savage-quill-blog

[savage-quill-blog]

“Wet and Wild Wenches Volume XIII,” Rita read out, groomed brows quirking up in mild amusement. I’ll be damned. “Where are volumes one through seven?” 

Marlene grinned and crossed her arms, giving the other woman an appraising look before shrugging and squatting down to rummage around behind the bar. After the first few crass remarks were made about the drink and the bartender serving it, she’d stashed a few cheap pornos behind the bar. She picked up the first one with a blonde on the cover and slid it over to Rita. “Pro tip for you, love. I don’t bluff.” 

[savage-quill-blog]

♆

Send ♆ for something my muse hates.

Surprisingly, or perhaps not so surprisingly considering she is one, Rita loathes hypocrites. She cannot begin to count the number of times she has been chastised for airing this or that juicy piece of dirty laundry only to watch that same sharp tongue turn ‘round and gossip behind someone else’s back. Irrationally jealous adulterers are one of her least favourite tropes. She has found that those who scream loudest about an issue are often the ones with the most to hide, and takes a special sort of morbid satisfaction in knocking them clean down on their arses. 

[savage-quill-blog]

✿

Send ✿ for a happy memory.

Beautiful-- she was beautiful. 

Genetics had done her well, as they ought to have-- the daughter of a television mogul and his pet starlet, renowned on their own but twice as recognized together. Blonde and curvaceous, with a bright, toothy smile and full pink lips, when she put half her mind to it she could be nearly as stunning as her mother. 

And she was, that night, when the story on everyone’s lips was hers and her silver dress hugged her hips just so; when a glance around the room with those ice-coloured eyes had half and then some of the pairs turned back towards her in turn. She was beautiful, but beyond that she was powerful, and in that moment there was nowhere and no one Rita would rather be. 

[savage-quill-blog]

Join me

Join Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character giving your character an offer

There was an ever-narrowing line to be walked between courting the Pureblood so-called supremacy and antagonizing them beyond repair. Much as Rita loved to air dirty laundry, stepping on Sacred toes was a dangerous beast; it was frighteningly easy to offend any of the uppermost crust, and slighting one meant having too many doors slammed in her face to fathom. The risk often outweighed the reward by every stretch of imagination.

Alecto Carrow was a different sort of challenge entirely. The young woman was clearly lacking in some sort of fundamental manner; much as Rita flirted and gossiped merrily with her, treating her carefully and meticulously as an equal, it was evident that Carrow had something to prove, and the itch to do so left her desperate.

Desperation was nothing if not ambrosia to Rita Skeeter.

So when the she-Carrow reached out with tentative talons, Rita was more than receptive. A scandal of sorts; a delicate matter involving her brother; a trade of information in exchange for a favour down the line. Rita hated to owe, but it was too enticing to refuse. 

[savage-quill-blog]

Rare as it was to catch Skeeter off guard with something so simple as words, the blonde’s chipper tone and crude remarks had her choking on her cigarette and struggling not to laugh outright. 

“Truly tempting as that sounds, I think a pornstar martini might be the worst idea you’ve suggested yet. If I was in the market to ‘hook up with someone’, the last thing I’d want is a free porn DVD the bartender is hoarding behind the bar. I think you’re bluffing. Present it.” 

“Trust me, the ‘Pornstar Martini’ is definitely the way to go. If you don’t hook up with someone by the time you leave, I’ll toss you a free porn DVD to keep you company tonight.” 

[savage-quill-blog]

I like the truth. I like finding out the truth about someone. I like having a conversation that’s about something. Is that intense?

[savage-quill-blog]

Whitechapel // Minerva + Rita

@thelioninthelab

Seven pm in Whitechapel, the text had read, and though she’d been playing this game near-flawlessly for a decade, the thrill of it had never waned. Six hours and forty three minutes had ticked by as if the clock on her wall was stuck up with molasses. Rita found herself itching to pick the plastic and metal pieces apart, to pop out the battery, to slip nimble fingers and pale blue eyes over the innermost mechanics because surely, surely, something had gone amiss with either her clock or the ceaseless onslaught of time itself. 

The ticking had never bothered her. Each little twitch of the hand brought with it its own brand of satisfaction; a moment less spent waiting, a moment closer to her target. She left early, as she always did, the devastatingly pointy toe of her heels muffled against cement, the once-deafening crack of her Apparation silent with years of practiced use. The adrenaline coursing through her slender limbs was a drug both explicitly trusted and completely covert. To any outside eyes, Rita was the perfect picture of composure: blouse expertly pressed, seams along backs of stockings straight as arrows, white-blonde hair pulled back from her sharp cheekbones and tucked at the back of her skull, the very picture of a woman in control. 

It was only the green ball-point pen laid next to her small notepad, leather-bound and opened to a fresh, blank page, that drew the corners of those full lips downwards in something bordering a frown. Though she’d resisted such a change for months, her colleagues had been right-- her Quick-Quotes Quill in all its obnoxiously green glory was far too conspicuous for a setting such as this. Though the smooth metal was similar in hue and thrice as weighty, it could never scratch parchment with the sound that rose the hair along the nape of her slim neck; could never sway back and forth between her eyes and those of her sources, both a distraction and a means of hypnotism in tandem. So many words had slipped unintentionally from so many lips beneath that quill’s spell, and to leave it tucked deep within her purse was an egregious sin. The pen had its own charms, of course, for Rita possessed few things that didn’t. There was nothing better for working without undue attracted attention in the midst of those who did not know such things as magical quills existed, and when twisted in just the right manner it would-- much like its favoured brother-- scrawl unattended across its page. 

But this bookshop in Whitechapel was not a place for such frivolities. The thick shelves of thick books (and thick coat of dust) did their due diligence in muffling the sounds of the near-empty shop on all sides of her perch in a small arm-chair, its twin beside her empty and yawning. But the shrewd gaze of the shopkeeper, who had eyed up Skeeter in half a moment and with less effort still decided she was not the sort to find a home in a store such as this, was far too muggle to set even her pen to its proper use. So Rita sat-- early, early, for being early allowed many moments to guess just whom her contact would be, and had permitted her to intervene more than once when said contact had been about to leg it, cold feet and all-- and struggled not to fidget as she waited for her contact to arrive. 

[savage-quill-blog]

darling, i don’t want you to love me. / i want you to be terrified.

Salma Deera, from “girls who don’t care for being touched,” Letters From Medea (via lifeinpoetry)

[savage-quill-blog]

Give me

Give Me: my character will give yours a gift. 

A lesser woman might have screamed, but Rita Skeeter was made of sterner stuff. 

She refused, citing principle and journalistic integrity, to out her sources (unless said outing provided gross benefit for herself). Her readers, her editors, and a handful of Ministry die-hards and try-hards had wandered past her desk or into her inbox in the past weeks, vying for any information-- who, they wondered, had let it slip? Who had told her that St. Mungo’s had housed seven civilians that were not of magical blood; seven muggle civilians caught in the crossfire between factions hellbent on deciding their fate as a whole? Rita-- smug, satisfied, successful-- stayed infuriatingly mum. 

Truth be told, she couldn’t tell; not wouldn’t, but genuinely, assuredly, without-a-doubt couldn’t, because though the information was more than welcomed and she had made better use of it than she had thought possible, there was a threat of horrific violence wrapped tight in the bottom of the small box left outside her front door. Not her office, no; the door of her flat, her small sanctuary, the address of which she was careful to conceal for fear of spurned subjects or offended targets from this or that exposé. A small white box, nondescript and fastened with a loop of knotted twine. She almost mistook it for a gift from a faithful fan, had the scent of copper not twitched her nostrils in distaste. Within it were seven copies of seven files, boasting seven names that were later redacted and erased from St. Mungo’s system. Beneath the papers, almost missed entirely, sat a fat finger, still wearing its St Andrews class ring. 

It was a gift, most assuredly, and she had worked wonders with it; but it was a threat, too, that sat heavy on the base of her tongue like the aftertaste of sour milk. Most of all, it was a promise: more would come, for so long as she behaved. 

[savage-quill-blog]

ϡ

Send ϡ for a sleep headcanon.

While many of her colleagues survive on a diet of caffeine pills and espresso to meet deadlines and lick up every available lead, Rita has never entertained such tomfoolery. She firmly believes-- and has shown, or so she likes to think-- that she is capable of weaving a truly successful career and reputation around herself without sacrificing any more than is absolutely necessary. Loathe as she is to admit it, she is nearly past her prime, and the nearly-invisible crow’s feet around blue eyes only serve to remind her whenever she looks in the mirror. She will never be the sort who looks haggard, and thus considers her sleep to be sacred, unless there is something (or someone) better to do in her sizeable bed. If she gets less than six hours, she will be insufferably cranky and liable to lash out until she can crawl back between the covers and regain lost time. 

[savage-quill-blog]

♚ drabble list - send me one, or two, or three ♚

↳ Here’s a shorter drabble list as I find the massive one is a bit repetitive. If there’s nothing that you want to send here, just send it as a request.

Amuse Me: I will write a funny drabble about my character trying to cheer yours up.

Accept me: I will write a drabble about my character accepting yours or vice versa. /Or both to accept one another/

Break Me: I will write an angsty drabble about our characters.

Befriend Me: I wil write a drabble about our characters meeting for the first time in an AU.

Call Me: I will write a drabble about my character asking for yours [be it at the brink of death/in a battlefield/knocking on the front door wounded, feel free to specify.]

Comfort Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character comforting yours- vise versa.

Drink Me: I will write a drabble about my character taking shots with yours.

Dominate Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character dominating yours. Or vise versa.

Enamor Me: I will write a fluffy drabble about my character trying to woo yours [be it out of the blue/Valentines Day,feel free to specify.]

Embarrass Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character saying or doing something embarrassing to himself or to your character.

Fight Me: I will write a drabble out my character fighting with/or against yours.

Forgive me: I will write a drabble about my character forgiving yours or vise versa.

Get Me: I will write a drabble about my character saving yours.

Humor Me: I’ll write a funny drabble about our characters.

Hustle Me: I’ll write a drabble about our characters hustling.

Humiliate Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character doing something humiliating to yours.

Haunt Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character watching over yours [as a ghost, watching from a distance, or otherwise, feel free to specify.]

Hunt with me: I’ll write a drabble about your character and mine on a hunt together.

Invite Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character asking your character to

Join Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character giving your character an offer [be it a proposal for an alliance, asking them to join them in an activity (you can get dirty if you want), feel free to specify.]

Kill Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character killing yours.

Love Me: I’ll write a fluffy drabble about our characters.

Mourn Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character mourning your character’s death.

Nurse Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character healing yours.

Offer Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character giving yours a gift.

Paint Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character drawing a picture of yours [like one of your french girls~ be it painting them or drawing them, maybe offering a picture of them as a gift, feel free to specify.]

Quiet Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character trying to calm yours down [be it from crying, from lashing out, feel free to specify.]

Remember Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character trying to get yours to remember them [be it from an accident, meeting them after years apart, feel free to specify.]

Raise Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character resurrecting yours. Vise versa.

Reunite Me: I’ll write a drabble of our characters reuniting together.

Shag Me: I’ll write a dirty drabble about our characters. specify 

Surprise Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character surprising yours. Vise versa.

Save Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character saving yours or vise versa.

Shoot Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character shooting yours or vise versa.

Tell Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character confessing something to yours [be it a love confession, a secret, feel free to specify.]

Text me: I’ll write a drabble about my character texting yours or your character texting mine.

Trick Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character tricking your character.

Unbind Me: I’ll write a drabble about your character freeing mine, or the other way around, or something among the lines [be it freeing them from jail, from handcuffs, from a trap, from a curse, feel free to specify.]

Value Me: I’ll write a drabble about my character telling yours how they feel about them.

Wed Me: I’ll write a drabble about our character under the subject of wedlock [be it my character proposing to yours, or marrying yours, feel free to specify.]

X Me: I will write whatever it is that you wish, [specify.]

Yahoo Me: I’ll write a drabble about our characters celebrating something [feel free to specify.]

Zip Me: I’ll write a drabble about your character dressing mine, or the other way around [this can also be used for shutting them up as well, but feel free to specify.]

Torture Me: I’ll write a drabble about your character torturing mine or vise versa.

Take Me: my character will kidnap yours

Leave Me: my character will leave your character behind.

Deny Me: my character will either deny your character’s advances or deny them a ’ happy ending’

Grope Me: my character will grope yours.

Lick Me: my character will lick yours in any specified place or manner.

Suck Me: my character will suck on any body part of your character

Tease Me: my character will tease yours, whether in a friendly or a sexual manner

Please Me: my character will do anything to please yours

Bite Me: my character will bite yours on any part of their body

Blindfold Me: my character will blindfold yours in order to have their fun

Meet Me: My character is meeting yours either for the first time or just causally.

Greet Me: My character will greet yours, either at the door, at work, or somewhere else.

Own me: My character owns your character.

Slap me: my character will slap yours. In the sexual manner, or of anger. specify.

Call Me: My character will call your character for whatever reason.  Hug Me: My character will hug yours. Either by surprise or for a specific reason.

Give Me: my character will give yours a gift  Tickle Me: my character will tickle yours ruthlessly. 

[savage-quill-blog]

Send me symbols to learn more about my muse

Send ✚ for one of my muse’s prized possessions. Send ✿ for a happy memory. Send ➷ for a sports headcanon. Send ♆ for something my muse hates. Send ϡ for a sleep headcanon. Send ღ for a crush my muse has had. Send ✄ for a favourite movie of my muse’s. Send ☂ for a weather headcanon. Send ✎ for a school headcanon.

[savage-quill-blog]

Rip out my muse's heart in 1 ask.

[savage-quill-blog]

Almanac

“It takes more than a name on a list to distinguish a person.

There’s nothing more worth saying, is there?” 

[savage-quill-blog]

He was far too easy; she suspected he knew as much.

> Takes more than that to rattle you and we both know it, Longbottom. > One drink. One comment. Off the record. Anywhere you want.

[11:43pm] We both know they have to comment on it eventually. Want to break the ice?

Frank frowned at his phone. He was not the person in charge of disseminating information to the press. Personally, he felt like they should have made a press statementages ago and gotten ahead of the situation, but it wasn’t his department and it sure as hell wasn’t his call. 

[11:46pm] Gotta say, this is not the kind of text I was hoping for when I gave you my number. I recommend going through proper channels - I’m sure the Ministry will release informaiton about the situation soon. 

[savage-quill-blog]

Ah, and there it was. Despite herself, Rita felt a trickle of warm disappointment drip down her spine. Nothing more than a simple slip of the thumb to send Rita’s interest plummeting down the drain. Her own finger circled the increasingly tempting home button for a moment or three before she flicked the tiny keyboard back into view. 

> Wrong number, love. Try again later. 

[[scrambled message]] We went too far this time. I think.

It certainly wasn’t the first time a message of this nature had flickered over her cellphone’s little screen– the only difference was the pronoun, and it was the only part of the text that gave her reason to pause. She’d been accused of atrocities before– had been threatened, screamed at, insulted, but had never found herself so suddenly in bed with a stranger. We? Who is ‘we’? One nail– perfectly filed, lacquered a very deliberate shade of french pink– traced the numbers at the top of the screen, strong brow furrowing slightly in thought and smoothing almost immediately. No need for wrinkles, Rita, darling. 

“Who is this?”

“What are you on about?”

“Have you any idea who I am?”

“Who gave you this number?” 

[savage-quill-blog]

MARAUDER AESTHETICS ⇨  RITA SEETER

they wanted my eyes but wanted me to turn a blind eye / they wanted my thick lips but not the thick tongue with political discussions slipping off of it / they wanted my skinny fingers but they didn’t want the words that fell out of my pen / they wanted my body but not my soul / they wanted an empty vessel;                     but I am full of soul