Tumgik
#of blades and parchment
Text
Fic Masterlist
Because Tumblr search features are shit. Fandoms, Fics, and Series are organized in alphabetical order. Each link will send you to the Tumblr version but there will be a link to the AO3 version within that post. If you would rather go straight to AO3, my account is linked in the post pinned on my blog.
Assassin's Creed:
Of Blades and Parchment Series
Tumblr tag: #Of Blades and Parchment
Altmal AU where Malik never became an assassin and instead works as a crippled bookseller. Series is in progress.
DPxDC
Here's Where You'll Stay (3082 words, 1 chapter)
Tumblr Tag: #Here's Where You'll Stay
"As John stared at the door preparing to get his face mauled, he couldn’t help but incredulously complain that this was not how he wanted his weekend to go. He had plans! He supposes that he would be willing to put them on hold for Phantom’s sake, but he wasn’t agreeable to the incoming face mauling. "
When Phantom comes down with Core Sickness it's up to John Constantine to save the ghost from fading.
Nothing Says "True Love" Like Being Given The Soul of Your Murderer (1510 words, 1 chapter)
Tumblr Tag: #nstllbgtsoym
Addition to a post by @nelkcats
"Another snarl caused him to lose his staring contest with the Bat. Nightwing was now standing between the two of them and appeared to be trying to placate the crime boss while Red Robin made the bloody stupid decision of trying to sneak up behind him. Red quickly paid the price for his folly, finding himself flat on his back pinned underneath Hood's boot while he honest to God snapped at Nightwing like a rabid dog.
"It's my gift! He gave it to me. Now fuck off before I m̶a̷k̸e̸ ̵y̶o̸u̶."
Yeah. Someone should probably interfere before they pissed him off anymore.
"You should corral your kids before one of em' loses a hand."
"Hngh." Batman leaves to break up the fight with Nightwing's aid. Hood scampers off to one of the corners of the cave, cradling the violet ball in his gloved hands as if it was the most precious thing in the world. It sounded like he was purring. John was suddenly very tired."
Rending Flesh From the Bone (3093 words, 1 chapter)
Tumblr Tag: #RFFTB
Dick wasn't so sure about Jason's "gut feeling", but what are brothers for if not to support each other during paranoia episodes? Now, deep underground in an abandoned subway tunnel, Dick is starting to have regrets as he watches the scene before him.
TW: Gore, Cannibalism, Vomiting, Zalgo Text
Unnamed fic (ghost chirps/unintentional ghost adoption au fic)
Tumblr Tag: #ghost chirps/unintentional ghost adoption au fic
Addition to a post by @starwrighter
Fic is currently a work in progress with only a minimal amount released to the public under the Tumblr post. Once it's completely written chapters will be posted and linked independently.
100 notes · View notes
penandinkprincess · 1 year
Text
okay but baby selkie jask who notices that only the witchers have medallions, and with babey logic works out “it must be!! for boys!! boys wear necklaces!!” and then whines up a storm bc where!! is his necklace!! he is also a boy!! gib!! gib to him!!
114 notes · View notes
meromeropi · 8 months
Text
Mmm.... Thinking about JingWelt organised crime AU right now...
It's the same old story with every crime fic. A territory governed by people (maybe the Cloud Quintet? With Jing Yuan being the one that makes the last call because he's the best when it comes to strategy/tactics and how this can benefit all of them in the long run)
And then there's a newcomer in the business. A redhead woman forefronting, but there's talk of another in the shadows. Someone elusive enough that they do not know of. They strong-arm their way into their territory, merely showing their strength just to get the Quintet's attention.
They come face-to-face with two women, and the redhead introduce herself as Himeko. The dead-eyed woman smiles at them, serene voice captivating Baiheng momentarily. She doesn't introduce herself, but only talks of how they came to expand their business.
Weapons, drugs (that Jing Yuan is adamantly against), protection of businesses, loaning money... they've managed to pinpoint the safety that Jing Yuan has set up over the decades. Manages to threaten by exploiting that weakness. If they want to, they can turn the tide of the battle if they wish.
They're young. That means they have more to contribute. That also means they're arrogant, but not so that they'll rush into whatever ideas that pop into their heads. Which makes it worse for the Quintet. They're smart, arrogant, and level-headed.
Something feels off about this.
After the meeting with the two women, Jingliu proposes that they should take them out one by one. There's only two women, after all. Baiheng tells her not to be rash with her weapon. Yingxing offers to make more weapons that will combat whatever it is they're trying to upsell in their territory, Dan Feng nods and offers to dig into whatever information these two has.
Interestingly enough, no information is found about them.
This stresses Jing Yuan further that he decides to go grocery shopping. Taking part of something in the mundane would help him sort out his mind. After all, it's like clockwork.
He's too caught up in his thoughts that he accidentally bumps into an older man in the fruits section. The oranges this stranger was holding falls to the ground, scattering in different directions. Jing Yuan is pulled back into reality and helps the poor old man.
Crouched together, they pick up the fruits. Jing Yuan takes a look at this old man, and notices that he hasn't seen this face around town in all the years he's been here.
Jing Yuan gives him the fruits he's collected, and apologises. The old man, to his credit, apologises just as frantically. Shaking his head as he renounces the other man of his sin. He watches him leave, back quite hunched as he leans further into his cane.
There's something in those eyes that Jing Yuan knows well. A vow of violence, crimson-streaked across honey-brown eyes. There's a sharpness of intelligence present within, a lifetime of committing wickedness that he can relate to. Too well, actually.
It may just be the stress over the work flowing to his daily life, but he can't shrug off that there was something dangerous about the man.
18 notes · View notes
zhalfirin · 2 years
Photo
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Dry Heat/ Cold Rain/ Green Blade - altersuperego
More detail and what inspired the design here
Format: approx. Din A5 Materials used cover: cardboard (two layers) bookcloth goat parchment
bookbody paper munken polar 100g/m² endpapers: chiyogami endbands: buttonhole silk transparent paper  story dividers: satogami
fonts used title: Felix titling (15) text: Garamond (10)
clamshell box cardboard (1mm and 1,5mm) elephanthide paper Efalin
149 notes · View notes
zhalfirin-binds · 2 years
Photo
Tumblr media Tumblr media
WIP Dry Heat/ Cold Rain/ Green Blade - altersuperego
Trial for the pattern I want to use. I backed parchment with white paper to really make it stand out against the black fabric and cut out hollows so the parchment layers don’t just sit on top of the fabric where the edges would be unprotected and could peel off with use, but are more of an inlay. The sizes of the cut-outs still need some tweaking to get them right or maybe I’ll see whether or not my parchment and fabric have the same thickness and I could just cut out the part of fabric and embedd the parchment directly into it. Usually I try to avoid open fabric cuts on the surface. I always worry some thread might come loose and start fraying, but it might be a neat solution. I’ll try that next.
2 notes · View notes
livinginshambles · 4 months
Text
No, you listen to me | James Potter
Tumblr media
Pairing: James Potter x Slytherin!Fem!Reader
Word Count: 3.6k
Summary: Aftermath of when you ran away from the Yule ball, cinderella style. after the Christmas holidays, both of you return to hogwarts with different objectives. James tries to find out who you are. You try to make sure he never will.
Notes: Not proofread. Mistakes. Once again because people keep forgetting, english is my third language, be kind. Themes of bullying, discrimination, very bad sister relationships. Regulus is like a BROTHER. James tries?
Masterlist Part one. Part three
_________________________
Your eyes scanned across the parchment, rereading James’ apology, but all you could really feel was disappointment and anger. What was even the point of trying to prove anyone wrong? You leaned back against the cushions of the armchair and pulled your knees up, wrapping your arms around them to steadily lock them in place. Then you let your head drop.
You pressed your watering eyes into your knee, effectively letting your pajama pants soak up any tears that threatened to fall. You gently rocked yourself back and forth while you tried to clear your mind. You wouldn’t let any of this get to you.
A hand pressed itself to your back, right between your shoulder blades. “Let’s get you out of here,” Regulus spoke up. His tone was hard, but only because of his clenched jaw when he thought back to how you had run off with a betrayed look. The second he realized it was James who was the mystery guy, he had kept a close eye. He knew things wouldn’t end well with those prejudiced twats, and he was right.
You pathetically looked up at him, and Regulus didn’t bother to hide his grimace at the sight of your face.
“Don’t exaggerate you arse,” you mumbled and shoved him light-heartedly.
“Back at you,” Regulus shot back. Then he sighed and motioned for you to scootch over so he could squeeze himself to fit in the armchair with you. “I know you. And I know you know what my brother and his friends are like. Why are you so disappointed?”
You stared at the lit fireplace, lost in thoughts, and eventually shrugged when Regulus nudged you out of your train of thoughts.
“I guess- I really liked the guy on the other side of the paper. And I really hoped that maybe he’d be in there somewhere. And I suppose that for a moment I actually thought James Potter was alright, you know?”
Regulus scrunched his nose in distaste. “Not at all, but go on.”
You shook your head in amusement at him, but let your eyes soften. “I’m sorry Reg,” you whispered.
“What for?”
“Making you listen to me whining about a guy that I know you have personal issues with.” You decided not to mention out loud the fact that those personal issues included the way Sirius had left Regulus behind in that household, escaping to live with the Potters and going as far as publicly calling James his true brother. Found family, he had proudly said.
Regulus knew what you were referring to. He smiled bitterly. “Well, brothers are overrated anyways. I’d much rather have a sister,” he said while nudging you again.
You hummed in contemplation. “I don’t know Reg; I’ll have to disagree with you on this one. I’d much rather have a brother than any number of sisters.”
“How convenient for us.”
“Very convenient indeed,” you smiled happily.
Regulus got up suddenly and turned to you with a stretched out hand. You raised an eyebrow at him.
“I meant what I said, you know. Let’s get you out of here. I do recall you promising me tea at your new apartment.” He looked at his pocket watch. “Well, it’s 5 o’clock in the morning, and the first train leaves at 6. What’s the difference between leaving in the evening or right now.”
“You absolute champ.”
“I don’t even know what that means.”
You laugh whole-heartedly and stuff the parchment in your transfigurations book. You and Regulus took the first train and left Hogwarts behind for the Christmas holidays. A break would do you good. Godric knows you needed to get James off your mind.
James carefully placed the glass slippers in his suitcase and covered them with a few sweaters just in case. He had caught the elves recklessly throwing suitcases into the storage compartment of the Hogwarts express before. You’d think that the use of magic would come in handy for tasks like this, but no.
“Prongs, I got you this?” Sirius pushed a sheet of bubble wrap into James’ arms. James offered Sirius an appreciative look.
After thoroughly explaining everything, from the moment when he found the parchment, to who you were and why he decided that he wanted to become someone you would approve of, Sirius had pieced the rest together and apologized to James for leaving such a shit impression on his mystery date.
James sheepishly pointed at his own solution. “Should I change it?”
“Well, I mean did you see how the elves throw around with our luggage?”
James mirrored Sirius' grin. This break truly came at a perfect time. After all, James would let you occupy his mind as much as he needed to find out who you were.
Two weeks flew by in a blur. You and Regulus had set up a Christmas tree inside your small apartment and had made a competition out of finding the most impressive gift for each other, with only 10 galleons.
You had found the most gorgeous black quill and enchanted ink set for him and were rather confident until Regulus had somehow shown up with what looked like emerald, antique and gorgeously over the top earrings. You had shot him a look and he had immediately provided a receipt to prove he had played fair.
“I just have great negotiating skills,” he’d said.
You had hummed skeptically in reply but had happily tried them on.
All in all, the holidays were a very welcome break for you. Which is why you were so very reluctant to pack your bags. The door to your room opened and Regulus stood in the entrance, leaning against the door frame.
“Get out,” you groaned in dismay at the interruption. Regulus shot you an unimpressed look.
“Not until I see you pack; we leave in less than an hour.”
You huffed in annoyance and threw a pillow at his head. “I’m not asking you again, Black.” You flopped back down on your bed dramatically in dismay at the prospect of going back to Hogwarts. Regulus elegantly tilted his head and let the pillow fly past him.
“One hour,” he enunciated, before walking off.
You threw another pillow his way and yelled, “Close the door when you leave, you twat!”
With a flick of his wand, your door closed.
Regulus waited for you with a bag in his hand.
“Where’s the rest of it,” you teased as you motioned to the small amount of luggage he held.
Regulus turned red but stuck his chin up. “Left them here for the summer,” he off-handedly replied. You laughed. “Great, so you can help carry this bag then,” you grinned and pushed your smaller bag into his hands while you marched out the door with your heavy luggage, dragged behind you.
When you entered the platform, and were handed the Hogwarts newspaper, you did not expect to find a picture of you and James at the Yule ball on the front page. ‘Who are you, Willow?’
You immediately folded the paper together and looked up in panic at Regulus. He looked around and found different students excitedly chittering to each other, all while pointing at the newspaper.
“That is so romantic,”
“I thought James was with Lily?”
“No, they’re just friends now.”
“I was wondering who he was dancing with.”
“She looks so pretty.”
“If I found out that my date was James Potter, I’d take off that mask immediately.”
“Well, she could just be shy.”
“So true, probably Hufflepuff, don’t you think?
“I really hope he finds her.”
You grimaced at everyone and all you wanted to do was disappear. “Relax, Y/N,” Regulus smoothly pulled you on board the Hogwarts Express. “No one will know it’s you.”
Despite knowing that he was absolutely right, you still faced the floor as you looked for an empty compartment. You didn’t realize that you were passing James, who had just come back from a train meeting with the other prefects. He had picked up on Regulus’ words and frowned. But before he could really stop to consider Regulus’ statement, Peter happily waved at him from the marauders’ compartment. “We’re over here!” he called out. James forgot about what he heard.
Remus held the newspaper up in the air when James finally took a seat. “Really?”
“It was Pad’s idea,” James immediately said.
Peter curiously grabbed the newspaper. “Any results?”
James shrugged. “It’s only the first day,” he tries to convince himself, but he was not very sure about this approach to find you.
“It’s going to work out, trust me,” Sirius said. “When she sees that you’re going to this extent to find her, you’ll definitely woo her for sure,” he claimed.
Remus pulled a face. “I mean, if she ran off cause you two were being pricks, again,” he gave both Sirius and James a sharp look. “And hasn’t answered any of your messages, I don’t think starting a witch-hunt of sorts is the way to find her,” he voiced out his opinion. ”She clearly doesn’t want to be found.”
“What are you calling my methods bad?” Sirius squinted his eyes at Remus in mock offense.
“I’m just saying they wouldn’t exactly woo me,” Remus dryly remarked.
“And yet-“
“Guys,” James interrupted. “I just want to find her and apologize. And ask her for another chance to prove that I’m more than what she saw.”
“Well,” Peter started. He turned red when all eyes were suddenly on him. “She will probably not reveal herself. But she’s still a student here. And she knows who you are. So maybe if you publicly show off kind acts, she’ll see how you can be?”
There was a beat of silence and for a moment, Peter wanted to change into a rat and crawl into a hole to hide. But suddenly he was patted on the back by James. “Peter, you absolute champ!”
James Potter was acting weird, and you knew exactly what he was trying to do. You huffed to yourself as you marched right past him while he held the door open for his friends and you, who trailed in right behind them.
Previously, James would have definitely let the door fall in your face, and you had anticipated so, thus smoothly switching your books to your left arm, putting your right hand in front of you in a bracing manner. And so it happened that you stood there frozen, hand flat against James' chest, because he had turned around fully to hold the door open for you.
You embarrassedly dropped your hand that still lingered against him, and a deep frown settled on your face.
“I’d take ten points from Slytherin for touching a student without their consent, but I suppose I’ll let it slide for today,” he arrogantly said. You wanted to beat him up. But you supposed you could let it slide for today. You scowled at him and fled past him towards your designated seat.
Something tugged inside James’ chest as he watched you turn your back towards him and hurry away. He walked to join the rest of the marauders, a ghost feeling of your palm against his chest.
It hadn’t just been you that he was more civilized with. You noticed when you found him volunteering in the library, putting away books back on the shelves manually. This bothered you, because he tended to specifically linger around the particular section in the back about Egyptian rites, your favorite. You knew he was there to hopefully spot any often-returning students.
You also noticed that less and less students were coming back to the common room, hexed. Aside from snide remarks, you hadn’t encountered much animosity from him anymore either.
Instead, you found yourself on assigned patrol with him, despite the fact that Regulus had kindly offered to jinx his broom during Quidditch practice so you wouldn’t have to.
“So,” James broke the silence. “How was your holiday?”
“Why do you want to know,” you immediately shot back before you could stop yourself. James raised his hands in surrender. “Woah, sorry, L/N, just making conversation here.”
You sighed and forced your shoulders to lose their tension. “It was fine.”
“Fine.” James repeated.
“Fine,” you confirmed.
That was the end of your conversation, in your opinion. James however, seemed to think differently.
“So did you get any nice presents?”
You shot him an annoyed look but ended up answering anyway. “Yes actually, Regulus got me these earrings,” you said, and you tilted your head to show him. James’ eyes lingered on your earrings. They looked good on you. The exaggerated gem made you stand out despite your sober attire.
“What else?”
“What do you mean, what else?”
“Why, did your parents not buy you anything or what?”
You halted mid-step and stared up at James. He noticed that he had said something wrong, and when your sisters came to mind, he hurriedly tried to take his words back. You didn’t let him.
“I don’t go home for the holidays,” you settled on. “I’m not particularly welcome there. My parents are as big of a fan of me, as Alyssa and Marla are.” You laughed bitterly and continued walking. James followed behind you, he didn’t say a word, instead waited for you to continue.
“Well, I’m in Slytherin after all. Which obviously equals being an evil blood supremacist. They wouldn’t want to associate themselves with that, of course,” you sarcastically remarked.
James felt guilt slowly seep in. Your words resonated in his mind and his hands grasped the folded parchment in the pocket of his robes tightly. Those were his exact same words of that night at the Yule ball, and he bit his lip. “I’m sorry.”
You looked up at him, surprise evident in your eyes. “You’re sorry?” You asked him in disbelief.
James nodded. If he couldn’t say it to his mystery girl, at least he could say it to you, he figured.
James watched your eyes light up slightly and for a moment, he was lost in a trance. He snapped out of it when you returned the question. “So how was your holiday?”
He grinned at the olive branch that you were reaching out. “Mine was fine.”
“Fine?”
“Fine,” he teased. You fought the smile that threatened to tug on your lips.
Patrol ended without any incidents to report and when you wrote that down, James peered over your shoulder to catch your circled dot on the ‘i’ of “nothing to report.” A sense of déjà vu dawned on him, but the sheer unconscious refusal to even consider you a possibility kept your secret safe.
When you were in bed that night, you couldn’t help but think about how at ease you had felt for the remainder of the night with James, basking in the familiarity of the person behind the paper.
With every patrol, you two put another step forward in the direction of a friendship of some sorts.
James couldn't deny the fact that with each time, he started to look forward to the next time, almost the same giddy feeling fluttering in his stomach as each time he would unfold his parchment to find new kind words written there.
You and Willow would be friends, James thought, as he looked at you while you were casually explaining Transfiguration to him while you two strolled through the corridors, not without the occasional insult at his 'lack of competence'.
But for now, James enjoyed the privilege of calling you by your first name. A friend of some sorts, he liked to think.
Perhaps he was wrong about Slytherins. Sure, there were some rotten apples, but he supposed there were rotten apples in each house. And you weren't so bad after all.
For the first time in a long time, you enjoyed your days at Hogwarts. Truly enjoyed them. You would send Regulus to the library to get you your favourite books, and would patrol every Thursday with James unless he had Quidditch practice. Then you would patrol with Abrams. You’d come across James, who would nod with a kind smile at you as you two have come to be cautious friends and patrol-partners. You hadn’t really heard anything from your sisters either, which was absolute bliss as well.
But then one day, you were studying Transfiguration by yourself in the library, and you just so happened to need to go to the bathroom. When you returned, you noticed your book was missing and you pulled a sour face before requesting a new one from Professor McGonagall who had looked over her glasses at you.
But that hadn’t been the bad part. No, the bad part was that you had completely forgotten that you had put your enchanted parchment that connected yours to James’ inside that book.
Sirius had victoriously grinned at his funny prank idea. He would change some spells in your book so that you would mess up and become a toad in class. He tossed the book on a table in the common room and a piece of paper slid out.
Sirius had seen the piece of paper before, and his eyes grew as wide as saucers. He jumped up, ran towards his room, and rummaged through James’ nightstand before finding James' parchment under his pillow and wrote something on it. He walked back down the stairs with James’ paper, and he watched in disbelief as a messy ‘hello’ appeared on the paper that your sisters now held. “Merlin,” he breathed out, but your sisters had already stormed out of the room.
You entered the Great Hall and felt everyone staring at you and whispering. Even fellow Slytherin students looked at you in contempt. You gave Regulus a confused look when you walked to the free seat next to him. He quietly slid over the Hogwarts newspaper.
Front page again. ‘Mystery girl uncovered. Not a Willow, but a Hanging Tree.”
You didn’t need to read the rest; you tore your eyes away from the paper. Tears threatened to spill, but you tried to keep a cool front. You turned around to look for James and found him and his friends sitting right behind you.
Whoever thought that putting The Gryffindor table and Slytherin table next to each other should rot in the dungeons, you bitterly thought.
It was your sister who spoke up first. “I can’t believe someone like you would make themselves out to be a victim. ‘Oh no, my sisters bully me,’” she mocked you.
You felt heat rise to your cheeks and got up. She got up as well and you stood eye to eye with each other. “You’re pathetic,” She sneered. “You’re the real mistake here. So go do what you do best- run away.”
You wanted to say something. Anything. But you felt weak and small again. So you turned around and walked away. Whispers continued to fill the room as everyone seemed to have something to say about you.
“How embarrassing.”
“She should be ashamed”
“A Slytherin like her?”
“She definitely wasted James’ time.”
With every comment you heard, you bit harder on the inside of your cheek, and when that last comment dropped, you balled your fists. Why should you be the one to walk away?
You turned around furiously and marched back towards James, who had gotten up to follow you and reached out his hand. You recoiled.
“Y/N, listen-“
“No, you listen to me,” you spat at him. You looked him up and down with a pained look, holding back tears of frustration and while trying to convey as much disgust as you could.
“If you didn’t like what you found out, you could’ve kept it to yourself and thrown the damn paper away. You had no right to publicly try to humiliate me like this. All of your kindness in an attempt to be a good person only shows how wretched you really are when you stop pretending and act cruelly true to yourself.”
James' eyes flashed with hurt and he shook his head, words were stuck in his throat. He wanted to cover his ears; he didn’t want to hear you say this to him. This isn’t what he wanted at all. You were wrong. He didn’t even know it was you until he saw the newspaper this morning.
But you weren’t finished talking yet.
“Has it ever even occurred to any of you,” you looked at the people behind him. You stared your sisters dead in the eye. “That maybe your prejudice and thoughtless assumptions and insults about how awful or evil we Slytherins are, is the very thing that pushes us down that path?”
You turned your attention back to James, who had an unreadable expression on his face now. “Your cruel comments are part of the reason and you, James Potter, are especially cruel.”
Your tone was sharp, face hardened and the entire Great Hall had fallen silent. Not even the professors spoke up. James felt like you had hit him in the face, and you might as well have. He looked down in shame at your words.
You shakily let out your breath and lowered your voice again. This time, you sounded tired. Reality seemed to dawn upon you that everyone in the great hall was listening to you, and you shook your head to yourself, taking a step back. You scoffed softly.
“I suppose you are truly worthy of the Gryffindor name; overly proud and arrogant in the name of bravery with a tendency to prove yourself, disregarding others and their feelings.” Your venomous words cut through James' heart.
James watched you walk away again and everything around him seemed to fade. He was losing you again. How had he not seen this?
Your situation with your sisters. The way you ran away at the Yule ball when he made a crude remark about Slytherins. The sense of déjà vu every time you walked past him, back turned towards him. Your handwriting. The feeling of your hand pressed to his chest just as when you two danced. The way you were great at transfiguration and could have easily transfigured those glass slippers. The way Regulus was the only student to frequently visit your favourite book section in the library. The chills you had sent down his back when you had allowed him to call you by your first name, and in return had called him James.
‘I’m in Slytherin after all. Which obviously equals being an evil blood supremacist.’
‘No one will know it’s you.’
Everyone knows.
Preview if interested
Part three
Taglist:
@k0z3me @magical-spit @bouearis @sprinkled-strawberry-donut @sammy-4103 @imsirius01 @xxrougefangxx @lilianelena39 @bubybubsters @cyphah @handybrownpurse @joeytribbiani18 @letssee2468 @stunkbiggu @unstablefemme @charmingpatronus @hoshi-is-ult-bbg @sadpetalsstuff @hisparentsgallerryy @luvly-writer @starsval @thisisasecretsstuff @theweasleyskettle @thisisasecretsstuff @urmomw4ntsme @krillfromsky @ietss @itsberrydreemurstuff @alexandra-001 @prongsprincessworld @lilsunshine1092 @hawkinsavclub1983 @rinrinslovebot @fluffybunnyu @fearlessmoony @lavenderwisteria @darkenwolfie @gengen64 @grandtheoristpeach @anehkael @lunasolac @targaryenmoony @jasminesacademia @mr-underhills-things
3K notes · View notes
thebestofoneshots · 2 months
Note
This isn’t really a request but this came to may head at three in the morning ok Imagine like your getting fucked by one of the Marauders or all of them and yk those moving pictures they have in the wizard world image they have a whole box filled of the reader getting back shots and EVERYTHING 😵‍💫🥴
THE STASH | marauders x reader
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Pairing: J.P. x S.B. x R.L x Female Reader
Word Count: 5 k
Warnings: Smut, finger fucкing, a little bit of PTSD on Sirius, pictures taken w/o reader’s knowledge, reader being insecure and gaining back confidence thanks to the boys.
Prompt: You find the boy's stash, filled with lusty pictures and they make you feel insecure, thoughts about not being good enough for them arise, the catch is, that’s THE OLD stash. (Happy ending)
Notes: I had a similar idea already in my head so when I saw this ask I just knew I had to make it happen.
Tumblr media
♡ NSFW: Smut under the cut
You knocked on their door a couple of times when no one said anything, you decided to let yourself  in, “Rem? Jamie? Sirius?” 
No answer. 
You looked around and went to sit by Remus’ bed. He said he’d see you in their room later that night for study and maybe something more, but with study club and prefect duties, you assumed he was as busy as the two other boys were with the quidditch training. You didn’t mind it much though, their room was a lot more quiet to study in than yours, and it was always fun to see their surprised faces when they walked in and you were there. 
You were taking your book and some parchment out when a pot of ink fell from your bag and onto the floor. There was a thud and then another one and then it spilled all over. You gasped and left the bag on the side before leaning down to pick it up. You whispered a quick “reparo,” and the crystal pot wasn’t leaking anymore, but the ink was still on the floor and some of it was spilling down the wooden floorboard. 
“Fuck,” you whispered as you summoned a napkin from your bag and started to clean as best as you could, but it didn’t seem to be working, it was still spilling down into what looked like a nook on the floor. You frowned and looked at the wooden board in detail only to realize there was a section that was a little more worn than the rest. 
You frowned and tried to lift the board by digging your nails on the side but it wasn’t working, you huffed and walked over to Sirius’ night table to see if he still had his pocket knife there. Luckily he did, and you took it, pulling out one of the blades and using it as a crane to lift the wooden board.
Once you did you realized the ink had slipped inside most of the things they kept in there. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you whispered continuously as you tried to pull off the things in fear that they would be ruined with the ink. There were some old letters, some hand-rolled cigars, a few potions and then a small box, that one had gotten most of the ink. You winced and pulled it out, biting your lip as you tried to concentrate. You had been so busy with the cleaning, that you never saw the spiderwebs that covered most of the items. 
“Evanesco,” you whispered, focused solely on the ink, which successfully disappeared, but so did the small lock they had on the box and it opened by itself. You blinked a couple of times when you saw what was inside. You carefully grabbed one of the images, a stunning red-headed witch, winking at you as she bounced around, with her very large, and very beautiful breasts in full display. 
You gulped as you stared at her, she wiggled her shoulders a bit and gave you another wink. You sucked in a breath, she was freaking stunning. And probably there because of James’ fixation with redheads. 
The rest of the pictures were turned over, but curiosity got the best of you, and you took another piece of paper from the box. That one was bent in four, as if it had been ripped from a magazine. You slowly unbend it, first one fold and then the other and there was another stunning witch in the image. 
This one had smaller breasts, but she was leaning down on a bed, perfectly manicured hands brushing over her own folds, two perfectly long and well-shaped legs on the side. She had dark skin and the light reflected on her legs as she accommodated on the bed, her head leaning back with what looked like a sigh as she rolled her hand over her clit. She too was beautiful, and perfect. 
You sat the image on the side, next to the redhead and pulled another one. One of the smaller ones, only to be met with yet another stunning witch, perfectly flat stomach, and beautiful perky breasts, she was riding a pillow, one hand on the bed and looking straight at you as she bit her lips, inviting, enticing. You placed her next to the others as you pulled another image. And then another, and then another. 
Image after image, perfectly attractive witches in all sorts of positions, some by themselves, some with companions (either other hot witches or the cock of a wizard or two). You pressed your legs together, there was a mix of feelings inside you. First of all, you were a little turned on after seeing such kind of imagery. But second, and most important. You were a little upset. 
Which was ridiculous, you knew. Expecting the boys to pleasure themselves with the thought of you in mind when you weren’t around was stupid, especially when there were clearly much better and hotter witches in the market. What with their perfectly round breasts and their beautiful lips and flat stomachs and long legs and rosy cunts. You looked at them with a bit of a frown, they all had something in common, they were perfect, and you? You were far, far from that. 
Now you weren’t upset that the boys were doing themselves, you knew men needed a lot more release than women did and you tried to keep that in mind as you placed all the beautiful witches back in their box, but you couldn’t help but think: Did they also think of them when they were with you? Did they imagine the beautiful redhead’s breasts when they were kissing yours, or maybe that they were in between the legs of that girl with the gorgeous reflective skin instead of your own? 
While the pictures were meant to be stimulating, and they had been a little at the beginning, the more you thought about them, the more you thought they were so much unlike you and the more your thoughts continued to spiral. 
“Such beautiful witches…” you murmured as you closed the box, “and they are equally gorgeous men… why are they–“ You didn’t finish your words out loud, too painful to say them outside of your head. 
Why are they with me? 
You carefully placed the box back into its spot, cleaned the rest of the things that had gotten stained and placed everything back in their stash. You carefully placed the wooden plank back where it belonged and put Sirius’ knife back in his drawers. You took a deep breath, not feeling up for much and instead ripped a page from your notebook. 
“I’m feeling a little sick, see you boys tomorrow.”
It was simple enough not to make them question further, you left it on top of Remus’ bed and left the room. 
The following day, the boys being as marvelous and attentive as they were, had gotten you to forget about the stash almost completely. And things had been absolutely perfect since then.
At least until a few days later, you had been playing wizards chess with Sirius on his bed, and after he beat you for the third time making you feel both hopeless and a little dumb for not anticipating his moves –which was also ridiculous because Sirius had been a wizard chess champion– he offered to make it up to you. 
It was in the spark in his eyes that you knew exactly what he meant. You bit your lip, Remus was reading a book on his bed while James was snoring lightly next to him, one hand draped across the other boy’s torso. You knew they’d want to join in when they realized what you and Sirius were up to, and it sent a shiver down your stomach. 
“What do you say, doll?” Sirius asked as he levitated the chess board and the broken pieces to the side, inviting you to come closer.
You huffed “You think you can make it up with your little puppy eyes?” 
Sirius pretended to think about it for a second before nodding. “While they should be enough, I’m still planning to use more than just my looks to make you feel better.” 
You returned the smile and leaned closer to him, moving to straddle his sitting form, his back was pressed to the headboard and you could feel he was at least a little excited as you leaned into him. 
“Did you win so many times just so you could say that to me?” You asked in disbelief, you were drumming your fingers near the nape of his neck.
“I might have been a little extra attentive,” he replied as he grabbed onto your hips and placed a kiss on your neck. “I know how riled up you get when you can’t best me,” he said before placing another kiss, this time further up, “I kind of enjoy seeing your little frown, and angry looks,” he admitted, he was now kissing your jaw. You rolled your hips into his and he tightened his grip on your hips in response. 
You smiled, loving the fact that you knew exactly what Sirius liked and how to get him worked up, at least as much as he knew of you. You rolled your hips again and he reached his hand under your skirt, feeling the outside of your leg before flicking his hand to the inside of it. To the softer skin that he grabbed with firm tenderness. Itching his hand closer and closer, making sure to massage your skin, tauntingly. 
You leaned your head onto his shoulder, letting his beautiful hair fall on your face as you rolled your hips again, a lot softer this time, matching his pace and wanting his hand to come closer. 
“Eager, are we?” he teased.
“Shhh, you’ll wake up Jamie,” you said as you leaned over to kiss his neck. He bit his lip to hold back a moan and finally placed his hand over your panties, tracing a soft line over your slit. You bucked your hips against his hand and he chuckled lightly. 
Remus, who had been focused on his book so far, frowned and looked up at the two of you, smirking a little when he noticed what you were up to. Of course, he knew that chuckle, it was Sirius’ sexy teasing laugh. 
“Easy love or you’ll be the one to wake up Prongs,” he said, leaning his head to your ear and softly nibbling on it. He traced his hand over your slit a couple more times, and you bucked your hips again. He smiled, you didn’t see it, but you felt it against your skin, “All right, all right…” he said as he flicked his finger over the hem of your panties and moved them aside. You leaned even closer to him as he dug his fingers in, “All of this for me?” he teased as he felt how wet you were. 
Remus, who was now only half looking at his book, had somewhat of a fun time as he listened in to your conversation with Sirius. He would be lying if he said he didn’t find it stimulating. But he also knew Sirius had had a bit of a bad week, so he thought of letting him have you just for himself, at least for a little bit longer, or until James woke up, just as eager to join in. 
“Sirius please,” you whined with a frown and he smiled, letting his fingers trace up until they found your clit, making circles over it, which had you bucking your hips against him again. You bit the side of your cheek as you allowed him to move his hand, leaning in to kiss his neck again, to muffle any possible moans with his skin. 
“May I?” he asked, teasing your entrance with his index. 
“Mhm,” you said and bucked your hips again, eager for him to do his thing. And he complied, digging his finger inside and allowing it to move inside you as expertly as ever. 
“So tight,” he whispered, Remus’ cock twitching at Sirius’ words and reconsidering whether he actually wanted to wait more before joining in. 
He did not, so he carefully lifted James’ arm from his torso and walked towards Sirius’ bed. He sat right beside the two of you, a cocky smile on his face as he tilted his head to the side, “You two having fun there?” he asked, “without me?” 
“You’re always welcome to join in Moony,” Sirius said with a teasing grin as he pulled you back just a little. You had both of your hands on Sirius’ shoulders, and you were now using them as leverage to ride his hand. 
Moony smiled, “I might just watch for a while,” he said, leaning back and placing one of his hands on the back of Sirius’ neck. He knew how much small actions and touches like that made Sirius react, and he smiled as the boy’s breath hitched in his throat. He then turned to look at you, a mischievous grin on his face, he took his wand out and whispered “Evanesco.”  
Suddenly both your shirt and bra disappeared, giving both boys the perfect sight of your breasts perking up at the sudden cold. Sirius grunted as he stared, and Remus hummed satisfied. You clenched around Sirius’ fingers –which were now two– whimpered and let out a soft moan. 
But then, as you felt their gazes on you, and you felt your own boobs bouncing as you continued to ride Sirius’ expert fingers, you started to feel self-conscious, of how you looked, of how they were staring at you, on whether they were actually thinking of you or imagining something else, someone else. Maybe the beautiful redhead? The busty blonde? The reflextive-skinned goddess with the beautiful legs? The brunette with the beautiful ass?
Suddenly the lights flickered, and they were gone. You relaxed, Sirius felt the grip on his shoulder untensing, but he thought it was because you were close. But Sirius liked to see your fucked out face when he had his fingers inside you, and in seconds the lights were turned back on, and you tensed instantly. 
The muscle movements were normal, but the way you suddenly dug your nails into his shoulders was not, at least not in the moment it was happening and not in the way it was either. Something was up.
He stopped moving his hand in an instant, “you all right, angel?” he asked, a small wrinkle forming on his forehead as his brows furrowed together. 
You seemed to be lost in thought for a second, Remus noticed that too, “Yeah… just. Let’s leave the lights off today.” 
Now it was Remus’ turn to frown, he took his hand from Sirius’ neck and sat straighter, pulling back and leaning in closer to look at your face, his hand instinctively traveling to your thigh.  Sirius, with one hand still inside you –now unmoving– was brushing his thumb in circles on your waist, they were both giving you their unwavering attention, and your breath hitched in your throat. You looked at them nervously, your eyes traveling from boy to boy at unprecedented speeds and you bit your lip, and then the lights were off again. 
Once they were off, you sighed and leaned your head on Sirius’ shoulder. He felt how you relaxed in an instant, and his frown deepened. “Angel, what is it?” 
“Nothing, light’s giving me a headache,” you lied. 
Sirius turned to Remus, while he couldn’t see much, he knew Remus would probably be able to see his questioning stance easily, with his enhanced senses, at least. “You believe her?” he mouthed. 
Remus shook his head in response, and when he realized Sirius couldn’t actually see he turned to you and placed his hand on your shoulder. “Are you sure that’s it, luv?” 
You swallowed, which was enough indication you weren’t, and you lied again, “Yes, let’s just, continue as is.” 
Sirius knew you were lying, and he hated it when you lied to him, he also hated not being able to see shit while Remus could see your every reaction so he turned the lights on, didn’t even use his wand for it, and you tensed again. 
You were taken aback by that and swallowed thickly. Your breath was slightly ragged and it was not because you were turned on, in fact, if anything, you felt rather apprehensive now. You cleared your throat. “You know, maybe I’m just not feeling it,” you lied again and pulled yourself off of his hand. 
Sirius felt way too many things at the same time, he was worried about your reaction since he thought he’d done something wrong. He was angry because he knew you were hiding the exact reason; he wanted, no, he needed to know what was up so he would never do it again, and thirdly, he was upset, he’d felt…rejected. And by you, no other. 
By the time Sirius reacted again, you were buttoning your shirt up and walking towards their door. James, who had been asleep till then, was finally awoken by the lights coming on and off and the small commotion going on. He was confused, at first he thought you were just playing, but perhaps that was not it. 
But Sirius was faster, and he jumped over Remus to get to the door just as you were opening it and shut it closed. You jumped back just a little, shocked at how fast he’d moved, you were now the one with a frown, anger bubbling to your chest, Sirius’ temper had always been something you’d learn to deal with, and even if you knew it was justified now, that didn’t stop yours from flaring up. 
“That’s not it,” he said confidently, “that’s not it and you’re not getting out until you tell me what’s upset you.” 
“Sirius,” Remus said now, ever the conciliator. He’d also stood from the bed and walked the few strides left to get next to the two of you. 
Maybe it wasn’t the best reaction you could have had, but you were already pretty shaken up by the situation at hand, by your rather torturous thoughts and by Srius’ slamming of the door. “Oh, so you know my body better than I do?” you said defensively, “you would know if I have or not a headache.” 
“YES!” he responded stubbornly. “I know how it reacts when it has a headache and it’s not the way you were reacting now!” 
You shook your head as you scoffed, James was now sitting on the bed looking at the situation both confused and worried. 
“Moony! Back me up on this?” he said as he turned his face to him. 
Remus bit his lip, as he shook his head, thinking before speaking. “He’s right luv, that was not your headache reaction.” 
You scoffed, “ff course, you’d take his side.” 
“I’m not taking any sides.” 
“Well you are, just don’t realize it!” you said angrily. “If I say I have a headache, I have one and that’s it. Now, I want to leave.” 
“Darling,” Remus said as he let out a breath, he seemed worried and upset as well now, you were trying really hard not to feel bad about it, trying to remind yourself why you needed to leave. 
It was Sirius who spoke again, his lips quivering as he found the right words, “Just tell me what I did wrong, I’ll never do it again, I promise,” his voice broke near the end. He was panicking, he was terrified he’d hurt you and that you’d leave thinking the worst of him. You knew what was hapening had brought back some past trauma and you didn’t want to be the catalyst of another panick attack.
You took a deep breath when you heard him, your frown deepening as you considered your words, “I found your stash.” 
The three men went quiet in an instant. Sirius looked like a deer trapped in headlights, Remus’ jaw had tightened and you’d heard James’ gasp in the back. 
“Darling, I–“ Sirius tried to speak but you cut him off. 
“No, no,” you tried to reason, more with yourself than with him. “I get, it’s fine, you need your release time and all that, I don’t mind.” 
“Well, you clearly do,” Remus said. You felt a hand on your shoulder, it was James’. He had walked towards you the moment he heard about the stash but you hadn’t noticed until then. You flinched but missed the hurt look that etched his features as he looked at you. 
“Well yes. But it’s a stupid feeling nonetheless. I’ll get over it. Just need time.” 
“It was me,” James said from behind, “it was my idea, not Sirius’. Don’t be upset at him.” 
You swallowed thickly, not wanting to be angry at James for something so natural in men, let alone because you knew this whole mess was created due to your own thoughts and insecurities, not theirs. And now you were upsetting them, what a great bIoody girlfriend you were. 
“I don’t bIoody care whose idea it was!” you spat. “Please let me off,” you said then, leg bouncing, you wanted to get out before you said something that would upset them more. 
“We’ll never do it again if that makes you feel better,” Sirius tried. 
“No it– It fucking doesn’t, okay? It’s fine, it’s… Found it a couple of nights ago when my ink pot fell on the floor.” The three boys exchanged a look with each other, had either of them changed its spot? “It’s pretty fresh in my mind and– I just– I can’t stop thinking you’re imagining them while being with me.” 
“Them?” Sirius asked, confused. 
“The pretty witches!” you responded, almost angrily. Remus, who was in front of you looked confused, and you huffed before adding in more detail. “Beautiful redhead,” you looked at James. “Gorgeous blonde,” you added as you turned to Sirius. Then looked back at the taller boy, “need I elaborate?” 
You heard James gasp from behind. “She found the old stash!” 
“Ah, so you have a new and improved one,” you said now, and shook your head as you turned at the door. Sirius was leaning in and he had a cheeky smile on his face now, which pissed you off even further. 
“You could call it that,” he said with a shrug. 
“Sirius,” Remus said calmly again. “Don’t.” 
But Sirius just smiled instead, “Oh but, I’m impressed. Our lovely angel was jealous.” 
“I was not.” You said flatly. “Get off the door, please,” the last part was much more of a beg than a demand. 
Sirius shook his head, “not until you see the new stash.” 
Remus and James exchanged looks after that, not even sure if they should or shouldn’t stop Sirius. 
“I don’t want to see the witches you use to wank off now, it’s enough with the images already in my head. Can’t stop thinking of them, of you thinking about them when you’re looking at me.” 
Sirius’ face fell instantly, his teasing stance almost faltering but not his determined blockage of the door. 
“That’s not–“ 
“Have you considered perhaps it was the other way around?” Remus asked as he placed a slightly hesitant hand on your shoulder.��
“What?” 
“That we imagined you when looking at them.” 
You were taken aback by that. No, you hadn’t considered that. “What about the redhead, can’t tell me she wasn’t there because of James’ old obsession with Evans?” 
James sighed, it was. That’s why they had to get a new stash. 
“She needs to see the new stash,” Sirius said while looking at the two other boys. 
“I don’t think that’s a great idea,” James intervened, it had been his idea after all, and he had admitted it to you now. He didn’t want to have you get mad over something else, and this time your anger would be indisputably justifiable. 
“I think it is,” Sirius insisted. 
You sighed, “you can continue deciding if you’re going to show me your new fuckable witches or not a different day. Sirius, get off the door.” 
He shook his head and turned to James, “Please?” 
“I don’t want to see them! Enough is enough!” 
You turned to the side to try and find another exit when you bumped into Remus, he had a box in his hand. He raised it a bit, you knew what it was instantly. 
“Remus!” James complained and went to get it but was hastily stopped by Sirius who got in the way and trapped him in his arms. 
“Prongs behave!” He said sternly. 
The path to the door was free now, but Remus’ serious stance made you curious, even more when he moved his finger to his lips and bit hard enough to draw bIood. 
“What the fu–“ 
“It’s so no one can open but us,” he explained. “We bIood charmed it.” 
You looked at him with a shocked face, you didn’t think they’d go to such lengths to hide their spicy stuff, what the hell did they even have there?
Some of the metal hinges at the top moved around a little bit, looking almost like a miniature Gringotts vault, and then it snapped open. Remus pushed it your way. You looked at the three boys before picking the first image up. It was Remus, shirtless Remus on the day you’d gone swimming at the Potter’s last summer. He was pulling his hair back and water glistened all over his torso, he looked at you and winked, before turning to look at something else. 
You gasped and pulled another picture, it was James and Sirius, both also shirtless, and they were making out under a tree. Sirius had his leg in between James’ and was leaning onto him rather intensely. 
The next one was you, you had the swimsuit you’d bought that summer, the one you thought looked really good on you, and you were on your knees, looking for something on the sand, your ass was slightly prompted up and the picture was obviously focused on that. You swallowed thickly and went to grab another one. 
You again, this time while making out with Remus, his hand was on your ass and you had realized they were taking a picture, looking at the camera with a diverted gasp before covering the lens with your hand. 
You took another one, and this time around you were genuinely shocked, it was Remus, being blown by James. His pinky pretty lips wrapped around Rem’s cock. “Oh, wow.” 
James frowned, he knew what else there was in there and he wasn’t sure if he wanted you to see it, he had never felt worse about his own ideas than now. Responsible, he knew he had bertrayed you, in a way. You took the next picture and stared at it for a minute. 
It was you again, well, you’re back at least. You were riding Sirius, moving back and forth over his cock as he helped you, hands on your waist as he bit his lip. You didn’t see your face, but you knew it hadn’t been that long ago. If Sirius’ new tattoo was any telling. 
You looked at the boys shocked, you hadn’t even realized they’d taken the picture, but you looked as pretty as any witch in the other photos, how had they gotten you to look so good? 
They hadn’t done anything, it was just you. 
“You don’t have to–“ James started, but you had already picked up another picture.
“Shut up,” you said simply.
 You again, this time you were sprawled on the bed with a blindfold on your head. That had been on your birthday. James had one of his hands on your leg, dangerously close to your slit while Sirius was kissing your breast and sucking at your nipples. 
And there was more, a lot of pictures from that day, all in compromising positions. Some involving you and the boys, some involving only the boys on different occasions, some you remembered, some in which you hadn’t even been present. There was even one of Sirius wanking off to the picture of you in the swimsuit you had seen earlier. 
“I’m sorry–“ James said, now sounding distressed and shaking Sirius off him. “I’m sorry angel, we should have never done it.” 
You grabbed another one of the photos, it had clearly been rushed, the camera being hidden as you turned your head to look at the boys, this time around you were kneeling on the bed, and James was jerking himself off to you, teasing your entrance before pulling out completely and allowing his cum to fall over your ass and back. 
“You’re right.,” you said as you placed the pictures back in the box, expression neutral. “You should have never done it without asking me–” James swallowed. 
“Love I–“ 
“James, shut up!” you said again, giving the pictures another look. “You should have never done it without asking me first,” you said as you flipped through some more pics and tsking. “I would have helped.” 
James’ jaw dropped, and you looked at him with a cheeky smile. Sirius was looking at you proudly and satisfied with his choice while Remus stared at the picture you had in your hand. The one where you were getting a back shot but was shaky and blurry because the camera had been hidden before you saw it. 
You moved the picture up, holding it between your fingers as you displayed it to the boys, “What do you say we recreate this one, but with better quality?” 
Sirius scoffed a laugh and smiled. 
“I’ll get the camera,” Remus said simply.
James was still stunned, and you leaned over and placed a soft kiss on his lips. Sirius leaned from behind and kissed you on the cheek “I told them you should know about it from the beginning but they said you’re too pure for it.” 
You laughed at that, “you boys keep calling me angel,” you said as you turned to Sirius and wrapped your hands around his neck, “but I wouldn’t have done all the things I have with you all if I wasn’t the exact opposite,” you added with a smirk.
Tumblr media
Want to support me? Like and reblog this post. Comments are my life fuel, so send them out if you have any.
This one might get a part two, if you guys wanna see that <3
Raead more Marauders Fiction
2K notes · View notes
konigbabe · 9 months
Text
PERISH
Pairing: Satoru Gojo x gn!reader Word count: 1.6k Tags/warnings: no y/n; manga spoilers (post Shibuya timeline); canon-compliant; angst; death; emotional breakdown; hurt/no comfort; loss; grief Summary: For the first time in a long time, Satoru Gojo, the epitome of strength, breaks. Happy start of JJKS2 writing week.
event masterlist • masterlist • navigation • faq • AO3 • ko-fi
Tumblr media
November 2018 8 minutes until Satoru Gojo’s unsealing
"Don’t worry, I’ll make it on time. I’m right behind the corner."
"We can wait," Yuji’s voice carries through the car, the static of the Bluetooth speaker occasionally cracking.
It feels like years have passed since you last saw him. Sealed away in the prison realm, Gojo’s state remains a mystery. There’s no telling how being locked in a place where time and space don’t exist can affect even the strongest minds.
That’s what worries you. What if he’ll break? What if he goes crazy on all of you? What if he explodes; wipes you all out with his technique? An endless sea of ‘what if’ swirls inside your mind as you take another turn, the mountains on your left with an ocean view on your right.
"Don’t," you reassure the youngster, "don’t wait any longer."
"You should be here, though," Megumi jumps into the conversation, "You’re closest to that idiot. He’ll want to see you."
His words draw a smile on your lips. It’s finally happening. The sleepless nights are coming to an end with the arrival of your lover.
"Then I’ll just opt for a dramatic entrance while you keep him busy," you respond before tightening your hands on the wheel. A familiar feeling washes over you; sudden knowledge of a new presence. Heart picking up, your eyes search the road for the source while the car’s speed slowly drops.
32 seconds; that’s how long it takes you to locate the source. A curse spirit manifestation stands in the middle of the road, blocking you. Its small hunched build stands a mere meter above the ground; four arms decorated by translucent fins hanging by its body, the prehnite skin glistening in the last rays of today’s sun, giving off a wet, moist appearance.
"Boys," you announce, stopping Yuji’s and Megumi’s bickering while still keeping up the cheerful, light voice in an attempt to not raise suspicions about your current predicament, "don’t wait any longer. Unseal Satoru and stop worrying ‘bout me. It’ll be fine."
Bringing the car to a slow halt, Yuji’s tone shifts into a more attentive one as your name seeps through the speaker before you hang up after one more reassurance.
As you step out of the vehicle, the curse's malevolence engulfs the air, almost tangible in its intensity. It clings to the atmosphere like a poisonous fog, penetrating your senses with a pungent sulfuric odor that threatens to overwhelm you.
Your hand slips inside your jacket to retrieve a carefully preserved seal, reserved for such precarious situations; just like this one.
"I’m sorry," with every footfall, the curse seems to shrink in size, yet its malicious nature grows stronger, the smell of sulfur almost suffocating, "but I’m in a hurry right now and you," pointing the parchment paper towards the spirit, "are in my way."
Swift and precise, your movements carry an aura of practiced precision. With little effort, you firmly press the seal upon the spirit's head, causing it to stumble momentarily before dissipating into thin air, vanquished by the power contained within the sigil.
Yet, the energy lingers.
Stronger than before. Stronger than a second ago. Its absent defense, non-existent attempt to fight or flee…it all makes sense now —
A powerful grip; a strong hand adorned with talons as keen as the finest blades dig into your shoulder as an inhuman force pushes you to the side.
As you're thrust aside, your vision catches a subtle glimmer of chrysolite, a hue that seeps into your perception; its scales are sturdy, each edge honed to a dangerous sharpness. Driven by instinct and the will to protect yourself, you reach out, your hand making contact with the curse spirit’s scaly hide.
The jagged edges of its scales cut into the delicate flesh of your fingers, leaving trails of crimson in their wake.
— it was a decoy.
Your body collides with the unforgiving side of the mountain, back meeting the rough and unyielding surface. A symphony of pain resonates within your bones, their structural integrity compromised as multiple cracks reverberate through your form.
Gasping for breath, your body instinctively seeks solace, but find none amidst the terrain. The curse doesn’t wait either. Swiftly moving forward, it lunges at you. Unforgiving. With a clear intent to strike. To kill.
During Satoru Gojo’s unsealing
There is no pain. The moment the curse’s hand breaches the barrier of your chest, you expect it. Expect some kind of visceral reaction. But there’s none — a gentle pinch, akin to a fleeting touch when the sharp claws first pierce through the protective layers of your breastplate. A slight discomfort upon the feeling of having a foreign object that’s found its place within the confines of your ribs. The barrier of your rib cage offers minimal resistance, yielding to the relentless advance that seeks to reach the very core of your being. The heart.
It all feels confusing.
"Kenjaku sends his regards," it whispers, the words slurred by the razor-sharp fangs that protrude from its mouth.
October 31, 2018 — 8:09 PM
"What’s the worst that can happen?"
Satoru saunters around the corner of the table, his presence punctuated by the audible slurping of juice from a small cartoon container. All while your palms rest on top of the said furniture, fingernails tapping at the surface.
The news has spread fast through the jujutsu community, faster than wildfire. Whispers of an unknown curtain cast around Shibuya an hour ago, trapping all non-sorcerers, innocent civilians, inside its insidious grasp with only one demand: Bring Satoru Gojo.
"Don’t say it like that, Satoru," you turn to face the man whose casual and dismissive demeanor only adds fuel to the worries setting inside your bones.
"They’re a bunch of curses," his hand finds its place on your hip bone while placing the empty container away, "Some special grades, yeah, but they’re weak compared to me. I’ll deal with them, save some people in the meantime, and bam," he snaps his fingers loudly, "We can go home. Get that sunset date you’ve been babbling about. Life is good," he finishes with a kiss on the crown of your head.
Life is good.
You watch the sun dip below the horizon behind the curse spirit’s back, indulging the sinister being in a halo glow.
Yeah. In the end, life was good.
2 hours and 48 minutes after Satoru Gojo’s unsealing
For a moment, he stands still. Unable to look down; frozen in time. The weight of it all seems to bear down upon his shoulders – now that Sukuna’s taken over Megumi’s body, Nanami’s and Yaga’s death, Suguru’s body being used as a vessel, the slow crumbling fall of the Jujutsu world – and now you; being gone.
Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer of the current time. Yet even his immense power proves futile as the people he loves keep dying on him…because of him.
A burden that threatens to crush him beneath its insurmountable gravity.
The air around him hangs heavy with sorrow, as if the very essence of grief has manifested itself in the atmosphere. A storm of emotions swirls within him; a combination of disbelief, anguish and a gnawing ache that gnashes at the core of his being.
He clenches his fists, fingers trembling with a mixture of sorrow and determination. In that agonizing moment, he finds the strength to finally lower his gaze, to confront the devastating truth that lies at his feet.
Everyone holds their breaths, the weight of his misery echoing in the silence as his eyes meet the lifeless visage of the one he holds dearest.
Of you.
Hand reaching out, his fingers graze the once-soft flesh of your hand; now cold and stiff. It serves as a confirmation of reality. There’s no getting you back, no way Shoko can nurture you back to health with her technique.
You’re gone.
And in that harrowing instant, the façade crumbles. The walls he built to contain his pain come crashing down, and Satoru Gojo, the epitome of strength, breaks.
Crumbling down on his knees, the vulnerability that spills forth from his broken form is raw and unrestrained. Only a handful of those closest to him stand behind to witness the symphony of torment that pierces the silence. Tears stream down his face, each drop carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken words, moments you two could’ve spent together.
One hand covering his mouth to silence the guttural sounds, the other reaches out to you, tenderly cradling your lifeless head upon his lap. He clings to the fragile hope that if he could provide just enough warmth and love, you might return to him.
Yuji looks around the room, at the people who silently observe their friend fall apart. Taking a step towards the hunched man, a soft grasp stops him mid step; Kiyotaka shakes his head, pushing his glasses back in place as Shoko looks down. For the first time, she’s unable to figure out her classmate, her childhood friend, the man whose side she’s always stayed by.
"Gojo," Yuji doesn’t allow Kiyotaka to stop him. Believing in what’s right, he stands behind his teacher’s back.
Hand laying on the tense muscle of his shoulder, he doesn’t attempt to comfort Satoru with any words — no words in this universe would bring you back anyway. Instead, his hand just rests there. Unmoving. Gentle.
"Who did it," his words cause Shoko to look back up as Satoru, stone-faced and stoic, speaks in a firm, devoid voice. Imagines of unspeakable horror flashes in his mind as he stands up, towering over the wide-eyed Yuji.
"Tell me now," his eyes search Kiyotaka’s, voice filled with undeniable authority, "I’ll kill them, kill them all."
3K notes · View notes
distantdarlings · 5 months
Text
BY THE FIREPLACE // t. nott
RATING: PG-13 / 2.9K WORDS
Tumblr media
Theodore Nott x Fem Reader
+ SUMMARY - *Requested - based on this* You have been an Animagus for around a year now. You have quite a knack for learning everything you need to know about it quickly and Professor McGonagall really likes you. However, a fellow classmate, Theodore Nott, does not like you. And you couldn't care less. Both of you are in for a surprise when you accidentally meet in the library. (Fluff?, sort of Comedy)
+ WARNINGS - Language, nothing else really
+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -
Fantasy - Mariah Carey (don't judge me)
---
“And, ladies and gentlemen, please remember: ten inches of parchment on the side effects of incorrectly transfiguring a toad back into a human!”
Professor McGonagall’s voice pierced the slight murmuring that had started amongst the crowd of students. You suppressed a groan at the assignment, knowing well enough that you’d be putting it off as long as possible. It wasn’t that you weren’t grateful to be here, it was just rambling on about the properties of toad warts left over on humans after unfortunate experiments didn’t really get you going, at least, not like they did Professor McGonagall. 
You had found a kind of special liking for her after you had put yourself through the very exciting—albeit brutally difficult—process of becoming an Animagus. It had been your absolute dream since accidentally discovering that your mother was also one. You had been wandering around the garden during the summer between first and second year and had come across an absolutely beautiful doe. You had stopped in your tracks, taken aback by the creature’s beauty. Just as you were going to hold your hand out to the creature and offer it some of the grass blades clutched in your fingers, the creature before you changed entirely. Its long, graceful body curled into a small flash of light and then, without so much as a breath, your mother was back. Standing in the place of the deer. You could hardly believe your eyes.
Your mother was an Animagus and you thought you should be as well. She had warned you of the difficulties and hardships of the process and how annoying it was to have to get registered with the Ministry of Magic but you didn’t care. The wonder that had been in your eyes when you’d seen your mother transform surpassed all the cons of becoming one. You were going to be just like her. And now you were. Well…sort of. You were an Animagus but, much to your disappointment, you did not transform into a beautiful doe. You were a cat. Not a sleek black cat or a graceful Sphinx. No. You were a large, overgrown, long-haired European Maine Coon. At least, that’s what you were pretty sure you were. You hadn’t exactly performed a DNA test on your Animagi identity. You wondered if that would even work. 
The crowd of students urged you towards the door and out into the grand hallway just outside the Transfiguration classroom. The light poured through the gorgeously carved stained glass windows along the stone walls and illuminated everything in its wake. You absolutely adored the castle and its beauty and reckoned you didn’t stop and admire it as often as you should. 
A body bumped into you roughly, nearly making you lose the books clutched in your arms. You gasped at the sudden shock that went through your body when you realized you’d nearly missed a step down the staircase, your heart dropping through your ribcage.
“Hey,” you shouted. “Want to watch where you’re bloody going?”
The culprit turned with an annoyingly charming smile printed on his lips. His darkened eyes found yours amusedly and sent you a single wink. Your blood boiled.
“Sorry, darling, I’m in quite a rush,” he smirked.
“Doesn’t mean you can break through crowds like a giant,” you retorted, rolling your eyes. “Maybe you should take a second to think about the other people in this school and not just yourself for once, Nott.”
“Bite me, love.” 
Asshole. You watched the back of his head disappear amongst the rest of the students as they waded around you as if you were an island in the midst of an ocean. You could not stand that boy. He and his stupid friends had been nothing if not the most obnoxious people you’d ever met. Even from your first day, he was rude, loud, and annoying. No matter how handsome he was, he couldn’t just steamroll over people. And yet, because he wasn’t ugly in the slightest, everyone just let him do whatever he wanted. Him and all his friends. It made you so angry. 
Your eyes found your watch. You probably—erm, definitely, needed to get started on the paper for McGonagall’s class. That’s what pointed your feet toward the direction of the library. The thoughts of the warm hearth and those plush green chairs that hovered around it were calming the worries for this assignment. The library was—in your opinion—one of the most comfortable areas in the entire castle. It oozed comfort and warmth, much like your dorm room. It just felt soothing. You had noticed the amount of time you were spending in there was increasing as the days got colder. The fireplace in the dorms and common room were just as warm, of course, but those areas tended to be more populated during the day. And if you were going to get this paper done, you likely shouldn’t be surrounded by friends. You could be quite talkative when it came down to it—especially when it came down to procrastinating an assignment. 
One of the large wooden doors to the library came into view slowly as you sauntered down the stairs just before the entrance. You could practically feel the warmth radiating from the vast room. Sweetened chills broke out over your arms and a small shudder passed down your spine. You clutched your books a bit tighter to your chest as you pushed past the threshold and felt the warmth on your skin. 
You smiled gently as you made your way toward your usual fireplace. The smile on your face seemed to grow exponentially as you realized nobody was even in the general vicinity of your favorite spot and…thank Merlin…the tea cart had been brought around. The silvered, intricately designed cart that the librarian left out for wandering and cramming students sat right beside the fireplace. On it sat a few tea cups, a large, enchanted teapot that filled itself back up as soon as it was emptied, two sugar bowls, a large cream pitcher, and a few crumpets and cream horns. You might have died and gone right to the afterlife. 
You set your bags and books in your favorite armchair—the one on the left—and made your way over to the wonderful cart. You shivered in delight as you prepared yourself some tea, just the way you liked it, and grabbed a cream horn—or two. Wandlessly, you conjured the wool blanket that sat upon the foot of your bed and snuggled in amongst the cushions. This was absolutely delightful. Between the tea, the snacks, the warmth, and the dim lighting, your homework was the last thing on your tranquil mind. Your books and bag remained untouched. 
Once finished with your snack and beverage, you found yourself closely watching the curls of flames dance in the fireplace. Soon enough, absolutely without your consent, you were gently lulled to a deep sleep. Your eyes fluttered shut and your breathing stilled, your hands were curled against your chest and your knees were brought up against you. 
-
Theo rounded the corner of the main stairway just before the library. He had an enormous amount of work to do and figured he wouldn’t get anything done if he stayed with his mates. He watched his feet as they jogged down the stone steps, his bag jostling on his shoulder every few moments. 
Once past the doorway, his eyes found that set of green armchairs in the corner just in front of the fireplace. There appeared to be no one in them and he smiled a bit. Hopefully he’d be able to complete all of his work without any interruptions. 
He set his bag down beside the armchair on the right. He reckoned he should start on the paper for McGonagall’s class since it was likely going to be the most difficult way. He should probably just get it out of the way, then everything else would be a breeze. 
As he began to rummage through his bag for the appropriate materials to get started, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. A white wool blanket lay spread across the other armchair and an empty tea cup, plate, and school bag were discarded beside it. He figured someone had been working there only moments ago and had slipped away for a quick bathroom break or something of the like. A groan began to build up in his throat as he realized he likely wasn’t going to be alone after all. Whatever…as long as they were quiet. 
Finally, his fingers brushed his quill set and the Transfiguration book. He pulled everything out and settled himself in the chair, preparing to get to work. A thought popped into his head as he spread everything out comfortably. He wondered who had been sitting there. If it was someone he didn’t know, he’d likely have no issue ignoring them. He kind of hoped it was none of his friends, though he could have sworn he’d seen that bag before. Maybe it was Enzo’s?
An hour or so of straight working went by before Theo came to a pause and set his things aside. He stood from the chair and pulled his body into a sweeping stretch that popped a few joints along the way. He groaned at the pleasurable release, grateful that he wasn’t so stiff anymore. His hands shoved in his trouser pockets and he began shuffling in place to try and work some feelings back into his legs. 
The person who had been there previously, he realized, had never come back. Being as curious as he was, he glanced around the library, spotting only a few fully concentrated students with their heads down. Whose stuff was this? He nonchalantly wandered over to the items and squatted down next to the bag. He picked it up gently and rolled the fabric around in his hands. He wasn’t trying to be too nosy, just wanted to see if there were any embroidered initials or names. Quickly, he flipped the top flap open only to discover a messily scrawled name imprinted over the white tag near the top of the bag. It was, much to his dismay, your name. That obnoxiously uptight girl in his Transfiguration class. Every day, in and out, rubbing everyone’s nose in the fact that you were bloody awesome at McGonagall’s class and everyone else was just shit. He wondered if you were cheating or doing some favors for other students. No way you were that good at that boring class. 
A slight movement out of the corner of his eye shocked him away from the bag. His hands frantically dropped the material and he backed away quickly, not wanting to be caught snooping. Yet, he saw nothing. He glanced around wildly trying to find the culprit of the movement but not seeing anything. He could’ve sworn he—
Another movement. From the center of the white blanket. A cat. A rather large one, at that. Yawning slightly and stretching its little limbs out. His heart nearly melted. 
“Aw,” he smiled, “hello there, love. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
He slowly slid his hand over the edge of the chair’s cushion and rubbed the back of his first two fingers over your head. Unbeknownst to him and your sleepy state, both were blissfully unaware of who was touching whom. You yawned once more and curled into his touch. He laughed softly at the movement and began petting your head with a full hand. A deep rumbling purr radiated from your chest at his movements. 
You weren’t sure what about this dream was so real, but bloody hell was it comforting. An unknown character in your dream was ever so gently sliding a hand over your head and occasionally scratching under your chin. Maybe it felt odd for them to do that, but it was so relaxing you didn’t care.
He stood back up and gently scooped your curled figure up, keeping the blanket wrapped softly around you. He took a seat in your armchair and placed you on his lap. His fingernails ever so slightly scratched over your head and smoothed the hair along your back. Your thick, bushy tail curled lovingly against his chest ever so often. 
Something that you didn’t know and something that Theo didn’t know, either, was that you had the subconscious tendency to transform into your Animagi identity when sleeping. Whether as part of a dream or mumbling in your sleep, every once and a while, you would slip down to your smaller self and remain curled up as such. It had been going on for a couple of months now and you had yet to notice it. Your roommates most definitely had but they had said nothing as they assumed it was a purposeful action. They figured it would be nice to sleep as a cat as well. 
The purring emanating from your soft chest rolled against his leg as he continued to brush his fingers through your fur. Your head occasionally curled further into his stomach at these gentle actions. This might have been the most relaxing dream you’d ever had. 
“Hey, man, been looking everywhere for—”
“Shush!” Theo berated the loud voice. Mattheo came around the back of the armchair with a look of confusion plastered on his face. He glanced down to see the feline stretched across his lap, an eyebrow raised.
“The baby is sleeping,” Theo whispered, smiling gently. His hands never stopped brushing you. 
“Did you find him—?”
“Oh my god, shhhhh!” Theo repeated. Pansy and Enzo followed the same path that Mattheo had. And just like him, their eyebrows cocked awkwardly. All three of them glanced at the other.
“I told all of you I was going to the library to get some homework done,” Theo whispered.
“Yeah, it sure looks like you’re getting a ton done,” Pansy rolled her eyes.
“I was...,” Theo insisted, “before this baby wandered up. Isn’t she just the cutest?”
“Yeah, adorable,” Mattheo mocked, a smile building its way onto his face. “I’d love to have McGonagall Jr. sat on my lap, if you know what I mean.”
Enzo and Pansy’s faces blended from blank to confusion to realization to stifled laughter. Theo was extremely confused and becoming a little irritated. 
“Ew, what is that supposed to mean? I don’t think all cats are related to Professor McGonagall—wait, she’s not even really a cat, she can turn into one. I don’t think she’s really related to any cats,” Theo argued.
“Yeah, man—not what I meant,” Mattheo laughed. His two companions began to laugh with him. “Whose bag and stuff is that?”
Theo glanced down at the bag and snack plate that had been left behind as he refrained from rolling his eyes. He probably shouldn’t admit he knew who the stuff belonged to as he totally figured it out by snooping, but they didn’t necessarily have to know that.
“That’s that really irritating girl that’s in McGonagall’s with us, you know? The one I ran into this morning and was like ‘Why don’t you watch where you’re going, blah, blah,’ do you remember?” Theo spoke.
“Yeah, I remember,” Enzo giggled. “It’s almost like she's still in the room with us.”
“I know, that’s her stuff,” he nodded in the direction of the things left behind. “I was wondering when she was going to come back and get it but it’s been like an hour and she hasn’t come back.” Theo shrugged and returned his focus back to you who still remained curled comfortably in his lap. His thumb brushed over your closed eyes and ears. 
“Did she ever leave?” Pansy laughed. “Maybe she's still here.”
“Maybe so, I didn’t go looking for her, though,” Theo responded, brushing a finger down the slope of your nose.
“Yeah, she was acting kind of catty earlier,” Enzo spoke. The three students burst out laughing, clutching their stomachs and flicking tears from their eyes. Anger rose up the side of Theo’s neck.
“What is your deal? Is something funny? Anybody want to fill me in on the joke?” he asked. They remained laughing as hard as they could, almost as if they wanted to annoy Theo further.
“Whatever, me and my new friend are going to study elsewhere. At least she doesn't laugh at me,” he harrumphed and grabbed his things, keeping you cradled tightly in your blanket in his right arm. The three students didn’t stop laughing the whole way as Theo stomped off, taking you with him, and touching his nose to yours with a smile. 
“Oh, Merlin,” Pansy chuckled, a tear falling from her eyes. “So we all knew that she's an Animagus, right?”
“Yeah, she told me last year when her acceptance letter from the Ministry came in. She was pretty excited about it.” Enzo struggled not to start laughing again. “She's really nice and really smart, I think Theo can be a bit much sometimes.”
“Yeah, I agree with that….” Pansy responded. There was a few moments of silence before Mattheo tilted his head towards the other two.
“So, we’re sticking around for when she wakes up and realizes she's sitting on Theo’s lap wrapped up in a blanket like a child, right?” he laughed. The other two chorused a variety of ‘yes’ and ‘absolutely,’ as they made themselves comfortable at a table near the one Theo had assigned as his. This was quite possibly going to be the best thing that ever happened.
Part Two!
1K notes · View notes
aweina · 6 months
Text
୨୧. staring problem — mortal kombat one. kameos : sub-zero. scorpion + smoke
when you stare at their arms for too long.
Tumblr media
bi-han isn’t particularly amused by other people’s idiocy, but when it came to you — he looked forward to it. your staring problem was painfully obvious, he’s impressed how a person could have no awareness of their prying gaze. it’s when he curiously turns your way after debriefing training modules with his brother that he expected you to flinch at his icy glare and leave in embarrassment, but your dilated eyes remained on his flexing biceps. bi-han’s breath hitched by this sudden feeling of exposure from your dumb, mindless staring. he’s fuming at the fact that he was flustered instead and it isn’t until he sees the glimmer of saliva in the corner of your agape mouth that he believed you are utterly hopeless. with a dry swipe of his thumb over your wet lips, you finally break your hard gaze away from his sinewy arms to realize bi-han was caressing your mouth. “you’re a moron.” he says sternly, but there’s a hint of rare adoration in his insulting words.
Tumblr media
kuai liang is constantly amused by your adamant staring at his arms. his pride swells when he catches your blatant gaze memorizing every curve and scar that represented his hard work and dedication. and to save you the embarrassment, he simply never called you out for your staring problem — rather he quite encouraged it. reading off a scroll sent by the fire god himself, kuai liang made sure that you could barely see past his thick muscles, the words written on the parchment shadowed by his strong form. he looks over your direction where you mindlessly hum at his faint words, greedily taking in the image of his arms without any shame. it’s not until he finishes the last words of the letter that you continue to hum at the silence, eyes slowly blinking like you were in a perverted daze. after holding it in for weeks, he finally boasts a vibrating laugh. “you have no shame, huh?” he quirks an amused brow when you turn away in realization, a smug grin on his face.
Tumblr media
tomas never felt more confused in his life, were you okay? your constant staring over the past few weeks made him highly concerned over your wellbeing, every possibility swirling in his mind. did he knock you down too hard during training? is there some mind numbing enchantment that lingered down the halls that he wasn’t aware of? he refused to believe your unblinking eyes was on him for any reason other than some minor accident. and it’s when he’s sharpening the blade in his grasp, he feels your familiar gaze burning against his prickling, tense muscles — following each stroke with unwavering focus. after observing you from the corner of his eye for the past few minutes, he concluded that you were indeed checking out his arms the whole time. tomas was flustered, nonetheless, yet he couldn’t pretend to be oblivious much longer. “it’s not very polite to stare you know.” his words were confrontational, but playful. when you profusely apologized, his eyes crinkle as he smiled.
Tumblr media
© aweina : please do not copy, repost, or modify any of my content.
2K notes · View notes
foone · 2 months
Text
So here's how the story goes. Four young adults are teleported away from 1940s earth, where it turns out they're the last descendants of the great sages who defeated evil all those years ago, but with his last breath banished the sages to earth. Now, 200 years later, evil has risen again: a vile sorcerer has raised an army and is threatening the peaceful kingdoms of a fantasy world, and only the Divine Bloodline can weild the Weapons of Light and defeat the rampaging hordes. The heroes take up their weapons and fight the good fight, leading the armies of man and elf and dwarf and beast against the evil orcs, who are vaporized by their touch. They cut a path through the horde and defeat evil's greatest champions, who were guarding the Gem of Control, an ancient artifact that gave the terrible wizard control over the orcish population. Just as one of them swings their hammer to shatter it, the wizard intervenes, and uses the last bit of his control to destroy his army, lest they join you in their freed state. As the pieces of the gem hit the floor, already losing their sickly green glow, they see the attacking orcs fade into mist. They'd killed hundreds in your crusade, sure, but he just killed all of them. They later learn, against all fervent hopes, that this extended to the orcish homelands. Men, women, and children, cooking in their homes, planting the crops, raising brutecows and hunting in the dark forests... All gone in an instant. The scouts report a silent land with tools lying in workshops, food left uneaten at dining tables, and bursting into tears at entering a house to find it was a schoolhouse: Quills lying in all the seats, with rough parchment next to it showing the first few letters of the orcish alphabet.
They redouble their efforts, now fueled with genuine hatred for the evil sorcerer. He shifts his tactics, relying on darker magics to summon undead minions, which don't need the Gem of Control. They don't go poof when a holy weapon touches them, but are still no match for the divine warriors. With a skeleton the size of a zeppelin smashing down towers around them, the warriors reach the wizard and drive a broadsword of light through his chest. The skeletons collapse back into their eternal slumber in little piles on the floor.
The warriors put aside their weapons as they're received with great cheer. They're invited to join the royal families of the four kingdoms, marrying into the human, elf, dwarf, and beast royalty. They spend the rest of their long reign ensuring peace returns, monuments are made for the fallen orc nation, and the remaining undead who fled are not allowed to prey on the peasants, only taking up arms again to fight a den of vampires left behind.
In their old age, the wizard who brought them here reappears. It's taken him decades to develop the right magics, but he can finally send them home. They abdicate, letting their hybrid offspring take control, certain in their ability to run a kingdom with wisdom and justice. They leave behind their holy weapons, in case evil rises again. The wizard warns them that much may have changed in the world they left, as 80 years has passed there while it was only 40 for them, but they still want to see if London still stands and if their families or their descendants are alive.
They appear in the modern day, 2024. They're amazed at the technological progress, of course, but then there's a bigger shock. This isn't just an isekai story: this is a reverse-isekai story.
The holy weapons were forged using the same magics that brought them to the fantasy world in the first place. When they vaporized orcs, they didn't die, they were teleported. Teleported here. Every mind-controlled orc warrior that tasted their blade woke up uninjured... in Portsmouth.
And when the sorcerer tried to wipe them all out as the Gem of Control shattered, all he did was transfer that magic to every one of them. None of them died, except for a few elderly orcs who dropped dead from shock at ending up in England, Earth, 1943.
It's now 2024. The Orc population of London is 3 million. There's twelve orcs in parliament, and another in the house of lords. The world has changed a lot since they left, for the better, the weirder, and the greener.
668 notes · View notes
Text
Colors (chapter 1/3)
In the wake of the DDOS attack on AO3 I decided to upload what I have posted from “Of Blades and Parchment” to here since the site is unavailable. The writing is a couple years old at this point and the series is unfinished (not abandoned!) but I figured that it might bring some joy to some random person waiting for the site to be back.  
Summary: Who was he to affect him in this way, to somehow get such a reaction out of him that drawn swords didn't? To make him long for contact he hadn't needed nor wanted in years?
The last two stories but it's Altaïr's perspective and he has no clue how to deal with new things or emotions.
1103 words, Part 3 of “Of Blades and Parchment” series
https://archiveofourown.org/works/31118099/chapters/76887980
Beginning of series   ----   Previous  ----  Next
  The first time Altaïr sees him, it's at the marketplace. 
    He is crouched on one of his favorite perches in the city, a tall tower with intricate tiles. It’s located in a rare blindspot, where the roof patrols don’t pass. The tower is taller than most of his other perches, but not so tall that his stomach fills with dread at the effort it would take to climb it.
   He is able to see a good distance from here, and in the afternoon sun, Altaïr switches his Eagle Vision on. The world fades to monochrome, and the sounds become muted to his ears. The assassin takes a moment to breathe in the untouched air, and then turns his attention to the streets below him.
   The people beneath his feet look like ants. He can see the red of the guards walking the streets. There is an informant a couple buildings over, and it looks as if there is a meeting of some kind between two merchants in the opposite direction, both glowing white with the promise of intel. 
   He is about to switch back to his regular vision when he sees it. A few streets over, is an ever so faint blue shape. Altaïr stares at it in confusion as it moves. This was not the first time he had seen blue of course. After all, his brothers were blue. Except for Abbas. Altaïr had never liked him, not just because of his insufferable personality or his grating voice, but because he was red. Red meant danger. It meant that Abbas was not to be trusted.
   Nevermind all of that now, why was there a blue shape in the middle of Jerusaelm?
   Altaïr would know if a brother was in the city as well, and to his knowledge, he was the only man sent for this target. He also knew he should ignore it. He had orders to follow, a man’s death to see to, but he was curious damn it!
   He glared at the shape as if that would solve the mystery, and that's when he finally realized something was...off. That glow wasn’t nearly as bright as it should be, not nearly as vibrant. He blinked, returning his sight to normal. His brows furrowed in confusion.
   While the edges of his Eagle Vision’s reach did in fact tend to become blurred and duller, the figure was close enough that it shouldn’t happen. 
   He switched back to make sure he had seen it right. It was definitely duller than it should be. He needed to figure out who this was.
   He jumped from his perch, his vision flickering back to color as he carved his way through the air and landed in the hay cart. When he was younger and unpracticed, the thought of doing such a thing would have made him nauseous, but he wasn’t a novice anymore. 
   Altaïr emerged from the cart, brushed the hay off of his shoulders, and as if he hadn’t done something death defying, walked away at a leisurely pace. He wasn’t worried about losing his new objective. The faint blue color had not been moving quickly, and it was only a few streets away. Even if this unknown person moved locations, he would still be able to track them in no time.
  As it turned out, it was not needed. He could see the man haggling for some bread. Altaïr sat on a nearby bench and turned his vision back on. The man was blue, but it was faint, just as it had been from the tower. The color was faint enough that it was more grey in nature, and he could still clearly make out the man’s features through it.
   His hair was short and darkly colored. It looked as if it was black, but it was hard to tell with the world bleached into grey around him. His jaw was sharp and lined with stubble that looked as if it needed to be shaved soon. Most notably he was missing his left arm. The fabric of his sleeve was pinned up to his shoulder, probably so it wouldn’t be caught on anything. 
   He didn’t wear an assassin’s robes, yet he still glistened that pale blue. Perhaps he was undercover? But it wouldn’t make much sense to be arguing over the price of bread while doing so. Besides, the missing limb would have made him recognizable, and Altaïr didn’t recognize this stranger.
    The man, seemingly fed up with his debate, left in a huff. He walked right by Altaïr’s bench, so close that he could touch him. Altaïr, surprised at himself, caught his hand and lowered it before he could reach the color. 
    The assassin sat in befuddlement as the man rounded the corner. Never before had he been so drawn to one’s colors. Never before had he tried to physically touch them. 
   It was the last one that shocked him the most. Altaïr didn’t particularly like contact. Yet here he was, reaching towards someone he didn’t even know the name of without a conscious thought.
   This was a bad idea. He had things to attend to.
   Altaïr stood from the bench and followed the man around the corner like a fish hooked on a line. 
   He tailed the stranger for at least thirty minutes, staying out of sight, scaling buildings and blending within the crowds. He didn't know exactly why he followed the man, nor did he know what caused him to sneak around in such a way. 
   What he did know was that the man carried himself with his head held high. He disliked the crowds, and began to grow more agitated as time went by. He seemed to have some kind of preference in paper if the ten minutes he spent judging it was anything to go by.
    Altaïr also knew that at one point he could have sworn that the man saw him, and his heart started to beat fast in his chest. Fast in the way that it beat during a fight. His breath caught in the back of his throat, and he only released it after the man looked away from his direction. 
   Who was he to affect him in this way, to somehow get such a reaction out of him that drawn swords didn't? To make him long for contact he hadn't needed nor wanted in years?
    He didn't like the way this was going. Didn't like that this man made him so nervous while simultaneously urging him closer. Didn't like that he couldn't figure out his colors.
   Altaïr buried his curiosity under his aggravation and left. 
14 notes · View notes
inkykeiji · 16 days
Text
⋆₊˚⊹♡ 𝐚𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫 + 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐢𝐬
Tumblr media
character: alastor warnings: no smut but still 18+, heavy pet/master dynamic, toxic relationship, blood, alastor is obv experiencing intense feelings of infatuation words: 818 notes: a thought i had based on just how much alastor casually touches charlie throughout the entire series hehe—something that would manifest tenfold with his favourite pet, i think!
Tumblr media Tumblr media
For someone with a penchant for sadism, Alastor can be surprisingly touchy with his precious pet.
It’s primal: a compulsive need, an instinctive addiction, an insatiable parasite. It’s something he can’t control even if he wanted to—and he doesn’t have any interest in denying himself such a luxury. 
Not when you are his.
It’s possessive; a physical marker, a visual claim that you are owned, that you belong to him, answer to him, are of service to him. It’s a single finger, hooked in that pretty crimson collar, curled tightly around the leather as he leads you around the hotel with him, keeping you near, a bony knuckle pressed tight to your pulsing jugular. 
It’s a large palm, laid flat on the small of your back above the swell of your ass, fingers splayed wide and claws just barely piercing the thin cotton of your clothing as he guides you—to your seat at the dinner table, when you’ve been especially well-behaved; to the living room to witness a new group activity; to his bedroom, when he decides it’s time for his pet to sleep.��
It’s four fingers cuffed around your wrist, keeping you tethered to him via a leash of his flesh, obediently trailing behind him like the sweet little pet you are as he goes about his business in town, dutifully keeping silent just like he told you to, nuzzling into the space between his shoulder blades when he stills for an extended period of time, the ball of your nose rubbing over the prominent notches of his spine, his responding hum vibrating against your flesh.
It’s protective; a way to ensure that you are within reach of him at all times, so that he can defend against any and all incoming threats and potential dangers. It’s an arm curled around your shoulders, pressing you flush to his side where he can tuck you safely beneath his touch, or an arm twined around your waist, palm cupping your hip as he clutches you close, closer. 
It’s his thigh slotted up against your own during one of his routine lunches with Rosie, your elbow threaded through his as he chats and eats and laughs and plots, dainty fingers toying passively with the hem of his shirtsleeve, fingertips just barely brushing the thin skin stretched across his wrist. 
It’s his palm swathed around the nape of your neck, tips of his claws digging into your skin just hard enough to be a reminder—be good, behave—grip flexing the moment he senses any peril, instantly ready to yank you out of harm’s way and draw you back into himself, where you are shielded and secure, where you fit perfectly. 
It’s peaceful; an odd type of comfort he’s never quite experienced before—something deep-seated, something growing in his soul, something that soothes any unruliness the instant it begins to spawn within him, rattling his ribs and eroding his throat as it rages with gnawing teeth and thrashing claws. Doused in your presence, in your supposed love for him—your devotion, your affection, your obsession—it diminishes, dries up and dies; even if only for a moment.
It’s his chin resting on the crown of your head as he works and you sleep, curled into his chest, breaths damp and gentle against his collarbone, lulled into fitful dreams by the skillful scratch of his pen against parchment, the gentle clink of the metal pen nib against the glass ink bottle, the sharp scrape across the rim as he disposes of excess ink, a heavy sense of contentment sinking in his chest.
It’s demanding you sit at his feet during his nightly reading session, your body wound around his leg and a foot wedged between your thighs, his palm cupping the crown of your head as he strokes your hair in soothing, rhythmic motions. It’s allowing himself a brief glance down at you, something dense and warm seeping through his ribs and into his lungs when you nestle your cheek against his calf, fatigued eyes refusing to close without his explicit permission, licks of flame flickering in glazed pupils as you watch the blazing fireplace.
It’s him groping for you the moment anything mildly disconcerting happens, desperate to feel your flesh beneath his touch—filling his palms with fistfuls of you, staining his teeth and soaking his tongue with scarlet flowing from your throat or your wrist or your bosom, inhaling your scent harsh and deep as he buries his nose in you, and letting it pollute him, consume him, sedate him. 
And despite how new it all is, how scary it feels, how vulnerable it leaves him as it pries his ribs apart bone by bone, digs its talons into his tendons and pulls them apart string by string to expose, offer, whatever it is that throbs in his chest for you, he wouldn’t have it any other way.
587 notes · View notes
slytherinslut0 · 5 months
Text
MATTHEO RIDDLE- Beg For Me
Chapter Twenty Four-Info:you and Mattheo have been butting heads for months, since you were assigned as his tutor, and one day during a session full of tense bickering, he has enough.
Tags: 18+, Dirty Talk, ANGST ANGST ANGST, Kissing, Childhood Trauma, Slight!GunPlay(very slight), More Angst, Sadism, Slight Emotional Manipulation.
Find the rest of the chapters HERE.
Tumblr media
Your fingers glided gently across the pages of your open book, tracing the lines of text as if seeking to absorb the knowledge directly into your skin. The ambient hush of the library enveloped you, punctuated only by the soft rustle of pages turning and the occasional murmur of voices in the distance. It was a haven of tranquility, a sanctuary where you could finally turn your thoughts off and allow yourself to get lost within the words of the text.
In this cocoon of silence, you immersed yourself, your eyes traversing the lines on the page with a voracious hunger for understanding. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of old parchment and the subtle aroma of polished wood, creating a sensory symphony that enhanced your focus. But amidst this serenity, an abrupt disruption shattered your concentration. The creak of a chair being pulled out and the faint sound of footsteps approached, heralding an unexpected presence.
Startled, your eyes lifted from the text to find Mattheo seated across from you--his dark, penetrating gaze drilled into yours, his eyes narrowed with a glaring suspicion as he analyzed your features, slowly and cautiously--not daring to speak. The sudden intrusion in such a public setting caught you off guard; a mix of surprise and unease filling your lungs as you blinked, glancing around the room to ensure no attention had been drawn.
It had been two days since the events in the bathroom, two whole days where the conversations were as bland as a piece of raw fucking chicken, and yet, here he was. Without warning. You had no fucking clue what he was doing here, but the look in his eyes told you it wasn't for any particularly pleasant reason.
"When were you planning on informing me about your little friend's new companion, hm?" His voice sliced through the air like a blade, his eyes narrowing with sadism. "I mean...I just happened to stumble upon her leaving my brother's dorm, and I'd highly fucking doubt she was there for a casual browse through his book collection, wouldn't you agree?"
Your eyes widened in shock, nerves flooding through you like an icy tide, freezing your words in your throat. You had been meaning to tell him, but since the two of you had hardly been speaking, it seemingly slipped your mind.
You glanced around the room, as if searching for an escape from the intensity of his gaze, before finally managing to whisper, "Are you fucking serious right now? Why is that any bloody concern of yours?"
"I just find it utterly fascinating," he sneered, his voice dripping with dangerous intent as he leaned over the table, scuffing his chair toward you. "...the intricate web of secrets you weave, Raven...not very Ravenclaw of you, now is it?"
"How is that a secret?" you hissed, your voice laced with both irritation and trepidation. "And why would I care about Emily getting with Tom? I never had any feelings for-"
"Not talking about that," he interrupted, his tone sharp as he cut through your words. "I'm talking about everything, in a far more broad context...all of the willing little lies and deceit...all the ways you've used me, just as much, if not more, than I've used you...you even managed to outwit Tom, which is one hell of an impressive accomplishment all on its own, I'll give you that."
The oxygen in the room vanished, leaving you nearly gasping for breath. "I...outwit Tom?"
"Well, it was only thanks to his blaring review that you landed this mentorship, was it fucking not?..." he scanned your features, his brows pinching in focus. "Every calculated step you've taken, every deceptive move you've made, all orchestrated to extract what you wanted for your bloody career...it truly makes a man wonder..."
His words struck like a cold breeze, sending a chill down your spine as you struggled to process the weight of his insinuations--you were beyond startled by the pace of this conversation, each syllable from his lips landing like a punch to the gut, rendering your mouth mute.
"I..." his words had you reeling, your voice catching in your throat, your confidence shattered by his unsettling revelation. "What the hell are you implying, Mattheo?"
Your throat tightened as you struggled to maintain composure. Swallowing hard, you tried to play it off, squinting at him in an attempt to mask your anxiety. But his penetrating gaze saw through your facades, leaving you defenseless against his piercing scrutiny. Mattheo's movements were deliberate, each shift in his chair calculated to exude an air of intimidation and control. His eyes, sharp and predatory, followed your every reaction as if he were studying his prey before a calculated strike.
"I did some digging on you last night...on your background...what your parents do...since, you know, you clearly had no interest in telling me yourself..." a sinister smile played on his lips, his eyes gleaming with a sadistic satisfaction. His voice lowered to a barely audible murmur, laced with a sense of superiority. "After the night at the lake, after that little spat we had...I just...I just couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to you than met the eye...and boy was I ever fucking right.”
Letting his words sink in, he leaned back in his chair, that sickening grin still plastered across his face. As the realization of his words settled like a heavy stone in your chest, you grew increasingly uncomfortable, acutely aware of the other students nearby. Their presence, though not directly involved, added a layer of unease to the situation.
Leaning across the table, you whispered urgently, "Do you have to do this here?" The words escaped your lips in a hushed plea, your voice strained with the need for privacy and a shred of dignity. "Like at least-"
Mattheo's response was chillingly calm, his grin widening with malicious delight.
"Oh, princess, come on," he purred, his tone a twisted mockery of sweetness. "Why continue to hide the truth? Let them hear what kind of person you really are..."
Your anger surged, the intensity of your emotions making your fingers grip the book tightly as you leaned in closer to him.
"You're a despicable asshole, you know that?" you spat out, your voice edged with pure disdain. "What's your bloody angle here?"
"Never claimed otherwise, did I?" His tone was flat, devoid of any remorse; meeting your words with an infuriating calmness. "Unlike you, I don't pretend to be something I'm not."
Your eyes rolled so forcefully it felt like you were glimpsing the inside of your skull, a groan of frustration clawing at your throat. Of course, he chose this moment--a place where you had to hold back your torrent of emotions, where you couldn't unleash the full force of your anger upon him. He knew exactly what he was bloody doing here, and it was fucking infuriating.
"Enough with the games, Riddle," you snapped, the words escaping through clenched teeth, your patience stretched to its limit. "Stop being a bloody arse and spit it out already."
"Your family history," he said, leaning in so close that your eyes locked in a battle of wills, each glance a dagger threatening to pierce the other's resolve. "It isn't as pristine as one might think...in fact, I'd almost be inclined to say it's the complete fucking opposite."
Your entire body tensed, coiling like a tightly wound spring. There was a pause as you studied his face, trying to decipher exactly what he knew before responding.
"Careful, Mattheo," you retorted, your voice laced with a sharp edge. "Just because you've unearthed a few skeletons doesn't mean you've cleared the whole closet."
"Honestly, Raven, I'm just curious," his grin stretched wider, the atmosphere around him growing denser with an almost palpable tension. "How did you manage to play the part for so long? You certainly had me fooled...even managed to trick the sorting hat into believing your little fucking charade...it's quite impressive, truthfully..."
A knot tightened in the pit of your stomach, every nerve inside you screaming in turmoil. "I...I don't know what you're talking about-"
"Don't even bother," Mattheo's words cut through your feeble denial, and he tilted his head, his intensity thickening the air around you. "I see right fucking through you, now, princess...that innocent act won't work on me anymore..."
His eyes, like burning coals, seared into your skin as if trying to uncover hidden truths. The room seemed to close in around you, amplifying the weight of his accusation.
"Generation after generation of Pureblood fucking Slytherins..." he continued, his voice low and laced with feign exasperation. "And yet, here you are...apparently as Ravenclaw as they come...you've managed to make yourself so damn-near invisible that no one even fucking noticed..."
Your breath hitched, caught in the vice grip of his merciless scrutiny. The truth of his words hung heavily in the air, a damning revelation that sent a shiver down your spine. Your carefully constructed facade, your shield against the world, was crumbling, and Mattheo had managed to find the cracks, leaving you exposed and vulnerable in his piercing gaze.
"I'll admit, I feel rather idiotic for not piecing it together sooner..." he sneered, his tone cutting through the tension like a knife, hands curling into fists atop of the desk. "I guess I was too entranced by your starry-eyed facade to see the cunning Slytherin hiding beneath, even though it was right in front of my face this whole time...your biting sarcasm, your unrelenting ambition, and your overly-eager knack for deceit--classic fucking Slytherin traits, aren't they, Raven?"
Your entire being blazed with a searing heat, a tempest of conflicting emotions threatening to consume you. The urge to throttle him until he fell silent warred with a fierce desire to pull him close and lose yourself in a breathless kiss. How infuriating it was to witness his sharp wit, a talent he wielded effortlessly, yet one he seemed unwilling to apply to his fucking studies.
At your silence, he huffed, glimpsing your lips again. "Not even the stars can change the essence of who you are, princess." He whispered, a hint of mockery in his tone. "Maybe it's about time you were honest with yourself."
Your anger surged like a tidal wave, crashing against the shores of your restraint. In that charged moment, you leaned in closer, as close as you possibly could, your body practically vibrating with intensity. How dare he sit there, smug and superior, acting like he had unraveled the very fabric of your being just because he had dug up a few skeletons from your family's closet?
Sure, your parents weren't paragons of virtue, but their actions don't define you--and that was the very the essence of all this. Every choice you've made, every hardship you've endured, has been a deliberate effort to distance yourself from their toxic legacy. His derisive remarks only fueled the fire, and you practically hurled the words at him, your voice laden with disdain.
"You don't know a single fucking thing about me," you seethed, "all you fucking know is what the inside of my body feels like...don't you dare sit there and act like you've got me all figured out."
Your steps were purposeful as you pushed up and away from the table, leaving him sitting there, his words lingering in the air like a bitter aftertaste. You moved back into the library, the familiar scent of old books surrounding you like a protective barrier, but you knew it wouldn't shield you from the storm that was Mattheo bloody Riddle for long. No, that would be far too fucking easy.
And nothing about your situation with that boy was easy.
As you put your book back on the shelf, you felt his presence behind you, a suffocating weight pressing down on your shoulders as you reluctantly spun back around to face him.
"Why'd you do it, huh?" Mattheo's voice cut through the air like a razor, his narrowed eyes fixed on you as he backed you up against the shelf, his presence overwhelming. "Are you truly that ashamed of who you fucking are?"
"Mattheo," you spat, your fists clenching at your sides, the frustration boiling inside you. "Please, don't push it...if I wanted to tell you about that, I would have..."
"Yeah, you're ashamed," he sneered, dismissing your words with a cynical laugh, confirming his original point. "You're ashamed of where you come from...fuck, I always knew we were alike, but I never knew it'd be this much-"
"What the fuck is this? Some type of elaborate power-play move? Some type of big intimidation act to get me to tell you about my life?..." you snapped, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and pain. "If you wanted to know, why didn't you just ask me? Instead of fucking me every chance you got why didn't you try having a real conversation with me? Try actually opening up to me for once?"
"Even if I did..." he said, dropping his tone into a low whisper. "Would you have told me? You said it yourself that you don't fucking trust me..."
"What do you want to know, Riddle? Huh? You want me to tell you how I grew up in a mansion full of emptiness? How my parents were never around and I was left with my cold, reserved grandmother, who cared more about her fucking butler than me?...or maybe you want to know about how I was raised in a world of expectations, forced to be perfect in every way imaginable, while my parents only bothered to acknowledge my existence when it served their social ambitions..."
You paused, frowning at him, your features a near scowl. "You're sure quick to call me a rich little princess...and sure, maybe you're right, maybe I had all the material things one could ever desire...but it was never enough, could never be enough. Something was always missing, like a void inside me that nothing would ever fucking fill."
Your eyes burned with unshed tears as you continued, the weight of your past bearing down on you. "When my grandmother got sick, it was the only time she actually fucking spoke to me. She told me to be different, to break free from the mold that had plagued my family for decades. I was there with her in her final moments, the first and only fucking time she ever said she loved me. And where were my parents? Absent, as always. They didn't even show up until days after her death, showering me with gifts, as if their mere presence could make up for years of neglect..."
In an unrelenting torrent, words cascaded from your lips, each syllable carrying the burden of years' worth of pent-up emotions. Mattheo's unwavering gaze never strayed, his chest rising and falling in shallow bursts, absorbing every uttered syllable as though he never anticipated such revelations.
"Sure, maybe I was handed whatever I wanted on a silver fucking platter--but I was always alone, and truthfully, that's how I fucking preferred it. I never believed in destiny, Mattheo...the stars never whispered my name, my future...I had to shape my own path, I had to become something of my own...once my grandma passed, I was left with the butler. My parents didn't care about what I did as long as my grades were to their standards. They had no idea I wasn't in Slytherin until my third fucking year..."
You paused, your eyes catching Mattheo's parted lips, a reflection of sheer astonishment. Despite fighting to maintain composure, your voice softened with each breath, your heart pounding in your throat.
"I had to grab my own fate with two hungry hands, pulling and pushing and molding my life into something I could be fucking proud of...and then you came along, with your smart mouth and your fucking effortless charm...and you just...you forced your way right into my bloody heart, tore down my walls like you fucking belonged there." The bitterness in your voice hung in the air, the pain of your past etched into every word, your chest heaving with emotion as Mattheo stood in front of you, speechless. "Yes, I've made mistakes, but they belong entirely to me...and thats precisely what sets us apart, you went through some shit and let it possess you...I chose to fight back."
Trembling fingers betrayed the turmoil within, your entire body quivering in the aftermath of the verbal storm you'd just unleashed upon Mattheo. Only when the deafening silence enveloped you did the weight of your words become palpable.
Unable to endure the silence any longer, you broke eye contact, running a trembling hand through your hair. "I'm so sorry...I didn't mean to trauma dump on you like that, I just-"
"No," he declared, "don't you dare apologize to me...I should be the one apologizing to you."
Mattheo's interruption sliced through the charged air, his voice emerging rasped and strained, as though he had withheld words for years. Swallowing, you met his intense gaze, attempting to decipher the kaleidoscope of emotions swirling within his eyes.
"Don't pity me, Mattheo...I'm well past needing that," you whispered, your figure leaning subtly against the bookshelf, a tangible weariness emanating from your being. "Everything you've ever said was right...two sides of the same coin, the masks, the fact that we're each haunted by our own ghosts. You've always been fucking right. The only misstep was when you claimed you'd be my ruin."
Mattheo arched an eyebrow, bridging the distance between you with a measured step. "And why is that?"
"Because, little did you know, I was already in ruins," you murmured, reaching out to loop your fingers around his belt, pulling him closer. "If anything, you've been my bloody salvation...you did something I wasn't sure I was capable of anymore--you made me feel."
A tangible tension hung in the air as Mattheo's hands gripped your hips with a silent urgency, a fervent plea for your presence.
"As if you're going to fucking say that," he countered, his grip conveying unspoken desires. "As if that's not precisely what you did to me."
"Yeah?" you smirked, your voice a sultry whisper. "And what do I make you feel?"
"Everything, Raven," he cooed, lips grazing sensually over your jawline. "Hate, desire, anger, lust...among other things."
Your breath hitched, suspended in the charged exchange. "Among other--"
Before you could finish, Mattheo cut you off, his lips crashing onto yours in a searing kiss, a palpable surge of desire that eclipsed the need for spoken words. He pressed you against the bookshelf, the wooden solidity of the shelves meeting your back. His hands, with a journey of their own, glided up your sides, their warmth leaving a trail of anticipation. They found their destination on your face, gently cupping it with a possessiveness that made your heart flutter, and you sighed into his mouth, letting your hands rest at his sides.
"Everything about you is so fucking addictive..." Mattheo's confession hung in the air, a declaration punctuated by the heat of his lips tracing a fervent path along your jaw. His hand, a serpentine caress, slithered down your arm, leaving a tingling trail of warmth in its wake. "You are both hellfire and holy water...soft yet strong...and every bloody time I touch you I feel a little less war-torn, like your chaos balances out mine...I just...I have no idea what peace feels like Raven, but I have to imagine it feels a lot like you..."
"Mm...fuck, I've missed you..." a soft sigh escaped your lips as his kisses descended, exploring the landscape of your neck. Your fingers instinctively tightened their grip on his shirt. "Whatever happened to that break you said you wanted..."
"Fuck the break," he growled, desire lacing his voice. His hand ventured boldly behind your head, the other finding a home on your hip, possessive and hungry. "I want you so fucking bad...I want to fuck you right here...right against this fucking shelf...cover your filthy little mouth so no one can hear you fucking moaning for me..."
"Shit..." you mewled, gasping slightly as his hand slid around to grip your ass. "Maybe...if two people can't seem to stay the fuck away from eachother, they aren't meant to be apart, hm?"
"Maybe you're right..." Mattheo purred, nipping at your earlobe as he pressed you back against the shelf. "I've always been a strong man, Raven...but you break me without effort...you are my weakness, the chink in my fucking armour..."
"Your undoing?" you murmured, your fingers tracing over his belt.
He hummed. "Precisely."
"When are you going to open up to me, Mattheo?" You whispered, your voice a fragile murmur as though you were afraid of the answer, slipping your fingers under his belt now, gliding along its path. "Tell me all the bad things you've done...tell me what made you into the weapon you are...you don't need to be afraid...I saw your darkness from the very beginning and I'm still fucking here, aren't I?..."
"Why?" His grip tightened, breath hitching. "Why didn't you run?"
Your lids fluttered, slowly losing yourself in the warmth of his breath against your neck. His scent enveloped you; a familiar, soothing balm to the ache he'd caused with his recent request for a break. The answer formed easily in your heart, though voicing it required vulnerability, more than you'd ever expected to give.
"Because...it was a reflection of mine."
Mattheo's only response was a deep growl that rumbled through the charged space, a primal sound that resonated with desire. Without hesitation, he pulled you back into a hungry kiss, his body pulsating with pent-up energy seeking release. The intensity of the kiss mirrored the raw hunger between you, a magnetic force that defied all notions of any further separation.
As your fingers continued their exploration along his belt, tracing the contours with a teasing caress, you encountered an unexpected sensation--cold, unyielding metal tucked between the leather and his abdomen, its texture rough, and harsh. A chill ran down your spine as confusion slowly crept over you, your eyes fluttering open in slow, tentative blinks, fingers seemingly frozen in place.
Mattheo, lost in the heat of the moment, seemed oblivious to your sudden unease. The kiss deepened, his hunger transferring into the fervency of the embrace. But your focus had shifted, and your trembling fingers tentatively confirmed the nature of the cold object--something metallic, something that should not be there. You gently pulled away from the kiss, your eyes wide with realization, fixated on the metal object now halfway exposed. Dread tightened your chest as your brows pinched, flicking back up to meet his eyes.
"Mattheo," you whispered, the name carrying a weight of urgency, "what is this?"
Mattheo's swallow echoed in the charged silence, his gaze dropping to your hand, his chest still heaving from the passionate kiss. His eyes widened as the weight of your question settled in, a realization dawning on him, as if he had momentarily forgotten about the object concealed within his belt.
"Raven, I-"
He began, but you interrupted, yanking your hand back. "No-what the fuck-"
"Stop," Mattheo commanded, his tone abruptly taking on a harsh edge. With deliberate movements, he pulled up his shirt slightly, revealing more of the mysterious object nestled between his belt. The revelation hung in the air, and Mattheo, eyes now serious, asked a question that carried the weight of the moment: "Do you trust me, Raven?"
Your eyes squinted as a realization crashed over you, the rhythm of your heart shifting into a turbulent drumbeat within your chest. There was absolutely no denying it--that sleek, ominous silhouette spoke volumes. That was a fucking gun.
Frozen in a surreal disbelief, your ability to think, blink, or move was momentarily hijacked. Mattheo's hand surged upward with a suddenness that matched the shock in your eyes, seizing your jaw with a commanding force. His fingers, both firm and urgent, redirected your gaze, forcing you back to the depth of his eyes, which were now darker than the midnight sky.
"Answer me," he demanded, the intensity of his words amplified by the gravity of the situation. "Do you fucking trust me?"
The weight of the question echoed in the charged air. Your mind spun, grappling with the incredulity of the scene unfolding before you. Firearms had been a distant memory, relegated to hunting trips with a Muggle friend back in middle school. Yet, the stark reality of Mattheo possessing a fucking handgun in the heart of Hogwarts shattered any remnants of normalcy, the shockwaves reverberating through your very core.
"I-I-" you stammered.
Mattheo jostled your head in his grip, pulling you closer. "Yes or no question, Raven."
Blinking, you found yourself caught in a tempest of conflicting emotions. The tendrils of trust warred with the unsettling presence of the gun, a contradiction that defied all reason. In the throbbing silence, Mattheo's growl of frustration pierced the air. Relinquishing his grip on your jaw, he seized your wrist, directing it back toward the ominous weapon.
"Take it out," he commanded, his eyes fixed on yours. "Right now, Raven. Take it."
A whimper escaped you, your fingers trembling as they tentatively wrapped around the cold metal. With visible reluctance, you extended it out, pointing the gun down at the floor. Mattheo's grip on your wrist persisted, unyielding, anchoring you in the unsettling reality of the moment.
"I'll ask you one more fucking time," he whispered harshly, the words slicing through the charged air like a razor. His breath, warm against your face, carried an unsettling contrast to the gravity of his demand. "Do you trust me?"
Another desperate whimper slipped past your lips, the nodding of your head an almost frantic plea. "Yes! Please, I trust you. Just take it back-"
Mattheo's reply erupted as a snarl, a guttural growl that echoed with a feral intensity. His features, twisted by a crazed possession, accentuated the mad determination in his eyes as he tightened his grip on your wrist. With an unhinged sense of purpose, he directed it upward, the cold barrel now pressing menacingly against his own temple.
"Pull it," he said stoically, the eerie calmness chilling against the tension. "Pull the trigger."
Your jaw dropped, the brimming tears reflecting the disbelief that swirled in your eyes. "No! What the fu-"
"Do it," he repeated, the calmness persisting. "Go on, baby, pull it."
Sickened and paralyzed by the surreal horror of the moment, you hesitated, the sheer shock of what Mattheo was asking you to do anchoring you in a moment of profound disbelief. Your mind swarmed with recollections of the crazy things you'd done for him before, but this--this was unlike anything you had ever fucking imagined. The weight of the gun in your hand, the gravity of the situation, left your brain reeling as the stark realization of the moment seized hold of your senses.
His frustration, palpable and charged, manifested in another growl. With a menacing determination, he shifted his hand to envelop yours, forcing your finger down, the pressure on the trigger unrelenting.
You heard the click, you felt the click--and yet, nothing happened.
"Fuck..." you choked out, a turbulent blend of relief and confusion seizing your senses in a tumultuous embrace. "What the fuck..."
He blinked, his dark eyes tracing over your lips as he clicked it again. And again. The ensuing silence, pregnant with the surreal gravity of the situation, echoed through the seemingly empty library. Each breath you exhaled became a struggle, the air tinged with the weight of the inexplicable moment, your senses teetering on the edge of unconsciousness.
Then, like a tidal wave crashing over you, the realization struck with breathtaking force. "It's enchanted..."
"About fucking time you caught on." Mattheo nodded, his acknowledgement cutting through the charged air with terse confirmation. He released the hold on your hand, pulling the gun away and casually slipping it back under his belt. "This gun only serves one purpose Raven, and it's never to kill, only to protect..."
Your heart leapt. "Protect what?"
"Doesn't matter," he said, a gentle hand reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from your eyes. “You can trust me, Raven…you can always fucking trust me…”
You exhaled, a long, exasperated breath. “I know, Mattheo…”
“Good girl,” he cooed, a smirk playing on his lips as he stoically reached into his back pocket, as if on a quest for something. "Has Nott popped the question yet?"
Your cheeks flushed. "Yes.."
"Good," he replied, his other hand securing your wrist before he withdrew his busy one, placing a handful of Galleons in your outstretched palm. "Go treat yourself to a dress. Something red, something tight."
As he withdrew his hand, he leaned in, placing a hot, wet kiss on your cheek, smirking from ear to ear as he said. "I've got something I have to do tonight, so I can't stay...but I look forward to respectfully ripping off whichever lovely dress you decide on."
"Respectfully?" you quipped, a playful glint in your eyes. "I'll make sure to pick a dress that demands nothing less than the most dignified removal, then."
"Oh, Raven...I can promise you it'll be the furthest thing from dignified." He snickered, wetting his lips as he took a few steps back, slowly beginning to make his retreat. "See you then."
As he spun around, making his exit, your mind followed suit, a whirlwind of emotions from this entire encounter. Only Mattheo Riddle could master the art of rendering you utterly anxious, furious, emotional, aroused, terrified, and, finally, relieved--all within the span of under an hour. You'd never encountered a man who expertly navigated every one of your buttons and boundaries like he did, yet you couldn't deny the potent influence he held over you.
You couldn't deny that as soon as he left, an insatiable longing for his presence consumed you, an undeniable yearning for his return.
—————————
Chapter 25->
1K notes · View notes
bloodmoonmuses · 24 days
Text
clover | mark lee
Tumblr media
genre: mark lee x reader, friends to lovers, college au, fluff :)
wc: 2.3k
warnings: some swearing, mentions of alcohol
summary: mark collects four leaf clovers. when you help him find his hundredth clover, mark declares you his good luck charm.
Tumblr media
If asked whether or not you believe in fate, you’d probably say no. You found the concept of it unnerving- a predetermined future that one must simply accept… How boring. What you believed in more was the butterfly effect- the chaos of it, the lack of control, the overlapping of timelines. The flapping of a butterfly’s wings could cause a hurricane. It’s the little things that have the biggest effect.
The first time you hang out with Mark Lee is per the forgetfulness of your best friend, Johnny. The three of you were supposed to meet for a group project, but it slipped his mind. You knew of Mark, of course, but never really hung outside of group settings. 
Mark is a butterfly- fluttering, social, beautiful and delicate. You wanted to pin and press his wings like a taxidermist, preserving their beauty in eternal serenity. Though most times, he felt too golden to pin down. He was simply meant to be free.
The two of you lie under a tree in the campus’ courtyard, skimming your textbook for more information. Mark sat quietly, plucking blades of grass out of the ground. When your vision blurs, signaling you’re no longer absorbing information, you close your textbook.
“Think he’s still coming?” Mark inquires.
“Nah. I texted him, but he hasn’t responded,” you say as you check your phone once more for confirmation.
“Hm,” Mark closes his textbook as well. “ Wanna call it a day?” 
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Spring is well under way, but today is warmer than usual. It’s actually nice enough to be outside. You linger on your faded picnic blanket, lying on your back with your eyes closed, while Mark gathers his things. Sunlight filters through the leaves, making abstractly shaped shadows dance across your chest and stomach. You trace the warmth with your fingers.
“I can consolidate our research into a document if you want,” Mark pipes. You thought he had left already.
You crack open an eye. “We’re still talking about the project?”
He looks at you sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with his right hand. “I mean, that’s what I’m here for.”
You crack a grin, scoffing at Mark’s eagerness to actually work. “Didn’t know you were such a goody-two-shoes.” 
“I’m not,” he contests, pouting slightly.
He’s so cute. You want to stuff him with fluff and tie a bow on his pretty head. No wonder everyone babies him so much. His eyes simply demand such.
“I’m just messing with you,” you say. “Sounds like a plan. I can make the slideshow, if you want.”
“Cool.”
Mark starts to leave before returning to his seat and asking, “Hey, ______. Why haven’t we hung out before?”
You shrug. “I don’t know. You have plenty of friends. Didn’t think you’d need more.”
You look at Mark, sitting criss-cross on the corner of your blanket. He has a pile of clovers on his leg, and he continues to sift through the grass in pursuit of more. He plucks another, identifying it as a four leaf clover, and places it on your belly.
“Looks like I just made another. It’s been weeks since I’ve found one.”
“A four leaf clover?” Your fingers play with the floweret, watching as it rises and falls with your breaths. Mark’s eyes follow the movement as well.
“Yeah, I collect them. You’re, like, my good luck charm now. Dude, it’s fate.”
“Do I get a say in the matter, dude, or does fate take precedence?” you joke, asking with a giggle.
Mark beams at you, eyes crinkling into half moons. “Wanna be my good luck charm?”
“Well, since you asked so nicely…”
Mark grabs his backpack, taking out a sheet of parchment paper and a book. Then, he takes the clover from you, placing it in between two sheets. Finally, he places the clover in the middle of the book. He closes it, giving the book a firm squeeze, and puts it back in his bag.
“Pressing it for later,” he says.
The second time you hang out with Mark Lee is per the drunkenness of your best friend, Johnny. You told yourself you’d stop going to parties with him. It seemed that every time you did, you were relegated to designated driver. So there you sat, on the stairs of the back porch, hoping Johnny would pass out in the next hour or so. However, you knew this wouldn’t happen any time soon. Johnny’s alcohol tolerance is annoyingly high. You decide to enjoy the fresh air regardless.
House parties this big were conducted for only one reason- to get everyone in attendance as fucked up as possible (and assuage their guilt in doing so with the presence of other fucked up people). A girl, a twig-like thing, does a keg stand in the middle of the backyard. She nearly topples over entirely, but manages to return to the ground upright before immediately dissolving into a heap of bones and flesh.
On your left, you watch a smarmy frat boy sidle up to another girl, caging her against the house. She’s drinking him up, flashing the most obvious “fuck me” eyes you’ve ever seen. On your right, a guy blows chunks into a bush. Such is the dichotomy of life. 
The back door of the house swings open and the music that’s blasting from inside temporarily bleeds into the backyard. When it closes, the sound is muffled, making you feel as though you’re underwater. You look up to see Mark, surprisingly. The two of you haven’t spoken since the group project. He sits next to you, muttering a brief hello. 
“Not your crowd?” he says, noticing the dissatisfaction on your face. 
“Johnny’s my crowd, but he’s hammered.”
Mark scoffs. “Sounds about right.”
You look at Mark. He seems mostly sober, save for the faint dusting of pink adorning his cheeks. “Are you drinking tonight?” you ask him.
Mark tips his beer towards you, taking another swig before saying, “Just the one. I have a paper to write tomorrow. You?”
“Designated driver.” You’ve been nursing a cup of lemonade. You feel like a prude.
“Daaaang.” He drags out the word, following it with a low whistle. “That sucks, dude.”
“Needed some fresh air?” you ask him.
“Nah, just wanted to catch up with my good luck charm. Saw you walking out." 
Your heart beats a bit faster, though you're not sure why. “Have I been doing a good job?”
“I get to be here outside with you instead of in that hellhole. So, I’d say yes.”
You end up driving Johnny and Mark home that night. Apparently, his designated driver (Jaemin) bailed on him. Mark sits in the passenger seat while Johnny is passed out in the back. It’s quiet, moonlight seeping into the car in a hazy glow. It illuminates Mark’s side profile and you sneak glances at him in your periphery. He’s visibly fighting off sleep, head lolling to the side then suddenly jerking to attention every few minutes.
When he does this a third time, you say, “You can sleep. We’re about ten minutes away.”
“Wanna make sure you’re safe,” murmurs Mark. His voice is gravelly, the sentence barely croaking out of him. “Don’t wanna leave you alone.”
“I’ll survive. I’ll wake you up when we get there.” With your permission, he drifts off to sleep, lips slightly parted. 
When you arrive at the boys’ dorm, Johnny stirs lightly as he feels the car has come to a stop. You shake Mark’s shoulder, waking him from his slumber.
You walk up to Mark’s room, the two of you lugging Johnny with much difficulty. He’s practically dead weight, wasted enough to the point of not being able to hold himself up. When you finally manage to get him on Mark’s couch, you’re winded. You sit on the floor while Mark sits next to Johnny. 
“The only thing comforting me right now is the fact that he’s gonna wake up with a horrible hangover.”
At this, Mark laughs, his own chest heaving at the physical exertion of transporting a Johnny-sized human.
“Thanks for helping me bring him up,” Mark says.
“No problem. Take a video of him suffering for me please.”
“Anything for my good luck charm. Speaking of…” Mark quickly retreats to his room, returning with a small wooden box in his hands. He places it in your lap.
You open the box to see it full of four leaf clovers encased in resin. He takes out a heart shaped one and hands it to you.
“This one is yours. The hundredth clover in my collection.”
“I’m honored.” You cradle the preserved clover in your hands, watching the light bounce off of its shiny surface. The moment overwhelms you, chest constricting with adoration of the simple gesture.
“I was thinking of making it into a bracelet. Then you can harness your lucky powers wherever you go. Like a superhero- or something like that.”
He smile at you, a toothy and boyish grin, and your inhibitions seem to melt away. Perhaps you could be persuaded into believing in fate. Making him happy in this way feels like destiny. You would do so forever if given the chance.
“Yeah. Something like that.”
The third time you hang out with Mark Lee, Johnny isn’t much of a factor. Then the fourth time, and the fifth, sixth and seventh- until one night, Mark asks you on a date. You think. You’re not really sure at this point. 
You’re at his apartment, something that occurs more often following the party incident, killing time with him and (of course) Johnny. The three of you are supposed to be having a movie night, but can’t agree on a film. In lieu of such, you’re simply arguing about movies.
“It’s ridiculous,” Johnny says.
You cross your arms. “It’s high art.”
“Do not refer to Twilight as ‘high art.’”
“The first one has an indie feel to it. The too-blue coloring grading? Imagine stumbling upon that at Sundance or South by Southwest. Those film bitches would be all over it if not for the negative connotation of pseudo vampire smut.”
“Never seen it,” Mark says. His comment gets drowned out, however, as you continue to rant at Johnny.
“The series only got bad because they gave the sequels to a male director.”
“That is not the only reason.”
Johnny’s phone rings. “It’s Jaehyun. Jaemin left him at a party.”
Johnny gathers his belongings and exits. He attempts something of a wink towards Mark, which is awkward because 1.) You see it, and 2.) It looks more like some dust flew into his eyes than a cheeky gesture.
“Be back in a bit,” Johnny says. 
“What was that about?” you ask. Mark is beet red. 
“Nothing,” Mark sputters. “So.”
“So…”
“Twilight. Movies. You like both of those things, right?” Mark rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, swinging his arm in tandem. He can’t really make eye contact with you, but he’s trying, blinking rapidly as his eyes flicker around the room. 
When the silence becomes unbearable you say, “Is there a reason you’re acting like we’ve never met before?”
“Just answer the question.” He sighs, face planting into his palm.
“I mean- Marginally. I mostly just like making Johnny angry-”
“Would you like to go to the movies with me?”
“Yeah, I’d love to.”
It’s raining. Mark is soaking wet, green hoodie soiled. You can’t help but imagine a butterfly with dripping wings, dejectedly fluttering in an attempt to dry itself off. Funnily, the sun was beaming brightly just a few hours ago. If you hadn’t checked the weather ahead of time, you’d probably be drenched as well. 
“Forgot my umbrella,” says Mark as he walks up to you.
“Clearly.”
“I feel like an idiot.”
“Guess I’m not as lucky as you thought.”
“Impossible.”
“Wanna just go back to your place?” you say as you pat his shoulder.  “Then you can get changed.”
You return to Mark’s apartment, making two cups of chamomile tea. When Mark exits his room, he sits on the couch. There’s enough room for at least three people in between the two of you. When you move to sit closer, Mark literally flinches.
His right hand is clasped tightly into a fist, quivering from the force with which Mark is holding it shut. 
“Okay Mark. What’s wrong?” You reach out to him, placing your hand on top of his closed one.
He averts your gaze. “I don’t know how I managed to fuck this up-”
“The rain is out of your control, Mark. It’s not a big deal.”
Then suddenly, Mark opens his hand to reveal your clover, still in its heart shaped encasing, but now attached to a bracelet just as he said he would. The butterflies in your stomach fly up to your sternum. Your breath hitches there.
“I had this whole thing planned. After the movie I was gonna drive you home and it was supposed to be this whole thing that led up to me giving you the bracelet under the moon but then it started-”
“Mark. It’s okay!” you say with a laugh.
“ I like you, ______. I was gonna tell you that I like you.” Mark shuts his eyes tightly, practically wincing with each word. 
You lean over to kiss his cheek, accidentally giving him a butterfly kiss as well when you linger there. Mark giggles at the contact of your eyelashes, and you feel his face move against your lips.
“Well, it’s a good thing I like you too.”
Eventually, Mark’s lips meet yours, gently kissing you as though you’ll break. Warmth spreads throughout your entire body and you pull Mark closer in pursuit of more. Mark places a final peck on your nose and pulls away. He grabs the clover bracelet and ties it to your wrist. 
“Lucky me,” Mark says.
a/n: unedited and feedback is always appreciated!
420 notes · View notes
regal-bones · 7 months
Text
Tumblr media
SWORDTEMBER DAY 6 : KNIGHT ERRANT
Inkwell, of stained parchment and falling pages 📜🪶 “All Wandering Scribes feel the Urge. A pull within them to create, document, to record the world around them. Each scribe has a different calling - one might dedicate their life to the decadent underground architecture of the Catfishfolk, another might spend their time recording in great detail each species of hummingbird on The Continent. Each scribe has a purpose, a tome they must fill before their candle is snuffed from this world. But, sometimes, a scribe’s calling might be less academic than that of their peers. What of the scribe who’s Urge is to record legends of swashbuckling heroes along the great winding roads, of wild adventures and heart racing hijinks. You might see these daring figures at the head of their troupe, their parchment skin decorated with katas, foot stances, and blade types. A Wandering Knight. What better way to document legends than to pick up a blade and write some of your own? ”
The pen is mightier than the sword, or so they say. Also, if you like the vibes of the Wandering Scribes, you can click here to check out my free web novella A Map of The Deadlands! One of the main characters is a Wandering Scribe so there’s a lot of lore about them in this story (and also a whole bunch of art and stuff!)
Yesterday’s sword!
You can support me on Patreon for £1 and help me make stuff like this!
940 notes · View notes