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hannibals-favourite-meal · 6 months

Note

Can I request for your Halloween celebration dracula x fem reader with the prompt you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, with loads of fluff and maybe some smut please

.⋆｡A Chance｡⋆.

Count Vlad Dracula x plus size reader

When you are sentenced to death by your village, the monster in the woods gives you a chance at a better life- by his side

Warnings: minor angst (reader is sacrificed by her village), fluff, i kind of followed the Dracula Untold backstory because he is so stupidly hot and I love the angst, love confessions, mentions of blood, Vlad is slightly toxic but what do you expect, biting, sort of implied death? reader is turned

WC: 2.9k

Minors DNI

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

Halloween Celebration

Every town had their own ghost stories, legends that grew from whispers in the night. But the monster that stalked your home was very real and very dangerous. It stalked the shadows between the small homes, picking off the weakest of the population in the dead of night.

Fear was woven into your very existence, taught to you since the moment you could comprehend your parent’s words. Your senses were constantly tuned to the world around you, listening for any extra footsteps, eyes locked on the castle that loomed over your home but it wasn’t enough, not when the elders of the village determined that in order to protect everyone, only one must be sacrificed.

You were the easy choice- young enough to be a valuable meal but not a child anymore, you were pure and soft, unable to protect yourself in the vast wilderness that surrounded you. You screamed and cried and fought them as hard as you could but it did you no good, you still ended up at the steps of the steps of the castle, barefoot and terrified.

Frozen in fear, you trembled as the huge ornate doors opened before you. Candlelight spilled into the night air illuminating your way, but you refused to move. Some baser instinct in your brain told you that if you remained totally still, the monster would leave you alone and once dawn finally broke, you could run to another town.

Alas, it knew you were there. “Come inside before you catch your death of cold.” A voice called to you, urging you into its den. Acting of their own accord, your legs pushed your forwards and into the warmth of the grand hall, even as your mind screamed at you to turn and run.

As soon as you were inside, the doors slammed shut behind you, sealing you into the place that would become your tomb. “Such a skittish little thing aren’t you.” The voice bounced off the towering walls and you whipped your head around, attempting to pinpoint where it came from.

Your heart pounded in your ears as your stomach twisted in fear. A sigh echoed around you. “You needn’t be frightened little one, I will not hurt you.” The voice was far softer now, the tone more of a man comforting a scared animal rather than a deadly creature taunting its prey.

“Please don’t kill me.” You whimpered, squeezing your eyes shut as tightly as you could. The smell of copper and ancient books overwhelmed your senses as someone stood before you.

A soft touch against your full cheek made you flinch but the hand did not move away, in fact the tips of his fingers brushed your skin, travelling slowly downwards until they touched your lips. “How could I destroy something so pure?” He whispered.

Tentatively, you cracked open one eye and your breath caught.

Before you stood the most handsome man you could imagine. Black curls framed a square jaw, dotted with dark stubble. His eyes seemed brown at first but the longer you looked, the more you realised that they were an incredibly deep red. Shallow wrinkles decorated the outside of his eyes and his mouth, making him appear incredibly human. A smile pulled at his thin lips, exposing a pair of deadly fangs. He wore an outfit of delicately embroidered silk, making him appear as a lord or a king.

Your body relaxed, allowing him to cup your jaw with a fondness you couldn’t quite understand. “There you go. See, nothing to be afraid of.” His accent was thick, very much like the way your grandfather used to speak when you were little. “Now, why don’t you tell me why you were outside my home in the dead of night wearing so little?”

It was only then that you looked down at the thin white slip you had been wearing when the men broke into your home and pulled you from your bed. “They brought me here.” You managed to say, your voice thick with tears.

The man’s dark brows lifted, prompting you to continue. You doubted you couldn’t disobey if you tried. “They said it was to stop more deaths.”

His slightly crooked nose twitched as his eyes flashed with anger. “Foolish.” He snarled under his breath, and you gasped as he squeezed your wide hip tightly, you hadn’t even realised that his hand had moved. That seemed to break him from his trance.

“Ah I apologise. To touch a lady like yourself in that way is most inappropriate. Here, let us get you warm and fed.”

Sunset licked at the horizon, painting the sky with streaks of purple and pinks until they bled into the back of night, giving way to the silver of stars. You had slept through the day, too exhausted from the night’s events to even eat once you had bathed.

Your benefactor had provided you with a truly lavish room and clothes that were slightly outdated but made of incredibly expensive materials. He told you to rest and that he would rejoin you the next night since he had some business to take care of during the day. You were so tired, you didn’t question him but now, you wondered what possible business he could be attending to.

Too frightened to leave your room, you settled on looking through the small collection of books on the shelf next to the bed. Many of the titles were in languages you could not understand but there were a few that you recognised. Love stories and tales of valour, stories you were told when you were young before your parents had died.

Absent-mindedly, you plucked one out and turned to the first page. The words were so achingly familiar- a girl is forced into the servitude of a monster by her family. He is wary of her at first but slowly, they begin to fall for one another until she kisses him after they are attacked by the villagers and he nearly perishes. The beast turns back into a man and they spend the rest of their lives in bliss.

“I see you are quite fond of that story as well, it has always been a favourite of mine.” His voice startled you but terror did not accompany it. You looked up from the book to see the man, who had not yet told you his name, leaning against the doorway. Unlike the night before, he wore a simple white tunic and dark trousers.

Heat bloomed across your cheeks as you spotted the way the dark curls on his chest were exposed by the loosely tied shirt. “My mother used to read it to me.” You stammered out, causing his smile to become even softer.

“She must have been a woman with taste.” You nodded absentmindedly, tracing the spine of the book with your fingertips. Silence settled between you and after a moment, he spoke again.

“You may ask questions, I will not punish you for being curious.” He gently took the book from you, placing it back onto the shelf before he took your hands into his own. His skin was cold, unnaturally so, and it sent a chill down your spine.

“What- who are you?” The words flew from your lips. You expected him to show some offence to your question but he just chuckled and brought your hands to his mouth. He placed a kiss on your knuckles.

“I am Count Vlad Dracula and this is my home, as it has been for centuries.” Your breath hitched, he continued. “As for your other question, I am an ancient creature who must consume blood to live. There are many names for my kind but I prefer the term vampire.”

“Are you going to feed from me?” Your voice was barely a whisper, merely a soft exhale forced from your lungs.

“No, I would never wish to mar your perfect skin with something so sinful, not unless you beg.” Your heart jumped.

“Why would I beg for that?” But he just shook his head with a cocky smirk, refusing to answer. “Why didn’t you kill me like the others?”

Dracula sighed heavily and released your hands. “There are many monsters in this world and some are not trapped by the night. Killers and rapists, evil men who lie and manipulate for personal gain. Those are who sustain me. Their blood is sour, tainted, but I refuse to kill those who have done nothing to deserve such a death though their blood is undeniably sweeter.”

His face twisted with shame and despair, the face of a man condemned for his sins no matter how much he repented. You tentatively stepped closer to him. “You’re an avenging angel, a noble monster.”

He scoffed but it was not spiteful, in fact, it almost seemed fond. “I am no angel, I am only fulfilling a duty I was bestowed long ago.”

“You saved me, that seems quite the noble deed.” Something in your chest tugged you to him, compelling you to wrap him in your arms and hide away forever. Instead your fingers curled into the soft sieve of his shirt, anchoring you to him once more.

“Not as noble as one might think. But let us not dwell on that, you must be famished. I think a hot meal will do you some good and then maybe you can read to me by the fire.” He picked up the book once more as he gestured for you to wrap your arm through his own. You dutifully obeyed, ignoring the feeling of his muscular bicep in your hands as he led you away.

“Has this always been your home?” You asked, desperate for an interruption to the silence between you. Dracula’s eyes flicked to you briefly, the red of his irises flickering in the candlelight of the hall.

“No, for much of my human life, I lived in a village not too dissimilar to your own. But that was a very long time ago and I prefer not to think on the past.” Your mouth snapped shut and you nodded in feigned understanding.

Your combined footsteps echoed behind you, leaving ghosts of yourselves to follow as you journeyed into the heart of the palace you had feared for so long.

——————

Most days followed this pattern, you would sleep until early evening when Dracula would rouse you with a gentle knock at the door. He would escort you to the dining room, you would eat while he sipped at a goblet of what looked to be wine and then you both would settle in one of his many sitting rooms with a book, a new one each time. Sometimes he would tell you stories of his undead life, painting vivid pictures of far away lands and unique people. On occasion, he would detail his affliction, giving you glimpses of how this all came to be.

Then, as midnight struck, he would leave you then with a gentle kiss to your knuckles. He would return hours later, smelling of the earth and blood.

In those moments, his eyes were always wild. In those moments, his chest puffed with air though he did not need to breathe. It did something inexplicable to you, a fire would flicker to life in your belly as wetness pooled at the apex of your thighs. He would look at you as his nostrils flared, undoubtedly inhaling your scent. He would tear himself from your presence and retreat to his chambers in the back of the palace where you were forbidden to go.

By the next evening, he would be himself once more.

“Vlad?” The vampire opened a single eye in acknowledgement from where his head lay in your lap. One of your hands was buried in his black curls, while the other held up a book which you quickly discarded to the side so you could rest your palm against his sternum. When you first touched his chest like that, the lack of a heartbeat greatly disturbed you but now, it was strangely comforting.

“What is it my sunlight?” You tried to smile at him but you knew he could see right through you.

“Do you promise not to get mad at me?” He chuckled, his broad chest shaking beneath your hand.

“I will never get mad at you.” You breathed out a heavy sigh of relief before speaking again.

“Why have you kept me here so long? I would think that you do not need a human around that you will not feed off of. I can’t see myself providing you any real use.” His other eye snapped open and part of you screamed to stop talking, to take it back under the guise of you being too hot but another part was curious about his answer. “I suppose a woman has other uses but you have not touched me outside of moments like this so-“

Faster than you could comprehend, Vlad sat up straight, his face mere inches from yours. “Where did you come up with these ideas?”

“I-“

“If you wanted to leave, you could just leave but I guarantee the village won’t take you back.” He snarled spitefully. He scoffed and stood from the sofa but you quickly followed. Before you could think, you grabbed his hand.

The growl that escaped his lips was that of a vicious beast as he bared his deadly fangs at you, his eyes flashing bright red. A brief spike of fear raced through you and you gasped. Suddenly, he was back to himself. “I frighten you, that’s why you want to leave.”

You quickly shook your head, your grip upon his wrist tightening though you would be no match against his strength. “I am more frightened of the spiders in my room than I am of you. You tell me you are a monster yet you have never hurt me, you have been kinder to me than most humans I have met. I wonder about those things because I feel useless to you. You ask nothing of me in exchange for your home, your protection, your food. And I fear that one day you will desire something of me that I cannot give and I will have to leave you.”

His broad shoulders sagged as he faced you once more. “You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” He murmured in reverence. “And I am a selfish, selfish man.”

“To keep you here, in my home, to dress you in clothes of my choosing, to have you read my books- it is selfish, entirely so but I find that I am unable to part from you. Your very existence calls to me, urges me to do terrible things just to keep myself from drinking you down. You have enchanted me, hypnotised me from the moment you stepped foot in my home and I cannot explain it. It feels as if my heart has known you for years.” Every word he spoke resonated through your chest, articulating the feelings that swirled around your mind aimlessly. You stepped closer to him and his arms wrapped around your thick waist.

“You make me feel human again.” He pulled you closer, your breasts brushed against his strong chest. “You remind me what it is to love and to be loved. You have given me a chance to live anew and I wish to give you the same chance, no matter how selfish it may be.” His right hand trailed up your arm, coming to rest at the base of your throat, his thumb pressed against the frantic beating of your pulse.

“I want to taint you, to condemn your soul to hell as long as it means that you can be by my side until eternity. I keep you here because I need you, because I crave you like the tide craves the moon, like flowers crave the sun. You are the purpose of my undead existence, I have lost too much already and I will not lose you too.”

Your eyelashes fluttered against the steel of your cheek as the tip of his nose brushed against your own. “You will never lose me, I am entirely, wholly yours.” His groan echoed through your chest, it made your skin explode in goosebumps.

“Don’t say that my sunshine.”

“Why not?” Your gaze was fixated upon his lips, eager to finally feel them upon your own.

“Because I really will make you mine. I will turn you, make you into a monster like me.” But his tone was eager, filled with desire and longing for just that.

“Then give me a chance for an everlasting life- with you.” There was a moment’s pause and then he ducked his head, his lips barely brushing against yours as they travelled down your jaw and moved along your throat, coming to rest where his thumb had been but he did not bite.

“Please Vlad.” You begged, burying your hands in his hair once more.

“I told you that you would beg for this.” He teased before his jaw hinged open and he sunk his fangs into your warm skin, quickly draining away your mortal life. You clung to the monster who was destined to kill you and all you could think was that maybe the fear you felt for so long was only a restlessness for a new beginning.

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megamindsecretlair · 3 months

Text

Thinkin' 'Bout You, Part 2

Pairing: Big Stunna x Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Infidelity. FILTH. PWP, cursing, PIV, fingering (female receiving), oral (male receiving) teasing/mocking, cum play and swallowing, spanking, dirty talk, degradation kink, breeding kink if you squint, all consensual. Use of n-word. Referring to female anatomy as "she".

Summary: As a sneaky link, Stunna is highly demanding of your time. He doesn't care if you get caught; when he wants you, he wants you. He pops up just as your man leaves for the day and as much as you want to resist, you can't.

Word Count: 3,749k

The Secret Big Stunna Files | Part 1 | Part 3

A/N: I planned for this being a one-shot. While I would NEVER condone cheating in real life, Stunna just screams perfect sneaky link to me. And it's rotting my brain, so enjoy back to back pieces of filth! Please, please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! And please put ages in bios! Or get blockt!

Taglist: @planetblaque @blackerthings @browngirldominion @we-outsiiiide @thecookiebratz @iv0rysoap @notapradagurl7 @sevikasblackgf @miyuhpapayuh @xo-goldengirl @kindofaintrovert @flydotty @judymfmoody @slippinninque @soufcakmistress @henneseyhoe

You were finally free. You loved your man to pieces, but it was rare that you got the house to yourself. Like truly to yourself where you could run around naked without fear of someone creeping up behind you. And you could watch your stories on Lifetime in peace without a certain someone making fun of you for it.

You sat on the couch in one of his T-shirts, absently folding laundry while you watched the premiere of the week. Something about an obsessed paramedic over a high school girl. Well, they were always obsessed in some kind of way.

Your mind drifted as you watched and folded, appreciating the serenity of the moment. Knocking from your back door pulled you back to conscious thought and you growled. If it was those neighbor’s kids again asking about some ball in your backyard, you were going to pop it in their little faces.

All your life growing up, you didn’t kick balls in others’ yards half as much. You knew your parents weren’t going to replace that shit. You got up, grumbling like an old lady and padded your way to your back door.

You opened it, ready to cuss out little kids when Stunna turned and smiled at you.

“Stunna!” You yelped. You looked behind him but obviously, it was just your tiny backyard and nothing else. “What are you doing!”

“Saw that nigga leave. We got plenty of time,” he said. He pushed into your home and you closed the door behind him. Mostly, so your neighbors wouldn’t hear you yelling.

“Stunna, no! You cannot be here!” You yelled. Yet even as your mouth was saying no, your pussy was already growing damp just from how he was looking today. He wore a Black T-shirt and light jacket, dark jeans and boots. His grills flashed as he smiled and looked you over.

“Easy access, my favorite,” he said. He pulled you by the shirt until he could capture your lips with his own. He moaned as he collided with your lips. “Sexy ass fuckin’ lips.”

You gripped his arms, muscles flexing under your fingers. “Stunna, be for real!” You said. You were in deep shit. You promised yourself that the last time he was at your place would be the absolute last. You had cut it entirely too short, getting dicked down in the kitchen while Stunna made you his famous omelet.

There wasn’t an inch of space in your home that you hadn’t been bent into a pretzel and it had to stop. At least here.

Stunna’s hands ran up your thighs and you shivered as if you were freezing. Your body couldn’t feel more overheated. You were breathless already. You knew he promised untold pleasure but you were at constant war with your mind.

“Come on, babygirl. Been feenin’ for this pussy,” he said.

“You always say that, nigga,” you said.

“And I mean it. How I’m supposed to go about my day when I’m hard as shit thinkin’ ‘bout you?” He smiled, knowing you were weak as hell for his smiles.

You found your shoulders dipping and your body relaxing against him. You wrapped your arms around his neck and breathed him in. No one smelled as good as him. The scent drove you wild, like an animal going into heat.

You ached. And right now, only his dick would solve that particular ache. “Aight, hurry up then,” you said with a grin.

Stunna grinned and kissed you. His hands went up further and glided across your damp panties. He growled against your lips as his hand slipped underneath your panties to play with your damp slit.

“Talkin’ all that fuckin’ shit while you wet as fuck. Take them panties off and let me see,” he said. He scooted away from you and moved you over to the kitchen table. There was nothing on there but bills, mail, some coupons and a bowl of fruit. Yet now, you had thoughts of being eaten out like a meal on that table.

Your hands shook as you reached under your shirt and pulled down your panties, kicking them off. You lifted the shirt until it was around your hips. Stunna hissed in appreciation, light glinting off of his grills as he looked you over.

He turned you around and bent you over the table roughly, slapping your ass. “What you always fightin’ me for? Like you don’t be cravin’ this dick. I see them messages you send me,” he said.

He bent down so your ass was in his face. He spread your asscheeks and marveled at your wet core. “Mhm, that pussy miss me, don’t she?” He asked.

You tried to remain silent. You weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of caving so soon. He had to earn his way in there. You should have known better.

He smacked your ass, hard, and you cried out. “I was reading a nasty book before you came over, nigga. Don’t flatter yourself,” you said. You smirked since he couldn’t see you. Stunna hated when you pretended like he wasn’t God’s gift to fucking. But that was when he blew your back out the hardest.

Without warning, he slipped two fingers inside of you. Your essence soaked his fingers and he hummed, finding you so wet. Your knees buckled. “Ion know why you try to lie when I can feel how wet you are,” he said.

His deep, melodious voice was a physical caress all its own. It reached your ears but you felt him everywhere, all at once. He pumped his fingers in and out of you slowly, torturously, and you whined, needing more stimulation. You needed more than just his fingers.

“Use your big girl words and tell me what you want,” he said. He continued to slide his fingers in and out. He had long, thick fingers that almost did the job. Almost. Two of those weren’t nearly the size of his dick. That was what you wanted most of all.

“I need you to fuck me,” you said. You were beginning to move your hips in time with his fingers. You didn’t want it nice and slow. That wasn’t what he was here for. He was here to fuck your brains out and leave you well satisfied.

“I’m already fucking you,” he said. You heard the grin in his voice. Bastard.

“I need you to fuck me with that dick, Daddy,” you said. You pitched your voice lower, more sultry, as you dared risk a glance behind you. He was so tall. He loomed over you with a predatory glare.

“Was that so hard, babygirl?” He asked.

“Yes, nigga,” you said and rolled your eyes.

In all honesty, you did not expect him to smack the air from your lungs when he smacked your ass. Heat and pain blossomed on your ass and you struggled for air. You gasped, mouth open like a fish as you tried to stay standing.

“Nasty fuckin’ mouth. C’mere since you think we playin’ games,” he said.

He pulled you by the arm to a standing position. Then he pulled you into the back bedroom and sat down on the bed. His hands flew to his pants and unzipped them.

“Knees,” he growled.

You dropped to your knees and planted yourself between his legs. He was so hot when he was like this. When his words were clipped, barely expending the air to get them out. Only because you weren’t a mind reader. Not yet. You weren’t sure how long this could continue, but until then, you were going to enjoy the ride.

He pushed his pants and briefs down far enough to slap your mouth with his dick. It was already leaking precum and you licked your lips as you stared at his thick head.

“Mhm, gon’ stuff that mouth since you ain’t got no manners,” he said. He pulled your head down onto his dick and moaned when your lips wrapped around him. “That’s it, like a good little bitch, huh?”

You nodded. It was hard to fit all of him inside but he didn’t care. He continued to face fuck you. You watched his face as he did so. Jaw slack, eyes closed. You sucked harder, running your tongue over his mushroom head and tasting the precum there.

“Fuck, suck that shit,” he moaned. He cracked one eye and saw you staring at him. He grinned. “Lookin’ so fuckin’ cute with your mouth closed.”

Your pussy clenched from the unexpected praise even though it was wrapped in such a nasty package. You got off on being his little slut. His nasty little bitch that took whatever he dished out. Took whatever he gave. Yearned for it. Thought about it. Got off to it too many times to name.

You moaned around his dick as he pushed in deeper. Pushed past your natural resistance to take him deeper. Your hands were planted on his thighs just so he wouldn’t fuck you into the back wall, but you moved one lower to fondle his balls.

His hips jerked and he laughed. “Oh, you want me to feed you early today I see. What was all that shit you was talkin’ earlier? Huh?”

You couldn’t talk because his dick was still in your mouth. Yet he kept talking to you as if you could respond.

“Mouth made to take this fuckin’ dick. My god,” he moaned. His hand palmed your scalp as he pushed you up and down on his dick. Your spit and slobber ran down the length of him. He pushed you down a little too far and you gagged and choked on his dick.

“Gotta fix that attitude with this dick, huh,” he said. He slipped out and slapped his dick on your face. On your chin, on your lips. He pushed you back down on his dick until he groaned. “Say ahh,” he said with a snicker as he busted inside of your mouth.

You greedily sucked him down. He moaned as you did so, trying to wring all of it out. Your gulps were filthy, lewd but music to his ears. He said as much as he shook his head and sighed with deep relief.

You reluctantly let his soft dick go with a final pop. He used his thumb to swipe run away cum from your mouth. He shoved his thumb inside and you sucked on that too with pleasure. Your head was pleasantly numb. You just wanted to please him in whatever form he wanted.

You liked being his stress relief. You liked that when his mind was going a mile a minute, plotting against Malcolm and this war between them, he found solace in between your thighs.

“That’s all you needed, was something in your mouth to shut you up?” He asked. You nodded, still sucking on his thumb.

“Good. Always talkin’ shit,” he said. He got up on wobbly knees and hefted you up by placing his hands under your arms. He moved you to the bed where he flipped you onto your back and you yelped.

Couldn’t he use his words like a big boy? Damn. Always manhandling you. But you knew better than to catch an attitude now. He was focused. And he needed no further encouragement to rock your shit.

He fell to his knees and then opened your legs, staring at your dripping essence. He licked his lips and looked at you, before descending on your pussy. You cried out, hands flying to the back of his head.

Mercy was not in his vocabulary. His wide lips latched onto your clit and sucked hard. “Ouue shit,” you wheezed out and gyrated your hips. You tried to scoot away from him. Where did he pull this shit out from?

He’s eaten you out, quite spectacularly before, but this was something new. This was “I haven’t seen you in a year” type of desperation.

“Fuck you going?” He asked. His speech was a little slurred as if he was getting high off of your essence. He wrapped his big hands under your knees and yanked you back to the edge of the bed. You squealed, your hands grabbing onto your bright green covers.

One of his hands held you open while his other slipped down your folds and entered you. “Oh shit! Wait! Stunna, fuck,” you moaned.

He licked his lips while he pumped his fingers into you. Then his mouth joined in and your body was bowing off of the bed. Your whines and whimpers did not assuage him. He kept it up, licking and sucking.

He swirled his tongue around your clit until it was a swollen little bud practically reaching out for him. He slurped up your essence and moaned when more oozed out of him. He licked everywhere and then flicked his tongue against your clit.

“Shit!” You moaned as you finally came on his tongue. Your thighs snapped shut over his ears but he was undeterred. He kept licking and sucking, wet noises that flicked a switch in your brain.

You trembled and cried out, riding that orgasm like a big wave on the ocean. Your lungs burned from panting so hard.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned.

Stunna placed wet kisses to both of your thighs. He stood and leaned up so he could plant a sloppy kiss to your forehead. He ran his thumb across your lips before pulling you into a kiss. It was a slow, sensual kiss. The kind that made your toes curl.

You were breathless by the time he pulled away. “You gon’ have to make up for that attitude, princess,” he said.

“Wait! I’m sorry!” You whined.

He chuckled as he shed his clothes. His shirt and jacket went flying, followed closely by his shoes, pants and briefs. He grabbed your hands and pulled you into a sitting position so he could take off your shirt.

He groaned as your titties bounced. He fingered one of your nipples, tugging on it, and it had you biting your lip with pleasure. “Stunna, please!” Wasn’t the incredible orgasm enough?

There was no way you could take him now.

“Stunna, please!” He mocked and laughed. He climbed onto the bed and got on his back, making himself right at home as if he was your main. He patted his thighs and waved you over.

You were shaking as you climbed onto him, reverse cowgirl. There was no love in his heart or eyes as he stroked his dick through your sensitive folds. You hissed and sat up, but he pulled one of your arms to make you sit on his dick.

He nearly slammed you onto him and you cried out at the full pressure of him seated inside of you. “Fuck!” You yelled out.

He chuckled behind you and smacked your round ass. “Don’t start crying now. I still gotta feed you,” he said.

He began to rock his hips but he smacked you for you to understand his little lesson. He wanted you to ride him. And God help you if you weren’t doing it properly.

You placed your hands on his long legs and began to bounce on his dick, slowly. The tap, tap, tap had you seeing stars.

“Guess you ain’t that hungry,” he said. His wet thumb encircled your ass and you flew up and off of him. You moaned at the sensation. He pressed his thumb in further, to make sure you knew who it was that was plugging you.

“I’m sorry!” You moaned.

“Fuck that mean to me? Move this ass,” he said and punctuated it with another smack to your ass. At this rate, you wouldn’t be able to sit down all night.

You bounced on his dick in earnest. You were a moaning, writhing mess on top of him. In this position, you felt him more intensely. You felt the slide and glide of his long dick as he fed it to you. His thumb was still in your ass and he used his other to smack your ass periodically. He just liked watching you bounce.

“That’s it. Nasty bitch,” he moaned and smacked you again. You cried out but he only answered with another smack. “I wish you could see the way you grip my shit. Creamy and nasty as fuck. All that lyin’, but yo pussy know who she belong to.”

You contracted around his dick and he moaned again. His moans were driving your pleasure through the roof. The feedback that you were doing a good job was a precious thing that you held close to your heart.

“Ouue, fuck. Ouue fuck,” you moaned as your belly tightened. You were getting so close, he was hitting it so deep inside of you. You slid on his dick until you were leaning back and began convulsing on him.

You screamed out your pleasure, eyes tightly shut and digging your nails into his legs. Your thighs were trembling on his. Your arousal flooded his dick and he groaned from how painfully you were squeezing his dick.

He pushed his hips up and unloaded in you. The hot, wet pulses of his cum coated your insides. You moaned from the sensation of him literally pumping cum.

“That’s it. That’s what that pussy wanted, huh?” He asked.

“Yes, baby,” you moaned.

“Why you gotta make it difficult?” He asked. He stroked your back as you calmed down. Sweat ran down from your temples without abandon.

“I can’t help it, baby,” you said. You slipped off of him and he groaned, watching his cum leak from your pussy. He didn’t let you go far. He immediately pulled you into cuddling with him. You sighed as you rested your head on his chest.

“I need to clean up,” you said.

“Naw, keep it in there,” he said.

If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear the nigga was trying to get you pregnant. You could see it now, growing that life inside of you knowing fuck well it wasn’t your mans. You hadn’t discussed babies yet, it was too early in the relationship. You could not have a baby with your sneaky link. That went against every single rulebook out there.

“Nasty ass, no!” You said and giggled. He nuzzled your neck, licking your collarbone. His hand came up to squeeze your titty and you sighed.

“Baby, I can’t,” you said.

“You always saying that shit and I always prove you wrong,” he said against your neck. He placed sweet kisses there, enough to make you giggle and shy away from him.

He kissed a hot trail down your neck before he placed the same sweet kisses against your chest. He squeezed your titty until your nipple puckered and then he wrapped his warm mouth around it. You moaned. You were already fucking sore, your ass stung, and you were greedy for more.

A ringtone went off somewhere in the otherwise quiet room and you both groaned. You were always interrupted by someone calling either one of you.

Stunna disentangled himself from you, sat on the edge of the bed and dug his phone out. “Yeah, nigga, what?”

You tuned out his side of the conversion. You didn’t want to be involved in that world. He hung up and hung his head for a moment, before cussing under his breath.

You got to your knees and crawled over to him, wrapping your hands around his neck. You kissed his cheek.

“What’s wrong baby?” You asked.

“Been fuckin’ dying to get over here and now I gotta go deal with some bullshit,” he said. “Man fuck!”

You hid your grin. He was so damn insatiable. In a perfect world, you two would be together all of the time. And he would spend every moment he could buried inside of you and rearranging your guts.

“It’s okay, I gotta clean up the mess you made now,” you said and playfully rolled your eyes. He was starting to really fuss, so you leaned over him, grabbed his chin and turned him to face you.

You planted a small kiss on his lips. “Hey, we’ll just look forward to next time,” you said.

He sighed and nodded, getting up but still cussing under his breath. You watched him throw his clothes back and was mesmerized by the simple domestic act. First his briefs that covered up his long dick.

Then his pants. The zipper enclosed his thickness and your pussy throbbed just thinking of getting another hit of it. Next went his tank, shirt, and jacket and finally his shoes.

“We need some rules about this, Stunna,” you said quietly, not wanting to ruin the moment but also knowing that your heart couldn’t take this extra stress. “You can’t just pop up whenever you want.”

He checked his pockets and grinned at you. Those fucking golds making your stomach do somersaults. He pulled out a wad of cash and peeled off a band for you. He kissed your forehead and placed it in your hand. “Buy yaself somethin’ cute I can rip off later,” he said.

“Stunna, I’m being serious!”

He grinned and grabbed you by the throat. You grabbed his wrist, but he had grabbed you in the perfect spot. It made your eyes roll back and your head go numb.

He placed a soft kiss to your lips and grinned down at you. “I can’t keep my hands off you, babygirl. It’s yo fault for havin’ such a fat, wet pussy.” He kissed you again and released your throat.

“Corny ass nigga,” you muttered.

“What was that?” His hands flew to his pants as if he would take them right back off and dick you down again. As much as you wanted to, your body was weak.

“Nothin’ baby, I’ll see you next time.” You made your voice super, extra sweet and he grinned.

“Fuck I thought.” With that, he was gone. You heard the back door slam again as he disappeared and fucked off down the street to his car. You could imagine that walk of his and it only made you shiver with horniness. You had to get your libido under control.

When he came around, your body had a mind of its own. And that wouldn’t do. You groaned as you pulled sheets off of the bed to wash and replace them on the bed. So much for a quiet day watching your stories.

The Secret Big Stunna Files | Part 1 | Part 3

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from-the-coffee-shop-in-edoras · 1 month

Text

I'm still thinking about banner bearers as I continue working on my Obscure Blorbo Guthláf story, and I do find it impressive how much context about the banner bearer role Tolkien shoved into LOTR in barely half a dozen sentences' worth of small references.

For starters, there are (by my count) 3 acknowledged banner bearers in Lord of the Rings: Halbarad of the rangers of the North, Guthláf of Rohan (♥️), and an unnamed Haradrim standard bearer. I reject the distinction Tolkien made between so-called high, middle and low Men, but it is notable nonetheless that he created a banner bearer character from each of these 3 groups. That shows how universally important the function was, at least to communities of Men, just as it was extremely common in the real world for many hundreds of years of human history. All kinds of Middle Earth's Men have them, no matter how different the Men are from one another.

In addition, all 3 of the banner bearer characters die at the Pelennor Fields, which effectively illustrates how incredibly dangerous a job it was, both in Middle Earth and real life. Given how intentional Tolkien is about everything, I think it's fair to assume that he purposefully killed all of them in recognition of the realities of ancient warfare. (The only banner bearer I can think of in any Tolkien book that survives their war is Eönwë in the Silmarillion, but he's an immortal Maia so...TOTALLY different circumstances.)

And finally, Tolkien shows us how significant the loss of a banner bearer was to both sides in a battle. When Théoden kills the unnamed Haradrim standard bearer (just before the Witch King rolls up), that's the moment when the forces of Harad founder and start to flee because they've lost their rallying point and their source of morale. They can't function without their banner bearer. On the opposite side, Théoden cites his felling of the black serpent flag to Merry as one of the singular achievements that will allow him to sit proudly alongside his ancestors in the afterlife, so he clearly also understands taking out a banner bearer to be a massive battle achievement.

We don't witness Halbarad or Guthláf’s final moments, but their deaths are just as significant. Out of the untold numbers of dead at the Pelennor Fields, they are both in the small handful of names to be recorded in the story because they were important and their deaths meant something to the broader battle. And we see in the immediate aftermath of Guthláf’s death what a huge deal it is to the Rohirrim—they stop to address his death and retrieve his banner so that it can be borne by another before they even take the time to tend to their mortally wounded king. Those are the actions of people who understand how strategically important a banner bearer is above almost all other battlefield functions.

I'm not trying to say Guthláf is more important than Théoden* but I am saying that Tolkien really demonstrated, through a handful of very economical little actions and asides and unremarked-upon events, how critical people like Guthláf were, as well as how ridiculously brave and selfless. And more than anything else, I guess I’m saying that now, as I approach 27,000 words about Guthláf in my Google docs, he’s…on my mind a lot.

*At this point, I would absolutely say this for myself. In my heart, there's no contest and it's Guthláf forever. But I know that’s because he’s my special li’l guy and I don’t expect that of anyone else!

#lotr #lord of the rings #tolkien #banner bearers #halbarad #guthlaf #guthláf #poor unnamed haradrim #banner bearers of middle earth #niche interests

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siriusleee · 9 months

Note

I see your post about fic request but I'm too shy to comment on the post 🥲😭🙏🏼

I'm just gonna drop the idea of Ghost (since I like how you write him) fluff themed, perhaps kinda suggestive? 👀

Ghost and F!Character already in relationship (almost 2 years perhaps), but both are not really into physical touch, especially Ghost

But a wild idea struck the F!character wanted touch his (bare) hands out of curiosity, and of course she ask for his consent. At first he's hesitate but he wanted to make efforts making their relationship 'closer' than usual? 👁👁

I'm not a writer so I'm gonna let your handle the rest Ma'am ✨🧎🏻‍♀️

Teach me how to write plis

paring: simon riley x f!reader

"And the girls that walk downtown are like some stars that fell to earth They like the veins in my arms, the story in my hurt” — "Condemned" by Zach Bryan

Everything with Simon Riley runs slowly. It’s never been something that’s bothered you but -

And there is always a but.

Occasionally you catch a glimpse of the skin between his gloves and the hem of his shirt. The black tattoos that swirl there, far enough away that you can’t make out what they are. You never needed to touch him to love him, but sometimes it’s all you want.

“Do you know,” you say between bites of your toast, crumbs falling onto your shirt, “that the tendon there in your wrist is something you evolved to have.”

“What?”

You run your finger up your own wrist, showing him what you’re talking about.

“It’s a thing you evolved to have. It’s to make throwing spears easier.”

“Knives too?”

“Probably.”

The conversation leaves something in the air. Some untold want you want that the two of you hesitate to speak aloud. You watch the way he pulls the sleeves of his jacket down farther to hide his skin from view. It’s fucking Puritan - the resolve he has around you and touching. You’ve never begged for his touch - any move too quick and he would disappear. Too etherial to be grasped.

But -

And there is always a fucking but.

Sometimes you’re hungry.

It’s natural - the urge to have skin to skin contact. And the two years you’ve spent in the opposite orbit of Simon, you’ve lacked anything that borders on physical touch.

So you wait until he’s been home for a week, and there is more Simon than Ghost written into the wrinkles of his face. You try not to catch him off guard, but the way his mug falls heavily to the counter you know that you have.

“Do you not - do you not want to?”

It’s hard to keep the nearly there hurt out of your voice. You know that if he says no, you’ll drop the entire conversation. But you want to know that whatever hunger inside you wants to explore him more is inside of him too. Simon watches you from over his black mask, hands held neatly behind his back. A parade rest while his brain tries to catch up to the entire situation.

“It’ll make you happy?”

You try very hard to keep the excitement from your voice as you answer in the affirmative.

Simon’s fingers shake when he lets you lead him to the bedroom. His palms are burning hot through the thick material of his gloves.

Simon lowers himself down at the edge of the bed; still gripping your hand tightly.

You keep yourself far enough away that you aren’t crowding him, but his knees still cage yours in.

“Are you sure Simon? If you don’t want to-”

His voice, a low rumble in his chest, cuts you off before you can give him an out.

“I already take so much from you.”

You don’t need him to ask to elaborate: he’s always thought that he’s ruined so much of your life. A real wedding. A real family. A real sense of intimacy.

“That’s not true Simon - I have never needed more than this. And we don’t have to do this.”

Simon has always been a doer, not a speaker. So you barely breath as he pulls his gloves off, fingers bare to you. They lay loose on his thighs, tendons and veins sticking out against his pale skin. You reach your own out towards him.

Simon makes the first move, tracing his calloused fingertips across the sensitive skin on the top of your hands. His touch is so light for such a large man it causes you to shiver. At the movement, Simon pulls back, worry written in his brow.

“It’s fine Si.”

Skittish, he takes your hand again. He works to memorize the lines - the scar you got when you were 10 and you grabbed your mom’s curling iron. The whorls and curls of your fingerprints. And when he’s had his fill, he turns his hands over for you.

There is a lifetime written into his hands. You try to take it in the best you can: the warmth and roughness. The callouses that come from a trigger, and the ones that come from putting together the furniture that fills the house. You want to ask about a scar that runs from one side of his palm to the other, but you know that tonight is not the night.

And when he shivers too hard at the feeling of your thumb on a scar, you draw back - letting his hands slide out of yours.

The moment hangs in the air around the two of you, Simon’s eyes searching your face for some hint of regret, of disgust at the feeling of his skin against yours. But he doesn’t find it; instead he’s met with a sharper hunger than you’ve felt before.

“Are you alright?” You ask, hands still warm from his grip.

“M’fine.”

You let the hunger dangle between the two of you; a silent invitation for another evening.

Teach me how to write plis

the best way to learn is to use what is sometime's called mentor texts. literally find someone who's writing you like and try to emulate it. then pick someone who's writing you don't like and do the same. repeat with different forms.

you will eventually begin to develop your own voice.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #asks #fic rec #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader

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fluffywings13 · 3 months

Text

So to the lovely anon who asked about poseidon and percy t fic....perhaps.....

But imagine a world where Poseidon and the Seafam play an active role in little baby Percy growing up. Despite Zues's asinine rules and laws and bullshit.

Posiedon is there. Amphitrite is there. Triton is there. Sally is there.

Takes a village to raise a child right?

Heres a small sneak peek!

Poseidon would not think to be accused of the same mistreatment of his only land born child in this century. “Come, my Prince, you can down it. Strong as your táta. Come to me my most precious of pearls.” The royal family lived by their own Laws, heeding none other, Zeus would never be so brazen enough to strike down the Sea God and his Immortal Family so near to his domain. Though calmed with age and time, Poseidon was still considered one of those among them not to temp, his unpredictable nature made him ever more dangerous then the Council combined. “A few more steps, just a few more, I await to hold you with an eagerness untold of.”

Their place of meeting was the beaches of Montauk, the Land Born child of the Sea living peacefully in the safe walls of the cabin only a few steps from the waves that reside in his blood lapping at the sandy ground underfoot. Furnished to the liking of one ever Spirited Sally Jackson with mixed artfully with the tones of the boy’s Divine Sea Ruling Family.

Percy Jackson knew not of a moment in his short but exuberant life of pain or as though part was missing, no stories of a missing father who supposedly held adoration for him despite his otherwise radio silence, no striking hand of an abusive step father.

Giggling adorably is the nine month of Sea Prince, the breeze from the open expanse of waters behind the royals gathered just in the rolling surf ruffles through the boy’s squid ink black hairs, eyes that change hues based on emotion maintain a glow of the same shine of his dearest táta awaiting his arrival with hardly concealed excitement. Witnessing one’s babe take their first steps was a celebratory occasion transcending mortality. Poseidon hadn’t been there to witness his youngest Prince's true first cruising but he nor his wife and elder son had wasted even a thought of a moment when the prayer of their mortal counterpart reached their ears in the depths of the child reaching this momentous milestone.

Amphitrite maintains the ability not to laugh at her dearest husband’s excitement, especially so when the same hands though smaller in size are seen reaching from her other side, father and son share only a moment of a glance, a challenge to see whom the babe will come to first initiated in their shared glance of silence.

And Triton had claimed no fondness for the babe.

Giggling with her baby, Sally holds both tiny hands tight and secure as she simply assists her treasure in his stumbly pundy legged amble to those who await him at the waters edge, Percy pauses for only a moment to glance between his papa and big brother both of whom beckoning him forward.

Let it be known on the record that Poseidon, Lord of the Seas, is a dirt rotten cheater. His wife laughing openly at his side as their son reaches around her to smack his Father’s arm with the accusation being spoken into existence as the demi-god ambles into the Sea Lord’s waiting embrace. She takes a moment to observe her husband, simply take him in for a moment of observation, as he crows in elation to the sight of his youngest son’s first steps. The way his eyes glow in a manner she hasn’t seen in…Since his first of his many halfing children…his deep rumbling laughter in tune with the infants youthful pitched squeals as he lifts him from the gentle waves among the the shore up above his head.

#pjo tv show #pjo series #poseidad #sea fam #amphitrite #poseidon #triton #percy jackson #pj headcanon

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weemsfreak · 5 months

Text

Midnight Miracle

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟMerry Christmas/Happy Holidays to those who celebrate! I wish you all a midnight miracle this season :) ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Jane Murdstone x Named fReader

A short Christmas story with our favorite victorian red flag ~2k words

Warnings: Talk of religion and the Anglican church (not in detail)

Wrapped in your ebony cape, you shielded yourself from the biting winter breeze that sent shivers down your spine. Usually the cold didn't bother you, but the wind was extra frigid tonight.

This Christmas Eve, the gaslit streets were adorned with an extra twinkle, buildings and shops aglow with an abundance of candles and festive decorations.

You weren't avoiding spending Christmas Eve with your family; rather, you sought a way to keep yourself occupied, and organizing your books provided a diversion.

The care of your books in your quaint store was where you spent your days. You assumed no one would venture to your store at this hour, dinner time on Christmas eve, still, you left the door unlocked. Amidst the aromatic embrace of cinnamon and pine, you immersed yourself in the quiet world of rearranging décor and organizing shelves, the dim light casting a serene ambiance.

Yet, your thoughts were consumed by a mysterious presence, a certain someone lingered in your mind despite the attempted distraction.

You couldn't stop yourself from wondering about her, you never could. Does she share your passion for books? Does she delight in the written word, perhaps poetry or prose? If so, what about? Does she spend her time writing like you?

You wondered what she could be occupied with now. You envisioned her partaking in a familial feast, while you longed for her presence, a wishful dream in the quiet corners of your mind. Your heart carried the weight of unspoken admiration for her, alas, you couldn't bring yourself to say a word to her, her cold yet enchanting demeanour both unsettled and exhilarated you.

You knew her through shared pews and hallowed hymns at the church, you observed her movements as she entered, sat, listened, prayed, sang - captivated by her every blink and breath.

She was a dark enchantress, her aesthetic seamlessly entwined with yours. Curiosity stirred as you wondered about the facets of her life that mirrored your own and the untold tales hidden behind her mysterious gaze. Perhaps she liked books, perhaps she lacked a husband, perhaps she preferred the company of women.

But alas, such thoughts remained in the realm of wishful thinking, your desires weaving through the fabric of a Christmas Eve both magical and elusive.

✧✧✧

You recollected the first time you saw her. Freshly settled in Blunderstone, you decided to venture to the Anglican church. Running late, you had no choice but to occupy a seat in the back. You leaned awkwardly to the side, nearly falling into the pews edge in an attempt to see the presider.

To your astonishment, a far superior sight unfolded—a raven-haired woman draped in black.

In the midst of prayer and hymns, you found your gaze drawn to her graceful figure, an enigmatic figure. Her dark curls were nestled beneath an even darker bonnet, adorned with silk ribbon. Instantly enchanting, her alabaster skin and, as you later discovered, azure eyes captivated your being. Despite the allure of her elegant stride and the way the corner of her mouth would occasionally turn up into a small smile, you dared not approach the subject of your admiration.

Yet, you dared to indulge in stolen glances, each soft gaze kindling a warmth within your heart.

Sundays held newfound anticipation for you, a shift from previous motives of seeking solace in the congregation.

However, on a recent Sunday, you were left devoid of joy and motivation when she failed to grace you with her presence.

✧✧✧

The ticking of the clock echoed in the shop, and before you knew it, the hands pointed to nearly 11 pm. A sense of joy and fluttering anticipation filled your stomach as thoughts of the impending midnight mass danced in your mind. The magic of Christmas enveloped the church, casting a spell that you could feel.

Heading to the back of your store, you stole a glance out the window, greeted by a gentle snowfall that blanketed the world.

You began extinguishing the candles one by one when the bell on the door rang, breaking the stillness and signalling an unexpected visitor.

You froze, who could be seeking books at this hour?

Slowly peaking through the shelves, it was far too dark to see. Creeping closer, you heard the soft shuffle of someone exploring the books.

You peered around the shelf and there she stood- the woman of your dreams, adorned in a black talma.

A gasp escaped your lips, prompting a swift retreat to the safety of the opposite shelf.

Memories of a previous encounter flooded your mind. Before one Sunday service began, you had ventured out early to pray. You stopped dead with trembling hands when you caught her kneeling with a grace that matched the intricately stained-glass windows. The flickering candlelight cast shadows on her profile, enhancing the allure that captivated you and lived in your imagination.

As she navigated the shadows of the books, you swooned, waiting with bated breath. Why had she chosen your shop? Shouldn't she be with her family, joining the congregation? Then again, you should have been with your own.

"Hello? Are you open for business?"

Her voice, a demanding melody, reverberated in the void of your shop. Your heartbeat quickened, torn between fleeing and standing your ground. This was your shop; you had to summon your strength.

Carefully, you stepped out from behind the bookshelf and surveyed the dark. When your eyes met hers, the unspoken connection between you became a silent dance, a tapestry woven with stolen glances and the shared sanctity of the church pews. You noticed the lack of warmth in her eyes and the metaphorical wall that she had up changed when she saw you. Your heart swelled with agony of unexpressed emotions and the delicate joy derived from the mere proximity of her ethereal presence. In a way, you mourned the unspoken connection, for there was no other option but to abandon it.

"Hi, I-I am open. How can I assist you?" you squeaked, attempting to mask any uncertainty or fear. The woman looked down at you, tilting her head in surprise.

"Amelia? This is your bookstore?"

You opened your mouth to answer, but your words eluded you. She spoke with less arrogance and gentler than you had known previous, but even more, she knew your name?

Of course, you were well aware of who she was, she and her brother were somewhat known in this town as the Murdstones—or, as some whispered, the Murderstones.

Perhaps she could be cruel, perhaps she was deceiving, yet she exuded a sickly sweetness, a captivating beauty in your eyes.

"Well I, yes I do" you nodded.

Jane stood tall, her eyebrows raising. You watched as a smile stretched across her face, and you couldn't help but think that this was the first time you saw her smile, a real smile; it was glorious.

"I must express my relief. I had no doubt that I would be greeted from behind the literature by a man." Jane released a small huff of laughter, and you suppressed a giggle.

"No, it's solely me" you replied with a smile.

Jane continued her exploration of the works, her long, slender fingers delicately wrapping around the spine of each one, caressing them lightly. You were entranced as she moved, perhaps she was a lover of literature after all.

Suddenly, Jane turned to you, furrowing her brows.

"Why are you open at this late hour?"

It was a valid question, why were you open at this hour? Well, for her, of course. But you pondered the same about her—why was she out so late?

"I sought fresh air after dinner, and I found myself here. I've been here for several hours" you chuckled, shrugging in embarrassment.

Jane smiled once more, averting her gaze and running her hand over the cover of a book.

"I'd love to spend several hours in a bookstore."

Silence enveloped you as she opened the book and flipped through its pages. Caught up in the enchantment of her presence, you failed to notice the book title, as your attention was wholly absorbed by the proximity of her features. She stood closer than ever before, her lips twitching as she silently mouthed the words her azure eyes scanned. The soft glow from the festive decorations cast a warm hue upon her, accentuating the grace of her features.

Jane's gaze shifted from the book to you, pulling you shamefully out of your trance.

"Do you plan to attend midnight mass?"

You nodded your head yes. "And you?"

Jane closed the book, cradling it against her chest.;

"Indeed. May I purchase this work?"

As Jane placed the book on the counter, revealing the cover and title, you paused. Running your hand over the leather, memories flooded back, reminiscent of the first time you read it. Unpopular, not for the story's shortcomings, but for its rather...unique allure—it was your favorite.

"Is this title familiar to you?" you questioned.

Jane shook her head, "I have not perused it, no."

You collected her payment and passed the book to her, long fingers grazing against yours. "Thank you."

You smiled and bowed your head, "Thank you for your purchase."

Jane's teeth shone through her smile, and genuine amusement sparkled in her eyes.

"Would you care to accompany me to the midnight mass?" she unexpectedly proposed, catching you off guard.

You blinked with surprise, was she serious?

Jane heard no reply, but she didn't budge, and you hopefully determined that she was.

✧✧✧

You and Jane embarked on a walk down the snow-covered cobblestone streets. You thought about the birth of Christ, the miracle of the season. You thought about the Anglican church and worship, you thought about Jane.

Your eyes sought out Jane's, the only eyes that captivated you, and you realized how lucky you were, for she was your sole companion in this moment. Her gaze met yours, a subtle recognition sparking between you. Jane fluttered her lashes, holding the book against her body with both hands. As you walked side by side, the snowflakes seemed to dance around you, and you longed to hold her gloved hand in yours.

As the midnight hour approached, the distant sounds of Christmas carols reached your ears. The Anglican church awaited, its doors open to those seeking solace and celebration. Together, you and Jane entered the sacred space, the flickering candlelight casting shadows on the ancient walls.

As you knelt in prayer, Jane's presence beside you added an unexpected grace to the sacred ritual, it embraced you. The air was charged with a sense of belonging, a connection that transcended the unspoken desires of wishful thinking.

✧✧✧

After the mass concluded, the two of you stepped out into the crisp night air, the world adorned in a fresh blanket of snow. Jane's gaze met yours under the glow of the moon, and a shared understanding lingered between you. The magic of Christmas had intricately woven a fabric of connection, and the possibility of your souls uniting felt more real than ever.

"This selection is commendable. It happens to be my favorite," you whispered, the words carrying a warmth that defied the winter chill.

Jane's eyes gleamed with a quiet delight, and a genuine smile played on her lips. The church bells chimed, marking the arrival of Christmas Day.

"Perhaps you'd like to take another stroll?" Jane asked, her voice soft against the stillness of the night.

As you and Jane navigated the mysteries of the night, she took a chance and let go of the book with one hand, carefully reaching out for yours.

In that moment, as the world held its breath in anticipation, you realized that the enchantment of the season had not only brought you a magical Christmas Eve, but also the mysterious beauty of Jane Murdstone. It was a midnight miracle.

#gwendoline christie #gwendolineuniverse #jane murdstone #jane murdstone x reader #the personal history of david copperfield #merry christmas #edward murdstone #victorian lesbians #victorian era

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laresearchette · 6 months

Text

Wednesday, November 29, 2023 Canadian TV Listings (Times Eastern)

WHERE CAN I FIND THOSE PREMIERES?: SLOW HORSES (Apple TV+) SHETLAND (BritBox) THE ARTFUL DODGER (Disney + Star) CHRISTMAS AT GRACELAND (Global) 10:00pm KING CHARLES (CNN) 10:00pm

WHAT IS NOT PREMIERING IN CANADA TONIGHT?: CHRISTMAS IN ROCKEFELLER CENTER (NBC Feed)

NEW TO AMAZON PRIME CANADA/CBC GEM/CRAVE TV/DISNEY + STAR/NETFLIX CANADA:

CBC GEM ETERNAL SPRING

DISNEY + STAR FX’S AMERICAN HORROR STORIES (Season 3, four-episode premiere) THE ARTFUL DODGER (Season 1)

NETFLIX CANADA AMERICAN SYMPHONY BAD SURGEON: LOVE UNDER THE KNIFE (UK) THE SILENCING

NHL HOCKEY (SN) 7:00pm: Habs vs. Blue Jackets (SN) 10:30pm: Capitals vs. Kings

NBA BASKETBALL (SN1) 7:00pm: Lakers vs. Red Wings (TSN/TSN3/TSN4/TSN5) 7:30pm: Suns vs. Raptors (SN Now) 8:00pm: 76ers vs. Pelicans (SN1) 10:00pm: Clippers vs. Kings

THE OTHER SIDE (APTN) 7:30pm: Every time the team investigates a new space, they smudge and enter with respect for the histories and potential spirits locked inside. But the Port Moody Station Museum is a place with a deadly past, where they learn that a smudge can't always keep.

SWAN SONG (CBC) 8:00pm: Karen's progressive ideas create unanticipated ripples through the company as the first run-through approaches, while the arrival of a celebrity ballerina throws Siphe off balance.

SPIRIT TALKER (APTN) 8:00pm: Tsuut'ina Nation, a strong Dene-speaking community near Calgary, continues to foster its tie to the past through the buffalo. Amidst Shawn's readings, a touching emotional reunion unfolds as a woman reconnects with her long-lost sister.

LAUGHING ALL THE WAY (W Network) 8:00pm: Put in charge of a holiday variety show, an aspiring comedian worries she may not have what it takes, until a famous comedian makes her see how talented she truly is.

GOOD WITH WOOD (Makeful) 8:00pm: Eye-catching coffee tables built by the eight woodworkers, who sweat the details as they create unique, stable legs for their designs.

GHOST HUNTERS OF THE GRAND RIVER (APTN) 8:30pm: The ghost hunters delve into the history of paranormal activity that surrounds the Mohawk Community Centre on their sister reserve of Tyendinaga, including the stories of a witch trial that took place in the 1800s.

BLACK LIFE: UNTOLD STORIES (CBC) 9:00pm: A chronicle of the lives of Black Canadian athletes that delves into their rise and the challenges they faced.

CHILDREN RUIN EVERYTHING (CTV) 9:00pm (SEASON FINALE): After an unexpected change at Gero's, James tries to busy himself with fixing a broken toilet; Astrid thinks she's due for a raise.

#cdntv #cancon #canadian tv #canadian tv listings #the other side #swan song #spirit talker #good with wood #ghost hunters of the grand river #black life: untold stories #children ruin everything #nhl hockey #nba basketball

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zoobus · 1 year

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I apologize in advance because I'm taking a tag way too seriously and this isn't even YA novel navalgazing, this is literally about a series written for 3rd graders.

I'm realizing "fucked up that the moral of this story was" is a minor trigger for me. It drives me insane in a way obviously unequal to whatever the original context is. But this is my blog so.

The American Girl series was not a moral-driven set of stories! They weren't Animorphs or anything but they were absolutely a kid's introduction to the intrinsic unfairness of life and a solid chunk of the stories ended with the """"moral"""" of the main character left to uncomfortably ponder why something so clearly not right could be allowed to continue before they clunkily skipped to the next story like the previous didn't happen.

I used to own several sets and I skimmed through a few before selling them some years back. The sudden harsh reality of whatever historical ills going on were part of the appeal! It was fucked up and scary and that's why they were good (to an elementary schooler to be clear, these aren't good books)

Like the "moral" of Nellie's story was that it was fucked up to be a child factory worker. It was fucked up that her response to "oh your hair is so pretty, you should grow it longer" was to recount the time she witnessed one of her elementary age coworker get scalped by one of the child labor machines. It was fucked up that she's 8 with PTSD. Of course Nellie got a happy end but like... abused little puppies getting cleaned up and spoiled is a popular media trope. It's not a lesson. Even though it works out for her, you're still left with the knowledge that the girl who's hair was ripped off her skull and untold number of fingerless kids were not adopted by Samantha's rich grandpa.

I'm rarely comfortable saying there's one specific point that a story is objectively going for and you're a fool if you don't see it, but I do think the American Girl series was intentional in showcasing period-specific suffering might have looked like in a way a little kid could conceptualize. And it worked! For example:

Molly, the WW2 American Girl (AG). Her family takes in a little Bri'ish girl and Molly's soooo excited wow imagine having a fancy English girl in your own house. She is irritated when the 9yo lass is very quiet and not into being her doll. After weeks of molly snipping at her, British girl goes off like sorry I'm not fucking prancing around you dumb bitch but I'm not here as a foreign exchange student, I'm here because my house got bombed and my friends and family are probably fucking dead

Samantha, the Victorian AG. We already know Nellie who, as explained before, had a very different life than the wealthy Samantha. But Samantha also had a black nanny she adored up until she disappears without warning. After a lot of snooping, she uncovers that nanny had a baby! So of course she sneaks out at night to find the little man for herself🤫

Her mischievous giggling starts to get more nervous as she gets closer to nanny's address. It's getting dirtier and shittier and there's only black people around and they're openly gawking but not approaching. People live here? Nanny lives here? With a baby? She eventually finds her and the baby who is cute but Samantha is left at the end like. Hm. So. I guess my life is not universal? Much to think about. There's no happy resolution to this. Nanny never returns, segregation continues.

Last one, Addy, the escaped slave (apparently a controversial opinion, but I liked Addy). The other stories take a bit to get to wham aspect, but with her? Right from the start we have Overseer catch Addy slacking while picking cotton. She's just not debugging fast enough. This grown adult man, so infuriated an eight year old child isn't picking cotton tobacco fast enough, forces her to eat one of the fat, green worms she missed. They describe Addy holding back tears, the worm bursting in her mouth, the bitter taste, the humiliation. I feel like this was the first time I like...*got* slavery. You learn about it in school, sure, but owning people, beating people, it sounded bad but unconnected to anything I knew. Like maybe it's because at the time of reading, I too was a daydreamy 8yo black girl, making it hit a little too close. How could anyone do that and feel justified? Or feel nothing at all? An adult made a little kid eat a bug and it didn't hurt his conscious? This guy probably goes to church and doesn't even remember this. He doesn't think he needs forgiveness. This is nothing to him. This is normal. He died thinking he did nothing wrong, probably. Those were my thoughts then. Very good.

These aren't morals. Of course you shouldn't expect a refugee to perform for their host family. Of course you shouldn't make a child eat a worm. Child labor is bad. Didactic American Girl was not.

#niche effortposts #American girl #if i had to say they went for a particular lesson it might be #8yo girls have been surviving the most insane shit since the dawn of time. we're not saying it was good. it was horrible.#nevertheless many made it out alive. believe in yourself👍

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many-shades-of-violence · 9 months

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Chronicles of the Heartbond Voyager I Chapter 1

summary:

In a world where adventure beckoned from beyond the horizon, where every breeze carried the whispers of distant lands, your story unfolded on a seemingly insignificant island nestled in the shadow of Paradise – a paradise you would never have thought to call it, at least not back then. As an aspiring writer, your heart yearned for the grand tales of the world, the untold stories that awaited discovery beyond the shores of your humble hometown. Yet, in an age dominated by pirates and peril, the prospect of embarking on such a journey alone was nothing short of a death wish. So, you clung to the safety of your quiet existence, hesitant to gamble your life so carelessly.

But fortune had other plans in store for you, my friend, and your destiny would soon be known as that of no other than that of a Heartbond Voyager. Little did you know that on that fateful day, when the winds of change set sail upon your life, you would become part of a legendary crew, embarking on a journey that would defy the very essence of danger and adventure.

characters: Reader & Heart Pirates

a/n: I've already shared the first seven chapters of this story on AO3 here. You're welcome to continue reading the rest of the chapters there.

If the response and engagement here on Tumblr are positive, I might consider sharing the remaining chapters here too. Your feedback and enthusiasm mean a lot to me!

As an aspiring writer, your heart yearned for the grand tales of the world, the many untold stories that awaited discovery beyond the shores of your humble hometown called Rust. Yet, in an age dominated by pirates and peril, the prospect of embarking on such a journey alone was nothing short of a death wish for a novice in navigating and steering a ship, like yourself. So, you clung to the safety of your quiet existence, your heart squelched into the tiny room that you had closed yourself off to.

However, fortune had other plans in store for you, my friend, and your destiny would soon be known as that of none other than a Heartbond Voyager. Little did you know that on that fateful day, when the winds of change set sail upon your life, a yellow submarine arrived in the safe haven of the small town that caged your adventurous heart. You would become part of a legendary crew, embarking on a journey that would defy not only the very essence of danger and adventure but also that of your very own heart.

Normally, you should have known better than to react to the provocation of three ruffians from one of the many wretched pirate crews that dropped anchor on Rust regularly for supply stocking. Despite your awareness that every child on the island received lessons from the moment they could run around, you had ignored years of lectures. Most would have thought your outburst reckless, if not plain stupid, when they saw the reason for it: three men snatching a small black notebook you were writing in with a long fountain pen. However, for you, there was every reason to be fueled by rage, as the notebook not only continued with your full dedication-crafted stories but also held the essence that kept you driven to cling onto your life, played out on the stage that was this silly little haven.

Suppressing your initial response to snatch at the hand of the large man who had taken your notebook in his greasy hands, you calmly requested its return. But when they ignored you, mocking your writing aloud after a solid second of staring at your font, your restraint was shattered by their laughter, which sounded like nails on a chalkboard.

With your heart pounding in your ears, you sprang from the wooden chair you were seated on, the nearly empty coffee cup on the table nearly tumbling over in the process. You attempted to reclaim your beloved notebook with a precise jump at the large man holding it, only to be swiftly sidelined by one of their cronies with a strong push to your shoulder mid-jump. You stumbled a few steps away, gripping the table next to you to stabilize yourself.

"Hey now, no need for such a fuss, sweetie. Don't you know anger causes wrinkles? Put that pretty face to good use instead," the tall man who seemed to be their leader taunted, his patronizing tone infuriating as his lips curled into a smile. He invaded your personal space in a swift movement, tilting your chin upward as if inspecting a prize.

As his greasy hands wrapped around your chin, your patience expired, your teeth clenching in disgust as your palm instinctively swatted his hand away from you with a sharp slap. Your eyes ablaze with rage, you growled at him, "I'd rather have wrinkles than be as witless as your lot." His reaction was immediate, a scowl on his face.

At the exact moment he wanted to retort, a familiar face emerged from the café's kitchen—Tenshû, the kind coffee shop owner with whom you often shared your creative musings and who had offered you a place to sleep in exchange for helping him during busy hours at the café. He seemed to have been drawn by the commotion in the dining area, his concerned green eyes scanning the unsettling tableau as he arrived on the scene. He opened his mouth to ask with worry in his voice, "Y/n, what is going on here?" His outcry earned a stern glare from one of the other intruders, who grabbed the next best chair and toppled it over as a warning sign. The elderly café owner came to a halt at the bar counter, his hand gripping the wooden counter in a mixture of anger and panic, unsure of what to do as he tried to catch your eyes.

Worried for his well-being, the man, already in his late 60s and therefore more fragile with each passing day, your head snapped around, your voice smothered with as much reassurance as you could muster, "Don't worry, Tenshû. I've got this under control." However, before you could take further action, the idea forming in your head to lure the guys out of the café, the group's leader sprung forward, seizing you by your collar, his grip way stronger than you had anticipated. With a sneer, he posed a challenge, his brow furrowed in anger, "I don't really think so, bitch."

You widened your eyes in horror as the man raised you in the air, and in an instant, propelled you through the nearby café window with brutal force. The cacophony of shattering glass and your own pained gasp merged into a disorienting symphony, dizziness making your head spin as you hit the cobblestone ground in front of the café. Pain coursed through your body as you slowly lifted your bruised form from the ground. The sting of glass embedded in your palms was a cruel reminder of the chaos that you had just unleashed, and your instincts screamed at you to get up and run for your life. However, there was something you needed to get back, no matter the cost.

Your notebook.

Amidst the disoriented hubbub of you trying to get back on your feet, the café door swung open toward the street, and the trio of ruffians swaggered out, their laughter echoing behind them. The leader's jeering gaze met yours as you struggled to stand on the cold, stony ground, your eyes fierce with determination to not give him a hint of recognition, acknowledging that you were clearly outmatched. Behind the shattered window, Tenshû's frantic gestures painted a picture of his anxiety, and his voice pleaded with them to cease as he rushed behind them.

Your heart constricted painfully as one of the thugs retreated into the café, his actions cruel and abrupt as he pushed Tenshû forcefully, knocking him unconscious with a brutal hit to the gut. You cried out his name, frustration gnawing at you. Had you submitted to their demands, the poor man might have been spared this useless suffering. You gripped the ground beneath you, ignoring the searing sharp pain of cold glass digging into your hands, to lift yourself to your feet.

"Still spunky, I see," the tall leader jeered, his tone dripping with mockery as he gestured to his cohort and threw your cherished notebook right before you on the ground. Your eyes widened, quick to scoot forward to retrieve it, but before you knew it, the group's leader had given you a harsh kick to the gut, the tip of his leather heel connecting unpleasantly with your abdomen. You coughed up spit, falling back onto your knees.

With a heavy sigh, you directed your gaze downward, the urge to retaliate stifled by the realization that their attack had already taken its toll. The sharp glass splinters embedded in your palms hurt like hell, your head was dizzy from being thrown around, and your gut still throbbed from the assault mere seconds ago. "You ought to learn to pick your battles more wisely, sweetie," the leader's harsh laughter resonated, his intention clear as he aimed to stomp on the precious paper strewn on the ground. Your body resisted heavily against his attack, but you couldn't stop your instinct to thrust your hands between the notebook and his relentless boot, your teeth clenched against the pain that shot through your fingers as the hard heel of his boot connected with your knuckles. You cried out in pain, but despite the agony, you persisted, your grip unwavering on the small booklet.

"Why do you care so much about that useless thing, anyway? It's pathetic," he barked, his leather-clad feet mercilessly targeting your hands again and again. Each brutal kick felt like a hammer striking your hands. You could feel the heat of the bruises forming beneath the onslaught as your skin was getting bruised more and more. The pain was searing, but you held on tightly, determined not to let go of what meant so much to you.

After all, if you let go of that last piece that kept your sanity in this cage you had locked yourself into, what else would there be?

You knew that all of this was nearly insane, especially since help from the other townspeople was nearly out of the question, now that Tenshû was unconscious. While some surely would have loved to reach out a hand, wishing to be a hero for someone in need, you knew all too well that only a few selected had the true strength to act on their desire. Honestly, you weren't too sure if you would have helped yourself in the first place. After all, to most of them, you were just the silly coffee girl at Tenshû's with those funky ideas to travel the world and write about it. Give her a few years, and the nonsense would leave her mind.

You clenched your teeth, your heart sinking. Your survival instinct made you dearly wish that someone, just anyone, would reach out, but at the same time, you knew this was out of the question. Humans, in their innermost, were foolish beings. Your decision to stay for your cherished notebook was proof enough.

Tears welled in your eyes from the anguish, but you remained resolute, shielding your notes with every ounce of strength. With each repeated kick, more and more tears collected at the edge of your eyes, the pain of your hands being stomped like this making you reach your pain limit torturously fast. Amid the onslaught, the townsfolk's apprehension was palpable, and silent pleas started amidst the crowd for the ordeal to finally end.

"You know what? Maybe if you beg and apologize to me, I'll consider stopping!" your assaulter taunted, his kicks stopping for a second. From the way he spoke, you realized he was clearly getting out of breath, using the line to make some time to not look utterly pathetic in front of his mates. However, you were keen to prove him wrong, shaking your head vigorously, your grip on the notebook unyielding as you looked back at him with fierce eyes, tears close to spilling over. “Try me.” You braced yourself for the inevitable escalation, his fist or foot connecting with your face. But as the anger vessel on his forehead nearly looked as if it would burst, his movement ceased abruptly, as a blue light enveloped your field of sight.

“Room.”

For a quick second, you couldn't comprehend what you were witnessing in front of your eyes, the sight being absolutely new to you. Then the nerves in your brain finally connected to the information your eyes were trying to send them. If the blood in your ears wasn't drumming like crazy from the adrenaline in your body, you would have heard the horrified cries of the townspeople and their hastened shuffle of footsteps to flee the stage. However, all you were focused on was the sight of your assaulter slashed into pieces, his body parts seemingly disconnected from one another as they fell gruesomely to the ground.

You looked at the dissected head of your assaulter in awe, trying to comprehend what was going on. He apparently was doing the same, his eyes ripped open widely, looking around in desperation.

You tried to get your body moving, the urges to investigate what was going on and to flee the scene too confusing to prompt you to act on either one of them. Amid your horrified contemplation, the goons of your assaulter sprang into action. One shushed away the remnants of his paralyzed leader, while another fled into the distance. Though you were aware of individuals with Devil Fruits, witnessing such a surreal manifestation was beyond your previous comprehension.

Your decision was finally taken from you, as a firm hand wrapped around your shoulder, making your head turn towards whoever was touching you from behind.

You slowly blinked, turning your head to three strangely hatted young men, one of them right next to your right shoulder, a long blade in his right hand, his left wrapped around your shoulder as his piercing eyes connected with yours. His short black hair was hidden away under a white hat with black spots, golden piercings adorning his ears.

The same voice that had intervened earlier resounded from the man. “Are you okay?" Still startled, you gazed up at him, only nodding in sheer disillusionment. He regarded your form, registering the extent of your response and injuries with a stoic expression. His head snapped for a brief second as he instructed the two mates behind him.

"Penguin, Shachi, tend to the guy in the café." Sheathing his sword back into its scabbard, he kneeled down beside you, gesturing toward your hands and raising an inquisitive brow. "May I? I'm a doctor." You nodded curtly, realizing with a quick look back at your hands the state they were in, the searing pain finally returning to your bloody hands. You winced as his hands carefully encircled yours, inspecting the damage with an experienced look.

Your gaze flickered to the cobblestone in front of you in the meantime, confirming that your notebook was still where you had last seen it – brutally but because of your best efforts still halfway alive on the ground. A small sigh left your lips at the realization, the snap of the young man’s fingers in front of you jolted you back to reality.

"Hey. Are you with me?" You looked up, locking eyes with the stranger, his golden gaze piercing through you. He sighed at your response, his gaze softening. "Listen, those injuries need immediate treatment. There are no fractures or broken bones, but the glass fragments must be removed, and the wounds disinfected to prevent infection and further swelling. I have supplies on my ship at the harbor, so I can treat you there." You nodded in understanding as he continued. “Can you stand?”

Affirming your ability to stand, you slowly lifted yourself up, suddenly recognizing the challenge of retrieving your notebook in your current state. Bloodied and battered hands wouldn't make the task easy and probably only taint it further. You wouldn't want your efforts from before to give the delicate booklet lasting damage. Your gaze darted back to the notebook, the young doctor following your gaze. Swiftly comprehending your unspoken concern, he responded with a nod, "I'll get it." Retrieving your notebook, he expertly cleared off the mud, his eyes briefly scanning its title site before slipping it safely under his arm.

"So, you're a writer, huh?" he remarked, a hint of a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. Your own smile was tinged with pain as you recollected the recent encounter. "Well, not according to the ruffians who tossed me through that window, but yeah."

The man’s eyes peaked with interest, his look back on the notebook for a quick second before he tended back to you. With his guidance, you moved forward, your damaged hands a painful reminder of the events that had unfolded, blood dripping slowly from the tattered wound.

"Obviously, they were a bunch of morons. You've got to have a good reason to endure a beating like this just to protect a notebook," Law commented, his dry humor drawing a light smile from you.

"Yeah, guess so. Or maybe I've really gone crazy. Can't really say much for the quality of what I'm exactly doing," you shrugged your shoulder, wincing at the pain in your hands.

"So, what's the name of my savior?"

"The name's Law," he introduced himself, his name carrying a certain weight that you couldn't quite pinpoint. “Law…” you murmured, trying out the name on your tongue. “That's a nice name. Short but nice.” The young doctor arched a cocky eyebrow at you. “You sure you’re okay? Not delirious from blood loss?” You shook your head. “Shouldn't you know better?” you chuckled before replying to his introduction. “Ah, I'm y/n, by the way.” Law nodded appreciatively before you continued to walk along the last few meters of the cobblestone street towards Rust's small harbor.

Arriving at the harbor, you were taken aback by the sight of not a ship but a yellow submarine, its quirky hue juxtaposed against the expanse of the rich blue sea. The word "DEATH" was emblazoned on its side, adjacent to a bold jolly-roger crest. You couldn't help but gawk at the sight, a mixture of intrigue flooding your senses. "I hope that's not your motto for treatment?" you quizzed, surprised by the revelation that your savior was none other but a pirate himself.

Law responded matter-of-factly. "I try my best not to. It's more of a memento to keep up with my work than anything else.” You nodded absentmindedly, his statement raising your intrigue further. It wasn't every day that you heard of somebody using a counter thesis as a prospect of motivation.

"Just hang on a moment. I'll grab some supplies and be right back," Law informed you before disappearing quickly into the vibrant submarine, leaving you alone on the long wooden jetty. As you waited, slowly sitting yourself on a wooden box close by, the calls of seagulls and the cool breeze provided a moment of respite, allowing your tense shoulders to finally relax for the first time since the whole ordeal began back in the café.

You were still a bit too shaken up to revisit what had just happened. Your brain was still trying to process the grotesque picture of your assaulter slashed into pieces. Your thoughts turned to what you would do once treated – either trying to clean your notebook or evaluate the time-cost factor of the arduous task of transcribing. The latter seemed the more viable option, though it would undoubtedly be labor-intensive. Lost in these musings, you suddenly realized that this Law guy still had your notebook with him.

An internal reminder pushed you to ensure he returned it to you once your treatment was done.

In your predicament, there probably wouldn't be any crueler joke than for the notebook you had let your hands be beaten to pulp to travel the world with some pirate crew, while you were still stuck in your little terrorizing haven that was this island.

Your contemplation was broken when the two hatted figures from earlier emerged on the landing stage of the submarine, making their way back to it, their voices making you snap out of your train of thought. You looked up to the two men, the one with the casket-hat, shrouded in dark sunglasses, seemed taken aback by your presence.

"Didn't expect to see you here again," he remarked, a hint of interest lacing his tone.

The other pal next to him, a man with a penguin hat and a bit taller, regarded you with curiosity.

"Did the Captain bring you here for treatment?" he inquired. You nodded, realizing that the man you had encountered was not only a doctor and a pirate but the captain of the goddamn vessel. With the memento of DEATH latched onto the submarine, it should've been clear to you directly, but you attributed it to your current state that you couldn't put one and one together so quickly.

Talk about a jack of all trades, you thought before continuing your conversation.

“Yeah, I'm just waiting for him. I think he wanted to get some supplies from inside that thing,” you said, motioning to the submarine with your head.

The casket-hatted man gave your hands a quick look before a sympathetic grin crept on his lips, exposing a set of pointed teeth.

"The Polar Tang? He's an impressive one, isn't he?" he commented, admiration evident in his words.

You looked a bit perplexed at the red-head. “Who? The ship?”

The man nodded again, as if he hadn't said anything unusual. “Sure thing. Boy is made for our adventures on the Grand Line.”

"The Grand Line?” you mumbled fascinated. “Sounds like you're on quite the adventure. Must be quite an experience.” With a touch of reverence in your voice, your gaze swept over the endless expanse of the blue sea, imagining the many potential adventures and stories to be jotted down waiting out there.

The man in the penguin hat responded with enthusiastic energy, "Want to hear some of our recent stories while you wait for the Captain?"

Your head snapped back to him, eyes sparkling for a brief second, however, Law’s return interrupted the conversation, his presence commanding attention as the joy bubbling in your stomach was put to a halt. “That won't be necessary.”

In his hands, he held a few bandages and disinfectant, a signal that your hands would finally receive the care they needed.

He queried towards both men as he slowly made it to your side. "Did you get the café owner treated?"

"Yeah, he's alright. A solid punch to the gut, but some rest will do him good," The man with the casket-hat said. Law responded with an approving nod before turning his attention to you. "Alright, let's get those hands treated. You guys go up ahead. I'll join soon."

His crewmates bid their farewells, offering waves and a grin to you before heading back onto the yellow submarine. Law took a seat on a wooden crate beside you, his focus shifting entirely to your injured hands. “You mind if I use my devil fruit during the procedure? Might be less painful then.” Your eyebrows widened. “Devil Fruit?” Law nodded, summoning a small blue dome in his hands, which you recognized as the sphere you saw earlier seconds before your assaulter got dissected. “I ate the OP-OP Fruit. Basically, I can manipulate everything that happens in this blue dome, including feelings of pain.” You gulped, your throat suddenly dry. “So, it was you who slashed this guy before?” He gave you a sinister grin. “Sure, but that's only a practice I use on my enemies. Not my patients.” For a brief second, you mustered the blue dome with skepticism, then you sighed in defeat, the pulsating pain in your hands finally making you give in. “Alright, I'm counting on you, doc.” The young man chuckled, the blue dome surrounding your hands in a second. “Sure do.”

You were amazed to realize that the moment the blue dome surrounded your bloody hands, the pain stopped. Your eyes widened in amazement, your lips parting slightly as Law started with the treatment of your hands only moments later. With quick movements, he pulled on a pair of gloves over his tan hands, a pair of tweezers suddenly in his slim fingers to pull out the small shards of glass from your palms. You followed his every movement, stunned by his professional demeanor. “Not that I mind, but you don't have to watch if it's unpleasant for you, y'know.” Law murmured, concentrated on freeing a particularly treacherous piece of glass from your right palm. “I don't really mind. Besides, witnessing this firsthand only adds to my writing.” For a quick second, Law looked up at you, stilling in his movement before putting the tweezers away, the final shard of glass apparently gone from your wounded flesh.

Next, the young man drenched a cotton pad with disinfectant, carefully rubbing the drenched wool over your hands, clearing the tissue not only of the blood but disinfecting it in the process. Usually, the sting of disinfectant would have elicited a wince from you, however, due to the blue sphere around your hands, you felt only the pressure of Law's hands carefully dabbing the wet cotton pad over your hands. “A fruit like this, sure comes in handy as a doctor.” You stated still amazed at the procedure you were witnessing. The stoic features of Law elicited a small smile at the corner of his lips. “Sure does.”

Finally, the young man discarded the now bloodied cotton ball to his side, grabbing a pair of bandages in exchange. “Alright, just gotta wrap them, and we're done.” You nodded, your gaze drifting slowly back to the wide sea right next to you, the sound of the ocean waves calming your nerves with each passing moment the water hit the close-by shores. “Can't say much for how well your body heals right now, but you should be back to finishing the story you're working on in a week or so…” Your head snapped back to Law as he issued the words, apparently hyper-focused on wrapping the cotton fabric around your hands, because he suddenly stopped dead in track, meeting your irritated gaze. There was no way he could know about what you were working on except if he did what you think he did.

"Sorry, I couldn't help but take a peek at your notebook. I should've asked first," Law admitted, a touch of what you interpreted as embarrassment in his voice at being caught red-handed.

Your initial surprise shifted to understanding. "It's alright, really. They're mostly just silly stories anyway."

His hummed in response, his yellow eyes assessing your bandaged hands before he voiced his thoughts. "I don't have the full picture, but I enjoyed what I read. You have a captivating way with words."

His compliment stirred a mixture of emotions within you, your heart fluttering with a blend of disbelief and appreciation for his kind words.

"Thanks, I guess,” you responded, a hint of bashfulness in your voice as you regarded your bandaged hands. Your focus shifted to the yellow submarine in the distance, a new topic to explore. "What brings you guys to a quiet island like Rust? We're not exactly known for being relevant in the pirate world," you inquired, curiosity piqued.

Law grinned lightly, his demeanor relaxed. "Just passing through. Some of the crew gets a bit restless when we're under the sea for too long. Also, it's always a handy way to stock up on rations." He gestured toward the depths of the ocean, which you now realized were part of their unconventional mode of travel. You couldn't help but notice that each member of their crew had individual letters tattooed on their fingers, although you couldn't quite decipher the full message, except for the word "DEATH."

Hearing about their unique method of exploration made your curiosity soar. It was indeed a first to hear about a pirate crew traveling with a submarine. However, on the treacherous waters of the Grand Line, it certainly seemed like a practical choice.

"And what about you? Any plans to travel for your craft?" Law posed the question, and your gaze returned to the young doctor as he completed the final steps of bandaging your hands.

"I wish. But it's a far-off dream," you sighed, your gaze shifting to the horizon. "I've always wanted to venture beyond this town and write about the wide world out there. But I've never had the courage to do it alone. I mean, you saw how well I fared on my own back there," you chuckled lightly, your self-deprecation tinged with a hint of melancholy.

"What if you tried it with a crew?" Law's question caught you off guard, his suggestion sparking intrigue. You chuckled softly, appreciating the irony of his proposal. "Me? Lead a crew? That's a comical thought."

Law hummed again in response, slowly backing up a bit. “Alright, we're finished. I'll remove my Room now, so the pain in your hands will return.” You nodded, preparing for the initial wave of sensations in your hands as you rested them on your knees. With a snap of his fingers, the blue dome was slowly lifted from your hands, disappearing into thin air. You hissed as you once more felt the uncomfortable sting in them, though it already felt much better than when the glass splinters were still embedded.

You examined your bandaged hands, recognizing the skilled work the young doctor had done on them. You weren't an expert, but they looked pretty well bandaged to you. Just as you wanted to look up at Law to thank him for his hard work, you were surprised to see him holding your notebook out in front of him, focusing you with his piercing eyes.

"How about joining my crew?"

With wide eyes, you stared at Law, your heart beating loudly in your ears. You looked down at your notebook, lips parted in sheer disbelief at his offer. “B-But I've got no seamanship skills, let alone fighting-.” Law cut you off firmly. "All skills that you can learn. However, I've been on the lookout for a capable log keeper, and I believe I've finally found the perfect fit." Law's gaze remained unwavering, his eyes steady and determined.

The setting sun cast a gentle radiance over him, while the wind tousled your hair and the distant cry of a seagull echoed in the background. In that moment, the world seemed to fall into place, the sky's hues suddenly bursting with vibrancy you hadn't noticed in a long while.

"I can't promise you an easy or safe life, but if it's adventures you're searching for, we're your best bet," Law offered. You stared at your notebook, glossing over its cover on which the words “Tales of…” were written in ink, your crucial reminder to someday go out into the world and find an answer to the missing part.

You knew that joining a pirate crew could cost you not only the comfort of your current life but life in general. However, deep down inside, together with the pulsating beating in your ears, you just knew that you didn't have to think long about this. You knew your answer, and dancing around the fact that somebody had finally opened the door of the cage you had locked yourself into wouldn't change anything.

Just as Law was poised to offer you a moment for contemplation, you lifted your gaze from the notebook to meet his, determination shimmering in your eyes as the sun's rays glistened.

"Count me in, Captain.”

Law's smirk spread like a contagion, his expression carrying the aura of someone who had not only expected your response but also reveled in your direct commitment to him.

"Then, allow me to welcome you to the Heart Pirates. I´m counting on you.”

You smiled at his words, a wide grin apparent on your features, as you carefully took the notebook between your fingertips, pressing it close to your chest. Just as Law wanted to reply something to you, two unexpected voices coming from the deck of

"I told you she'd join, Penguin!" "Wah, can't believe such a cutie will join the crew!" The men with the penguin and casquet-hats from earlier were leaning against the railing of the submarine's deck with big grins on their faces, hugging each other excitedly.

"Excuse those two, they're always like this," Law let out a sigh, his hand rising to his forehead in exasperation before continuing, "We'll depart tomorrow morning, so you still have a bit of time for goodbyes."

A chuckle escaped your lips at the antics of the two young men on the deck, and you waved a greeting to them with your bandaged hands, to which they happily replied. Then, you nodded to your newfound captain. "Then I'll join you in the morning."

Law nodded before slowly rising and turning towards the Polar Tang with a content look on his face. "Alright. Be sure not to use your hands too much, alright?" You nodded, waving him goodbye and making your way across the jetty. Suddenly realizing you hadn't thanked Law for your treatment, you turned around, shouting, "Captain!" The young man turned from the deck, surprised as you lifted one of your bandaged hands towards the sky, a smile on your lips despite the initial pain from the movement. "Thank you for the treatment!"

In that instant, as the sun descended in the sky, your captain pulled his hat closer to his face while raising his hands in reply. The world around you seemed to glisten with untapped potential, and you sensed the currents of destiny shifting. Your heart set ablaze, its excited drumming followed you on the way back home, accompanied by the low sound of the tides clashing against the shore.

#one piece #op #heart pirates #heart pirates x reader #trafalgar d law #trafalgar law x reader #shachi #penguin #writing #my stuff

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morhath · 9 months

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Oh I’m very very interested in your nonfiction book recs 👀

EDIT: ykw I'm gonna make this a little more organized

I listed a bunch in this post (the last question) but lemme see if I have any additions because I know I was kinda trying to keep it short when I wrote that. (But that being said, that post is the Top Faves Of All Time, so go for those first.)

Freaky medical shit I also liked:

The Fever: How Malaria Has Ruled Humankind for 500,000 Years by Sonia Shah

The Barbary Plague: The Black Death in Victorian San Francisco by Marilyn Chase (I just read this a few weeks ago and OOUUUGGHHHHHH IT'S LITERALLY JUST. LIKE THE RESPONSE TO COVID.)

The Ghost Map: The Story of London's Most Terrifying Epidemic—and How It Changed Science, Cities, and the Modern World by Steven Johnson

Political shit I also liked:

Disability Visibility: First-Person Stories from the Twenty-First Century edited by Alice Wong

The Viral Underclass: The Human Toll When Inequality and Disease Collide by Steven W. Thrasher

Immigrants, Evangelicals, and Politics in an Era of Demographic Change by Janelle S. Wong

History I also liked:

Triangle: The Fire That Changed America by David Von Drehle

The Hamlet Fire: A Tragic Story of Cheap Food, Cheap Government, and Cheap Lives by Bryant Simon (between those two you can tell I was on a bit of a "workplace tragedies caused by lax regulations and bad management" kick)

The Radium Girls: The Dark Story of America's Shining Women by Kate Moore (I think everyone knows about this book, including it for completeness)

Promised the Moon: The Untold Story Of The First Women In The Space Race by Stephanie Nolen

The Women's House of Detention: A Queer History of a Forgotten Prison by Hugh Ryan

Butts: A Backstory by Heather Radke (this is nowhere near as fun and cute as you'd assume from the title)

Memoirs I also liked:

The Less People Know About Us: A Mystery of Betrayal, Family Secrets, and Stolen Identity by Axton Betz-Hamilton (I read this before I really got into nonfiction and it was WILD, I tell people about it all the time)

The Best We Could Do by Thi Bui (this one is a graphic not-novel-I-guess-memoir)

Know My Name by Chanel Miller

Other:

Playing Dead: A Journey Through the World of Death Fraud by Elizabeth Greenwood

A False Report: A True Story of Rape in America by Ken Armstrong, T. Christian Miller

Lost Feast: Culinary Extinction and the Future of Food by Lenore Newman

It Came from the Closet: Queer Reflections on Horror by Joe Vallese

AND here are a few on my TBR that I'm really excited for! I decided not to categorize them because they're almost all history:

Silk and Potatoes: Contemporary Arthurian Fantasy by Adam Roberts

Refusing Compulsory Sexuality: A Black Asexual Lens on Our Sex-Obsessed Culture by Sherronda J. Brown

All the Young Men by Ruth Coker Burks

The Kidnapping of Edgardo Mortara by David I. Kertzer (I am actually partway through this right now but in a bit of a dry/confusing section)

The Broadcast 41: Women and the Anti-Communist Blacklist by Carol A. Stabile

The Golden Thread: How Fabric Changed History by Kassia St Clair

A Woman of No Importance: The Untold Story of the American Spy Who Helped Win World War II by Sonia Purnell (have just barely started this)

Time to Dance, a Time to Die: The Extraordinary Story of the Dancing Plague of 1518 by John Waller

The Memoirs of Lady Hyegyŏng: The Autobiographical Writings of a Crown Princess of Eighteenth-Century Korea by Lady Hyegyeong

Miss Major Speaks: The Life and Times of a Black Trans Revolutionary by Miss Major Griffin-Gracy

Too Hot to Touch: The Problem of High-Level Nuclear Waste by William M. Alley, Rosemarie Alley (I'm in the middle of this but it's surprisingly, um. not exciting.)

Going Postal: Rage, Murder, and Rebellion: From Reagan's Workplaces to Clinton's Columbine and Beyond by Mark Ames

Pressure Cooker: Why Home Cooking Won't Solve Our Problems and What We Can Do About It by Joslyn Brenton, Sinikka Elliott, Sarah Bowen

Mountains Beyond Mountains by Tracy Kidder

The Fabric of Civilization: How Textiles Made the World by Virginia Postrel

Women's Work: The First 20,000 Years Women, Cloth, and Society in Early Times by Elizabeth Wayland Barber

Medieval Gentlewoman: Life in a Gentry Household in the Later Middle Ages by Ffiona Swabey

Hitler's First Victims: The Beginning of the Holocaust and One Man's Fight to End It by Timothy W. Ryback

I am soso normal and have very normal interests that are not at all grim :)

#long post #life #reading #books #tempestclerics #my book recs

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sicutpuella · 11 months

Text

Desiderium [Tom Riddle x Original Character]

Chapter 0: Grim Old Place

Within the somber confines of 12 Grimmauld Place, an ancient dwelling tinged with an air of mystery, Harry Potter stood with his senses heightened, attuned to every whisper and rustle that permeated the shadowed halls. This place, steeped in the ancestral legacy of the noble House of Black, seemed to hold secrets within its very walls. It was in this hallowed abode, at the dawn of a new chapter in his extraordinary journey, that Harry heard a voice—a voice that beckoned to him from the depths of the unknown.

Harry Potter, the fabled wizard of renown, turned swiftly, his emerald eyes scanning the room in search of the enigmatic voice that had addressed him. To his astonishment, he found himself beholding a woman, whose ethereal beauty captivated his senses. Claudia Rosier, a bewitching figure, stood before him.

"Harry Potter, finally in the flesh!" she uttered, her voice resonating with a blend of anticipation and delight. The words, a mere handful, hung in the air, carrying with them a weight that stirred within Harry an inexplicable mix of curiosity and fascination. Her tresses, a resplendent cascade of dark crimson, differed from the ginger hues known to the Weasley clan. It was as if her hair possessed a bewitching charm, casting its spell upon all who dared to gaze upon its allure. Yet it was her eyes that held Harry transfixed—a striking shade of electric blue, vibrant orbs that seemed to penetrate the depths of his very soul.

Though the passage of years had marked her countenance, Claudia's allure remained undiminished. Her visage bore the traces of a life well-lived, etched with lines that added a touch of elegance to her graceful face. Towering above most in the room, she possessed an imposing stature, her regal presence exceeding the height of Harry himself. It was evident that she hailed from a privileged upbringing, a scion of the uppermost echelons of society.

As she uttered his name, her voice carried a gentleness that caressed his ears. Yet her refined accent hinted at a pedigree steeped in refinement and opulence. Every aspect of Claudia's being exuded an air of meticulous grooming, while a captivating fragrance enveloped her, enchanting those within its proximity. Her posture, straight and commanding, radiated both power and wisdom, as if she had long mastered the arts of authority.

In this extraordinary encounter, Claudia Rosier embodied a mesmerizing presence, a tapestry woven from the threads of ageless beauty and refined sophistication. Harry found himself spellbound by her very essence, the allure of a woman whose charms transcended time itself. Claudia Rosier's presence did not go unnoticed by Harry's faithful companions, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. As if summoned by an invisible force, they gravitated towards the enchanting figure that held their friend spellbound.

Ron, with his hair as fiery as the sun's golden rays, and Hermione, her countenance bright with intellect and determination, approached Claudia with a mix of curiosity and reverence. The twins, Fred and George, ever mischievous and quick-witted, joined the gathering, their eyes widening as they beheld the radiant beauty before them. Claudia's captivating aura transcended the boundaries of age, captivating all who gazed upon her with a mystifying allure. Her dark crimson locks cascaded like a silken tapestry, captivating even the mischievous twins, whose gazes momentarily faltered under her bewitching spell. Her eyes, an iridescent blue, seemed to hold within their depths a wellspring of wisdom and secrets, whispering untold stories to those who dared to look deeply enough.

Ron, his freckled countenance flushed with a mixture of awe and admiration, struggled to find the words to capture the essence of this ethereal presence. Hermione, her eyes sparkling with an inquisitive light, observed Claudia with an astute curiosity, her mind working tirelessly to unravel the enigma that stood before them. As the companions stood in the presence of Claudia Rosier, her allure resonated with an undeniable magnetism, evoking a symphony of emotions and intrigue. The air crackled with an undercurrent of anticipation, as if destiny itself had woven its tapestry around this meeting, entangling their lives in a web of unforeseen possibilities.

In this sacred gathering, amidst the aged tapestries and ancestral secrets, Claudia Rosier cast her spell upon the hearts and minds of those who beheld her, leaving an indelible mark upon their souls. The threads of fate intertwined, as the companions embarked upon a journey that would forever be intertwined with the enigmatic presence of Claudia, a woman whose beauty transcended the realms of mortal comprehension.

Sirius Black, with his boisterous laughter, shattered the silence that had settled upon the room, drawing the attention of the spellbound teenagers. His voice boomed with mirth as he spoke, bringing forth the revelation of the esteemed presence that had graced them all.

"Ah, I've seen you've met our special guest!" Sirius exclaimed, his jovial tone resonating through the ancient halls of 12 Grimmauld Place. "The honorable Claudia Rosier! The head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Head of Magical Artifacts!"

At the utterance of the name Rosier, a collective recognition flickered in Harry's mind. It was a name that bore significance, for it was etched in the annals of infamy, belonging to those who had sworn allegiance to the Dark Lord. The Rosiers, notorious for their unwavering devotion to blood purity, were revered amongst the ranks of the Death Eaters. Yet, there was a complexity to their lineage—an undeniable wealth and influence that flowed through their veins. The noble Rosiers, as they were known, had established themselves as pillars of the wizarding elite.

With a graceful inclination of her head, Claudia Rosier acknowledged the young ones before her. A subtle air of dignity surrounded her, as if the weight of her position and the legacy of her name lent her an aura of quiet authority. With measured steps, she made her way toward the beckoning dining room of Grimmauld Place, joined by the other venerable members of the household.

In the wake of her departure from the hall, a mingling of emotions stirred within the hearts of the young wizards and witches left behind. A tapestry of intrigue and curiosity unfolded, woven with threads of apprehension. The presence of Claudia Rosier, a living embodiment of the complexities that entwined pureblood heritage and dark alliances, cast an enigmatic shadow upon the path that lay ahead. As they prepared to partake in the familial feast, the air thickened with unspoken questions, and the companions found themselves drawn further into the intricate web of secrets and destinies that bound them together within the hallowed chambers of Grimmauld Place.

In hushed tones, Ron Weasley leaned toward Harry Potter, his voice barely above a whisper, as if fearful of disturbing the delicate balance of the room. "A Rosier, Harry? Is she not of the same kind as... you-know-who's followers? One of those staunch believers in blood purity?" Hermione Granger, ever the fountain of knowledge, displayed a similar reaction, her expression etched with a mixture of concern and curiosity.

The trio, accompanied by the mischievous Fred and George Weasley, advanced into the opulent dining hall of Grimmauld Place, where Claudia Rosier occupied the seat of honor. There she sat, an embodiment of elegance and poise, her back held erect with a refined grace. The atmosphere seemed to shift, charged with an air of anticipation, as if the very room itself acknowledged her presence and yielded to her authority.

Their footsteps faltered for a fleeting moment, halted by the weight of their contemplation. The mere mention of the Rosier name sent ripples of unease through their collective consciousness, for it was synonymous with allegiance to the dark forces that had threatened their world. The Rosiers, a family entangled in the web of you-know-who's gang, had long espoused the ideals of blood purity, their beliefs steeped in tradition and exclusivity.

And yet, even in the face of their reservations, the trio pressed on, curiosity mingling with caution as they approached the table where Claudia held court. The resolute determination that guided their steps belied the doubts that churned within. Inwardly, they prepared themselves to navigate the intricacies of this encounter, to glean what truths lay concealed behind the veneer of elegance and power.

As they drew nearer, the allure of Claudia Rosier's presence intensified. Her poised countenance, an embodiment of regality, invited admiration and respect. Every line and curve of her figure spoke of confidence and authority, a testament to the depths of her experience and knowledge. The trio, accompanied by the ever-watchful twins, took their places at the table, the gravity of the moment hanging heavy in the air.

Amidst the resplendent atmosphere of the dining hall, an air of reunion pervaded the space, embracing all who gathered within its opulent confines. Nymphadora Tonks, the ever-capricious metamorphagus, regaled the younger attendees with her remarkable talents, effortlessly transforming her countenance into a succession of creatures—a duck, a pig, a lion—eliciting peals of laughter and delight. Even Claudia Rosier, a paragon of grace and refinement, found herself captivated by the whimsical display. Meanwhile, a distinguished assembly had formed on the side of the table, where Claudia sat alongside Sirius Black, Harry Potter, Alastor Moody, Remus Lupin, and Kingsley Shacklebolt. Engrossed in earnest discussion, their attention focused upon the pressing concerns plaguing the Ministry of Magic—specifically, the obstinate denial of Lord Voldemort's resurgence by the deluded Cornelius Fudge.

"What purpose does it serve to sugarcoat the truth?" Moody interjected brusquely, his words reverberating through the hall and punctuating the conversation. The room fell into an uneasy silence, as the weight of his statement hung heavy in the air, casting a somber pall over the gathering.

"Alastor," Claudia chided gently, her voice a soothing balm that sought to quell the mounting tension. But Moody, unyielding in his resolve, persisted. "Show him! The boy will discover the truth soon enough, one way or another."

As if in response to their exchange, a gentle hand extended toward Harry, bearing a newspaper with the front page emblazoned by a striking headline: "The Boy Who Lies." The words cast a shadow over the young wizard's countenance, stirring a mix of emotions within him—an amalgamation of defiance, frustration, and an unwavering determination to confront the harsh realities that lay ahead.

Amidst the distinguished company gathered within the walls of Grimmauld Place, the weighty matters of the day weighed heavily upon their minds. Cornelius Fudge, a figure of authority wielding power and influence over the Daily Prophet, had employed his position to suppress any claims of Lord Voldemort's menacing return. Sirius Black, his voice resolute, interjected with an air of defiance, breaking the silence that enveloped the room.

"Why?" Harry Potter, his disbelief palpable, queried in a tone laced with incredulity, his faith in the integrity of those in positions of power momentarily shaken.

Remus Lupin, a sage presence amid the assembly, endeavored to shed light upon the perplexing matter. "The Ministry suspects that Dumbledore seeks to usurp Fudge's position," he explained, his words tinged with a hint of weariness. "They harbor a deep-seated fear that compels them to perceive threats where none exist."

"But that’s insane! No one in their right mind could ever—" Harry retorted, his disbelief tinged with a note of righteous indignation. The flagrant incompetence of Fudge and the Ministry's willful ignorance stretched the bounds of reason, testing the limits of their patience and resolve.

"Indeed," Claudia interjected, her voice carrying a measured tone that bespoke wisdom earned through the passage of time. "Fear possesses the power to distort minds and drive individuals to commit unspeakable acts. Fudge's faculties have been compromised, clouded by the very dread that should impel him to action."

With a somber gaze fixed upon Harry, Claudia continued her discourse. "The last time Lord Voldemort seized power, our world trembled on the precipice of destruction. We cannot afford to dismiss that grim reality, nor can the Ministry, in their misguided attempts to pacify the masses, ignore the imminent threat that looms before us."

Sirius, unwavering in his resolve, added his voice to the somber discussion. "We believe that Voldemort seeks to rebuild his formidable army, just as he did fourteen years ago. His followers included not only dark wizards and witches, but creatures of all kinds." Remus, ever the embodiment of insight, continued, "He has been aggressively recruiting, and we too seek to gather our forces. Yet, in the face of the Ministry's hateful and ignorant gaze, our efforts have been hindered at every turn."

"And yet, there is more," Remus stated with a measured tone. "We suspect that Voldemort's motives extend beyond the mere construction of an army. We believe he harbors unfinished business, a desire to complete what he failed to achieve in his previous bid for power." As the words lingered in the air, the gaze of Alastor Moody, Claudia, and Sirius converged upon Harry, a shared understanding etched upon their faces. The gravity of the situation had deepened, casting a shadow upon their hopes and filling their hearts with a sense of foreboding.

As the weighty revelations continued to pour forth, a voice pierced the air, cutting through the rising tide of information. Molly Weasley, her tone filled with maternal concern and protective instincts, interjected with a fervor born of love and apprehension. "No, that is enough! He is but a boy, barely of age! If we delve any deeper into this dangerous path, we might as well extend him an invitation into the Order!"

Harry, emboldened by his newfound resolve and a fire that burned within him, seized the moment to make his proclamation. "If Voldemort seeks to gather an army, then I’ll come with you!”

Claudia, her vibrant spirit undimmed by the gravity of the situation, found amusement in the audacity and courage displayed by Harry. A smile tugged at the corners of her lips, mirroring the playful spark dancing in Sirius's eyes. They recognized in Harry the same indomitable spirit that had guided them in their own battles against the encroaching darkness.

With Molly's intervention, the evening slowly began to regain its semblance of a joyous reunion. Conversations flowed freely, laughter mingled with whispers, and the atmosphere regained its familiar air of camaraderie. Each segment of the table formed pockets of dialogue, their words and laughter intertwining, as friends and allies found solace in the presence of kindred spirits. Yet, amid the din of jovial chatter, Harry's mind remained fixated on the enigmatic figure of Claudia Rosier. Her presence, though known to him by virtue of her position within the Ministry, seemed peculiarly timed. Questions formed in the depths of his inquisitive mind, a desire to unravel the mysteries surrounding her newfound association with the Order of the Phoenix.

As the evening progressed, Harry's curiosity simmered beneath the surface, a flame that threatened to consume his thoughts. The allure of Claudia's presence beckoned him, urging him to seek answers and uncover the truth that lay hidden within her crimson hair and electric blue eyes. In this union of destiny and circumstance, Harry resolved to delve deeper into the enigma that was Claudia Rosier, for he sensed that her presence held significance far beyond what met the eye.

As the night began its descent towards the late hours, Claudia Rosier, ever conscious of her responsibilities, gracefully excused herself from the gathering. With a gentle smile upon her lips, she delicately maneuvered through the clusters of conversation, offering her farewells to each individual in turn. Her departure elicited a collective murmur of appreciation and respect, for her presence had brought an air of wisdom and elegance to their midst.

Pausing momentarily before the trio, Claudia's eyes gleamed with a genuine interest as she addressed them. "You find yourselves embarking upon your fifth year, do you not?" Her tone carried a warmth that embraced both familiarity and curiosity. Hermione, ever respectful and poised, replied with a deferential nod, her voice laced with a measure of reverence towards the seasoned witch.

"Ah, the fifth year—a truly magical time," Claudia exclaimed, her laughter bubbling forth like a melodic symphony that echoed through the grand hall. Her words carried a hint of nostalgia, evoking memories of her own youthful adventures and trials within the hallowed halls of Hogwarts.

The brief interlude drew to a close, as Claudia's obligations beckoned her away. With a final gaze that held a promise of future encounters, she addressed Harry directly. "Tomorrow, Harry, we shall meet again at the Ministry. Until then, I bid you all adieu!"

Masterlist : Next Chapter

#tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle #tom riddle angst #tom riddle smut #tom riddle x oc #tom riddle x reader #abraxas malfoy #hogwarts #hogwarts fanfic #tom marvolo riddle #harry potter x reader #slow but steady #slow burn

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