#writing with isabelle purefoy (qceensofkings)

[stxriesfromasharchive]

@qceensofkings have this because he's a little shit

"If you're looking for some hot, meaningless sex - I can oblige."

[qceensofkings]

severass-snape​: 

“I can’t deny that his writing is rather… horrendous,” Tom arched a brow, staring at the board with a straight face. He sets his pen down and closes his notebook. “I don’t think I caught your name?” He turned his attention towards her, already knowing the material that was being taught today, anyway. “Unless you’d prefer for me to call you Ms. Purefoy, it’s not a bad last name, but I’d prefer your first,” he casually leaned back, glancing at Slughorn to act as though he were paying an ounce of attention at the moment. 

Once he’s done pretending to pay attention, he looks back at his partner for the day, eyes scanning her up and down. “With a name like that, though, everyone might automatically assume you a pure-blood without knowing your family tree.” He couldn’t help but fish for information on the young lady, her last name giving him the opportunity to. It seemed light and casual, but her answer would tell him if she were his type of person to bother conversating with. 

@qceensofkings​

She hums with a small nod of agreement, a small ghost of a smile of amusement greeting her lips. She shrugs, “You could if you wanted to, I suppose. Though I find people prefer to call me Isabelle. Apparently Miss Purefoy is too intimidating,” She jokes lightly. 

A small scoff of amusement though she attempts to stop from crinkling her nose. She doesn’t particularly enjoy discussing her family or her bloodline. As far as she’s concerned, her bloodline either needs to quit being a bunch of hateful bigots or die out. It’d be one thing if they had a reason to be so nasty to people sometimes, but they don’t. And she’ll be sure to see to things the way she prefers after she becomes head of the family. 

“I let people assume,” She muses with a small smirk, “I would enjoy telling people we’re not just to see their faces. Though, I figure I’d get in much more trouble than it’s worth at home.” 

[stxriesfromasharchive]

@qceensofkings

A man sits behind a wide and long dark cherry wood desk, his back towards a large window that outlooks the city below him in a five stories tall building. The room he occupies is a study, books of various ages - some hundreds of years old - line the walls in beautifully constructed shelves around him. Next to him on the desk is an antique lamp, currently the only light in the room as is was about past midnight.

The man, a tall figure if standing, has in his hand a pen that he uses to elegantly write upon what appears to be old parchment - a sort of personal preference compared to modern day paper - writing several letters and marking down documents pertaining to business. Strands of short, ashy grey brown hair tickle his forehead though he pays no mind as he concentrates on his work, hazel hues staring almost intensely at the words he writes. He's only pulled from his concentration when the sound of flapping wings and the caw of a bird reached his ears.

The man sits back in his dark leather chair, sighing heavily as he removes rounded spectacles from his face, eyes look up at the black, silent feathered crow that has suddenly apparated on his desk. "Dust," he greets, voice smooth like velvet. "A long time it's been, old friend. What news do you bring me?" The crow caws once before bowing its head, dark beak pecking at the rolled up piece of paper attached to its foot by thread. The man unties and unrolls the small scroll, not bothering with his glasses to read its printed contents. Though the paper was tangible, it had a slight greenish glow to it and smelled of sulfur, ash, and decay. It said:

"Dear friend, I hope this finds you well. I have summoned Dust, your ever faithful companion, to deliver this to you from beyond the Earthly realm, from the Kingdom of the Dead where my eternal soul continues to remain; I reside at the Eternal Throne, an advisor to the Lord of Bones. From his court, I have heard many things from spirits that have passed through the Tree of Death - words that were once rumor turned truth as I have sought their legitimacy. I bring this news to you, Resurrector of Humanity, for your immediate consideration:

The prophecy of Man has come to pass. Earth's guardian has been found. The radiant legions of Heaven and Hell's demonic armies move through the tears of veil between their realm and Earth's. Summon your brethren, Death, the Horsemen shall ride once more. Find the Guardian of Eden before the angels and demons, lest the apocalypse rises anew.

Your old friend, Crowfather."

His jaw tightened, teeth gritting as he reads the note. When he finished, the chair he sat in scratched against the wooden floor as he stood, quickly gathering a coat nearby as well as a hat. He spoke no word to the avian creature that delivered the letter, yet it seemed to understand as it flew to perch upon his shoulder. The man swiftly exits him home. With the world around him asleep in this dead of night, no one would witness his next actions. With the wave of his hand, a flourish of greenish fire and smoke erupted out of thin air and when it settled, there stood a spectral horse - his beloved steed. "Lead me to her, Dust," he commanded of the crow, who took flight as a response. The man - The Horseman - pulled at his steed's reins and off it began to gallop into the cold, dead night.

[stxriesfromasharchive]

He was watching her carefully, though his bodily language served to show him as relaxed and patient. He noted the shift in scent, smirked wider as he saw her eyes wandering. She seemed to be playing hard to get yet waiting for him to make the first move at the same time. He briefly thought about calling her on that game, seeing how far he could push, how much flirting she could take before she was too hot and bothered.

His outward demeanor may have portrayed him as patient, but inwardly he was definitely struggling with just going for reckless abandon and see where it took him.

Reaching across toward the small dresser next to the bed, he scrubbed out the cigar he'd been smoking into the ashtray before adjusting himself, sitting more upright and arching forward, muscles visibly flexing as he moves. The blanket, a rather thin one mind you so his large frame was outlined almost perfectly, slipped further down his body exposing more of his abdomen and just a little peak of his V-shaped waist.

It felt like time slowed down to an impossibly tantalizing rate as he sat there in thought, just staring at her - directly into her eyes, almost challengingly. His mind raced with potential quips and flirty little remarks, but the more he waited and basked in her presence, the needier his other half became.

"Hmm, tell me, darlin'," he spoke, a throaty rumble mingling in his voice, "how many of these 'random men' truly satisfied you? Made all of your dirtiest fantasies come true?"

A small tilt of her head as she crosses her arms over her chest, "All very tempting. But I fear I may be done with my fucking random men phase no matter how handsome they may be." She muses lightly, despite her eyes raking across his form and easily being able to picture what's hidden beneath the sheets.

Though she does seem to draw nearer to him, almost as if she hopes he'll pull her down into bed with him.

[stxriesfromasharchive]

"Well, let's see: I'm 6'5", bearded, can do some pretty good tricks with my tongue," the corner of his lip twitches for a smirk, "if i do say so myself; i'm experienced, and currently naked under this blanket. Oh, and I'm willing to let you do whatever you want to me - hell, I'll even submit and beg for you."

"And what makes you think you meet my requirements?"