shouts floods his ear. “Wake up boy!”

Bolting up, Jeonghan throws his eyes around the room wildly, expect a fire due to the urgency of his rising.

“What?” He croaks.

“There’s a girl downstairs. Says she’s your friend.”

Eyebrows curled in confusion, lips twisted sourly, Jeonghan responds. “A friend?”

Perhaps one of the girls in town misinterpreted his kindness again. But Jeonghan hadn’t give any of them more attention than was due since regularly visiting his lake, consumed by the being who ruled it. Whoever this “friend” is should pray his exhaustion will stifle his reprimand.

Shouldering around his father, Jeonghan stomps down the rickety stairs to the foyer. A biting remark hot on his tongue, shoulders square with anger.

But it all melts into shock when he sees a a head of inky hair, wide curios eyes, and legs dripping onto the wooden floor in front of the fire. A familiar brown wool blanket clocks her figure, the one Jeonghan tucked into a tree by the lake for colder nights.

She isn’t looking at him, but rather the blazing hearth heating his home. She stares as if there’s never been a larger miracle than the flames licking towards her, round face illumined with the warm glow.

Jeonghan’s grunt of surprise turns her around swiftly.

And he’s greeted with the same beautiful smile and bell like voice he’d recognize anywhere.

“I wanted to see.”

—

There were monsters in the lake.

That’s what Hwamin’s mom tells her.

Since the beginning of the earth, the monsters dwelled in the lake, blessed to laugh and play for eternity. However, overtime, they would leave one by one, exiting the line of trees without looking back. Until only one monster remained. She vowed never to forsake her watery kingdom like her sisters before her.

And she didn’t.

Until the monster fell in love with a man who visited her every night under a sly moon.

And when his words weren’t enough, when she wished to see his world beyond her own, the monster left her lake and married him.

Hwamin’s eventually stops listening to her mother’s bed time stories because her father always interrupts from the door of her room with a laugh before crossing to kiss her mother in the gross way grown ups do that makes Hwamin green in the face.

She doesn’t really understand what’s so special about the lake in the woods anyway. Or why her mom pretends she isn’t crying when they visit it on her birthday.

#svthub #yoon jeonghan #jeonghan x reader #svt jeonghan #svt fanfic #svt x reader #jeonghan #jeonghan smut #jeonghan scenarios #jeonghan angst #🫡 highvern

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timsplosion · 2 months

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The book was around here somewhere, he remembered it from the most recent "spring" clean last week. Melody's Remedies for Magical Maladies vol 2 was a prized first edition. Had it been taken off the shelf? When? Who could've needed it, and what for? The things it contained cures for were ancient and rare diseases, parasites, and curses - and Spike hadn't noticed anyone especially ill when in town stocking up on quill ink earlier that day. Spike couldn't let the meticulous organization slip on his first stint solo caring for the library, and Twilight could be home at any minute. As the floorboards creaked under his every step, he stared intently at the shelves, his eyes attempting to pierce both the inky blackness of night and the bright haze of the candle light. His focus was unbroken. His mission was clear. He was going to finish this task. Nothing could keep him from it. Not the dark of the night, not the inconsistent flickering of the candle, and definitely not the thing hungrily staring at him from the deep shadows.

Infection AU? Monster in the library? Spike's mind playing tricks on him? Who knows! All we know for sure is that Spike is probably about to have a really bad time!

#mlp #my little pony #spike #spike mlp #spike the dragon #infection au #mlp infection au #mlp horror #mlp g4 #mlp fim

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house-of-daena · 7 months

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chasing childe through liyue harbor, laughing, lighthearted as you try to tag him and he slips between crowds with practiced ease. cupping your hands 'round a geo crystalfly as it dissolves, conparing the core to the pearls of his teeth. he bites down on it playfully and then spits and splutters when his tongue meets the odd taste of it. slipping your fingers beneath his gloves, teasing at his palm, grinning at the little heart hidden in its design. you wrap your arms around his waist and he kicks playfully as you haul him up, pouting when you set him back down, already insisting that you pick him up again, comrade, surely you can do it? he smiles and the stars are in his eyes, and everything aches, but sweetly.

throwing your quill at zandik. he laughs at you, and you stand, and he stands too, using a book as a shield as you pounce with terrible intent— digging your fingers into his ticklish sides as he cackles. eating a piece of rukkhashava mushroom on a dare and frowning thoughtfully and zandik gets curious and tries it too and spits it out because it honestly doesn't taste very good but you'd felt the need for a touch of trickery. he hisses and cusses as rain starts to fall during an "expedition" (date where you walk outside the city) and you grab his hand and lead him beneath a large, leafy tree and give him a kiss and he flushes a lovely red as he glares at you. he stares at the medical gloves he dons as he dissects a man, trying to see how he ticks and why he stopped, contemplating their story. he thinks about you and huffs, because there had once been a great surgeon named halsted, and he was married to a nurse, and he loved her immeasurably, and there was once a man named zandik destined for great and terrible things, and maybe in another life he could marry you, for he loved you immeasurably. years and years and years and years and years later, there is a man known as il dottore, and he is married to you like he always planned to (old, old paperwork awaiting a signature that'd been intended to be given to you once he graduated rots until it disappears along with the boy he once was) and no matter all this knowledge it does not bring him a step closer to quantifying how he feels. he wakes to another day with you and considers that perhaps this isn't something that The Doctor will ever figure out

YOU KNOW when i think about childe, i always imagine those movie type relationships where they're both so silly and full of energy, n laughing... flash backs of them just on dates, walking through the shore and shit... is so so sweet and romantic and litearally you and childe!!!! its that childish teenage romance thats perpetually in the honeymoon stage of the relationship... it feels so elating to be with childe honestly, but its not perfect as all relationships are. and thats so fascinating about it, u love him so dearly that you embrace his FL form with no fear whatsoever. you cheer him on with his ambitions, and though you worry, because he will always worry you, you patch him up, cleaning his wounds and wiping off the blood that covered him head to toe.

you're there when the gnawing pain of the abyss eating his insides and carving his bones as he writes. he used to be alone whenever it happens, thought clinging to his mind like inky hands that stuck, screaming louder and louder- but now you're here, holding his hand through it, humming a tune, fingers gently scratching his scalp and wracking through his hair... liek gydsabijkndlsa. so sweet, like the cute couple you see holding hands and laughing as you pass them by the mall, but you'll never know the boy consumed by eternal void, who will eventually devour you too, but thats okay. thats your boy, n u trust him no matter what.

okay now you're coming in here with a suspicious amounts of dottore thoughts... including him with your usual childe brain rot... hmmm well... this one is so uckgdbsijakds UGH like. stop. dont' ever talk about him ever again bc my HEARTTT

i like to think, similar to you, the time you've spent together in the akademiya will be the highlight of his memories, no matter much time has passed. centuries upon centuries, yet he still remembers the way your face would brighten up whenever you spot him walking out of his classroom, dragging him to a cafeteria and chatting away, not a care in the world if he's listening or not. but he listens—of course he does.

words you say aren't always relevant to his research, or anything really, but he listens, and he doesn't know why. perhaps there's just this certain allure in your voice? general interest to gossip you share? or was it that the time you've spent together has made him so relaxed with you that it just feels wrong not to listen to a word you say when you listen to him ramble on and on about his research? he remembers everything so vividly as if it all happened yesterday.. he has forgotten most of his creations that has been long outdated hundreds of years and yet he remembers every single thing you've done inside your little apartment where you've spent laughing, fighting, crying, and experimenting together, whether it was you kiss him and holding him in your arms, whether it was you cursing him for being a bad lover, whether it was you crying your eyes out and saying that you've missed him n that you finally forgive his sorry ass (he was honestly the worst boyfriend, why did you even forgive him? why did he feel like it was the end of the world when you walked out of the door? why did he care so much? and why couldn't be a better lover to you when you've done everything and anything for him, he wanted nothing more to keep you as his, and keep him as yours for all eternity?).

the more things became different, the more it stayed the same. he likes to think he was much better than zandik. he was not the avoidant lover who was terrified and foreign to your affections, the walls the has built around his heart (that was stupidly humane with it comes to you). he makes sure you've never shed a tear any more because of him, and always, every day he spends you with. because you're by his side, nagging him about not sleeping enough, and now you're dragging him to your shared bed, just with a ring on your pinky finger. and his? he doesn't wear it on his hands. no, no, it was far too precious, it might break from all the concoctions he makes and machinery he builds. it hangs around his neck, safe and sound, hidden from all the danger, while you keep yours on your hand because as for as long he exists, he will make sure no harm will ever be upon you.

dottore was a man of science. he has created a god, machinery beyond comprehension, advancements, cure for what said to be uncurable diseases. he was a man of everything, really. powerful, handsome and unbelievably smart. but oh, love will forever be the only thing he will never be able to completely comprehend. love can be an enigma for as long as it can be, as long as you smile with him, love in your eyes, then he could care less.

#» asmo talks #» asmo talks about wife (sfw)#» regulars: 🐺 bread-ghost #childe x reader #dottore x reader #oh my god #dies

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 months

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To Cry Uncle

🐦‍⬛ Alright, alright, let's get this show on the road 🐦‍⬛

Does Two of us make a Murder of Crows? … Or an Unkindness of Ravens?

BAM!!

The door slammed open, rattling the attic from its impact. Scattered papers shook, and even the inky letters spilled onto them seemed to tremble too.

A man in a top hat and feathered cape barreled in. From her writing desk, a girl cloaked in the same sleek, dark feathers bristled and set down her quill.

"U-Uncle?! Don't scare me like that," Raven gently chided him. "You could have at the very least considered knocking before barging in unannounced."

It was something which the headmaster of Night Raven College made a habit to do. Lectures, labs—he arrived whenever he pleased, then disappeared just as quickly. Some called him a whimsical genius (well, usually it came from his own mouth), but most called him mad and unpredictable.

But today he wore a frown instead of a smile, was less bird-like and more pitiable kitten drenched in the rain. Dragging out a sigh and a sob, Crowley threw his arms around Raven. His talons dug into his mark, the other hand woefully stroking her hair—hair which would have dampened if he had released any real tears.

"Raven-kun!!" he cried out, “Oh, it’s awful! Dreadful! The most preposterous thing happened to me on my morning stroll. You’ll hear me out, won’t you, my dear niece?”

Awful? Dreadful? Preposterous? More awful, dreadful, and preposterous than the slew of Overblots that had plagued their once-peaceful academy? She had her doubts, but entertained him nevertheless.

"… Alright, what has got you so out of sorts?" Raven asked wearily. (Her question came out muffled, on account of being pressed against her guardian’s chest.) She had learned to be patient with him, but prepared for the catastrophizing.

Perhaps the cafeteria ran out of his favorite meat pies. He’s been looking forward to that all week.

“I found a gaggle of students skipping class!” Crowley burst out, breaking their hug. Exaggerated distress turned his voice into a trill. “On Main Street, of all places! Before the very eyes of the most venerable Great Seven! They would surely be heartbroken to know that the children of today sullied the good name of Night Raven College!”

Raven tried to nod understandingly and pat his back. Quiet methods of coaxing him to let it all out

“Of course, I did my due diligence as headmaster of this esteemed institution and confronted the boys at once,” Crowley continued—puffing with a pinch of pride at the mention of his status before soon deflating. “Ooh, but I was so rudely rebuked!! The students ignored my very reasonable plea to return to class, then proceeded to ignore or insult me—ME!! Their beloved headmaster!

"Belittled and bullied by my very own pupils…" He sniffed loudly. "It’s a cruel fate, but someone has to discipline ignorant, misbehaving children--and so it fell upon my shoulders! I unleashed my Lash of Love upon them and deposited the hooligans back in Professor Trein's lecture!"

"You did what you could to resolve the situation, Uncle," Raven replied, her words carefully stroking his ego. "You are ever so magnanimous."

"I am, aren't I!" Crowley agreed. "Alas, a teacher's work is thankless! What has come of the younger generation?! And what have I done to deserve this kind of treatment? All I've ever done is work tirelessly to ensure that our Night Raven College provides high-quality education!"

"Well... You don't exactly command authority with your attitude or how you carry yourself. Truly, when most picture the archetype of a 'headmaster of an arcane academy', they tend to imagine someone... different. If you want to be perceived differently, it may help to present new parts of yourself to the students."

Like maybe actually doing your job instead of delegating tasks to teenagers and having them solve all your problems..

"Show them your strengths and good points," Raven suggested, "traits worthy of respect."

Crowley's beady, golden eyes suddenly lit up. They bore into Raven from the pitch-black holes in his mask.

"That’s it!" he declared, perking up. “If I’m to garner respect, I ought to try and demonstrate the true breadth of my kindness. Perhaps then they will take note of the power hierarchy and bend an ear to my commands!”

“Er, that’s not exactly what I meant…”

Crowley swept away from her, beginning to pace back and forth. A finger curled at his chin, his mind set in deep contemplation.

“The issue now is, how will I appear approachable to begin with? My visage is far too grand to tamp down, and I’m afraid my decades of wisdom are useless against accusations of being ‘old’ and ‘out of touch’!!“

Those comments really hit him hard, huh…

“Have you considered taking up a hobby instead of fixating on public opinion? It just may help you clear your thoughts.” Raven gestured at her desk. “I myself partake in writing as an outlet.”

In an instant, the headmaster was at her side. He nosily peered over his niece, practically leering down at the contents of her papers.

Stories that started with Once upon a times and then diverged, walking along a multitude of paths to endings yet to be determined. Heroes and villains and the people that supported them, coming together in grand casts. New places, new experiences, new feelings.

Connections, ways of bridging the gap between hearts.

“H-Hey…! I never said you could look. These are private projects,” Raven protested, hurrying to cover up her scripts.

Too late. A giddy shine had already risen to the headmaster’s eyes.

Oh no. I know that look!

“Dearest Raven,” Crowley cooed, a clawed hand finding its way onto her shoulder, “how generous of you to lend your assistance to your sad old uncle! Fufufu, it appears as though the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree!"

"What are you on about now?" It slowly dawned on her, and she paled. “Don’t tell me…”

"This is the solution for my... I mean, our predicament!" Crowley lifted a paper and a waved it around like a triumphant flag. “Written word has the power to influence. With your help, we can conduct an interview, spread stories of my great kindness and power, sway the consensus!”

Ah, a coordinated PR strategy. Raven frowned. His usual fallback.

The trick would work on most people beyond the campus grounds, but not on the students within. Not when there was already a narrative in place: the tale of the carefree, bumbling, useless man at the helm of the school. Pitiable, easily kicked around. And there was some truth to it--truth that could only be twisted so far before it fell into the realm of outright fantasy.

Most did not realize how truly frightening a man cloaked by the shadows could be.

“I understand wanting to spruce up your image, but there is only so much that can do for you. People will believe what they want to believe, regardless of what new information is presented to them."

Raven sighed, picking her quill back up and dipping it in an inkwell. Rich black fluid, darker than the darkest night, rose up into the nib. She offered the writing implement to her guardian, who stared at it in confusion.

"If you want their views on you to change, that is something you will have to earn for yourself. The words must come straight from its source and be genuine."

“Raven-kun…”

She pressed the quill into Crowley’s palm.

From here on out, the story is up to you.

#twst #twisted wonderland #Dire Crowley #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #Raven Crowley #upcoming blog event...#you asked #now I deliver #Two Ravens at the Writing Desk

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fairyhaos · 11 months

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for my synaesthesia, hoshi is very, very interesting.

his colour is a navy blue, deep and dark and bottomless. like a blue that is so blue that you feel as if you could fall into it, down the endless depths until the end of time. it's an intimidating colour, definitely, a little unknown, but still with such a mesmerising pull.

hoshi is navy blue, but darker than that, like a clear sky in the countryside at 1am. no one else is awake, but the stars are, and they appear as tiny, hopeful pinpricks of light amongst the all-encompassing swathes of velvet. he's blue like a midnight sky, like the slowing down of time and speeding up of the pulse.

but he's also the colour of ink across a page, blue and dark and staining, flowing effortlessly and painting stories and images with every movement of the quill. he's a storyteller, a storydancer, his footsteps like inky blue across the clean canvas of the stage.

hoshi is captivating, effortless, velvet. he's infinite, everlasting, evermore.

hoshi is navy blue.

synaesthesia tags: @jeonghanis @jeonwonwoo @weird-bookworm @summery-bat @jiji-verse @moonlitskiiies @butiluvu @loversepiphany @a-wandering-stay

#fairyhaos.works #svt #seventeen #hoshi #svt hoshi #seventeen hoshi #seventeen fic #seventeen imagines #kwon hoshi #soonyoung #kwon soonyoung #svt soonyoung #svt fluff #seventeen fluff #hoshi fluff #seventeen blurbs #seventeen writing #synaesthesia

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violettduchess · 10 months

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A/N: A little fic inspired by @vioisgoinginsane and her delightful Cyran in Pyjamas art

Cyran x Reader

WC: 638

Head librarian of the royal palace is a job that suits you to a tee, but it comes with long hours, especially when arranging the procurement of foreign titles. By the time you are done with all your correspondences, first to the librarian in Jade and then the royal library of Tanzanite, the moon is hanging high in the inky black sky, a perfect crescent of silvery light. You hurry, feet whispering over the tiled floor of the palace, then crunching over the straw and grass along the path to the armory and then scuffling over the coarse gray stone of the armory steps.

Above the collection of toothy weaponry is Cyran's bedroom: your destination on this warm, breezy night.

The oaken door, scarred and worn, opens on silent, well-oiled hinges. Cyran takes care of his things. One of the many admirable qualities about the Obsidian soldier that made you stumble and then fall for him.

"Cyran?"

You step into the room, lit only by the amber glow of the oil lamps. Your eyes need a moment to adjust before you spot him.

He's asleep at his desk, his check pillowed by strong forearms. Around him papers are neatly stacked. Quill and inkwell tidied away. Everything is ordered and structured, except…..

You smile softly. His hair falls messily across his forehead, a curtain of red, deeper than the blaze of the blacksmith's forge. It is the red of the sky on the tipping point of night. The dark crimson of the Scarlatta rose, whose petals have been singed by loving kisses of darkness.

You cross the creaky wooden floor as quietly as you can, soaking in the sight of the man who never shows exhaustion, who handles every challenge, from Clavis's wild whims to military training maneuvers, with a stoic sense of pride. Your touch is gentle, trailing the back of your fingers across his cheek, rough with several days worth of russet stubble.

The caress reaches him beyond the place where sleep reigns, his mind breaking from the soft cocoon it has woven around him. He stirs, his dark eyes blinking away the last strands of dreaming that cling to his consciousness like cobwebs.

"You're back," he murmurs in a voice sandpaper-rough with sleep.

"Mm hmm." His hair is one of the most luxurious textures you've ever touched. Soft and fine as spun silk. It flows through your fingers like water over stone. "Come on, Red. Bedtime."

He grumbles as you lean forward, taking his strong hands in yours and urging him up and away from his desk. It's only when he's standing you notice he's already changed for bed.

Running a hand down the soft linen of his sleep shirt, you raise your gaze, your smile curved with curiosity, soft with affection.

"If you already changed, why didn't you get in bed?" You know how long his day was, stretching from the early rosy-fingers of dawn brushing the sky until the first diamond-edged star cut its way through the dark sheet of night.

He yawns, his words slow and honey-thick with sleepiness.

"I didn't want to fall asleep without you so I went to my desk…." He yawns again and your heart feels like it might burst with the swell of affection that floods it. He went to his desk to stay awake, to wait for you.

Gently you lead him to bed where he falls back onto his pillow with a heavy thump. His eyes are already closing as you pull the thin woolen blanket up over his broad chest.

"You're coming?" His voice is foggy with another yawn.

You lean down, anointing his forehead with a petal-soft kiss.

"I'll be right there, my love." Your smile is lambent with affection as you drink in the sight of him, this wonderful man who shelters your heart so tenderly in his calloused hands. "I'll be right there."

Tagging: @aquagirl1978 @alixennial @alexxavicry @queengiuliettafirstlady @rhodolitesrose @ikemen-writer @bellerose-arcana @thewitchofbooks @aria-chikage @redheadkittys @tele86 @dear-mrs-otome @firestar-otomeobsessed @curious-skybunny @rhodoliteschaos @kpop-and-otome @writingwhimsey @mxrmaid-poet @silver-dahlia @wendolrea @otomefoxystar @nightfoxqueen @myonlyjknight @queen-dahlia @aceuuuuu @scorchieart @bubblexly

#ikemen series #ikemen prince #ikepri #ikepri cyran #cyran rose #fluff #ikemen fanfic #ikemen fanfiction #otome fanfiction #violettwrites

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moramx-art · 2 years

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Week 1 of Siptember ; Lost/Writer !

“A ‘Lost Writer’ is a drink made specifically for writers in despair, though its origins are shrouded in inky mystery. This concoction of green tea, kraken ink, and shavings of a compass’s arrow is said to help break through any writer’s block!

…Recently there have been tales of variations made with different energy drinks like ‘PinkCow’ or ‘Creature’, but local health technicians STRONGLY advise that if you prepare this drink, to do so in the traditional way.

Thank you.

- Your Local Witch’s Brew”

Siptember explanation below:

Siptember is just a weekly challenge for the duration of september i made for myself because i wanted to do an art challenge but would probably die if i tried to draw smth daily LMAO So I decided to get a generator for a noun and adjective and put together the ones i thought sounded fun/interesting together and decided to make fun lil drinks out of ‘em! If smth like this exists already i am so sorry i just wanted to do smth fun and had no idea HUYDGEYUDE

So its a four week challenge, i debated on making it 5 since. this month started at the ass end of a week but this was just meant to be a fun exercise to mess around w/ things so i didn’t wanna stress myself trying to finish something in like. 3 days dugduegduyGYUE The writings just a fun bit of lore to go with them/lowkey show my thought process as to like. What they Are and why they’re like that.

Ofc i decided to punish myself on the first week by deciding to try and render a glass quill. I don’t render glass that often if ever, let alone in a shape like that hdyugdyugDGE But overall it was fun !!!

#mart #siptember #drink #writing

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starscatteredsky · 8 months

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Vampire/Vampyr suggestions and tips!!

remember these are just suggestions, pick and choose what feels best to you!

wear dark, long clothing to protect your skin from the sun

enjoy some time at night- the moonlight or even a dark cloudy night are a vampires best friend!

drinking red liquids- koolaid, cranberry juice, strawberry juice, blueberry tea, whatever fits your fancy and satisfies that bloody craving!

keeping some kind of journal is a great idea! it’s an often seen image, the brooding vampyr and their leather bound journal with quill pen. perhaps inky sketches, or even some kind of written account of things you learn about your vampire kintype/source!

try out some vampire themed neopronouns that give you euphoria!

teefs!! there’s lots of places to buy/order vampire teeth moulds, especially this time of year!

learn more about animals associated with vampyrs- bats, cats, black wolves, spiders, etc!

avoid running water, garlicky foods, and other things vampires are adverse to!

always get verbal permission before entering someone’s home, a vampyr must be welcomed into a space before they can enter!

old myths say vampyrs liked counting, perhaps get a counting app or something similar!

try out a dark academia style!

dark goth looks are also often associated with vampyrs, try looking into goth culture and learning more about the subcultures within!

good luck vampire friends!! we have a vampire in our system who uses some of these tips! -mod 👾

[image description:

a DNI banner with the background being the promotional image for Little Nightmares 2. The writing reads:

"DNI: radqueers, proshippers, radfems/TERFs, antikin/antitherian, homophobic/ ableist/ anti ACAB/ transphobic/ rasist/ antisemitic/ xenophobic/ antitheist/ anti athiest/ bigoted in any fashion, NSFW/sh/ed/cringe centered blog, fakeclaimer

Before you interact: We are pro mspec gays/lesbians, anti endo/tulpa "systems", enjoy MCYT/DSMP, pro self diagnoses with extensive research, multiple alters are punks/ anarchists"

end description]

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wedonthaveawhile · 2 months

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The Serpents Hold // Chapter Twenty-One

A reimagining of the 'In the Shadow of' storyline with more focus on Ominis and The Gaunt's.

When Sebastian turns to dark magic to cure his sister, Nova and Ominis find themselves reluctantly thrust into a partnership to aid him. Amid the disapproval of Ominis' family, Nova wrestles with her growing feelings for him and also with the nagging suspicion that Ominis knows more about Anne's condition than he's letting on.

AO3 // Masterlist

Nova's nails gouged into the sterilised walls of the hospital ward as she fought to her feet. She shook her head, blinking rapidly, desperately hoping she was hallucinating – it was just a cruel figment of her exhausted mind.

A sharp ringing drilled into her ears as she cast a glance back at the bedridden Gaunt. Dark magic pulsated from his lifeless body in tangible waves, swathing itself around Nova's clothes and sinking into her skin.

She turned on her heels and ran.

Her feet were heaving through quicksand, the ground dragging her under with each despairing stride. She collided with the reception desk, the impact startling the healer behind it. The woman shouted, but her words were incomprehensible as Nova scrambled wildly for parchment and a quill.

Ominis had insisted she send for him immediately following her shift so he could escort her home. As she started to pen the note, it shook loose a realisation. Ever since her impulsive decision to pull him to her lips in the carriage, he hadn't left her side. She'd chalked it up to having missed one another but now saw the ulterior motive.

He was guarding her.

Ominis was afraid. Paranoid. Was he complicit in his father's cursing, or was he the next target?

Where the fuck is St. Mungo's owlry?

Nova made a strangled noise as she shoved the parchment aside—a sound caught between a growl and a sob. Owls were too slow; she needed him now.

Fear tightened its bind on her chest as she bolted down the corridor, shepherded by the guiding signs to the visitors' lounge. Stunned inpatients clutched their chests at the heavy doors crashing against opposing walls as Nova burst through them.

She grasped a handful of floo powder, the fine particles slipping through the cracks in her fist as she cast it into the fireplace.

The witch touched down on the outer edge of a prodigious estate. An emerald flame fought against the wind beneath a crumbling carving of Ignatia Wildsmith.

"Gaunt Manor."

The darkness was oppressive. Her first instinct was to strike up a lumos, but the wind's shrill cries through the undergrowth put her on edge and made her reluctant to reveal her position. Tall spires of a gate stood sentinel to her left; the eroded iron proudly emblazoned with the Gaunt crest.

It grated loudly against the gravel as Nova forced it open and squeezed through the gap.

The mansion's silhouette was just a shadow against the inky expanse of the night sky. The path stretching toward it was flanked on either side by a dense thicket of trees, their gnarled branches reaching out to snatch at wisps of her hair as she ran past. Agony ripped through the muscles in her neck as she tried to advance, but her magic spluttered under her skin as Ominis' wards impeded her every attempt to apparate.

The entrance to the Manor itself was fortified with an excessive array of shields, evidenced by the scorched and blackened ground encircling the perimeter.

An apparition materialised as Nova's foot descended onto the first step of the patio, causing her to stagger back in shock.

"Name?" The house elf asked.

"Nova Fen…."

The creature condensed into a singular point and disapparated with a faint crack.

With a hand pressed against her pounding heart, Nova fought to regain control of her breathing. She tilted her head back, scouring the tall rows of ornate windows for any sign of Ominis, but no hint of life shined through any panes.

After an unbearable delay, a sliver of light sliced across her face as the front door scraped open. Gnarled fingers curled around the edge of the narrow crack as the elf cautiously peered out. Without warning, a net of charms shot from his fingertips—a finite incantatem followed by a slew of polyjuice detection spells.

Satisfied with her identity, he widened the doorway a fraction with a resigned grunt. "Grimkin wasn't informed of visitors."

"I need to speak with Ominis. Is he home?"

"Master was asleep. Getting himselfs fit to be seen."

"No one else is here, are they?" Nova strained to see through the slit in the door, her oesophagus constricting with each passing second Ominis failed to appear in it. "Who are you? Ominis never mentioned a house elf."

"Grimkin has faithfully served the house of Gaunt for a century!" the elf's tone spiked with offence at the contention. "Would have served for many more."

"Would?" Nova repeated, the blood draining from her face. The shadows swallowed her as she instinctively retreated beyond the reach of the light. "What's stopping you?"

Grimkin slowly raised a crooked finger.

The gale whipped at Nova's skin as she shivered helplessly in the shadow of the Manor. The splintered fingernail of the Gaunt's devoted servant pointed accusingly at her panic-stricken face.

"Gaunt business aren't for discussions with filthy blood," he hissed through gritted teeth before firing a spell.

Nova's wand shot up, and a powerful protego blossomed around her.

Grimkin's magic surged towards her, but it dissipated harmlessly into the Manor's protective wards, dismantling the defences and unveiling a clear path for her to enter the household.

"Grimkin is instructed to bring the witch inside and see to it her every request is met."

Nova held steadfast to her shield. "You... you said would," she stammered, hovering at the threshold of the breached wards. "You know something, don't you? About what's happening to Ominis' father?"

"We hold master Gaunt in our thoughts. His family is hopeful for a swift recovery." Grimkin answered, his enunciation jarringly eloquent for an elf.

It was a rehearsed response. Ominis had imparted it when Nova questioned him on the convenient timing of his father's illness. She'd heard him recite it endlessly to well-wishers at the Ministry, each repetition more hollow and insincere than the last.

"Ominis has instructed you to say that, hasn't he?"

"Gaunt matters aren't for discussions with fil—"

"You've been ordered to meet every request I have, Grimkin," Nova snapped, dispelling her protego and levelling her wand at the vexed elf. "I request answers. What have the Gaunt's gotten themselves into?!"

"Not anything," Grimkin spat in outrage, his fists clenching at his sides. "The Gaunt's is having their innocence dragged through the mud. They stand tall, noble, honourable—"

"Then who's behind the cursing? Who's dragging their name?"

"Nasty brat stole master away from his blood, poisoned his mind he did. Cowardly snake slithering in the dark, spreading lies and curses like a plague."

"Stole him away? Are you talking about... Do you mean Sebastian?"

"The trial of Sebastian Sallow," Grimkin snarled the words like they scorched his tongue. "Filthy lies. The downfall of House Gaunt."

"No... no, Sebastian was on trial for the death of Marvolo. I'm talking about the curse that's killing Ominis' father."

“As is Grimkin.”

“Nova?”

A familiar crimson light poured across the porch as the door swung open fully at the hands of Ominis. He held his wand aloft, its blinking tip directing its focus to Nova's defenceless form on the darkened path.

"I told you to send an owl when your shift ended. It would be best if you didn't travel alone," he said with his customary air of dissatisfaction. He had thrown an old Slytherin jumper on over his nightwear, his flashing wand clutched firmly in hand. It was a comforting sight that embodied the word home. "Come inside the wards."

Nova's chest convulsed with a sob, and Ominis blurred into a watery haze as tears flooded her eyes.

Sebastian.

Sebastian was behind this, and Ominis knew it.

"I know who cursed your father."

They festered in an unbearable silence, buffeted by the raging gale that thrashed at their clothes and battered dead leaves against the protective shields they flanked on either side.

There was a subdued crack at Ominis' feet as Grimkin disapparated from his master's side.

"Sebastian has the relic, doesn't he?"

"The relic was destroyed."

"Ominis, I saw it. Your father was bedbound. The tendrils of a dark curse were throbbing under his skin. It was the spitting image of Anne before she—" Nova dropped her eyes and stared at her hands, still stained with blood. "You intentionally kept me from seeing him; you can't stand there and claim you know nothing."

Ominis's knuckles cracked as he tightened his grip on his wand. He hovered on the precipice of the wards before taking a hesitant step beyond them. "You need to lower your voice or come inside, now."

"I'm not stepping foot in there. I don't know where I'm safe anymore."

"You're safe with me. You know I'll do whatever it takes to ensure your protection."

"From who? The Ministry? Your family? Sebastian? You've left me in the dark, Ominis. I have no idea who's out to get me."

"You're safe with me," Ominis repeated, his palm encasing the back of her neck as he pressed his forehead against hers. He was warm, he was so warm, and she was cold. "I was tasked with taking inventory of my brother's... acquisitions... after he passed away. It took me the better part of a year to track down the relic."

"And you destroyed it?"

"The relic was destroyed."

She grasped the implication behind his deliberate choice of words. Ominis would never lie to her but tailor his language to conceal the truth.

"You weren't the one who destroyed it, were you?"

His sightless eyes drifted across Nova's features momentarily before he began to pace around her like a caged animal. "You remember how furious Sebastian was. He was self-destructive, striking out at anyone attempting to offer their hand. How did you put it? He was determined to wipe out my family or die trying?"

"Is he still trying?" Nova's wand bit into her fist as she clenched it tighter. She would bury a million Gaunts to protect Ominis, but the thought of striking down her closest friend tested her resolve.

"My father was playing on Sebastian's outbursts to hinder any progress I made with the authorities. He delayed Sebastian's trials at every opportunity." His voice cracked as his hand painfully clamped around her wrist. "Nova, the things he was demanding I do for him... Keeping Sebastian on tenterhooks was his only leverage to make me do them. He would never release him. I had to make Sebastian work with me; I could only get you both out if he cooperated."

"Ominis, what did you do?"

"I thought... it would provide him closure if he were the one to dispose of the relic..."

Nova felt as though she were one ragged breath away from shattering apart.

Sebastian wasn't vengeful. At the verdict, he had wrapped his arms around Ominis and cried. He was grateful.

"You brought it to him."

"No. Even a Gaunt wouldn't dare to be caught in a ministry facility with something that dark. I buried it in Feldcroft." Now that she had gotten him talking, he couldn't seem to stop. Unbelievable words poured out of him, faster and faster. "When I visited him, it was to arrange an off the record day-release with the warden. I guided Sebastian on where to find the relic, instructed him on the spells necessary to destroy it…"

"Are you out of your mind?! What the hell did you expect to happen—"

"That's not all," Ominis interrupted. The corners of his mouth twitched several times before his admission of guilt spilt out. "I informed him to stay clear of a restaurant in muggle London—The Brasserie Royale—as that's where my father would be conducting business, all day."

The ground tilted under Nova's feet, and she staggered backwards. Her wand slipped from her fingers and clattered to the ground.

Ominis had armed his best friend, stoked his anger, and directed him towards his target.

He might as well have unleashed the curse with his own hands.

"You used him."

"I provided the means for him to mete out justice as he deemed necessary."

"All those years you preached against dark magic…"

"I was expected to wield dark magic daily on innocents just like Anne. This was the only recourse; it was for the greater good." Ominis' fists kept opening and closing as though he were suppressing the urge to break something. "He'd make threats against you too. He would threaten to use Imperius on me, force me into hurting you when I refused to crucio his associate's children. I had to do something."

Nova buried her face in her palms as guilt pierced her heart. If she hadn't been consumed by anger and grief after Ominis' abandonment, she might have understood what he was returning home to. She could have fought to get him out—her mind had shielded her from it.

They'd both made mistakes born from heartache.

"Sebastian broke the cycle," Ominis whispered, dropping his forehead against hers. "He let go of the relic and his thirst for revenge; he saved us."

"The ministry will connect the dots."

"Only a handful knew of Sebastian's release, and those who did have been obliviated."

“Grimkin… He knows...”

"Grimkin is loyal to the Gaunt's. I am the Gaunt's now." Ominis proclaimed, his touch leaving trails of fire along Nova's skin as his fingers cradled her jaw. "It could be us. I want it to be you and me."

Nova croaked out an unintelligible string of syllables as a flush of heat burst through her chest. "What... What are you—"

"That thought was my lifeline. It held me together when I left you. Each vile act I was coerced into, every cruciatus I endured. They were all sacrifices made in the pursuit of being reunited with you. Please, I beg of you, forgive me."

She wanted to tell him she loved him.

She loved him the instant he raised her off the scriptorium floor and soothed her excruciating skin with soft hands and softer words as she shivered blindly against his chest. Her lungs could never draw a full breath without him near. Wherever he was, she needed to be there. She would stand by whoever he became, always.

Even if she could articulate words through the spasms wracking her chest, Ominis wouldn't have heard it.

The brittle snap of branches at the edge of the treeline had his undivided attention. Unlike the previous whispering of the wind in the undergrowth, this one came without a gust of a passing breeze.

"Nova, get inside."

She was frozen. Her eyes locked on the shadow creeping out of the woods.

Ominis positioned himself defensively in front of her.

The figure raised a wand and spoke.

"Avada Kadavra."

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