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#spilled inkwell
narcissa97 · 1 year
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your hand in mine, locked and intertwined
your eyes looking at me, i can see them gleam
your grin, and the fluttering butterflies in me
the blowing wind, the cool air
your laugh, my smile
you, me
us.
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corvidsofthedeep · 5 months
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No Context Crow #277: Inkwell Crow
If this image is yours and you would like it credited or removed, let me know!
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pawbeanies · 2 months
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drafting my hornyposts on the finest of parchment with a feather quill by the dying light of a flickering candle. if i do not succumb to consumption or the elements you shall receive my posts by the morrow
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halfhollowmoon · 1 year
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I lit myself on fire
I lit myself on fire to keep the thought of us alive
I turned on everything I knew
I didn’t see through your guise
Blinded by synthetic love
Masquerading parasitic use
The constant accusations and fights bordering abuse
I gave you every ounce of myself and my time
Told you my weaknesses and you left without rhyme
You left me here for dead
A symphony I was writing now left on read
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spillinginkwells · 2 months
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About
I feel as though the inked pages and the written word and the worlds that exist in between them, have always been my solace. I remember, as a preschooler, crawling into my mother’s lap with my storybook in hand, begging her to read to me. I remember starting my first novel at the age of seven and never looking back. Books became my religion, flipping through their delicate pages, my sacrament.  
It is almost impossible to be spared from the compulsion of penning down your own words when you make the written word your holy communion. And so I, too, succumbed to the inevitability of becoming a wordsmith. Perhaps not one with indomitable skill but definitely possessing a beguiling passion for her craft.
Spilling Inkwells is my personal sanctuary where I create a landscape of my musings, experiences and love for the written word.
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magentagalaxies · 9 months
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[image id: a screenshot of part of a magazine with the title GREAT SCOTT. the body text reads: "I have just read Issue 620, and I find it unbelievable that in "1992 Year in Review" there is no mention of Scott Thompson, the openly gay comedian on the CBS late-night TV show The Kids in the Hall. I cannot think of one other openly gay man on a weekly television show, especially one airing on a major network, and yet The Advocate has not mentioned Thompson since 1989. Why? Do you hate him, or does no one on your staff watch the show? It boggles my mind that someone like Gregg Araki can make a movie that less than 1 million people see and inkwells are spilled in his name, yet someone who has for four years been writing and performing openly gay comedy on a television show that draws over 10 million viewers a week is relegated to obscurity." The message is credited to Paul Bellini Toronto, Canada. End ID]
it has come to my attention that most kith fans are not aware of this hilariously passive aggressive paul bellini wrote to the advocate in 1993 about kids in the hall that i uncovered in my buddy cole doc research. for the record i highly agree with everything said but i have so many thoughts. first of course is damn it's clear the advocate did not watch the show if they published a kith related letter by "paul bellini toronto, canada" without acknowledging he's literally a writer on the show. second, and more importantly, i'm so curious whether paul genuinely was so pissed off he wrote this letter or if scott was pissed off about that particular year end list so often that paul was like "jfc scott fine i'll write them a passive aggressive letter if you'll stop complaining." it all reminds me of how my elementary school had a "good egg" board highlighting student acts of kindness and i was mad that i never got on the board to 8-year-old jess literally made zir friend write a letter to the teacher about zir going unrecognized so ze could finally get on the board
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writingfromruins · 2 years
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Been too tired to write poetry recently-
It’s strange, because exhaustions always been an engine before the current extinction event ongoing in my daily lifespan so the issue isn’t that, the issue is-
Darling, you have work to do
I’m paralyzed by better judgement tearing time into a ticket booth to go gawk at obligation safely behind a barrier where you can’t reach it, and if the work isn’t done the time you spent as admission cant belong to poetry. No matter how much energy you exhausted to try to break the bars, by your own admission you know its true. You shouldn’t be writing poetry-
Darling, you have work-
Instead get familiar with the way the public transport sounds in the mornings and evenings ten times a week you take it and every time unique, so much poetry in the ways that people lean their weight against the motion but its all run out your soles as your balance fails, caught by all your weight on the sturdy overhead loop you’ll always have to let go of when you reach your destination, Darling, pay attention. You’ve missed your stop three times this month.
Darling, you-
God, why can’t someone else take over. A week. A day would work. No responsibilities, just someone’s hand in your hand in your small soft places you’ve carved into your room saying take a nap. You’re allowed to rest. You’re allowed to write poetry. I will keep you fed and safe and there is nothing left for you to do. Darling, you have no more work to do.
heavy itinerary // PD
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jingsyuans · 11 months
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Hiya, saw that you're taking requests for Jing Yuan :3
I've read through a few of your fics and absolutely love the way you portray him <3
So I wanted to ask if you could write something with him where the reader is struggling with insomnia due to either nightmares or stress overload? (preferably sfw with fluff overload ples :3)
If you're not comfortable with that or don't get an image in your head is totally cool and u can ignore this, have a cookie for your troubles and great work 🍪
a/n: you’ll actually find there’s little I’m not comfortable with, anon! This turned out longer than I thought, I’m still in the stage with Jing Yuan where everything rambles on into a full story because I like him so much and my muse is strong HAHA
Themes: oneshot, prior to any relationship, late night vulnerability and Jing Yuan being smitten. Unedited.
⚝──⭒─Jing Yuan ; 3am ─⭒──⚝
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Jing Yuan was no stranger to stress and sleepless nights. It comes with the job, fortunately or unfortunately. He has no trouble falling asleep- he’s proven that quite enough with how he dozes off at inopportune times. His problem is more along the lines of having too much to do at night so it keeps him busy.
He isn’t sure what your version of sleepless nights looks like. He knows that you have them- he can tell from the drag in your step and the heaviness of your eyelids. He also knows that there might be several factors as to why you haven’t been getting much sleep lately, the sudden jumpy nature you have while at work is proof of that. But how to approach the subject? That’s something that requires some thought.
Your relationship was almost nothing outside of a work environment. Jing Yuan had made the steps to possibly progress it further, but his process was always step by step and rather methodical. Which, to put it simply, means that he’s rather slow. He doesn’t like to rush into things. You’ve taken his interest and he doesn’t want that interest to run out, so he ever so gently coaxes new information out of you every so often as to satiate his interest but still keep him hungry for more.
Your change in behavior as of recently presents on opportunity for the two of you to grow closer. Presents an opportunity for Jing Yuan to show he cares about you more than just a subordinate, but doesn’t hint at anything too excessive. A gentle nudge is what it is.
So he takes his opportunity once the two of you are alone in the Seat of Divine Foresight. Some would call it his office, which he supposes it is, but the room is too open and broad with Knights, secretaries, and officers always moving around inside and out. Really, the Divine Foresight is too public in a lot of ways.
But people must go home eventually to retire for the evening, and you usually leave with the crowd. But these past few nights you’ve been keeping him silent company in the large office, scribbling away at papers and clearly keeping yourself busy with things that could be done the next day. So it’s on one of these evenings that you share with him yet again that Jing Yuan decides to retire early. Early for him, anyhow.
He wraps up messily- his desk is always full so he never bothers to clear it off, leaving scrolls open and scattered. He at least has the decency to cap his inkwell to make sure it doesn’t spill, but that’s about all before he’s silently walking down the steps where his desk is and heading for you.
You don’t notice him hovering from behind. Your hand is in your hair, slightly tugging on the strands as you tap your pen endlessly on the desk. Clearly, you’re reaching a dead end. But you’re making no signs to stop your work just yet.
He’s careful, but perhaps not very thoughtful as he places a hand on your shoulder and watches as you jump. The smile is already on his face by the time you turn around, eyes wide open before seeing it was merely your general.
“Evening, ___,” he says your name carefully. It isn’t often that it’s after hours and there’s barely anyone around so he can drop the formalities. “Why don’t you wrap up here? It’s late, as I’m sure that you’re aware.”
“Ah, yes, general,” your eyes don’t meet his for long before you’re looking back to your desk, lips pursed. He doesn’t mind that you don’t reciprocate his casualties— clearly you have more prominent things on your mind. “Yes, it’s late. But I’ve still got work to do, so-“
Without asking- because in all honesty he doesn’t really need to, he’s your boss- Jing Yuan picks up the scrolls you were staring holes into. You splutter and hold up a hand to try and stop him, but freeze when he reads the work aloud.
“Curfew laws, scuffles with civilians, signing off on trade and market…” All rather unimportant affairs that don’t justify you staying late. He looks down at you and doesn’t say anything more, and by the way you sigh and look to the ground, he knows his point is proven. Putting the scrolls back down on the desk, his touch returns to your shoulder with a squeeze before he brings his hands behind his back. “I’ll lead you out.”
Jing Yuan at least lets you wrap up by yourself, gathering your coat and other things that you’ve been bringing with you to work for your late nights. He stands by the large doors until you’re ready, and when you begin to walk toward him, expression bitter, he chuckles aloud and opens the door for you.
“Thanks, general… I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” you mumble tiredly when the two of you exit the Divine Foresight, already heading off to the sky jetty where a Knight stands ready to take the both of you back. Jing Yuan doesn’t say anything as he follows behind you, letting you slowly clue yourself in. You give him a strange look once you notice he’s not heading back to the Divine Foresight. “It’s still rather early for you, general. You’re already headed home?”
The Knight boards the jetty and opens the sliding doors for you to enter, Jing Yuan sitting down inside first as you continue to hesitate and stare at him from outside.
“I’m not headed home just yet,” he tells you, answer vague and surely frustrating from the face you make at him. His smile just grows wider as he pats the seat next to him. “Come on, then. You shouldn’t make your general wait.”
That at least spurs you into action, your bag in your hands moving to your lap as you make yourself comfortable in the jetty beside him. The airship takes off in a smooth movement, and the trip is silent as it brings you back to the Exalting Sanctum. There’s a few times that your eyes flit over to Jing Yuan during the ride; each time he’s already looking at you and you quickly look away, posture tense.
Once the jetty pulls into the drop off spot, you basically jump out of your seat to get out first. Jing Yuan isn’t sure if it’s because you couldn’t wait to get away from him, or you were still being uptight because of the fact he’s your general and you didn’t want to make him wait since he was in the seat away from the door. Either way, he laughs at you.
“You know, from the way you’re acting I would say you don’t like me very much. But surely that isn’t true.” Jing Yuan cannot help but tease, continuing to stick to you like glue as you both walk away from the jetty’s drop off.
Your jumpiness that he observed before still proves true as you jolt at his accusation and shake your head, eyebrows tensely drawn. “No, you know that’s not it, general! Sorry- I… just wasn’t ready to go home yet.” Your shoulders sink with your sigh.
Beside you, Jing Yuan hums. “Understandable. But you don’t have to go home yet, you know.”
“What do you mean?” Looking at him, you purse your lips again. “I’m not going to just mill around aimlessly at this hour. I don’t need the Knights thinking I’m some suspicious figure and then I have to deal with the report at work.”
Jing Yuan laughs, quirking his brow at you. “That’s not what I’m suggesting, but it’s amusing to see where your mind goes. No, instead of stirring up more trouble for yourself tomorrow, I was thinking of dinner.”
“Dinner?”
You don’t realize where Jing Yuan has led you during your short conversation until you’re already there, the late night restaurant catching your eye with its lights still buzzing. The lanterns for dining are still on as well, dimmed with the late hour and reflecting red across your skin and dancing across your eyes as you look back at him.
It feels like a piece of you is slowly crawling back as you smile at him, laughing discreetly through your nose. “You’re not asking me out, are you general?”
Jing Yuan leads you to a seat, pulling it out for you with his own eyes gleaming with mirth. “Depends on how you look at it,” he comments, and once you’re seated he pats your shoulders. “If you don’t mind, I’ll order for the both of us. I skipped lunch this afternoon in order to go to a board meeting and I’ve never regretted something so immensely.”
Another piece molds back into place as you outright laugh at him and relax into the chair. “Alright, go ahead. I still remember when the rumors were going around about you eating pounds of exotic meat all by yourself, and now I’m wondering if they’re true.”
“The Gluttonous General,” he recalls, “yes, I remember that. I’ll leave it up to you and your own judgement, but I should remind you I have a two hundred pound cat, if that sheds any light on anything.”
“Oh, Mimi! How’s she doing?”
Jing Yuan smiles and startles you when he taps your nose, teasing as ever. “I’ll tell you once I’ve ordered.” He watches as you blush, visible or not it’s clear as day that you’re flustered and it’s his turn to laugh at you, albeit not unkindly.
Ordering is a quick affair. He’s already thought this evening through and knows exactly what he wants. Taking you out to eat isn’t exactly new to him either; there’d been a few times in the long years you’ve worked for Jing Yuan that you’d both have lunch together. Sometimes there’d be a third or fourth party, and sometimes it was just the two of you. From those times, though, he’s learned your tastes and has a fair amount of confidence as he orders your plate.
He comes back with a tray of brewed tea in hand. You look a little surprised that he’s carrying it himself, which he explains once he’s sat down across from you and places the tea on the table.
“I didn’t want to wait.”
The way you giggle at him is downright adorable, but he keeps such thoughts to himself as he pours your cup first and then his own. You hesitate before taking the cup he’s offered, and he shakes his head.
“It’s not caffeinated, if that’s what you’re wondering.” Your shoulders sink and you’re clearly disappointed, lifting up the cup to drink anyway. “Sorry to disappoint, but I didn’t want to contribute to your long nights more than I already have. Someone has to look after you.” He mutters that last part, perhaps revealing more than he should and how he feels- but he forgets that you’ve been sleeping horribly so you barely catch wind of his implications. The expression on your face is reserved, clearly a facade as you clear your throat.
“No, that makes sense. Thank you, general, I-“
“You know, it’s long past office hours.” Jing Yuan can’t help but interrupt you this once, bringing the steaming cup of tea up to his lips and blowing softly before he lifts his gaze to you. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t address me by rank. I understand the need to keep yourself at a distance, but there’s no harm in opening up at this moment and letting us speak as two individuals rather than subordinate and general.” He smiles once he’s finished. “It would make me happy to talk to you without those restrictions.”
Again, maybe he’s stating too much. But Jing Yuan has observed a lot in his time and he recognizes that there’s certain moments that call for vulnerability in order to show a favorable outcome. Of course, vulnerability is a tricky thing, which is why he’s normally so hesitant. There’s no honest way to predict emotions like there is fact and logic, so predicting how you might feel to his vulnerability is like taking a shot in the dark.
But in an odd way, Jing Yuan trusts you, and you haven’t proved him wrong to trust you just yet. Especially not when you finally open to him like a flower that hasn’t yet bloomed, your expression loosening and no longer trying to hide like before. It’s a beautiful process to watch.
“I can understand that… Jing Yuan,” you’re shy as you say his name, but your smile overrules that. You try to hide it by taking another sip of your tea, but he sees the edges of your lips upturned and the crinkle in your eyes and he counts himself as satisfied. “I guess I never realized how holding titles can keep the atmosphere stiff.”
“It’s subtle,” he nods along. “But I believe it’s there. Anyhow, you wanted to know how Mimi is doing?”
Your eyes light up, and he’s caught you- hook, line, and sinker. Your conversation becomes a lot less filtered and a lot more genuine as the night continues to tick by, becoming later and later and yet earlier and earlier, depending how you looked at the clock. The food comes by and he knows he made the right choice in your order- just like him, you essentially ravage your plate. That in itself is something not a lot of people get to see- at one point Jing Yuan scoops up some food with his hands and you catch it instantly, your eyes shining with the knowledge as you make eye contact and yet saying nothing at all as he licks his fingers clean.
He wouldn’t dare to be so untidy and messy around anyone else, but it’s all part of the process to show you that you’re unique to him. Around you, he does a lot of things he wouldn’t normally do around others. You’ll come to realize this and what it really means as more time goes on.
It’s once your meals are finished and you’ve got a fresh pot of tea as a palette cleanser that he strikes again, true intentions for tonight coming to light.
“So, my dear ___, tell me. What is it that’s keeping you in the Divine Foresight so late?”
At this point, you’ve relaxed considerably. The possibility of opening up to him has increased dramatically, and Jing Yuan knows you’re about to tell him by the way your demeanor shifts. You’re finally letting yourself look as tired as you feel by just the question alone and knowing you were about to answer it.
“It’s hard to talk about,” you start slowly. “But I guess it’s because I’m trying to keep myself busy.”
Jing Yuan nods along, helping you ever so slightly. “Because you don’t want to go home. And why is that?”
“Um… well, if I have to go home, I have to go to bed eventually. And… I can’t go to bed. I can’t sleep.” Your lips twitch as silence washes over the two of you. He doesn’t want to interrupt you this time, instead offering you the silence so you can gather your thoughts and how you want to communicate them to him. It’s a careful process. “Sometimes it’s just a product of my own design. I stimulate myself too much before bed with work or other things, and it keeps my head awake. Other times, it’s… a lot of nightmares.” You finally let the problem slip, eyes drifting down to your teacup as you smooth your fingers over the rim. “I’ve thought about getting things to help, but… mm.”
Jing Yuan takes a deep breath through his nose, nodding once to show his understanding. “I see. Nightmares are tricky things. And you’re right, I’m sure you’re already aware of the ways you can try and make them disappear, but… it’s a different story if you don’t want them to.”
Your eyes flit up to his, an inch of surprise on your face that he merely smiles at, his eyes soft.
“I’m no stranger to nightmares either. It can be easy to convince yourself that you deserve them. That you need them in order to remember what you don’t want to remember. What you feel guilty over, responsible over, fearful over.” Jing Yuan takes another sip of his tea, letting the flavor sink into his tongue before he swallows. “I have a lot of fears myself. A lot of troubles that could haunt me if I let them. I understand the frustration that you might be facing.”
Setting the cup down, he inches forward into the table just a little bit. “Perhaps this is unwarranted, but may I offer you some advice?”
You seem surprised. Still, you nod, allowing him to continue with interest painted across your features. He notices how you’ve inched along your own seat and says nothing.
“We live long life spans, longer than what was ever intended. With that comes a lot more burdensome and troubling memories than maybe we were designed to handle. It’s natural to have your mind caught up in the excess every so often, considering the circumstances.” His tone is gentle and unwavering as he speaks. “My advice to you is to not be a stranger. I may not know exactly what your nightmares are about, but I can see how they’re affecting you. Do not forget the life in front of you now, the ground you walk, the people you see.” His eyes wander as he talks, to the overhead lanterns that create a soft ambiance to the small creek that lined the Exalting Sanctum and split the land with bridges. “There are a lot of wonderful things waiting for you. Always, day to day. It might not cure your heartache, but that was never the intention. It’s not always about the cure, the end all, erasing it from existence. It’s about nurturing it, forgiving it, loving it, and making peace with it.” Jing Yuan looks back to you, tapping the surface of the table with his fingers. “As long as we are living and breathing and trying to make our way in this universe, I believe it’s our duty to keep an open mind to our pain and know that it’s not always a bad thing to bear as long as you understand the cause, the purpose, and the meaning behind it.”
The silence that follows is long and thoughtful, at least from his own perspective. There’s a chill of wind that blows by, the creek continues to babble, and you look at Jing Yuan like you’re putting together your own puzzle pieces for him just like he is for you.
“Yanqing is right,” you finally speak up after some time. “You speak in a lot of riddles and nonsense, Jing Yuan.”
His eyes widen at your comment, at first too surprised to do anything except state. But then he cannot help the way his head throws back, laughing a little too loud for this time of night. You laugh along with him, eyes squinting with mirth and teeth showing through your smile.
“But still, with that being said,” you continue after the first wave of his laughter has subsided, “I appreciate you a lot. Though what you’ve said doesn’t make sense to me quite yet… I think your actions speak louder than your words.” You hum as you look down at the table with empty plates and tea saucers, laughing to yourself as if it were funny. “Thank you for taking me out tonight. Thank you for noticing. It’s kind of you, Jing Yuan.”
“Well, I’m happy I’ve at least done something right tonight,” he says, scooting out his chair. You look a little surprised before you move to do the same thing, standing up with him as you take your tea cup and finish what was left. “Let me escort you home.”
“You don’t have to do that,” of course, to be polite, you refuse. Just as he knew you would. So he sighs in defeat.
“Alright,” he says. “I suppose I’ll just walk right behind you and be the suspicious figure you have to file a report for tomorrow.”
Jing Yuan thrills in the way you practically squawk with laughter, and just like that he’s walking beside you away from the restaurant, bill being paid for a long time ago. “You really don’t give me a choice then!”
“Mm,” his eye crinkles. “No, not really.”
“At least you’re honest about it.”
“I’m always honest.”
You laugh at him again, rolling your eyes without even trying to hide it from him. “Sure, general.”
The rest of the walk is filled with just as spirited chatter. It’s refreshing to Jing Yuan- while its true that he tends to prefer a mutual, comforting silence, it doesn’t mean he cannot enjoy the moment. He greatly enjoys it- seeing you become so unfiltered around him makes him hopeful and happy, though he tries not to show just how much. By the time the two of you arrive at your home, things finally quiet, and you thank him genuinely as you stop in front of your door.
“There’s no need,” he waves off your thanks easily with a smile. “It was a pleasure to be with you tonight. And I hope you know that while we cannot do it every night, I will always be open to the idea of doing it again.” He hums before continuing, smile dropping a fraction. “And I hope you know I don’t mind your late nights. It’s been nice having the company, but it would be better if I knew it wasn’t at your own expense. Take care of yourself, ___.”
He seems to tie your tongue completely, because you merely stare at him in response. Not that Jing Yuan minds- he always likes when your eyes are on him, especially like this- when you look so soft and precious that you could break without proper care.
He wants to take care of you, he does. But he’ll try his best to reveal that to you along with everything else later on.
“Thank you, Jing Yuan,” your voice is soft once it manages to leave your throat. “I… well. I-“ you seem to be holding something back, expression debating before you visibly steel yourself.
And then, beyond all his expectations and planning, you take a step toward him and wrap your arms around him, closing the space between you. What’s unfair is that you don’t even give him any time to recover from his surprise, don’t give him the time to reciprocate and hold you tenderly and take notice to how your body feels against his-
Because as soon as you came, you’re gone. Face flushed adorably as you avoid his eyes and move toward your door, muttering a wish of goodnight to him. And then he’s suddenly all alone in the chill of night, staring at your front door.
Once Jing Yuan recovers, he can’t find it in himself to even be disappointed. No. No, he can only smile, perhaps he is even beaming as he slowly walks away from your door and back to the station of jetties so he can head home himself. But he’s not so sure he’ll rest all that well tonight, not when his mind is busy going over the night with you. He thinks about everything you said and the opportunities birthed from your honesty. But of course, more than any of that, he’s thinking about what else he’ll have to do to get you to surprise him again. If all it takes is a little vulnerability,
Than Jing Yuan thinks it’s worth it to be vulnerable with you.
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thebiscuitlabryinth · 10 days
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[prev]
For some reason, Pure Vanilla's dreams always take place in memories. The situations may be different, and the details may be blurred and absurd, built from a collection of fragmented moments spanning his life, but the locations themselves are always familiar.
That's why it is significant, glaringly so, when he finds himself somewhere he doesn't recognise.
It isn't a small room, but it feels smaller because it is hedged in by the dark shapes of bookshelves and chests. A large desk is nestled to the left, and a window sits ahead, clearly large but covered by a thick curtain. It leaves the room swarmed with shadows that seem to watch and breathe, hardly fended off by the feeble efforts of the desk's waning candelabra.
It makes viewing the room difficult. If he had his staff with him, Pure Vanilla would have cast some light, but he hasn't had it in his dreams for a while now, so he makes do with the meagre light he has. It is enough to realise that the room is a mess, the desk chair tipped over with books, scrolls, papers and quills, many of them looking like they were snapped, strewn about haphazardly. There's an inkwell on its side on the floor, spilling the abyss everywhere and soaking into the floorboards and loose paper.
The new location makes hope spark within Pure Vanilla, but it is dampened slightly by the uneasiness born from the visible disarry. "Where..?"
"This is my old study." As expected, Shadow Milk's voice swirls around the room to greet him, and a moment later, he emerges from the nothingness of the pitch-black corner, the edges of his silhouette blending into the darkness.
He doesn't look surprised or irritated at the sight of this time capsule of a room. No, his face is blank, verging on bored, as it often is when relics of his distant past crop up. It is a welcome sight, if only because Shadow Milk has a tendency of being more seriously receptive to questions when he wears that expression.
"What happened to it?" Pure Vanilla asks quietly, his voice bouncing back loud in his ears anyway. He doesn't move from where he is standing, a little wary of disrupting the mess on the floor before him.
Shadow Milk doesn't have the same hesitation, walking all over the littered documents with his arms folded leisurely behind his back. He peers down at them with a lazy gaze, but his voice and smile is light when he responds. "Oh, nothing interesting! I was just terrible at organisation, I'm sure you've noticed."
Well, being more receptive to questions doesn't mean he answers them honestly or in any kind of straightforward manner. The fact that Pure Vanilla is here already feels like enormous progress, because whether Shadow Milk made a conscious decision to meet here or not, his relative calm now must mean that he is willing for Pure Vanilla to see this, even if he isn't willing to explain its history.
Besides, Pure Vanilla isn't entirely oblivious. He has seen scenes like this before, and he can connect the dots himself.
Shadow Milk steps into the ink puddle and drags the abyssal liquid across the crumpled papers – a clearly intentional move, because he isn't bound by gravity unless he chooses to be – as he continues to scan the mess without a care in the world. He pauses at the edge of the candlelight's reach, squinting as he bends at the waist to get a closer look at a stack of bound papers.
Then, he lights up, dropping down to sit on the floor as he picks the papers up with both hands. He sits on the line between the fading candlelight and the hungry shadows, sinking back into the darkness like it is natural, but his eyes are all bright and his smile feels more genuine.
"One of my playscripts!" Shadow Milk announces, almost sounding giddy as he flicks through the pages with an air of fondness he doesn't quite manage to hide. Then, as if he can't help himself, he puffs his chest out a little and starts proudly explaining, some of his extra eyes flicking over to glance at Pure Vanilla. "I had dozens of these lying around. I never had the time to stage any of them myself, but they were extremely popular back then. That's to be expected, since I was the best wordsmith to grace Earthbread. Still am, to this day!"
In the dim, still moment that follows, stretching long and precious, Pure Vanilla doesn't see the Beast of Deceit before him. He doesn't even see the brilliant scholar, the Virtue of Knowledge, not quite.
What he sees is a Cookie, whole and complex and alive and beautiful, and his heart pangs, softly.
Pure Vanilla feels drawn to him, to the glimpse of something real and present, the current evolution of the past that lays abandoned around them, the past he has grown fond of in stolen glances, and suddenly he is moving. He carefully picks his way across the room, which isn't easy with the mess and the dark, but he manages, tiptoeing around ink and paper.
"It's their loss, to not have my genius plays anymore." Shadow Milk sighs dramatically as he begins to leaf through the script more carefully, silently reading it line by line. An edge of bitterness peeks through his tone. "Nobody knows how to appreciate good artistry these days. What more can you expect from little mindless fools?"
When Pure Vanilla sinks into a kneel beside him, Shadow Milk's extra eyes all gravitate towards him inquisitively, even as his main pair continue to soak in the script. The pressure of them drapes over Pure Vanilla like a cloak as he clasps his hands together in his lap, taking a moment to mull over his own words.
"...Perhaps you should try having a more open mind." He says finally, not unkindly. Shadow Milk stops, still as a statue, before turning to face him with a concerning crack of his neck that, despite knowing his habits by now, still makes Pure Vanilla wince.
"Huh?" The sound is flat and loud, too loud for the shrinking boundary of the study, and it is obvious he is offended.
"I've been thinking about you a lot recently, and your situation." Pure Vanilla admits, something placating lacing into his voice as his attention lingers on that beloved playscript to avoid meeting Shadow Milk's sharp eyes. "Have you ever considered the possibility of your imprisonment ending amicably?"
"Huh?" Shadow Milk repeats, his voice more abrasive as his patience dwindles. He heard him perfectly fine, Pure Vanilla is sure, but he must want an elaboration.
"You seem to think the only chance for your freedom is to escape by force." Pure Vanilla explains, glancing up to take in Shadow Milk's face, his brows furrowed and mouth an unreadable line. "But I'm sure a compromise can be made to some degree. The things you have done are too severe to be settled by an apology alone, but- but if we can agree upon a system of redemption and rehabilitation, then–"
Shadow Milk cuts him off with a wild bout of laughter that rips through the study like a clap of thunder, hunching into himself as he unceremoniously drops the script. He tries to cover his too large grin with a hand, his many eyes pinning Pure Vanilla in place with the frantic look crystallised within them.
"You're joking!" Shadow Milk forces out through his stubbornly smiling teeth, voice gravelly and rattling with traces of laughter just short of hysteria. "Do you even hear yourself? No, no, you must be joking!"
"Not at all. I wouldn't joke about something like this." Pure Vanilla insists, seriousness plain on his face as he shifts to face him fully, a little concerned by the reaction. "Good punishments are meant to teach a lesson. As long as you are willing to learn from it, I don't see why your imprisonment couldn't be renegotiated."
The laughter gives way to a cold silence, and Shadow Milk's eyes narrow as he grits his teeth in a half-scowl, hand still obscuring half his face. "You're serious." He says slowly, words dripping with disdain. Then he huffs, shaking his head as his voice takes on a more playful tone. "Don't be silly, I've told you not to overthink things so much. Besides, the Witches," and here, his attempt at playfulness falters under a charged growl, "would never entertain something like that. Cowards, all of them!"
Maybe Pure Vanilla is reading into things, overthinking just like Shadow Milk accuses him of doing, but he can't help hearing a note of hurt in his voice. The fact he brought up the Witches so quickly speaks volumes by itself, and sorrow and pity bubble together in Pure Vanilla at the thought of what Shadow Milk must view as the greatest betrayal.
"...I don't think they'll mind." Pure Vanilla says after a moment of consideration, folding his hands in his lap. "The Witches rarely interfere with the lives of Cookiekind – at least, not since I was baked. Even when you broke the Seal and escaped briefly, they showed no signs of interference."
"Cowards." Shadow Milk mutters again with a tight, sardonic smile. "Afraid of reaping what they've sowed. Of course they don't dare to show their faces anymore!"
Pure Vanilla frowns slightly, but chooses not to comment, glossing past that to deliver his point. "That means the terms of your continued imprisonment solely relies on the Faeries and White Lily, now."
"Yes, yes, yes, do you think I don't know that?" Shadow Milk huffs again, waving an impatient hand as he leans back against thin air. "And? Are you going to, what, appeal our case to our great and wise Guardian?"
"Well, yes, that is the idea." Shadow Milk blinks owlishly at him as if that was a surprise, and Pure Vanilla adds sheepishly. "Not immediately, of course. There are more pressing matters at the moment, and I don't want to add more stress to her shoulders." Then, quietly, more to himself. "...She's going through enough as it is."
The look Shadow Milk gives him is complicated, far too complicated to parse in the sparse lighting. When he speaks, it is weighted with disdain and disbelief. "That's actually your plan?"
"If you're willing to consider it seriously." Pure Vanilla's reply is sterner to express his own determination, a little frustrated by the lack of cooperation, but when Shadow Milk remains visibly suspicious, he softens again and sighs.
Of course he's supicious. Nobody has tried to lend him a helping hand since his fall from grace. To be forsaken like that would make anyone somewhat jaded.
"...Remember what you told me? We are the same." Pure Vanilla begins patiently, keeping his voice calm and soothing as he shifts a little closer to him. "We just fall on opposite ends of the same spectrum. I could fall to darkness, but it is just as likely that you could return to the light."
"Yes, and didn't I tell you that was a stupid thing to say?" Shadow Milk muses mockingly, head lolling too far to one side for his neck to still be intact. And yet, he was playing along, the whole of his attention resting on Pure Vanilla with a sense of intruige. That was enough to encourage him.
"You did, but you also told me that people change, didn't you?" Pure Vanilla continues steadily, not hindered by Shadow Milk's lazy rebuttal. "I understand you meant that Cookies can change for the worse, but quantifiers always exist in pairs, so the opposite is also true. Cookies – you can change for the better."
The flickering candlelight makes the colour of Shadow Milk's face murky, accentuating his flat expression as he straightens his head back on his shoulders with a dull crunch. His eyes burn like shooting stars as he says slowly, overpronouncing each syllable, "Possibilties are never guaranteed."
"Guarantees leave no room for possibilities. Similarly, an endless imprisonment leaves no room for change and growth." Pure Vanilla argues back mildly, and in an attempt to connect with him, he finds himself reaching out for Shadow Milk's hand. He clasps it gently between both of his, pulling it closer to his own chest as Shadow Milk's expression momentarily shutters in surprise.
"You've been abandoned for a long time, and I'm sorry about that." Pure Vanilla murmurs, head leaning closer to make sure Shadow Milk can hear him as he warms his cold, dissolving hand between his palms. "You have done awful things, and you needed to be stopped, but it is cruel of them to bury you alive without any chance to redeem yourself, to condemn you to stagnation."
Shadow Milk doesn't interrupt. His eyes rest squarely on their joint hands, and he makes no attempt to pull away, despite his intial surprise. His expression betrays nothing.
"I know you reject the idea on grounds of impossibility, but I truly believe you can change for the better." Pure Vanilla smiles down at their hands, voice warm and earnest, and it is the truth. He looks up, making sure to meet Shadow Milk's bright, bright eyes to convey his sincerity. "I believe in you. More than that, I care about you."
The word comes out a little shy, but not hesitant. He is making a point – trying to show that even if Shadow Milk may feel like he has been abandoned to rot, that doesn't have to be the truth.
Shadow Milk breaks his stony silence with a click of his tongue.
"You care too much about too many things." He retorts, a taunting lilt filtering into his voice as the corners of his mouth curl upwards. "That doesn't mean much. It just makes you a fool with a bleeding heart."
"And that doesn't make any of what I say less true." Pure Vanilla replies easily, projecting confidence. He refuses to let Shadow Milk scare him off now. "I really do care about you."
He hesitates for a tense second before moving one hand to cup Shadow Milk's cheek, to show him in actions. Shadow Milk stiffens under the touch, but relaxes in the next blink, baring too many teeth in a lopsided grin that dances along Pure Vanilla's palm, still vaguely mocking.
"Really?" Shadow Milk drags the syllables out, pressing his face into Pure Vanilla's hand as his narrowed eyes never waver from him. The darkness creeps over his shoulders, the protection of the old candelabra gradually shrinking. "Why, I didn't think you could be such a flirt!"
"I mean it, wholeheartedly. You can always tell when I lie, you must know this is the truth." Pure Vanilla insists and insists, because it is all he can do, a strange desperation starting to form, now that he can imagine a peaceful solution so clearly. He grips Shadow Milk's hand tighter, but the hand on his face remains carefully gentle. "All I want to do is help you, if you'll let me."
It is important that it is a choice Shadow Milk makes, and not something forced upon him. It won't work if it is forced. Still, as Shadow Milk's eyes grow lidded, Pure Vanilla suddenly can't bear to watch anymore.
"So please," he whispers as he closes his eyes, body leaning forward with the weight of his urgency, "can I...?"
There is a beat where there is stillness, and then Shadow Milk lets out a soft laugh, barely more than a breath. Pure Vanilla feels him move forward, fingers brushing his dough as his hand falls away from his face, and then– then–
Then their lips meet, and his mind goes blank.
The kiss isn't gentle. It isn't harsh or aggressive either. It just is, and just as quickly, it isn't again.
Pure Vanilla's dough is burning when Shadow Milk pulls back, his chest warm like the bowels of the oven, his stomach swooping in pleasant and sickening loops. Overwhelmed as he is, it is horribly difficult to open his eyes, but he is compelled with a need to see his face.
Unfortunately, even when he manages to force his eyes open slightly, there isn't much to see. The candelabra is quickly going out, its retreat inviting in a darkness that Pure Vanilla cannot see anything in, let alone the details of a face. The only proof that Shadow Milk is still there at all is the feeling of his hand in his, and the familiar presence of his gaze.
"You can try," Shadow Milk answers from the darkness, a teasing smirk audible in his words, "if you really think you can convince the Guardian of something as elusive as mercy."
Pure Vanilla nods quietly, certain that Shadow Milk can still see him even if the opposite isn't true, his tongue unable to find words quick enough to answer verbally.
When he wakes up, far later than he usually does and well behind schedule, his face is still glowing with leftover heat. He presses his cheeks into the cool surface of his pillow, and feels something in him settle, satisfied.
I can save him.
[next]
137 notes · View notes
starcrossedyanderes · 21 days
Text
Heart Bound
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1.4k words
Warnings: Toxic relationship, Tom is a yandere, blood, unwilling affection, this is SFW
Hey, this is kind of a birthday post for myself. I have adored Tom for the longest time and since the lack of fics, I took it upon myself.
It was a rather quiet day in the library. Almost all of the students of Hogwarts were busy watching a quidditch match, leaving the library nearly empty except for a few extra studious students.
You were currently sat in a more secluded area of the library, diligently taking notes from a textbook and putting it on a scroll.
This section of the library had maybe 3 other students at some desks, all completely engrossed in their schoolwork as well. The only thing of note would be the practical school celebrity, Tom Riddle, being present here.
After your brief observation of the library you turned back to your work, redipping your quill into your inkwell and pulling out a new piece of parchment. But before you put your paper away, you chose to pick it up and look it all over. But, tragedy stuck.
“Ow!”
It would seem your hand somewhat slid against the side of the paper, causing you to get a paper cut. You quickly pulled your hand away with a wince, trying to not get any blood on your fresh notes. You raised your hand up, about to instinctively suck on it.
“Excuse me, (Y/n)”
You look up with a startle, nearly tipping over your inkwell. To your absolute surprise, Tom Riddle had seemingly appeared right in front of you, almost as if he teleported. You let out a small laugh instinctively, as that was your instinct in such a moment
“Riddle, don’t do that. You nearly scared the socks off of me!”
Tom let out one of his pearly white smiles. Ah yes, that smile of his. That smile certainly helped him gain so much popularity and title of Hogwart’s Golden Boy. Tom seamlessly pulled out a chair before sitting in it before propping his head up on his hand.
“Oh, my apologies (Y/n), I assure you I didn’t mean to scare you. I just couldn’t help but notice that you seemingly got hurt.”
His green eyes glowed warmly, as if all of his attention was focused solely on you. You must admit, it was intriguing for him to be so concerned about you. You knew each other, but not well or anything. On occasion you would work with him in potions.
You somewhat waved your hand.
“Oh, yes. Sorry about the noise. Just a paper cut is all.”
Tom stared at your cut, like a cat looking at a laser pointer. For a second you could have sworn his eyes glowed an unnatural shade of green.
“Oh, no need to apologize. It’s only natural to make a bit of noise when hurt. Actually, I was hoping to possibly help your issue.”
You raised your eyebrow.
“Help my issue? You mean my paper cut?”
Tom reached out a grabbed your hand, closely examining the cut.
“Sure, I’ve actually been wanting to practice some healing spells. But I haven’t had the chance since I obviously didn’t want to cause any harm just to practice them.”
You owlishly blinked at him, before letting out a bit of a smile.
“In that case, feel free to. I would never deny a free healing spell.”
Tom slightly traced the cut on your finger, before finally looking you in the eye.
“Oh, but just one thing in exchange. I was needing a few drops of blood for a potion, and since we’re already here..”
You slightly tilted your head, pondering the offer.
“I mean, I guess so. Don’t see any harm in that.”
Tom’s smile widened, to a point you almost felt like a predator was staring at you. But you shook it off. This was Tom, Hogwart’s Golden Boy. He would never do anything bad.. right?
Tom pulled out a small vial that was oddly in the shape of a heart and carefully placed it right under your cut. He slightly pressed against the skin until a few drops of blood spilled into the glass.
“Alright, that should be enough.”
He took out a cork from his pocket that seemed to be modified to be attached to a necklace. He placed the cork into the vial before putting the necklace on. He then pulled out his wand and with a small flick the cut was instantly healed.
“Thanks, although it does seem a bit weird for you to be wearing my blood in a heart vial around your neck..”
Tom smirked
“Oh, yes about that. Follow me to the armchairs in the corner.”
Almost robotically, against your will, you followed Tom over to a rather secluded part of the library where arm chairs and a fireplace were present. Tom gracefully sat himself down in a love seat.
“Riddle, what’s going on?!”
“Sit down in my lap”
Your body once again moved on its accord. Tears somewhat pricked your eyes.
“Tom, please. What’s going on?”
It was like your entire vision was in slow motion. Approaching Tom, seeing his face contort into what could only be described as a shot eating grin. Your body slowly placed itself in his lap, all entirely against your will.
“Wrap arms around my neck.”
Your arms shot up and encircled his neck, as if it was a loving embrace.
“Tom-“ you pleaded once more
“Oh, hush dear. I assure you you are perfectly fine and safe. Actually, if anything I can guarantee you have never better.”
Tom suddenly grabbed your cheeks, turning your face towards his where you stared at each other for what could have felt like hours.
“What a beautiful creature you are.”
He slid his face down to your neck, where he started to place a few kisses.
“Please, I don’t understand-“
“Shush, darling. Let me explain how things are going to be from now.”
Tom briefly pulled away to show you the necklace that currently held some of your blood.
“You see this vial? This vial is enchanted with a spell of my own creation. This charm is one of deep blood magic, quite possibly my finest masterpiece, really. Whoever’s blood is in this vial, I will be able to order around. The blood in your body will quite literally bend to my will, making whoever I see fit to become my own puppet.”
Tears streamed down your eyes upon hearing this. It would seem you finally found out that Tom was a very, very bad person. Upon seeing your tears he let out a bit of a teasing scoff before wiping them away with his thumb.
“Cease this crying. I assure you, no harm will be done to you as long as I own your blood. Now let me explain your new situation.”
Tom quickly placed a few more kisses on your neck before continuing.
“You, my love, are going to be my girlfriend until- let’s see- eternity. You are going to be my precious little darling until I see fit to release you. Which is never, by the way. You and I will be inseparable. We shall act like lovers, because that is what we now are. You shall embrace me, praise me, kiss me, all the things lover are supposed to do. And in return, all of that I shall reciprocate.”
You were so stunned by his words, you could only squeak out a single word in response.
“W-why?”
Tom lackadaisically played with your hair.
“Easy. Because I am absolutely obsessed with you. I can’t those eyes of yours out of my head. And normally I’m repulsed by people expressing such.. kindness but for whatever reason your kind demeanor has.. entrapped me. I simply can’t get you out of my head, my darling. Oh, and that mind of yours. That wonderful, complex, beautiful mind. All the thoughts that race through your head, I want- no simply must have it all.”
You couldn’t help your slight quivering at his affectionate touches and words.
“Oh my sweet, don’t worry. You’ll love being mine, eventually. I’ll take wonderful care of you, and you shall be endlessly adored by me and my.. followers. Later on you can have whatever you desire. It may take a while, but it’ll grow on you. Now, are you ready for my order?”
You vehemently shook your head, but Tom did not hide the fact that he couldn’t care less based off the predatory grin he possessed.
“I want you to love me, not like me, love me. For the next week you are to be as enamored with me as I am. And mark my words my dear, even once that week is up, I will draw your blood again and again until your mind is so in love with me that it becomes permanent.”
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good-wizard · 6 months
Text
OKAY OKAY GUYS I TRIED TO GET A PHOTO OF US ALL, I KNOW I MISSED A FEW OF YOU BUT ITS THE BEST I COULD DO PLUMMETING FROM 100,000 FEET WITH TEA, CAKE, PIE, AND WEED BROWNIES ALL FLYING AROUND ME
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Thankyou all for showing up now let's get our tea on!!
[I drew everyone's profile pictures, if they didn't have something I could draw I looked at their headers and if those didn't have anything I looked for ocs, I hope you all like it!!!]
[and if you didn't make it just draw yourself in somewhere! I don't mind! We are all invited!!]
Here's a list of everyone I got in the picture:
@the-gnomish-bastard (3rd picture in the center)
@slutty-wizard-council (second picture in the center)
@the-gnomish-bastards-dad (3rd picture upper left)
@combustion-wizard (first picture, upper middle, your teas exploding)
@yourlocalbreadenthusiast (3rd picture behind large beige creature, top right)
@the-better-goblin-union (2nd picture middle right)
@siley-the-wizard (1st picture just off from the center to the left)
@dalob (3rd picture bottom left, next to me)
@circuslemon (your lime is bottom middle, you are off middle top right)
@well-dressed-sewer-rat (3rd picture between the gnomes)
@username-not-registered (3rd picture top middle)
@saul-moleman (3rd picture, middle, to the left, over my arm)
@the-kobold-bastard (next to mole, 3rd picture)
@funny-short-man (3rd picture, right of center Gnomie)
@sluttyambiguouswizard (3rd picture falling right of Gnomie)
@ashen-the-tiefling (2nd picture middle far right, your cat is with you)
@randomfaeriedragon (3rd picture middle right)
@mug-of-shark (3rd picture bottom right corner)
@chaos-familiar (3rd picture top left)
@monsterfucker-research-wizard (top left with clip board that says MFR {Monsterfucker research})
@wizardcrow (1st image middle, I drew you in human form, ig?)
@boxell (2nd image, Misha Collins, middle far left)
@evil-apprentice-wizard (2nd image, very top right corner)
@just-a-cool-wizard (big one eyed apple, 2nd image you can't miss it)
@ayoungfather (2nd image, bottom right, your shirt says something about fatherhood)
@terrencetheshark14 (2nd image bottom right, next to a clown)
@succufaerie (1st image, middle right, next to mirror, I did my best to draw you)
@bowl-of-moss (1st image, bottom middle, slightly to the right)
@barely-living-wizard-apprentice (first image, bottom left, towards middle!)
@wayworm (1st image bottom left, with Snoopy and a corn snake)
@jhomikle (1st image, middle left, with succubus, look closely in the mirror, you're holding tea!)
@aileaxthevoidien (1st image bottom left, you're drinking coffee)
@ima-snekk (1st image, with wayworm, bottom left)
@8ball-wizard (you are falling from the sky in the first image, your tea is spilling but you've just received an amazing prophecy)
@fearlessjones (1st image, center bottom)
@bugwizard4lyfe (1st image, bottom left, I think I accidentally combined your persona with someone else, whoops!)
@kobold-sanctuary-buss-island (1st image, center to the left, drinking tea with verylegalwizard)
@profoundmiscasting (2nd image, middle, sitting in chair, next to sluttywizardcouncil representative)
@reiki-tsubetai (second image, far right, top middle on side, you are falling)
@broccoli-bitching (2nd image, middle far left, under my arm)
@evil-wild-lesbian-wizard (1st image, far left, almost very top)
@gavamont (2nd image very center, behind slutty wizard council representative)
@bladlauf (2nd image, top right, beneath the evil apprentice wizard)
@fyriefairy (1st image, super bottom left!!)
@ablasphemyofpoets (2nd image bottom middle, slightly to the left, I didn't do a very good job)
@inkwell-god (2nd image, top middle)
@chaoticz8 (2nd image center, behind purple hooded lady
@slymewizard (2nd image, upper left, behind slutty wizard
@verdan-the-druid (2nd image, middle, In front of slutty wizard)
@vsgroundnet (2nd image top right, your super small but you're there!)
Okay guys my hand is dead, there are so many more of you and I don't have the time to @ you all. So I've devised an idea, @ whoever you reblogged from so they can see the picture,
Don't see yourself in the picture? I give you permission to draw yourself in anywhere you like!
Go crazy go wild, I love you guys this is a great sky tea party!!
Good wizard out! I think it's time for me to enjoy some weed brownies from just-a-cool-wizard
221 notes · View notes
wri0thesley · 2 years
Text
thinking about poor maid reader being left to clean someone’s desk who has left rather an . . . interesting book open.
ft: albedo, lisa, ayato, yae miko. not sfw, minors dni. power dynamics, mentions of food in ayato’s. 
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perhaps they’re a maid for the knights of favonius. though albedo’s workshop is off-limits to most people, his office still needs to be kept in something close to good order - and you are very careful and fastidious and smart enough to know what ought to be left where it is. ‘books that albedo has left open’ are definitely in that category; if it’s left open on a particular page, it must be because albedo is studying something in it. normally, this kind of thing would go over your head - but it’s terribly hard for the extremely detailed diagram of two people locked in sexual congress to be ignored. neither can albedo’s sketchbook, left open - the same position rendered in loving detail. the man in the sketch is quite clearly albedo - even in pencil, the line of his mouth and the sweep of his hair is unmistakeable - but the other . . . that’s a startling representation of what you would look like, naked and on your hands and knees with albedo’s fingers digging into the soft skin of your waist - of what your face would look like, thrown back in pleasure with intimately sketched beads of sweat trickling down your face, eyes hazy--
albedo comes in behind you. he’s very, very matter of fact when he opens his mouth - not an ounce of shame in him, simply a very real, very honest hunger;
“oh. you saw them. i can’t help thinking that i haven’t gotten the angle of your hips quite right. would you be willing to assist me with some hands-on experience?”
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or, sticking with the thought of the knights of favonius - one of their duties as maid is to head into the library, and assist lisa in making sure all the books that have been dragged from shelves and onto tables are put back exactly where they belong. for as languid as the librarian is, she’s very particular about the books; and so, you always make sure to check the correct dustcover is on them, that no bookmark has been left unattended. you’ve also become familiar with the books that are in the ‘restricted’ section - and the one that lisa has open on her desk is most certainly for that. 
you’ve always been fascinated by her; it’s hard not to be, hearing whispers of her prowess and how she’s wasted in the library. fascination, too, rears its head in the form of how lovely she is; the glitter of her eyes and the low-cut dress and the spill of her hair, the lilting voice when she thanks you for your assistance and teasingly says what a good little helper you are. so you sneak a glance at the text - just to know what it’s about.
your face rapidly heats as you realise you’re reading what amounts to a recipe for an aphrodisiac potion; one that talks about making the intended target ‘ripe and lush for the taking’, ‘sizzling with need to be claimed in every way possible’ - one that talks about how the subject will - depending on genitalia - either find themselves dripping all over the floor in desperate need to be filled, or achingly hard in need to fill something themselves.
“there you are, cutie,” lisa’s voice is a purr, a hand coming to rest on your shoulder. “i made you tea.”
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perhaps you’re a maid of the kamisato estate, who thoma places a particular trust in - partly because ayato has taken such a great liking to you. you’re rather in awe of the young master - he’s so elegant and fastidious and terribly handsome, and sometimes he says things to you that make him smile at you like he’s a fox circling a small rabbit. mostly, people do not clean ayato’s desk - he uses it as a hub of sorts, with people who need him clipping things amongst the pages in order to let him know whatever they need when they may not be around to speak with him - but his office still needs tending to a little.
and so does the inkwell, which he never properly empties - his various calligraphy brushes, which he never properly cleans. as a conscientous maid, you never go snooping about in ayato’s personal matters and work-related paperwork - but it would be someone with poor sight indeed who’d miss that he’d left a book open on his desk--
your eyes widen as you see the illustration; one clearly drawn for titillation above all else. the page beside it features much of the same; and it’s also very clear from context clues that this particular series of illustrations continues throughout the book, and portrays the rich young head of some clan making love to a maid, his hand over their mouth whilst he has them ride him in a luxurious office. 
flustered by the idea of someone else seeing such a lewd display, you flick the book shut. it’s not your place to write him a note, so you instead try and put the thought of ayato lusting after a maid out of your head as you go about your business. this must have been an accident.
you come in to do your little cleaning the next day to find that the book is once more in pride of place; that the page has been flipped over, to an image of the maid and young master taking a picnic in the grounds of his estate - only the maid is straddling him in his lap, with their mouth open as he hand-feeds them a strawberry dripping with cream. there’s an elegantly written note in handwriting that you recognise as ayato’s slipped between the pages. it begins . . . it begins with your name.  
‘little maid; i take it you saw my book. what do you think of it? i can always carve time in my schedule out for one as lovely as you - and there are several things within these pages i’m just dying to try out--’
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your duty in the yae publishing house is simple. editors often work late into the night, writers often find themselves in the back-rooms desperately looking for some final inspiration, proof-readers and all other manner of people leave the offices of the publishing house a hideous mess - and you go in at the very end, and clean it all up for them, so nobody knows that just an hour ago the author of the most popular children’s light novel in inazuma was crying to the point of considering giving up and going to live on watatsumi island, where she already had plans to start a little farm (you didn’t tell her about the soil quality there; it’s never good, you’ve learnt, to give too much logic in these creative breakdowns). 
in stark difference, being able to slip into lady yae’s office at the end of your shift and breathe in the scent of cherry blossoms and perhaps move a book or two from her desk to her shelf, dust a few of the fox knick-knacks decorating the space, is practically a vacation. you always linger there just a little longer than you should - thinking about lady yae herself, and how lovely she is. how much you admire her. 
today, she’s left a book open with a beautifully decorated marker, a red pen in her inkwell. you can’t help but sneak a glance at what kind of book has required her attention in such detail - and as your eyes skim across the words, you feel the tips of your ears grow hot and your throat grow dry. 
the lady shrine maiden . . . her silky ears matched by her silky thighs . . . the sweet taste of honey lingering on the warrior goddess’s lips as she hungrily mouthed between the shrine maiden’s thighs . . . slender fingers twisted into inky locks . . . the tight pulsing of the maiden’s body around said goddess’s fingers as pleasurable fireworks lit off inside of her and she came with a prayer that rolled off her tongue in desperate need--
“tut tut, little one.” yae miko’s voice breaks you from your fascinated revelry, and you start guiltily to see her smiling smugly at you - as lovely as ever, and looking like the cat (fox) who has gotten the proverbial cream. “don’t you know how rude you’re being? ah. you’re in luck. as it happens, i need someone to test this on and make sure it elicits the . . . preferred response in our readership. sit.” her voice does not broker argument. “i’m going to read to you.” 
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yandere-daydreams · 1 year
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I'll bite. May I request to see what the genshin men of your choosing fuck instead of the reader lmao
i'm going with my mondstadt boys because i think they have the most Repressed vibes (save for, like, maybe alhaitham or ayato). again, this is going on below the cut because it gets nasty.
tw - disturbing themes, unhealthy relationships, obsessive behavior, and questionable behavior all around.
kaeya would fuck your wine glass.
it's colder than he'd like, and it's not the most comfortable method he could've chosen to vent his unrequited affection, but he's a determined man. he likes it when he can still see the slight smudge your lips left on the rim, when he has something to trace over with the head of his cock while he imagines what your real mouth would feel like, how warm your tongue would be against his cock compared to cold, hard glass. sometimes, if he really can't help himself, he'll invite you over to his apartment for a few drinks and steal your glass away when it's still half-full, set it aside so he can savor the taste of your lingering saliva while he pumps his cock into the stained bowl, letting it mix with what's left of your wine. his little hobby's cost him quite a few bottles of vintage, but still - a desperate man has to take what he can get, and he's nothing if not desperate.
diluc would fuck your pillow.
your favorite one, to be specific. it certainly wasn't his proudest moment - the long seconds it took to cut a thin slit in the fragile silk, the way the air hitched in his throat when he first felt the downy feathers against his cock - but there's a softened sort of catharsis to it, a spark of warmth in his chest as he breaths in your scent, shuts his eyes, and imagine it's you underneath him as he ruts into your pillow and he fights not to bite into the fabric and make himself seem more depraved than he already has. he knows he shouldn't, that one day, you're going to do more than comment on the strange dampness, the odd smell, the way his face goes red when you lay down your head at night, but he just can't seem to, not when you're still so delicate. not until he has something more accommodating to replace it with, at least.
albedo would fuck your lab supplies.
beakers, journals, chalk sticks and quills and inkwells - whatever catches his attention after you leave for the day and he's left alone with so many little reminders of his love for you. he's not an idiot, he's not going to stick his dick in a test tube again, but he does tend to get carried away - teasing himself with the tip of your favorite pen, grinding against a lab coat you'd worn early that day, jerking himself off to your scribbled notes and leaving you to wonder what strange, whitish substance he'd spilled across your logbook when you return, the next morning. sometimes, he'll take a risk, see what he can get away with while you're too engrossed in your experiments to notice his hand moving strangely underneath his desk, to question why your saline solution is so much cloudier than it should be. he loves your inquisitive mind, but sometimes, it can make you neglect things like flushed cheeks, airy tones, how tightly your lab partner hugs you when you say goodbye.
but that's not a bad thing, he supposes.
it's just another sign that you're meant to be together.
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tagzpite · 10 months
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I’ll see you in a lifetime.
Ganondorf doesn’t know when the blue spectre begun to appear anymore.
All he knows is that he’s perhaps more bothersome than when he bore a beating heart.
Smouldering golden eyes did their best to avoid the icy blue of the ghost. Or is it truly one? The king is unsure. Wishing nothing but to be able to focus on his maps and tracking the movements of the princess. Hoping to somehow reclaim her piece of the Triforce.
He already has Courage after all.
Shallow breaths left a barely lifting chest, a heartbeat so slow. Scarlet blood flowing onto the cold stone in rivers. Colouring golden hair a murky, muddy colour. A poor imitation of the Dark King’s own bright crimson. Ganondorf emerged victorious, the hero unprepared, not truly ready for the confrontation. Eyes the shade of the sky itself so blank, so dull.
An irritated sigh left through dark lips, sharp teeth grit as the large man slammed the pen down onto the table. Blue light illuminating the room. He turned his glare to the perpetrator. Gold meeting blue.
Despite the light, the eyes still look dull. Lifeless. The shattered Master sword held by a pale hand. Once a sun kisses tone.
He’s victorious over Courage. So why does his chest feel so tight? Why are his lungs squeezed ever so tight? Blood drips down his blade; joining the droplets already staining the castle’s floors. He should be feeling nothing but the glory of his success. His final win against a warrior who had emerged to fight time and time again. Life after life. Memory or not.
So why does he feel guilt?
No. He doesn’t. He cannot feel guilt for a decision made in full consciousness. One he made a long time ago. Back when the sound of the Knight’s armor sounded down the halls alongside laughter. Mingling with Ganon’s own, booming note. Moments shared and held over Zelda in a teasing manner as the business of men. Urging rolls of eyes and huffs.
“Alright. Keep your secrets. I have my own!”
He refuses to acknowledge the deep ache. The tightening rope wound around his lungs.
His inkwell had fallen over.
Yet he does not pick the small container up. Instead he opts to watch the ink drip down; staining the papers and the wood, trailing along until they fall to stone tiles.
Blood slowly ran down his blade. Soon to dry. The body still. Link did not stand up. The Zoian arm did not glow, did not stop time nor created machines and weapons never seen before by anyone of Hyrule.
Ganondorf feels numb.
“Why.”
Soft hands slowly pulled knots apart. Fixing the crimson locks that had been spilled over his lap. Here and there brushing against the scalp of the dark skinned man. Sun kissing their skin as the sounds of flipped pages gently interrupted the songs of birds. Horses grazing along the hills. Epona a few ways away.
“Why are you here?”
Armor long abandoned in favour of cotton and leather, the sound of a strangely familiar instrument soothing the Gerudo. The melody strangely haunting yet new.
Link always had a talent for the Ocarina.
“Why must you haunt me?!”
If anyone had been alerted by the sounds of a table meeting the ground, bottles shattered and papers flying through the air, they did not come to interrupt the king within his his study. Teeth grit Ganondorf’s chest heaved with heavy breaths. Sucking a breath in before straightening up. Watching as the apparition walked by. Eyes still numb. Still dull. The only difference between him and his corpse the lack of a gash through his chest. A dark skinned hand very nearly raised itself towards the voe. Stopping halfway as Link disappeared.
He does not feel guilt. His heart does not ache. He does not long for something that could have been.
He is a liar.
“Until next life.”
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halfhollowmoon · 1 year
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Something broke deep inside
It cracked my gaze broke my eyes
I wander now a crooked road
With crooked teeth and a crooked load
I am burden in physical form
Unloving and unloved
I am useless I am fruitless
I have no god above
Abandoned fate a psychotic gate
Psychotic grin psychotic mind
Lost and found found and lost
Am I losing my mind?
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belit0 · 7 months
Text
2000 Word Commission (Uchiha Madara / Fem Reader) @moroseu
"I was wondering if you could write Madara falling for reader who was one of the many shinobi he had to fight during the war era. He never had the chance to actually act out on his feelings until the creation of Konoha, where he saw her for the first time outside of combat, during a diplomatic meeting of sorts. She is not wearing armor, she seems a lot more gentler unlike on the battlefield and for the first time, she greets him with a smile. Who will make the first move!? Will he chase after her when the meeting ends or vice versa!? That will be left up to you!"
As I was editing this, I noticed how I changed the meeting situation and got an angry Madara instead, I just hope you like it, my darling Roseu💕😭🙏 Thank you so much for always trusting me with your amazing ideas, I feel truly honored🛐💫
EACH COMMISSION COMES WITH AN EXTRA SECRET SCENARIO, THAT I UNIQUELY AND ESPECIALLY ADD FOR THE BUYER. (I'll leave you an example of it at the bottom, but in Spanish, so you don't cheat.)
KO-FI COMMISSIONS
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 Madara is angry, in such an intense and terrible mood that makes him look like a hedgehog poised for a fight. Those who know the Uchiha usually avoid getting close to him in this state, aware they will get nothing but a threat and at worst, a glimpse of the Sharingan.
Obfuscated on his desk he tries to read Hashirama's indecipherable handwriting, whatever he tried to explain in the document he left for him. Peaceful times brought out the worst in everyone, and while the Senju leader stands out as the shinobi god, he has no freaking clue about what he's doing in office terms.
Madara, adopting the position of Shadow Hokage, spends more time between trips and physical negotiations than sitting behind a piece of wood, but every time he has to deal with his best friend's errands, his blood boils inside his body.
Is this motivation enough to start another war? Maybe…
"The... a-village of... con-no.oga? What the..." He sighs to himself, abandoning the document on the table and leaning back against his chair. One hand travels to his hair, running through the completeness of his scalp anxiously, and the other to his face, wishing he could disappear into the darkness his gloves provide.
He could ask for help, interpretation, or assistance, were it not for the fact that both Senju brothers decided to disappear altogether, leaving him with total responsibility for the situation. Izuna? Of course not, he doesn't count, he is more of an enemy than an ally when it comes to administration.
With his eyes still covered he remembers those times when everything was simpler and complicated at the same time, where the paperwork was not important and the only decisive thing was blood, sweat, and effort. His body tends to miss those scenarios where it was a matter of killing or getting killed, when the only meaning was to protect his own and to return home with as many as possible, to make sure that Izuna was safe, that the family was still complete.
War times were as terrible as they were wonderful, moments where only Tajima had to deal with annoying elders and combat strategies, Madara being a free young man with the only goal of bringing the Senju heir's head in arms and presenting it before everyone as a symbol of power.
Of course, he did not count on becoming the best friend of this Senju in question, nor running a village with him.
Blood used to flow smoothly, screams rang out from all sides, weapons roared against each other, and she looked as beautiful as ever in her armor and-.
"STOP!" The Uchiha suddenly shouts, standing up and planting both hands on his desk. Eyes wide open and hair tousled, he's grateful to be alone in the office and avoid having to give embarrassing explanations to anyone.
His inkwell spills onto the paperwork because of how he slams the desk, and the document which was already illegible because of Hashirama's handwriting now becomes even worse. The half covered by a huge black stain is given up for lost, and Madara holds his hair yet again, this time itching to rip it out of his head.
"SHIT!" He vowed to never think of her again, to deny that woman place and space in his mind, to eradicate her from his memories and exile her from any corner of his brain. For years he battled against that beautiful face captured in his thoughts, charming eyes, and the ferocity with which she tried to kill him over and over again in the name of the Senju.
She was not part of the clan, but her family allied with them to avoid being massacred for lack of decision. Hashirama worked with her side by side, and the woman dared to stand up to Madara on countless occasions when the leader had to attend to other fronts.
Never had he seen anyone but Hashirama or his stupid brother dare to look him in the face, avoiding his eyes of course, but with their heads held high and proudly puffing out their chests. "Now… what is the name of this warrior who dares attempt to end my life?" He had asked her with a smirk, expecting a perfect escape rather than a coherent answer.
"(Y/N)" she confessed to him before attacking, lunging with savagery and impressive speed at him, the only time she almost succeeded in slashing his neck. He had let his guard down in front of the woman, inviting her to dance a deadly tantrum from which he himself almost ended up losing his life.
The girl proved to be unbeatable, with will and strength of steel, always with an ace up her sleeve. At some point, the confrontations against the Senju took on a new flavor, giving the Uchiha the chance to see her, to fight against her, to have the privilege of admiring her raw power, and to be the recipient of all her assaults.
She was the only warrior he could not kill while holding her at the end of his weapon.
That time, (Y/N) had gotten careless after hours of combat, almost zero chakra left and few physical resources to use. Only the last several warriors were left standing, including the two of them. There had been hours of terrible exchanges, hard blows, and worse answers, but the girl gave an easy access entrance, an opportunity Madara did not hesitate to use.
When he had her on the ground, surrendered under his body and the strength of his hands, he could feel how she gave herself to destiny, how she submitted to whatever life wanted to happen to her, and that distracted him. The kunai was resting on her neck, all he had to do was press lightly, pierce the skin, and tear her throat as with countless enemies.
Instead, his hands were diverted by the warmth of her skin, the sharpness of her eyes, how soft her lips seemed even after hours of fighting and little to no water. Her presence became intoxicating, to the point where it managed to steal his goal of slaughter completely off his mind. She was the only opposing presence the Uchiha dared to forgive, and instead of finishing her off with the edge of his hatred, he allowed her to live.
He allowed her to live.
Her face has been hunting him ever since, unintentionally etched on his Sharingan and chasing him even with closed eyes. That was their last confrontation before the peace treaty, and he never knew what became of her once the war ended, feeling incapable of asking Hashirama about her whereabouts.
He felt fortunate to have had the privilege of witnessing her, meeting her, fighting as an equal opponent against her, yet that was all. He decided to ignore the reminders of (Y/N)’s presence in his mind, to bury her in the depths of times that are no more, and allow himself to move on without regretting not enquiring about her, searching for her.
Odds are that, if he did, she would spit in his face.
The man looks at the ruined sheet and decides to try and fix it, not to give up in the face of adversity caused by horrible penmanship and bad luck. He approaches Hashirama's desk and proceeds to rummage through all the visible and hidden contents in hopes of finding a copy. If the Hokage followed his advice and instructions, if he deigned to listen to Tobirama's damned recommendations, then he should have written it twice.
Or so he hopes.
Papers fly here and there as his frustration mounts, that wonderful dream of finishing his pending assignment looking farther and farther away, embarrassing decorations from his best friend raining down on the floor. He lets out another angry scream, thankful again to be alone in the room, pounding on the wood to the point of breaking it completely.
Shit.
"Bad day?" A female voice asks, and it sounds way too close for him to have imagined it. He knows that voice, yet it is not a petulant memory from the past, but an actual event in the same room. Memories come flooding back, the same tone he heard over and over again when she tried to impale him with her techniques. It takes him a minute before he dares to look up, but when he does, he understands not to be imagining anything.
"You look bad, need a hand?" he can't answer, can't find words to speak, and feels heat rising to his cheeks. It's one thing to see the girl you like fighting against you and always in a context of death and destruction, yet a totally different one is to appreciate her after years, casually dressed and with no deadly intentions.
(Y/N) looks even more beautiful than how he remembers her, stunning body covered by civilian garments, coaxing eyes looking at him with a tone of laughter on her wonderful face. The lack of armor allows him to admire the gorgeousness of her curves, how smooth her skin looks, and-.
"Madara?" She shakes him out of his stupor with a snap of her fingers, forcibly bringing him back to earth and landing on his ass. He blinks a few times and produces a few babbles before finding coherence inside his head again.
"Yeah, no, I mean... (Y/N)?"
"The one and only." She smiles harmoniously, her face beaming with the gesture and making him reassess whether he is dreaming or not. "I was instructed to bring this to you, you know how politics works." She hands over a sealed scroll, one the Uchiha receives with clumsy hands. He ends up having to take off his gloves for accurate finger control, opening the delivery's contents and feeling his soul returning to his body.
"Tobirama figured it would be beneficial for you, he didn't have much hope for the Hokage's work." She simply explains with a relaxed posture, like not having a care in the world. While Madara feels like he might pee his pants at how intimidatingly beautiful he finds his wife... the, woman, she seems totally unaffected.
He confirms this is the document he screwed up, but it's a legible, polished version, traced by the albino's handwriting and thoughts, proofread probably about three times before having the final product. Composure returns, and he feels like an idiot for the scene he put together, such simple solutions delivered by the angel in front of him.
"I see you're still as fierce as ever, huh? You should learn to control that anger, dear. War is over and life is beautiful." The woman winks and pats his arm, smiling again before turning and heading for the door.
It's now or never.
"WOULDYOULIKETOHAVEADRINKWITHME?!" The question sounds more like a barked demand than an invitation, but it gets (Y/N) to look back at him with amusement. She comes closer again, each step executed with both grace and elegance, making Madara feel like a little boy in front of the love of his life.
Is she the love of his life? Probably, yes.
"Are you asking me out, Uchiha?" she purrs mischievously, savoring the taste of having her former enemy basically at her feet. Madara never felt so vulnerable, and he hates every second it took him to work up the courage to ask her out. Impulses are not always good, and just as he is about to retract his proposal, the woman invades his personal space to give him a kiss on the cheek.
"When and where, Madara?"
EXAMPLE OF A SPECIAL AND UNIQUE ADDED SCENARIO
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