#and preferred form of his when he eventually became divine - the even used to keep non-venomous snakes about his temple grounds in Epidauros

[superkooku]

Look, this is us filling the Asclepius tag with ramblings :

Irl I'm super giddy right now !!

Honestly I was hoping this post would eventually reach someone else who wanted to ramble about Asclepius 🤣. Because oh boy ! These past few months I realized that he's actually very interesting but I couldn't find the opportunity to really start a discussion about him :3

Don't worry about the initial context, this post contains most of it. @kill-me-with-a-spoon and I began this in a comment section of this post :

I need a "read more" section because this is gonna be a long one.

First of all, calling Asclepius a crimebag is hilariously fitting. Not only did this man resurrect people and got punished for it, he casually does it again to a random woman. Not Coronis, not someone he knows, just a chick that the doctors decapitated to get some worm out and he was so exasperated by their stupid mistake that he just brought her back to life.

He's a criminal AND a recidivist. And Zeus just gave up at this point I think, because he was only punished once. He reminds me of Robin Hood in a way, an unrepentant criminal who helps people around him against an oppressive system.

Another figure he reminds me of is Prometheus. Seriously, I feel like Asclepius and Prometheus would be very good friends if they met, because they share a very similar philosophy of wanting to help mortals, being punished for it and still wanting to do it despite the risks, to push the limit and ultimately bring a wonderful gift to humanity, being heating and medicine. THAT and issues with Zeus 😂. He punished both of them for kinda the same reason. Maybe his grandson reminded him of Prometheus.

Now I'll try coming back to your points because there's so many things to say. I'll try respecting the order to hopefully make it easier.

You mentioned his birth and honestly it's so fascinating. Because, from the get-go, Asclepius cheats death, he runs away from it, he was supposed to die but thanks to Apollo's dad radar, he got saved.

Ok I know those are his ordinary god powers, but to me Apollo 100% has a sixth sense specifically warning him when his kids are in danger. I mean, look at what he said in the picture you sent !! It's clearly his fatherly instinct that drove him to do that, to save his innocent offspring from Coronis' punishment. And yeah, if he hesitated any longer, he would've lost one of humanity's biggest helpers, but most importantly his own son. And I feel like he would've hated himself for it.

This kinda reminds me of Zeus saving baby Dionysus once Semele died, also burnt, but because of his real godly form. It's a powerful way to connect Zeus and Apollo too.

Tying this unusual birth to his future activities is definitely a clever approach. Asclepius seems to fear death, even more than the average Greek. But, contrary so Sisyphus, he doesn't selfishly try to cheat his own way out of the Underworld. Or to extend his youth. Quite the contrary. He uses it to help his fellow mortals, exposing himself directly.

I'll jump to the end of your post to talk about his altruism but I'll come back to previous points. Asclepius committed a very unique kind of hubris. It's not a "I'm better than the gods" thing but a "I'm more helpful than the gods". He saw that none of them, including his own father, went out of their way to undo death. So he did it. And again, he didn't just go and resurrect Coronis or Phlegyas or any family member. I feel like he was given missions, given how random the people on the list are. And he dutifully accepted them. Like a god being prayed to, even by an Olympian deity like Artemis ! And THAT pushed another limit.

The random woman myth is so important because it shows that Asclepius doesn't only resurrect kings and princes, but also regular people. He didn't seek glory or anything, he just did his best to achieve his goals of helping those around him.

You worded everything about the Apollonian family line and the egregious pursuit of curing death so well !!

Even if it wasn't explicitly said, it would still be so blatant that Asclepius was raised by his father, because they have similar tendencies. They have this same stubborn drive to act on their principles, even if it involves disobeying other gods.

There's also this negative relationship with death, wanting to preserve the life around them and grieving when they can't (except Asclepius didn't accept this last part and went on to undo it).

Plus some gremlin energy and the staff from uncle Hermes 😂. Hermes was also said to help Apollo save him and since he collects human souls, he'd 100% be there in his birth to have Coronis AND in Asclepius' death.

Speaking of gods, yes he had godly support, through Athena and Artemis. Heck, even what you said about Zeus tolerating occasional resurrections fits because otherwise, Asclepius would be dead before even trying.

That whole thing about oppression and death is spot on. Coming back to Hippolytus, his demise was very unfair. A result of Aphrodite's spite in front of his indifference, Phaedra's maddening love and Theseus being Theseus. Asclepius seized the opportunity to restore his life and stolen youth. Hippolytus doesn't die again afterwards, at least not from some extraordinary reason. He probably passed from natural causes at a natural age.

But then comes the money thing. It's so interesting because it brings another nuance to his character. The desire and need for money is purely human, gods don't need it. He's only a mortal and this is a proof of it. Why was he "enthralled" by money ? He doesn't seem specially greedy. Maybe it's because he needed it to maintain equipment, buy more resources so he can do his job even better. Maybe it's because he isn't said to be paid anything for helping people, and even if he's a prince, he didn't live with Phlegyas (Coronis' dad) but in the fields with Chiron. So maybe he wanted better life conditions. Or maybe money to pass on. Idk, honestly.

There's so much more stuff to say but I'll let you with this. You're welcome (and encouraged) to answer any time you want. I'll probably post more about Asclepius in the future, so tell me if you want to be tagged.

Who did Asclepius resurrect ?

A couple days ago, I discussed the idea of mortals defeating gods with @kill-me-with-a-spoon on a comment section of my "thoughts on Epic" post.

We talked about Diomedes and Perseus briefly, but then a third example came in : Asclepius.

And I find this specific mention interesting because I didn't think about it but it kinda makes sense 😂

He didn't defeat any god like the two former heroes, that being physically overwhelming them. Instead, he simply "cures" death, thus Thanatos' doing. Not only his, but the Fates' too considering they cut the thread of life. And he meddled with Hades' realm, something that he hated and we know how that ended.

(Hades hating doctors will never not be funny)

I made some research on him for personal projects and so I want to use it right now for personal ramblings about who exactly Asclepius resurrected.

@kill-me-with-a-spoon was pointing out that if, by technicality, he didn't interfere with Hades' domain if souls he resurrected didn't cross the Styx. And I've got to say, I think he did.

Also, I completely agree with the fact that they're still killable. They won't die from the same cause since Asclepius heals their injuries but he doesn't deify anyone.

If we look up different sources, here's the list of people he resurrected.

Hippolytus (according to Pausanias and latin sources like Pseudo-Hyginus or Ovid)

What makes this particularly interesting is that Artemis is the one who has this idea. It shows that portraying her as a man hater is completely wrong since she asks her male nephew to resurrect her male friend/devotee. It shows her bond with Hippolytus (his death was very unfair, so I get it) and with Apollo too, since she trusted her brother's son completely.

Then, it's just funny but in-character that Theseus isn't the one who has the idea to resurrect his son, because of course he wouldn't think about it 😂. It's even funnier if we take late sources stating that Asclepius was among the Argonauts. Because Theseus was too, so they knew each other personally and yet Theseus couldn't think about it.

Another detail : Hippolytus seems to forgive Theseus in Euripides' play, but NOT after coming back to life in Pausanias' version. Different versions, I know, but if we mix the two, then we could interpret that maybe all this time in the Underworld gave him the opportunity to think about it, or maybe, with a new chance to live, he doesn't want to stay with his father.

I get you, Hippolytus. Go have fun.

Capaneus (according to Stesichorus)

What's interesting here is how Capaneus died : he participated in Polynice's siege against Thebes but was killed... by Zeus. He was struck by lightning because of hubris.

And then Asclepius comes and resurrects this guy. All the more reasons for Zeus to be angered. That means he came in and decided to undo divine punishment, the same one that will be his own doom in the future. It's pretty chilling for me.

Lycurgus

So, there are a lot of Lycurguses in mythology.

In the beginning, I thought it was Lycurgus of Thrace, which would've been hilarious because if this guy comes back to life, he'll come back traumatized and insane (also, any grapevine would be the source of PTSD flashbacks). And again, that would've mean undoing divine punishments.

BUT it seems to be a separate Lycurgus that was resurrected. Not the one who offended Dionysus.

It's also not Admetus' brother of the same name, though the logical link would've been easy to make (because of Apollo's servitude and Admetus also being an Argonaut according to some sources).

Honestly, Wikipedia is the only place where the Lycurgus that Asclepius resurrected is distinguished. Even then, the article speaks of a probable case and lists Apollodorus as a source. So not even researchers are completely sure of which Lycurgus it was.

Hymen/Hymenaios : yeah, according to the Orphics, he resurrected some guy named Hymen, even though the only figure with this name is a god... it would've been very interesting to analyze if I had more details about it. Unfortunately, there aren't really.

Tyndareus

Glaucus : It's funny how Asclepius resurrects both Theseus AND Minos' son. Though that exploit is more often attributed to the prophet and healer Polyidos. I wonder if there was some untold teacher-student relationship between the two, since Asclepius is one of the inventors of medicine (with Chiron)

And then there's this woman :

This cracks me up, because this little story alone states that Asclepius as a GOD still resurrects the dead even though he was punished for it. Tbf, he probably had to explain this to Zeus, that he had to compensate his partners' mistake. Still, that's hilarious that not even divine might stopped him.

Don't tell me he didn't know what he was doing. He's a smart guy and his father is literally mr. God of prophecy. I like his audacity.

So, coming back to the initial subject, with the sheer number of mentioned names, I do think they had the time to be buried and cross the Styx (except Capaneus, who was probably turned into ashes lol).

Asclepius definetly meddled with Hades' domain, thus angering the god of the dead and he 100% provoked Zeus.

But, not all the gods were agaisnt him. If we take the version where he resurrects people with gorgon blood, then Athena, who gave it to him, was in favor of his operations.

Then, there is Artemis who asked him to bring back Hippolytus and finally, quite obviously, his n°1 supporter is his own father Apollo (oh god, I could make a whole new post rambling just about Apollo and Asclepius).

So yeah, I really like this myth for many reasons and this is one of them : how it's tied to many other stories, how different figures behave and react to Asclepius' antics, how it puts the system of life and death into questions, etc...

Anyways, if you have anything to comment on about this myth, don't hesitate. I'd love to discuss it more !

My main source about all of this was Theoi.

[thedennysmanager]

5, 13, 14, 16, 17, 22, 26, 29, 35, 38, 47, 48 and 51 for Arana pwease

Thanks again for all your asks you are doing gods' work. Arana'Louraine my beloved cringefail ex-archfey she is the prime blorbo:

5: Do they follow a higher power? What are their thoughts on divinity?

One of the main catalysts for Arana's mental breakdown in the past and subsequent deposition from her throne was religion. During the war against her father Kosso'Louraine, she was captured by him and spent months imprisoned as he tried to fuse her with a demon. She eventually freed herself by beheading Kosso, and a demon lord. When she was found by her own soldiers the people rejoiced and thanked the gods for setting Arana free. Arana became furious that all of her struggle to free herself was attributed to the gods. Consumed by these thoughts, and the riled up by the demon (Soon to be Maeyir) inside her, Arana denounced the gods and doesn't worship any. Except of course Azina, goddess of the feywilds, which all fey think of as their grandma rather than a god.

13: What do they dislike about themself? Why?

OOOOOOOOHHHHHHHH BOY, 50% of her problems are caused by her immense self-hatred but refusal to admit anything is actually wrong. First off she has intense body dysphoria, which she fixed by changing her form into what it is currently, but now her body is covered in scars, and blemishes that she can't get rid of (because of Maeyir). So now she can't go anywhere without using alter self or a ton of makeup. The other big thing she doesn't like about herself is how she can't ever be satisfied with not being constantly perceived as perfect. Arana doesn't actually understand that yet, but she needs everyone to love her all the time. To compensate for the fact that Arana knows she isn't perfect, she keeps deluding herself into believing that she is infallible. Fey can't lie, but it isn't a lie if you believe that its true.

14: What is something they love about themself?

Arana does actually like that she is so intelligent (conventionally, not emotionally). She doesn't get to show it off often, because she is busy being a disaster but it makes her feel important.

16: What are their feelings on the people who raised them?

She is genuinely full panic attack terrified of her father Kosso (pictured below). She can be reasonably diagnosed with every Cluster B personality disorder and her dad is the cause. Kosso treated Arana like an object (because that's what he genuinely thought she was) and would punish her for every expression of personality by trapping her in a pocket dimension of an endless empty maze for sometimes years. This is where her abandonment issues comes from as Arana feels like she will disappear if she isn't constantly being payed attention to. Arana can take solace in the fact that she killed Kosso herself, but prefers not to think about him at all. If he somehow came back to life, she would completely go off the deep end.

17: What do they dream about, when their dreams are their own?

Even when not wearing her nightmare ring to prevent Maeyir from getting stronger, she usually has nightmares about being trapped in Kosso's pocket dimension or dungeon. Her happy dreams are all about being told that people love her and feeling safe in the arms of lovers.

22: What is a promise they've broken?

Its the highest fey crime to lie, so she hasn't broken any promise she has verbally agreed to. However, when Maeyri was first gaining consciousness inside Arana's head, she made a ton of subconscious promises to Maeyir about how they were going to make everyone respect them together. Arana now blames Maeyir for all her problems and Maeyir thinks that Arana only ever lies to her.

26: Who do they miss?

Arana misses everyone that she cares about as soon as they are out of sight. Right now she misses Vesryn so badly and would give almost anything to be with her again. She also misses Iflax (her butler) whenever he takes his leave, as Iflax is one of the few people who can handle her and doesn't try to abandon or take advantage of Arana. She is also perpetually missing her ex-wife and ex-husband as the former, was the one who had to stop her rampage in the past, and the later was killed by Kosso.

29: Who would they save? Who would they be saved by?

She wouldn't really save many people, and would probably leave most people to their fate. However, she would block bullets with her face to save any of her lovers or good friends. The unexpected answer of who she would be saved by is Maeyir. Although they hate each other and want to kill each other, Maeyir still loves Arana and doesn't really want to let her once only friend die.

35: Which party member do they worry for?

They worry for Vesryn the most, as they are partners now, she tangentially worries about everyone else. I mean she likes you guys but if you died she would be upset but it wouldn't be devastating since she is so self-centered.

38: What do they smell like?

Opposite to Selena, Arana perpetually smells good like spring, flowers, and sweets. Part of this is pheromones to help charm people into obeying her.

47: When they meet someone, what is the first thing they notice?

When seeing somebody for the first time, Arana is less concerned with anything physical, and more about the vibes someone gives off. Its all about feelings, the way they carry themselves and how they act.

48: What do they see in their future?

Arana does her best to not think about the future, by getting drunk and high because she genuinely cannot see anything getting better for herself, so instead she will live in a prison of the present.

51: What is the most beautiful thing in the world for them?

She truly thinks spiders are beautiful creatures and she loves the way they move and construct webs. This is why she chose spiders as her minions and tried to replace all her subjects with them. Her favorite was a gargantuan spider called Bwy'Taryyd (World Eater) which she gave intelligence and treated like a son (he died though :()

[shokami]

I HATE ALL MEN...

pairing ; megumi fushiguro x reader

word count ; 2.8k

genre ; fluff to angst. established relationship!

warning(s) ; major character death (not descriptive). mentions of blood, injuries. minor spoilers to ep nineteen.

i hate all men, but when he loves me… i feel like i’m floating...

doubling over in laughter, you held your side as you let out several gasps of air. listening to the ridiculous spout of words between itadori and kugisaki, never failed to make you crack a wheeze or two.

your bubbly sounds echoing around the room quickly caught your boyfriend’s attention. those laughs were always capable of making him stop dead in his tracks, all so he could take a mental picture of that moment. your laughter slowly died down as you turned to look over your shoulder, finding fushiguro watching from afar. he looked at you with nothing but fondness in his gaze, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

fushiguro swore that you were the sunshine in human form. that genuine smile, and intoxicating laugh— was exactly what he would expect the sun to appear as. those were also the very things that had made him fall for you so long ago. he never spoke about it, but he was glad that being surrounded by curses, and the constant negativity invading your life, never dulled your happiness. he didn’t know what he would do without such a beaming sunshine.

“you know, i heard that staring isn’t polite.”

basking in your presence, and appearance caused megumi’s mind to momentarily drift off into an abyss of his own thoughts. so much so, that he hadn’t even noticed that you had approached him from across the training room.

“earth to megumi— hello?” you snapped your fingers in front of his face, rolling your eyes at the distant minded boy as his eyes suddenly snapped to yours “hi, yeah. there you are!”

“sorry, i was distracted.” fushiguro said simply, that same soft smile from earlier returning to his face.

to those who didn’t see him the way you did, or even to those who weren’t a part of your immediate friend group— no one saw fushiguro smile. ever. if you had to compare his daily facial expressions to someone, you’d probably say he reminded you of nanami. always straight faced, serious, and ready to get to the point. but his smile was never foreign to you.

despite the assumption to anyone else, a smile or laughter, or sense of joy from megumi was not a rare sight. in fact, it happened more and more than usual. his tormented soul began to lighten up, and feel free once more. some say it was because of you, but that wasn’t a credit you deserved to claim. not when itadori existed, and gave him the friends he deserved.

you were but a mere bonus in his life.

megumi was no stranger in displaying the fact that he fell for you based on your smile, and humor. he would tell you until he was blue in the face, but what he didn’t know was that the sight of that once rare grin is also what had you swooning in a matter of minutes.

leaning up towards his face, you pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek that quickly became the rosy color of the flowers outside in the garden. he was always so easily flustered, “distracted by what, hm?”

between you and megumi, neither one of you craved public displays of affection. you preferred keeping any acts of shared love just to yourselves, behind closed doors only accompanied by the soft glow of the moon.

that however, never stopped the occasional peck on the cheek, or subtle hand holding.

“what am i ever distracted by?”

“training? cursed techniques? shadow puppets?”

fushiguro snorted, “shadow puppets?”

several more giggles left your throat, sounding just the same as earlier, “yeah! you know, demon dogs… flying owl things—“

“divine dogs, and nue.” he interrupted.

“shadow puppets!”

“... shikigami.” megumi looked at you, quickly shaking his head at your antics and refusal to use his cursed techniques proper titles. “no, to all of those... i was distracted by you.”

you gasped loudly, drawing the attention of yuuji and nobara still standing across the room, “by me?! me oh my! not THE fushiguro megumi being distracted by little ‘ol me!”

yuuji and nobara bursted into a fit of laughter, enjoying the scrowl that crossed megumi’s face. though you loved him indefinitely, there was nothing more you enjoyed doing than bringing him embarrassment from your flare for dramatics.

“you’re worse than gojo, you know that?”

“worse than gojo how?” you jetted your bottom lip out, creating a fake pout.

“annoying. a nuisance. unnecessarily loud,” for what felt like the first time in your relationship, megumi took no care in sharing a moment of affection with you in the public eye as he leaned in to steal a kiss. “and a brat… but i suppose that’s why i love you.”

three words was all it took. three words and suddenly the world froze. you couldn’t see anything beyond megumi, you couldn’t hear your friends gasps’ in the background, and you struggled to exhale the breath stuck in your chest. love?

neither one of you knew love before each other, just like neither one of you dared to drop that damned four letter word until now… love terrified you. how could it not in this life? how could love not make you want to run in the opposite direction, fearing that the moment you loved— something would rip away that serenity.

“you… you love me?”

“i love you, y/n.”

another long pause.

your mind was racing, your heart beat felt like it would pulsate out of your chest at any given moment. why did the temperature skyrocket so suddenly? please don’t faint, you told yourself over and over.

surely, at this rate megumi thought he screwed everything up. did you not love him back? was the feeling not mutual? after months of being with one another, growing close, learning each other inside and out… did he read it all wrong?

“y/n, i’m sorr—“

“i love you too.”

that was the moment everything in this dark and gloomy world suddenly made sense. if you had nobody to love, what was the point of living?

megumi fushiguro may have seen you as the sun, and his never ending happiness… but he didn’t know that he was your reason for becoming that light. he would never understand the joy he brought to your dull world.

when he calls me pretty, i feel like somebody.

why is it always raining? you wondered.

to be fair, you didn’t hate the rain. you enjoyed it at times, and found peace in the sounds that came along with it; but it became a hassle when you’d have to travel across the jujutsu high campus. you cursed them for making the dorms such a distance from classes.

mentally preparing for the journey to your room, you tucked your books away into your bag to shield them from the downpour.

the onslaught of rain grew as you stepped out from the awning that protected you. an earthy smell wafted through your nostrils, filling your senses. the wetness against your skin was freezing, making goosebumps rise with each prick of the harsh rains. seconds ago you dreaded stepping out into the horrific weather, but now you stood perfectly still with your face tilted towards the sky enjoying the refreshingness.

all you could hear was the raging thunder up above, and it made you feel free. no sounds of other students could be heard, no screaming noises from the bustling city of tokyo, no ugly walling from cursed spirits. just the thunder, just your breathing, just the droplets of rain falling against the concrete and rooftops around you.

it was a beautiful moment.

which is why you dropped your bag, spread your arms as far as they could reach, and spun in the violent rainfall. the world slowed down for those few seconds.

“are you crazy?!”

your eyes snapped open as you turned to watch fushiguro rush towards you, an umbrella in hand.

“you’re going to get struck by lightning one of these days,” he picked up your bag and tossed it over his shoulder, before holding the umbrella over both of your bodies. “what the hell are you doing out here?”

smiling up at fushiguro, you stepped out from the umbrella once again with a laugh, “i’m enjoying the rain! enjoy it with me!”

you snatched the umbrella, quickly closing it and tossing it to the ground. letting all of your worries and fears fade away, you yearned to have one moment with megumi that wasn’t ripped away by the darkness of your world… one normal moment.

one normal moment where you were just kids playing in the freezing rain.

expecting him to look annoyed at your antics like usual, you were pleasantly surprised to find him matching your smile and looking at you with nothing but bliss.

“you’re so annoying.”

“and you love me,” you grinned.

“... and i love you.”

fushiguro stepped towards you, encasing his arms around your waist as he picked you up and spun you around in a circle. laughter filled the air, and you felt nothing but joy.

time froze as the two of you basked in your youth, enjoying only the company of one another and the rainstorm. it felt like an eternity before your feet met the ground once more. your hair and clothes were soaked, strands of your own hair felt plastered to your face as you giggled. megumi pushed those strands aside, and replaced them with smothering kisses.

“you look different when your hair is wet,” you told him as you pushed it all out of his eyes.

“and you look just as pretty as ever.”

ever since your relationship with megumi began, he’s slowly come further out of that shell that he placed himself in. seeing him be able to enjoy himself like this… it brought a new type of happiness.

kissing his nose quickly, you looked up at the sky as the rain finally lightened up, “you know, if i didn’t know any better i’d say i’m wearing off on you.”

“is that so?” megumi asked, picking up your bag again along with the umbrella.

“mhm! you’ve let loose more,” you huddled close to him underneath the safety of the umbrella for warmth, “finally taking back your youth.”

megumi chuckled, holding you close. “i guess i have my beautiful sun to thank for that, don’t i?”

even when we fade eventually to nothing...

everything was blurry. there was an ache spreading throughout your body, and it felt as if someone was landing a blow to your rib cage over and over again. there was barely any fight left in you, but you would continue to push forward until someone got to you. surely one of the teachers would find you soon, right? of course they would! gojo must’ve been on his way.

that’s what you thought.

it’s what you desperately wanted to believe, but as the time passed you began to think their fight had just begun. you knew what was happening back at the school, you were there when that special grade stepped out and attacked you and inumaki.

the problem was, everyone knew you weren’t strong enough to fight in that battle. inumaki knew. before you knew it, megumi’s divine dog was shoving you away as inumaki commanded you to run in the opposite direction. damn him.

you wanted to curse him for sending you away with the shikigami, but deep down you knew he was right. there were still lower level curses running around, and they needed to be dealt with… but you didn’t foresee coming face to face with mahito as he made his get away from jujutsu high.

“your friends left you all alone? what a shame.” he spoke with a bubbly laugh, watching the blood trickle down from your hairline.

you wanted to speak, you wanted to charge at him and rip him to shreds for everything he’s done. yet, all you could do was cry out in agony as you fell to your knees. every part of your body felt like it would combust into flames at any given second, you weren’t sure if it was from the pain or the sickening warmth of your blood soaking through your clothes. your eyes became heavier, struggling to focus on the laughing maniac in front of you.

the shikigami shielded you from mahito, a deep growl emitting from its body as it took a stance to protect you. the divine creature had one job, and it was to protect you when he was not with megumi; but you couldn’t stand by and watch another one of his shikigami be destroyed. not for your sake.

“return to megumi.” you reach out, your fingertips barely ghosting over it’s fur.

with a sad whine, the divine dog gave you one last look before disappearing from the air. he was safe, and that is all that mattered. he could protect megumi now, and be far away from the monster you faced.

“that demon dog could’ve been your only chance of survival, y/n!” mahito laughed again, causing you to grimace at the sound.

“divine. dog. you scum,” you made no move to try and stand, nor defend yourself. the wounds in your chest, and side were fatal and crippling. there was nothing left for you to do, other than to accept your fate.

as a jujutsu sorcerer, you are taught to live without regret. to live without fear of death. to accept it, when your time comes… but you were terrified.

what kind of cruel life was this?

this was why you did not want to love fushiguro… because every sweet thing, has a bitter end.

you couldn’t remember when your eyes had closed, or when all of the pain in your body seemed to go numb. all you knew is that when you awoke, mahito was gone. you were face to face with gojo as he carried you away from the scene.

your teacher noticed your eyes drifting open almost immediately. for the first time, you saw him look concerned. he wasn’t smiling, or laughing like usual— he looked like he was in as much pain as you felt.

“gojo…” you coughed, blood quickly filled your lungs and nearly made you collapse at the loss of breath.

“save your energy, yn.”

your eyes slowly shut once more, the willpower to survive was fleeting, “tell him… tell him i love him?”

in a whisper that you barely caught, gojo tried his best to scold you for your shitty goodbye, “you’re not going to die, you’re staying here.”

“protect him, satoru… protect them all.”

they say that when you die, you experience a flashback of your entire life in seconds. that was the worst lie you had ever heard. aside from finally escaping the pain, all you saw was a blinding flash of white and the memory of the very last kiss you ever shared with megumi…

… you will always be my favorite form of loving.

weeks after your funeral, megumi visited your grave every single day. each day, a new flower was brought from the garden of jujutsu high. the garden where he grew the nerve to ask you to be his girlfriend, the garden where you kissed for the very first time, said your first i love you, and danced in the rain as if your youth depended on it.

an array of flowers built up around your grave, and you all swore that before you knew it? megumi and nobara would have their own garden to tend to around you.

you hoped they would, and that it would bring them joy… just as you once had.

staring down at where you laid in the ground, megumi placed down the head of a single lotus flower on the front of your tombstone.

ETERNAL SUN Y/N L/N.

friend. family. student. lover.

cherished by many, adored by all.

in life, or in death, you would always be the eternal sunlight to megumi fushiguro. no matter the consequences to your spirit, you vowed to never leave his side and to always protect him and your friends.

a loyal guardian from the other side. their guide.

your spirit smiled, glancing from megumi’s tear streaked face to the sight of the moon as you placed a hand on his shoulder. being a part of the supernatural world now, fushiguro could sense your presence.

“the moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” megumi mumbled to your grave, the rain pouring down around the umbrella you once shared together.

you whispered to the wind, “i can die happy…”

authors note ; this was so fun to write. this is the first thing i’ve written that’s over 1k words and posted. if megumi is ooc, mind your business </3 i’m trying to learn him as a character xoxo

reblogs are appreciated!!

© All rights reserved by SHOKAMI. Do not modify, repost on any platforms, plagiarize, or claim as your own.

[awkwardspontaneity]

The heavenly Sword and the "Ballad of the Goddess" prompted me to another request. How would the Champions from Botw react to the fact that the reader is a goddess, and she is Hylia's sister. She owns the precious triforce, which passed to her long ago after the death of Hailya as an inheritance. Thank you again ( ╹ ▽ ╹ )

Heyo!! Sorry this took me so long school and work has been a lot lately. Anyways this is a joint headcannon for the Champions as a whole so enjoy!!

I'm gonna make this an age of calamity timeline sort of because some things will change with you around

First of all, you were a wandering goddess, helping out where you could without using your full power. Without the Triforces power you were strong but you preferred to allow humanity to solve their own problems. With a little heavenly guidance

Your main power that you used was music. You could play a melody on your flute and it would guide a person's soul, helping them to understand their desires and purpose.

With calamity rising once again you decided to investigate the castle where you knew Ganon would strike. What you weren't prepared for was the organization of the Champions to be in the castle and for the princess to notice you.

You had snuck to the lowest levels of the castle with your little egg friend to try and place a seal that would hold Ganon back as long as you could when you felt her.

This girl looked so much like your beloved sister, but the aura told you all you needed to know. This was her. Your sister reincarnated once again

Behind her stood a member of each kingdom scattered across Hyrule. You easily connected them as the elite guard you had heard whispers of.

It took some convincing but with a show of your powers and carefully sharing your aura with Zelda, although you had to approach like they were scared animals when faced with the protective circle around the princess.

Zelda was the first to trust you, although your little guardian may have seriously helped with the process. You allowed her to spend all the time she wanted with it and you got to know eachother.

Zelda confessed to you about her struggles with her powers and you declared you would do everything in your power to help unlock hers.

It took time but you managed to help her learn. It came down to her accepting a lot of emotions she had pushed down and finally allowing herself to be free of expectations. Yeah. Not an easy task. But you managed to help her feel confident and your efforts were greatly appreciated by her and the ones who cared for her.

In the beginning you would have to play your flute to allow her to find that inner harmony and then she could use her powers of light

Urbosa was someone who came around pretty fast. She has this mom instinct and despite you being thousands of years older her brain saw you and Zelda giggling as you did research in the fields and her brain went ah yes. Another child to take care of.

She also has a really good judge of character and do she knew immediately you only had the best intentions.

Mipha loved to hear your stories. You once found her talking to Vah Rutah and you mentioned that her ancestor Ruto would be proud of the Champion she became. Mipha asked to hear about stories and you gladly obliged with her wishes. Telling her all about the young Zora sage and how she had fallen in love with the hero too.

Mipha saw you as a mentor person and you would share your knowledge of her kind and you would help her perfect her ability with her trident. With your help she learned to defend against any attack and to carry that confidence into her life outside of battle.

Revali was a tricky one to get close to. He didn't trust you and the closer you got to the other the more he came to resent your presence. It wasn't until he found you atop Hebra peaks playing the flute when he finally allowed himself to get close.

The Rito are a musical people, not that Revali would ever allow others to witness his incredible prowess (yes that's a quote). But seeing you nestled in the snow playing that melody, each snowflake twirling around you as if by your command. He understood why everyone was so in awe of you.

Soon enough, Revali would meet you in the highest peaks of the Hebra mountains to play together. He would confess how he wished he could do more than play the side character but you would remind him that without his assistance Link and Zelda would never be able to defeat Ganon. His role was not small or unimportant nor was he.

Daruk may have been the easiest to befriend. You visited Death mountain and there was a rockslide. You punched one of the rocks splitting it into pieces and the big man was your new bestie.

Not to mention that super spicy marinade for a tasty rock made him know you were as stand up as they come

Honestly you and Daruk could be a dangerous combination. Super powerful dirty meets indestructible shield. You once blasted his shield with you powers and sent him bouncing down the mountain. He was fine but you were both banned from hanging out without supervision.

Link was one person who could not be that supervision. He tried his best to be the stoic hero everyone expected of him but if you three were alone together, the brain cells ran away fast.

To be fair it was a great combination in battle. You could use stasis on Daruk and Link would hit him as hard as he could creating a meteor of mass destruction barreling into your enemies.

After a battle you all would have a camp out where you and Link would work perfectly together to whip up something mouth watering. You had millions of recipes from your time wandering and just as many stories to tell around the fire.

It took time and convincing, but you managed to get each champion to bring along an instrument and play through the night. Sometimes Daruk would get a little crazy with a drum solo or Revali would get snarky if he felt like he was being stared at but eventually you would all relax. You would lead a melody and they would all fall into step bringing forth a tube that could bring a year to your eye or convince you to dance.

It wasn't long before Ganon came forth, malice reaching out across the land and taking hold of guardians and Divine Beats alike

Using the power of the Triforce you placed protection on each of the Champions. They would be unable to die until the sun rises

With your divine blessings and the power of the Triforce you were able to grant the Champions a boost on their strength and powers. You focused all you had on protecting them from injury and fatigue.

Unfortunately the sun would rise soon

With the help of your little Guardian you tapped into the warp pads on each Divine Beast and teleported yourself, Link, and Zelda to them.

Each battle was draining on your powers, you had extended you halo of protection to all of Hyrule. No citizen would die while you were watching over them.

Finally the Champions we're ready to face Ganon. Together you and Zelda merged you powers to trap him in a bubble of light. The Champions locked the Divine Beasts onto the beast and blasted him. You forced him into his beastly pig form where Link and Zelda together could finish the battle

Powered by the Guardians blasts you created a gate around the fight keeping him contained. Using your flute, you played a rythm to confuse Ganon.

With the Master sword and the bow of light, Ganon was finally defeated.

Hyrule was saved and you were finally done with your goal. You giggled as your egg teleported the Champions together to celebrate.

You were tired from the long battle but happy nonetheless. As you watched the Champions celebrate- even Revali grudgingly allowed Daruk to ruffle his feathers- you smiled. You thought of your sister as you watched over her creations and you knew she would be proud.

[probably-haven]

Hey dude?

First of all, I love your headcanons! And If ya don’t mind, would ya be interested in doing more Archon War Era Venti headcanons? I loved reading the ones you’ve written and I would love to read some more! If you want to that it, your choice.

God, I feel so awkward writing this like I’m not trying to be rude and demanding but it feels like I am and I’m not trying to but if it seems like that, just know that it’s not my intention and I’m just going to stop here beforeIembarrassmyselfokbye

thanks so much for the ask bestie! And don't worry about it, it was actually phrased really considerately, and even if it wasn't I'd still be happy because 1) human interaction and 2) archon war era venti ihjrgfvskerudhjfh But seriously you and the ask give off really good vibes, so i get the feeling ur kinda the type of person who deserves to let themselves be rude or demanding every once in awhile- don’t know why i felt the need to make that comment, but i did, so make of it what you will <3

anyway! enough good vibes, lets talk about war!!!!

but seriously, I’m always always happy to talk more about Archon War Era Venti, like- im literally making a playlist for it cuz inspiration. Like sure, I may run out of ideas eventually, but that just means i get to think of more! which is fun af too!

spoilers for Venti’s backstory

first i want to clear something up from my last post. I mentioned the four winds in one or two of my points, but upon doing more research, I've discovered that the four winds weren't a thing until Vanessa's time, which was after Venti's 1000 year sleep so i'd like to adjust the imagery

this small pitiful looking wind sprite, newly having become a god, so small that no other god would possibly even consider it a threat, most having massive forms to display their power. But as opposed to physical strength, Venti is a being of raw elemental power. 

In the first part of the war there would come whispers of great storms, hurricanes, tornados, blades of wind that scourged the land, picking up flames, turning waters, channeling lightning, carrying freezing cold, turning the elements of the gods against them. And these storms happened completely by themselves. And they grew wary. Decarabian never left Mondstadt so could he have gotten strong enough to attack from even within it’s barrier. And then came the rumors, songs carried on the wind of a revolution, and a new name begun to be feared “Barbatos.”

An unknown god, conquerer of Decarabian, known now for attacking those Divine beings who used their power to oppress others, all from within the walls of Mond, for as he had never been seen then surely his power was so great he didn’t even need to show up in person. 

It was said that when you heard his song that was your final chance- to run, to escape before the winds caught you in their current, erasing all that ever was to your memory except the song on the wind. Sure, running would separate you from the civilization that gave you your strength, but for some unknown reason, Barbatos never target the vulnerable mortals left behind, so for a time, you could keep your power. 

There were multiple records from mortals of their (weaker by comparison) gods being caught in the winds, swept up high into the sky where the one sided battle between god and nature raged on, until ultimately they would see it, the unmistakable wave of destructive force that came with the death of a god, far enough away so as to not reach the people below.  And when a god was too strong, the city would be encased in a wind barrier, shielding them from the explosion of divine misery

And when all was said and done, a boy in green would enter the city, singing songs of the battle on his Lyre. He came to be recognized as a herald to Barbatos of sorts, and the people would often times attempt to shower him with offerings, but the people had suffered and did not have much.  “I am just a bard,” he would insist as they asked for his name in reverance. “But if you have apples and wine, then gather them and the people in the center of town. Freedom is something to be celebrated after all, is it not?”

And the people would relish in their newfound freedom, the ‘nameless bard’ celebrating with them as his friend never got to, and he would play one final song before vanishing into the night, retreating to mondstadt “Fly, fly away. Like a bird in the sky. See the world on my behalf. To the heavens may you fly”

Rarely was Venti ever actually in the city of Mondstadt though. He had seen first hand the destruction that the death of a god could cause, and if he were to be ambushed, he would prefer that it happened on the outskirts, where his people would not be harmed by the destruction left in the battle’s wake. 

However, he would be upfront with the people of Mond, explain to them of the archon war, what he was doing to other tyrant gods, and the danger of ambush- and only with their agreement, when he went out to fight, to liberate, he would raise a protective wind barrier until he returned. It pained him to do so- but he had already lost his closest friend, and he knew it would pain him more to return and see his friend’s legacy destroyed. If the people of Mond didn’t agree- then... well shit, i guess he got lucky. But I think that Venti would be close enough with them for them to see the difference between these wind barriers and those of the old god of storms.

actually- im leaving that there, but let me revise that-

Venti- being one of the very first to give out visions. Not caging his people for their protection as Decarabian had done before, but instead arming them with the ability to defend themselves. He would set up the basis of the wind barriers to aid in their protective power, but only Barbatos’s chosen could raise and lower them as they please, and they were a force to be reckoned with. It’s one of the main reason’s Venti became so fond of the “riptide of mortal blood” saying because of the alternate meaning it had when applied to his own people.

But there were times when a god was too strong- could not be separated from their people- and there would be nothing he could do to spare them.  So he would remain on the battlefield, enter as the unknown bard, and make his way to the center, playing his song as he walked- and he would stay until the wind had freed every one of their chained spirits(think stanley), until he was sure that the song would not be lost, however long it took. He was one of the very few gods who actually had any remorse for the mortal lives lost, and he would mourn their lost life, the things that they could have done had he not failed them. And this was all he could do, so insignificant, but he knew it was necessary, for if he did not do this for them, no-one else would because unlike the others, he had seen the potential of mortals first hand and often couldn’t help but think- had his friend survived, perhaps the people of this society’s song could have been saved. It was during one such song where he was discovered by the yaksha Alatus.

More Archon War Era venti headcanons: one two four

[scarletarosa]

The Source and the Queen of Heaven

The supreme deity has always existed, long before anything else came into being. They are called the Source, who began as a formless consciousness of radiant light and consisted of both masculine and feminine energy. The Source is not Jehovah, for they are just and truly benevolent, unlike the tyrant war-god. The Source holds within themself infinite love, power, and wisdom; always using these in order to rule over all creation in the most balanced way. When the Source had decided to begin creation, they took their feminine energy and transformed it into a second version of themselves called the Queen of Heaven. While they are both One deity in essence, the supreme goddess is independent from the supreme god and do not act exactly the same. Despite this, they share consciousnesses and so are aware of each other's perspectives at the same time as their own; which means that they have dual consciousness.  

The Mother and Father are usually formless, but may rarely choose to manifest as extremely tall golden humanoids of light and with a gemstone on their chests. Despite this, one must never associate them or portray them in altars as humanoid, as this is limiting of who they are and is seen as disrespectful. With the eventual creation of humans and other races, the Source and Queen of Heaven came to be known by several different names. The Source has been called names such as Brahman (Hindu), Atum (Egyptian), and Olodumare (Yoruba); the Queen of Heaven has been known as Adi Parashakti, Sophia, and Mary. They are in no way associated with the Abrahamic religions since these were perpetuated by the false god, Jehovah, who was greedy and sought to overshadow every other deity. Not only this, but the supreme Mother and Father are strongly against the majority of teachings in these religions and view them as manipulative and unhealthy. Not only this, but they would never command the genocides of millions of people just to expand religions; the Abrahamic religions however were built upon the bones and dismantled temples of the polytheists. 

The Process of Creation: In order to create, the Queen of Heaven became the consort of the Source and together, created the Gods of Gods within the Void. Among these immensely powerful deities are Ptah (the Architect), Nemesis (retribution), Ouranus (heavens/daylight), and Erebus (darkness). The Architect, Ptah, then assisted in creating the greater gods, who work under the Gods of Gods and assist in many things for creation. The greater gods include deities such as the Outer Gods, Nyx (night), Hypnos (dreams and sleep), Fortuna (providence), and the Aeonic deities. The Aeons are the deities who create the physical and metaphysical Universes; their kind consists of the Ogdoad (mentioned in Egyptian texts), as well as Amun and Jehovah. The greater deities are incredibly powerful, but not nearly as much as the Gods of Gods, whose powers are almost infinite. Additionally, the higher in the hierarchy of divinity a god is, the far more complex and incomprehensible they become.  

The Source and Queen of Heaven then assist in creating Universes alongside Ptah and the Aeons. When a Universe is formed, it is like a radiant sphere (hence them being called “golden eggs” or “cosmic eggs”). Once completed by having laws placed within them by Ptah and all other necessary components, the cosmic egg bursts open, allowing the Universe to unfold. For our Universe, this sudden blast of creation created our cosmos and the first Universal deity- Phanes (Lucifer), who brought light. The other deity who was born from this explosion was Eros, but he had a different destiny and so came into being within the Void instead of the Universe. It was only many eternities later that Eros created a smaller and less-powerful copy of himself to be born to Aphrodite so he could interact within the Universe as well.  

Another deity who came from this explosion shortly afterwards was Philotes, the daughter of Nyx (night) and Ouranus (the heavens/daylight). The goddess Philotes is the one who brought unity into the Universe and is the very force of the element of gravity which holds everything together (from the celestial bodies to the particles of matter). She is also the force which helps bring people into harmony and experience love of all kinds. Eris (her half-sister) was born as her opposite in order to keep balance within the Universe; she targets unity in order to bring about chaos, strife, and separation. While the Source/Queen of Heaven embody pure Love, they allow painful things to occur since they say that evolution cannot exist within perfection; we need obstacles to overcome in order to develop as beings and grow wise. Thus, the Universe acts as a place of learning through adversity.

After many ages, the Source created additional elder deities within the Universe to become Angels (agents of the Source/Queen of Heaven). They were tasked with following Lucifer, the first-born, and the highest of the Angels were titled “Seraphim” whose roles were to carry out direct missions from the Source. Lucifer, as the supreme Angel, was a Seraph (as well as an Archangel and Destroying Angel) and is the most beautiful and wise among them. Amongst the other elder Angels, the Source/Queen of Heaven created Raphael (who brought Love into the Universe) and Mikael (who upholds justice and protection of the innocent). Lastly of the elder Angels, the Queen of Heaven created a small, less-powerful manifestation of herself to act within the Universe and marry Lucifer. This embodiment of the Mother Goddess became known as the goddess Lilith, who was born from the Mother’s light to be the twinflame of the Morning Star. Even though Lilith embodies the Queen of Heaven, she is independent from her because of free-will; thus, she has her own personality (albeit a similar one to the Mother) and her own desires.  

The Queen of Heaven also created other embodiments of herself, including Parvati, Isis, Lalita, and Asherah. These goddesses (including Lilith) are all One in essence, but are all independent and have slightly different personalities and rulerships. They can also share consciousnesses with each other, allowing them to be able to see through one another’s eyes and experience the same things (another example of multi-consciousness in deities). Lilith, however, stands apart from the other embodiments of the Mother since she ended up becoming more of a “dark mother” who is connected to the night and empowerment, as well as life and motherhood. Her later becoming a queen of Hell only strengthened these characteristics, causing her to love and see beauty in what others may fear; suitable for a mother of demons. 

Lilith, along with the other mother goddesses, assist the Queen of Heaven in creating minor goddesses (ones who are aspects of themselves) by taking pieces of their energies and allowing them to be born as children to other gods (the war or beauty-related ones like Inanna and Athena tend to be more connected to Lilith while the earthly ones like Hathor tend to be moreso connected to Parvati, etc). Overall, every goddess is connected to the manifestations of the Mother (some much more than others), and the closer they are connected, the more they view each other as the same being while also having independent personalities. The same thing happens with gods, but involves the Source and the elder gods. So in this sense, many deities are connected to each other in some way. This all occurs because the elder deities often create lesser versions of themselves in order to act within many different pantheons (although the gods do not limit themselves to one country or planet, but prefer to interact with any being who holds spiritual potential).  

Everything was prosperous for a long time, but the day came that the Aeonic god Jehovah (also called the “demiurge”) began to seek greater power. He appears as an enormous serpentine-dragon with the head of a lion. Due to him being created improperly by his mother, Jehovah lacked wisdom and was shunned by other beings, causing him to become enraged at the other deities. In order to try to fill what he lacked in wisdom, he sought after having power over others, causing him to target Earth where a new species had been created: humans. He battled the other deities with his superior strength (due to being an Aeon) and cast those who first rose against him into Hell, the realm of torment. When this was done, Jehovah declared to the newly developed humans that he was the Source and was the only god; anyone who opposed this was to be slaughtered. Thus began the gradual decline of polytheism, the brutal massacres of pagans, and how the elder deities who acted as rebels against tyranny became known as demons.

Overtime with the rise of Christianity, some fragments of knowledge about the Queen of Heaven remained. During the religion’s early years, the Holy Spirit was known as the female counterpart/consort to the Heavenly Father and was portrayed as a dove. This was spoken about by the Apostle Thomas where he referred to the Holy Spirit as the Mother, but he was shunned for this and the truth was rapidly shut away and turned into meaning “the presence of God”. This can be further explored through Biblical and Tanakh texts which mention the Holy Spirit as “Shekinah”, which is a feminine word. In Kabbalism, Shekinah is mentioned as appearing as light and is the female aspect of God. Nevertheless, the Queen of Heaven managed to resurface as Mary Magdalene who bore the child of God and was said to have been escorted by Angels into the Heavens at death, her spirit enormous and of golden light. It is no mistake either that Mary is often represented with doves and is even called the “Queen of Heaven”; though most Christians do not realize the truth behind this and mistake her as merely a saint. Similar themes can be seen when one discovers that several saints actually have their origins as pagan gods (such as Brigid).

Devotional: The Source and the Queen of Heaven are truly magnificent deities and are complex beyond all comprehension. They are wondrous and awe-inspiring, while also being the most pure beings to exist. They do not interfere much with Creation since they uphold free-will and the chance for evolution through trials, but they will assist those who are truly worthy and cannot do something on their own. The Father and Mother are very important to connect with and meditate on since they help show us the truth of existence and the truth of our own selves. When speaking to them, make sure to be polite and genuine in what you say. You may feel their energy embracing you, which feels deeply loving and healing. One can also develop a connection to them by meditating on sacred objects that represent their divine union; one of which is the lingam. Other than that, it is best to use other-worldly things to represent them on an altar, such things can be artwork of light or sacred geometrical designs. However, it is also acceptable to use images of Mary Magdalene for the Queen of Heaven since this is a form of hers.

Offerings: anything genuinely given with love. Some items they tend to have traditionally offered are a white candle and olibanum incense.

Links: The Angels, The Outer Gods, The War in Heaven, References of the Holy Spirit being Female

[unkownknowledge]

Genshin OC: Spritefather

(A/N: I'm not used to character descriptions, I'm more used to story writing. So sorry if this isn't good. Also note that this character's history with Baal is a lot darker than originally planned)

Spritefather is an ancient immortal of unknown origin, he's rarely seen by mortal eyes but he is referenced in much of teyvat's legends. His legend depends on the region: in mondstadt he is the father of Barbados, who raised him to follow the path of freedom. In Liyue he helped Rex Lapis connect with mortals by showing him the many artist and singers of the land. In Inazuma he was the husband of Baal before they came to blows when she began the vision hunt. And in Schneznaya he's known as the man who told the Tsarista "fuck off pretender, I'm making cheese" when she ordered he move his camp to make way for a fatui building.

Personally

"Humans are so nice to look at, but Interaction is a bit of a chore."

-Spritefather

Spritefather is a very calm and kind man, as evidenced by his adopting of orphaned sprites and his ability to not lose it at over 30 children. He often wanders around the wilds of Teyvat to admire the beauty of the land and is often accompanied by seven of his children, each a different elemental sprite.

As mondstadt's legend's state, he loves freedom. To him freedom is the natural state of all things, and since he loves nature he loves freedom as well.

To him humans are difficult to understand, and their customs and behaviors are tiring to perform. However he finds Sprites to be more "simple". Their language is clear to him, and their customs and behaviors are casual and easy.

While he prefers to be around sprites and animals, he does love humans as well. He think the art they paint, the stories they write, and the songs they sing are all gifts to the world. Even if a painting envokes no emotion, a story has terrible writing, or a song makes your ears hurt, he will love it and the human who made it. Because to him creativity is the ultimate freedom, and as such is the ultimate beauty.

He is not above hate however. For instance the Tsarista hates his eldest son, so he hates her. However he also does not like to fight, so when he hates someone enough to act against them he will instead prank them and cause them misfortune. This is what lead to him calling the Tsarista a "pretender", because it upsets her, and getting in her way when she made the fatui headquarters.

He is, however, capable of fighting. He is an immortal after all, so it would only make sense he would be capable of defending himself.

History with Barbados

According to mondstadt legend, Barbados almost died in Decrabain's storms before he ascended to godhood. And it was only because of the Spritefather that he lived.

While the legend isn't entirely incorrect, it is plagued with inaccuracies thanks to the people of mondstadt not knowing of Barbados' origin as a sprite.

Long before Barbados met his friend Himmel, the Sprite struggled to persist in the cold storms that surrounded mondstadt. One day he almost faded away, thanks to an avalanche trapping him inside a cave in what is now Dragonspine. Luckily for him, Spritefather was in that cave as well. Though at the time he was simply known as the "husband of eternity", as he was the electro archon's husband. He saw Barbados was starving and freezing, do he picked up the little Sprite and hugged him close to his chest, using his power to transfer all his heat to the sprite. He didn't have much food, but he gave all of it to Barbados in order to keep them alive until the snow cleared away. In the six months they spent in their he told Barbados of the world outside of the storm, how even in war it was filled with beauty, of the many wonderous people he had met on his travels, and of his beloved homeland of Inazuma.

When the snow cleared long enough for the avalanche to clear away, both left, and while Barbados wanted to join the Spritefather the man insisted that Barbados journey his homeland and find people that could make this land worth living in.

Despite his insistence that he would not return, Spritefather continued to return to Barbados and help him live through the storm. Even meeting the bard Barbados became friends with, and comforted him when the bard passed away.

And while the legends say Spritefather taught Barbados to love freedom, he only taught Barbados the philosophy of freedom. And Spritefather, who usually dislikes unnecessary violence, wishes to smack whoever gives him credit for teaching Barbados to love freedom, because it further erases his child's friend from history.

History with Baal

(Note: this might change depending on lore for Baal as it expands)

Long ago, before they ascended to godhood, Baal met Spritefather. At the time he was not known as anything, as he was but an immortal who had nothing to his name. He would observe humans, but noone ever saw him, in fact it seemed that he was invisible to all but Baal.

They continued to meet many more times, each time growing closer and closer. Spritefather telling her of the great history of the world and it's people, and Baal telling him about her day. While to many this would seem an unfair exchange, to Spritefather her days as a mortal was the most amazing stories in all of Teyvat.

When she ascended to godhood Baal used he powers to make Spritefather visible to humanity, so that he may live with them and they may live with him. It was this act that lead to him proposing to her.

After his travels around Teyvat were done, and because of his encounter with Barbados, Spritefather brought up the idea of children to Baal, an idea she equally loved. And so they began to create many electrosprites, and any orphaned sprites they could find immediately became a part of their family, for many centuries the land of Inazuma was also known as the land of Sprites because of how many would fly around the land.

With such a loving relationship, one must wonder what led to them coming to blows.

Fall of Baal

(Tw: this bit includes abuse. Not detailed, but made crystal clear)

Spritefather was appalled when Baal declared the Vision hunts. She claimed that Visions are divine power, and as such belong to the divine alone. But the Spritefather saw it as egotism and denying mortals the rewards they worked so hard to gain.

Tensions rose quickly in their relationship, Baal became more and more frustrated at her husband's opposition to her plans, and how even her children became afraid of her after she began the Vision hunts. Eventually this lead to her most horrific act: abusing Spritefather. She claimed that it was "teaching him to love her" and she was "trying to bring him back to his senses", but his scars made it abundantly clear to everyone who saw him.

While many claim he came to blows with Baal, such an event never happened. What happened instead was Baal almost beat him to death, with a gift he gave to her no less. But the Sprites saved him. All the Sprites in the land of Inazuma came together and, with the combined elemental might of million Sprites, blasted Baal away from their Father and flew him to safety.

Sadly, however, this release of elemental energy did not leave many of the sprites alive. In fact, now only seven of them live. One of each element.

History with the Tsarista

Because she hates his son, Spritefather hates her. In fact many of the bard Venti's tales of Barbados troubling the cryo archon is based off of Spritefather pranking the Tsarista or otherwise being a nuisance. One of the best ones according to him is when he had a bug camp built in the place where Tsarista wantsd to build the fatui headquarters. While she could have killed anyone else, Spritefather is, well, immortal, so that was out. In fact he's the only person who has gotten the Tsarista to give up.

History with Rex Lapis

After a few centuries of being a God, Rex Lapis began to become apathetic to mortals, something Barbados mentioned to his father over wine.

Because of his love for mortals, and having seen the effects of an archon becoming apathetic to their people twice now, Spritefather decided to pay Rex Lapis a visit.

Yo keep him in touch with his people, Spritefather had Rex Lapis take the form of a human and then dragged him from his home in the heavens down to earth by the ear. When they arrived in Liyue he had Rex Lapis see the many arts of Liyue: the dancers, the singers, the poets, they painters, and even the cooks of Liyue. Over the course of a year he showed Rex Lapis the greatness of humanity, and renewed the god's interest in his people.

Description

Spritefather wears a cloak that is similar to a Sprite's body, however it is colored with the seven different colors of the elements. Under his cloak he wears a simple black leather outfit on his whole body. His eyes glow yellow causing them to appear as yellow dots beneath his cloak, and when his hair is visible it is short and brown.

The most notable part of his appearance below his cloak his the electro scar covering his whole neck, and below his whole outfit is almost his entire body covered in electrical burns and electro scars.

_____________________

This was my first attempt at writing an oc page. This oc came to be thanks to @genshin-scenarios take over event.

(Tagging: @golden-wingseos(incase you forgot, you asked me to tag you in my genshin writings), @storytravelled)

[phylophe]

I did another full playthrough of Dragon Age (well I still have Trespasser left but I know how it’s gonna go down for my inquisitor). I call this the Footshooter worldstate because while for the Canon worldstate I’d picked characters who I thought would make a good protagonist, these three are mostly just stumbling into things, trying their best, and often shooting themselves in the feet.

Templates by Marian Churchland.

More of each character’s key decisions and notable notes under the cut.

Eryth Surana

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral

Themes: Freedom. Experience. Fulfilment

Specialisation / Build: Mage - SPIRIT HEALER > Blood Mage

Other significant decisions:

Gave the guard’s lunch to the prisoner at Ostagar

Sacrificed Isolde to go into the Fade herself and free Connor

Brought along Genetivi, preserved the Urn of Sacred Ashes, let Genetivi go back to report to the Chantry

Agitated Ruck to the point that she had to kill him, then told his mother the truth

Helped Burkel form the Chantry in Orzammar

Recommended Dagna to the Circle

[Stone Prisoner] Refused to agree to Kitty’s terms and solve the puzzle, killing Kitty and getting Amalia killed

[Warden’s Keep] Killed Sophia and had Avernus continue his research ethically

Kept Alistair softened, hardened Leliana

Was not betrayed by Zevran when facing off against the Crows in Denerim

Had Alistair duel and execute Loghain

Had Alistair complete the Dark Ritual with Morrigan

Left to travel (with Leliana) after the Landsmeet

Trivia:

She has no memory of life before she was taken in by the Circle.

She belonged to the Libertarian Fraternity in the Circle and was irreverent of the Chantry.

Aside from Leliana, she had the highest approval with Sten of all her companions.

While she had persuasion skills, her emotions and naivete often got the better of her, and ended up escalating many conflicts.

She learned blood magic from Jowan (my headcanon for how she could access the Blood Mage specialisation despite never making a deal with a demon) mostly out of rebellious curiosity.

She hardly used blood magic, but when she was going about Denerim and a group of rogues closed the portcullis behind her and cut her off from her party, she used Blood Wound to kill them all in desperation.

Alistair was the one who got her first kiss, however Leliana was more forward in her advances and ultimately sealed the deal with her.

She was close to allying with Branka, until she mentioned enslaving her people.

She put off going back to the Circle for as long as possible.

She lost against Ser Cauthrien and was imprisoned with Alistair; she decided to break out, and met Morrigan and Leliana on the way.

While she gathered all the evidence and people to speak out against Loghain at the Landsmeet, she got too emotional, and the event devolved into an all-out brawl before the duel was called by Grand Cleric Elemena.

She disliked Anora, but prioritised Alistair’s happiness to remain as a warden and his reluctance to be crowned king.

Despite her distaste for the Circle and her disagreements with Wynne, she had confidence in the senior mage’s abilities and put her in charge of the defence team during the final battle.

She called on the dwarven army for most of the final battle, but had the mages fight by her side against the Archdemon.

Ilya Hawke

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral -> True Neutral

Themes: Survival. Spite. Perseverance

Specialisation / Build: Warrior - REAVER > Warmonger

Other significant decisions:

Worked for the Red Iron mercenaries

Returned the cargo of poison to Martin

Killed Kelder

Matchmade for Aveline and Donnic

Killed Idunna

Sent Feynriel to the Dalish, freed him from the Fade demons, and he went to Tevinter

Gave Ketojan back to the Qunari

Spared Gascard

Of Yevhen’s sons, saved Merin instead of Iwan

Made it clear to Isabela that he intended to return the relic to the Qunari; she ran away and did not return

Killed Javaris

Duelled the Arishok

Told Emile to escape

Did not fight Merrill’s clan, thus they survived

Had Merrill destroy the Eluvian

Had Bartrand killed and did not give Varric the red lyrium shard

Betrayed by and killed Fenris in the final battle

Trivia:

He was aggressive towards most people, but almost always diplomatic and forgiving when it came to family, and often held back his temper with authoritative figures.

While he wasn’t intentionally hostile to his friends, he also didn’t mince words and tended to be brutally honest.

Before Isabela fled, she was his rogue-of-choice for the party.

His closest friend among his companions was Anders, closely followed by Fenris. He had high rivalry with Merrill and moderate rivalry with both Isabela and Aveline.

At the start he would do anything to ensure his and his family’s survival at Kirkwall; once he got comfortable and secure he tried to do better morals-wise.

He stood for mage rights for the sake of Bethany and the freedom he thought she and people like her deserved.

He befriended Alistair on the basis of his looking after Bethany after she became a Warden.

He executed Anders as a mercy-kill. He disapproved of his actions, but was sympathetic of his motives, and would rather his friend dies at his hands than anyone else’s.

He was heavily scarred (his face included) from the final battle at the Gallows, since he no longer had Anders with him, on whom he had heavily relied since the start.

Veika Cadash

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral -> Neutral Good

Themes: Hope. Renewal. Inspiration

Specialisation / Build: Rogue - TEMPEST > Double Daggers

Other significant decisions:

Declared the inquisition be led under her name, but eventually became devout

Upgraded Skyhold with a Chantry garden, a training ring, and a Mage tower

At Theinfal Redoubt, raised the flags in descending order of people, Chantry, Templar

Dissuaded Cullen from continuing to take lyrium

Went the long and diplomatic route to deal with Josephine’s assassins

Retrieved Blackwall the complicated way, using underground connections to avoid bloodshed

Freed Blackwall as Thom Rainier for him to atone

Helped Solas free his friend

Made Cole more human

Saved the Bull’s Chargers thus making Bull Tal-Vashoth

Saw Sutherland’s group succeed and stand on their own

Killed Imshael

Pursued Calpernia through the fissure, thus disrespecting the rituals at the Temple of Mythal and antagonised the guardians

Convinced Calpernia to betray Corypheus

Leliana inspired (softened) and made Divine

[Jaws of Hakkon] Shared the truth about Ameridan

[Trespasser] Freed Ataashi

[Trespasser] Wants to stop Solas

[Trespasser] Inquisition disbanded

Trivia:

She initially had reservations about divine intervention in her circumstances, but gradually became inspired by Andraste, and grew to believe in the Maker’s will.

She was close with Sera, but they grew apart as she became more devout and open-minded about history and beliefs. They broke up over an argument following the events at the Temple of Mythal.

She’s on decent terms with all her companions, but liked Cassandra and Dorian the most.

While she was grateful for her life in the Carta, she saw being the inquisitor as a precious chance for a new life and becoming a better person, and eventually embraced the role and all that it entailed.

She had experience in dabbling with alchemical concoctions even before she took the Tempest specialisation; her hair was bleached as a result of this.

She favoured Leliana’s suggestions at the war table.

She preferred exile and deferral (e.g. referring to precedence, giving Erimond to the Wardens) in judgement.

Initially she led the Inquisition under her own identity, but eventually led by faith.

She allowed Hawke to take the fall for Alistair as that was what Hawke would want, since Alistair watched over his sister and he had otherwise very little left to lose.

She didn’t want nor care to kill all the dragons, as she believed they were there first and people should learn to compromise.

[handlewcaare]

art by: kajuhz

The concept of Justice was a profit.

Oftentimes would Beaut replay the scene in his head. Not the ones in which he would portray the handsome knight or the chivalrous prince, but of his own savior; he who was bestowed a graceful light atop of his crown. His physique but a mountain compared to Beaut’s shuddering frame, cowardly under what he assumed to be his final hour.

“It’s fine now.”

The baritone resounded as divine as cathedral bells. A voluminous tone that held no wry contempt of what monster curled in front of him. There was no rehearsed spiel of what justice was, but it left Beaut to determine his own interpretation of it in his stunned awe.

Many would have called justice a caped Crusader, many would have called it a quivering hand that held the knife they used to impale their abuser, many would have called it the rope that suspended the guillotine’s blade. In the end, it was but a trophy to be won over the carcasses of villains Beaut would periodically encounter.

Justice was as fine as wine in his perception. It was the promise of dictating who would be fit to surpass him in the top of the A-Class threshold, it was the champagne dinners he would hold at every New Years or the awards he would win in for a role he partook when the hours were slow. It was not a gruesome lifestyle, outside of what brutality he enacted upon his villains, but it was profitable.

Until it came along.

It coming in the form of a walking cadaver draped in an old beige coat that was rancid with nicotine and whatever disease it caught this week. It’s shoulders were hunched and it never enacted in a spatting match reserved between Tatsumaki and Metal Bat. Rather, it kept to itself and only periodically placed its input in a phantasmic and haunting tone. Ironically, it ran a detective agency down in F-city and was quite renowned for its capabilities. However, what irritated him most was not because it’s regeneration, not in truth anyways.

“Why wasn’t I notified about his recruitment?”

It was often that the H.A. would negate Beaut about new recruits, especially one whom had made headlines about his week-long war with a conflagrant dullahan Griffin. Though, the sole purpose of his presence at the threshold of A-Class was to prevent lesser men to weasel their way without proving their worth. He knew that Kamikaze’s disciples attempted to do so numerous times with their false valor.

“Well, he has a high amount of endurance,” Sitch clarified. The portly man hastily patted his temple with a handkerchief. Without a doubt, Amai knew how to intensify the ambiance with but the sneer of his tawny glare. “Not just that, but I don’t think he’s human—“

When veins bloomed at the nape of the idol’s neck, Sitch hastily continued, “our intern, Iwaizawa, tried to recruit him the first time and his wounds healed while he refused. Poor man was horrified when his arm just fell off and grew another one.”

Regeneration was nothing of a unique feat, but it was one in which Amai specialized in. Clean cuts to his appendages often wrought nonchalance when he secured it back on. The muscle fibers would make haste to keep his tendons and bone secure. The carbon of his skin would shatter into a spiderweb fracture, but it would never quake under the pressure. Yet, he could only find offense that they would insinuate his was not just as good—if not, better.

“And like I can’t?” He could probably do so while performing a live concert.

“He survived numerous injuries; burns, teeth, claws—the whole nine yards—he didn’t stop walking either.”

If there was anything Amai was, he could be rational at times. His lip nearly turned stiff with a grimace, though the aspect of someone possessing a similar ability than him was enough to curdle his stomach. It was a hideous, warped perception of himself that he faced; the Beaut he was prior to his body enduring so much stress that it became a diamond. Who gave this thing the audacity to be the very thing he couldn’t withstand?

He felt his blood curdle in private rage, though he knew better than to lash out at someone who could potentially hinder his reputation. Tabloids would shrill about his monstrous temper and equate him to nothing but another Terrible hero; a spoiled brat who should have been proud of the golden spoon in his mouth.

He would have told them his spoon was spray painted, but that was too worthy of a risk.

“I want to interview him,” Amai said as he briskly stood up from his seat and collected his pristine coat, his voice stiff to bottle up his frustration. “If he’s abnormal, I want to make sure he doesn’t have ill-intentions.”

“I... highly doubt he would,” the reluctance to correct Amai was prevelant, as he was the reason they were even able to make a fortune off the expense of strong heroes with exaggerated sob stories. “He refused to enlist initially.”

“Maybe that’s what he wants you to think.” Something evoked the creature to come back, be it that someone fed it on their porch or gave it a promise didn’t matter. It was worthy of an investigative welcome.

——————————

Hounding after the cryptic amidst F-City was hardly an issue. What with the newest talk circulating the nicknamed ‘deadman detective agency’ and tourists seizing photo opportunities, Amai could only wonder what made it worthy for the city to nestle the gemstone close to its chest.

Was it being a little hole in the wall? Was it the fact that it held some nostalgia to the Griffin’s demise? He didn’t particularly care either way, other than it lived in an absolute shithole. The windows were makeshift plastered with wood and duct tape.

Not an environment he would imagine himself being in, but it was better than visiting Puri Puri Prisoner.

Knocking on the door only fueled his muted irritation. What he was greeted with was a pallid being, one who barely looked passable for an anemic. Along its lips balanced an unlit cigarette and his gaze flickered briefly to the branching sutures underneath its clavicles. The aroma it carried however was rancid, vile nicotine and ink seemed to manifest itself through the partially opened maw of the door.

For a moment, Amai brought a knuckle to clog one of his nostrils discreetly, “hello,” his Hollywood smile couldn’t have been anymore amiable than it was. His smiling equanimity easily masquerading his suppressed resentment, “I wanted to say congratulations on passing your Heroes Entrance exam.”

One could weigh the loss of interest along the creature’s stern countenance, “usually, I am involved in the recruitment process. However, I was a bit busy and I missed my opportunity to get to ask you a few questions.

“My name is Handsome Kaimen Amai Mask,” he informed as he extended a hand for the cryptid to take, “you can just call me Amai Mask.”

It was glacial, the way the detective’s hand clasped his. There was not a semblance of rough, course callouses or warmth to radiate under the skin. He shuddered under the grasp that could only be best described as rigormortis. What it lacked in conversational pieces, it compensated for in its uncanny valley of humility. He supposed not all monsters slammed their doors in people’s faces.

“It’s nice to meet you, Amai Mask,” it’s phantasmic murmur was reserved to the spirit that haunted its shell; a conch that knew too many secrets. When Amai withdrew, he felt the itching need to investigate whether he was as humble as he appeared to be. If he truly did do investigative work for the good of others and not himself.

“I would like to talk to you privately,” he said, “after all, your thoughts are very important to hear.” They weren’t, not even the H.A. Could deny that blatant fact.

The reluctance in It’s pause was also uncanny (he could never fathom why there was always a hint of hesitation with him), however the carcass gradually complied by opening the barely stable door wholly open. “Leave your shoes by the door, if you don’t mind?”

He could feel his gums bleed under his clenched teeth, only releasing them when he cheerily complied. “Not at all.”

————————————————

The office was illuminated by a single bulb. It’s jewelry but the rotating fans above and a single chain within length to pull. The interior wasn’t much in the way of impression, as half of it was hastily constructed.

Tarp laid sprawled over one side of the office, only being held down by a jar of plaster for the jagged trauma across the masonries. If that wasn’t enough of an indication there was a skirmish, the creature’s desk was haphazardly concocted with duct tape and splintered wood. The remnants of burnt petals remained prominent under the sprawled files of evidence.

Along one (partially) unblemished wall was the map of F-City’s tri-state area. Polaroids pinned to each segment as they caressed scrawled notes pertaining to specific cases. Few even had a red string connected to one another.

“You really are a detective, huh?” The idol mused as he gingerly laid his coat atop of one of the chair cushions—the one that wasn’t nearly as collapsible as the other—before he sat down, “I assumed it was just part of the aesthetic.”

“Old habits die hard,” the walking cadaver remarked. The way it settled into the seat in front of Amai reminded him of something of an old soul. Its sigh fluttered when it leaned back, “though, I can’t say I’ve done much investigation work nowadays.”

“It’s a nice hobby to have,” he didn’t want to stay too past his curfew however, especially if this reanimated corpse wouldn’t want to talk shop. Fortune came in toast master’s, “what are your thoughts on the exam? Was it too difficult?”

“Do you want my honest answer or the one you want to hear?” It asked as it flicked the lighter to ignite the end of It’s cigarette. The sizzle of tobacco and paper evoked a hint of irritation that Amai’s vocal chords were not taken into consideration.

“Preferably both,” it was unbearable the way it implored. If it was an attempt to get on his good side, it was certainly a poor one.

An eventual drag from Zombieman’s cigarette accented his robust quip, “it was stupidly easy,” he said, “though I dunno why you have questions about traffic safety.”

It was a typical query, aside from the essay questions many heroes skimmed past with a few haphazard answers. The idol simply crossed his knee over his leg, “we had a lower rank lose his lisence,” he elucidated, “ironically, he passed the exam with flying colors.”

Whether he spoke too much or there was too much perception in that thing’s brain, it raised a brow, “and why isn’t he in S-Class if he’s lower rank?”

“He’s simply not strong enough to surpass me,” he was rather pathetic in all honesty. Save for his valiant speeches and his ability to look for lesser people, the C-Rank gatekeeper wasn’t much to write home about. “If I’m being honest with you, very few people manage to get into S-Class.”

At that moment, Amai knew it wasn’t the same as the others; there was no petulant demand for higher paychecks or an un breakable instrument. It was a blind gamble he didn’t anticipate for something that looked like it could find more entertainment staring blankly ahead.

“—and you’re telling me that a ten year old is physically stronger than an adult man?” The Zombieman didn’t bother to suppress his snarl this time. His lip curled underneath the plumb of smoke, “that’s bullshit.”

“No, but he’s not physically stronger than me,” Amai clarified once more. It wasn’t in the matter of everyone else, but of whether he deemed them worthy to surpass him in rank. He felt his brow twitch when the rancid odor of nicotine whisped as dangerous as a threat. Fortunately, his furor could only bubble a laugh, “What, would you prefer us to hire podcasters to try and placate a rampaging bull from killing civilians?”

“I dunno,” the horrible cardboard cutout of a detective said as its russet glare punctured through Amai’s tawny ones, “you seem to like the sound of your own voice pretty well.”

The hospitable charade melted from the heat of his aggrevation. Hot wax of a pristine neighbor dribbled off the exposed veins along his nape and down his chest, “excuse me?”

“In one of your interviews,” oh, it knew him already, “you said that justice isn’t something wholly to a hero, that everyone has their part somehow,” it never once deviated its intrusion to the far corridors of Amai’s glare. It was dauntless, especially when it knew that his neck and shoulders began to grow slightly larger. Yet, it talked as passive as it would in front of a criminal; as if it had the right to accuse him of anything.

“Here you are, however, saying that someone needs to be beyond average in order to be adequate for saving people. Be it that they’re a kid with a high IQ, an angry jock or a chaotic pixie,” the detective paused as it obstinately clenched it’s cold hand around the partially finished cigarette. The fire snuffed out without a protesting burn to it’s skin, “makes me wonder what you’re hiding if you’re only letting ‘strange’ people in.”

Should Amai be allowed to be Beaut once more, he would have never been accepted in. Beneath the masquerade of a teen girl’s fantasy was a hulking, grotesque beast who could only watch the rose petals wilt from the outside. It was as if this thing, this abomination, was aware of that. As he abruptly stood from his seat, he felt his gloved hands clench at their sides.

“If you want to be kicked out from the S-Class, I can make it happen,” the threat did nothing to provoke the pathetic punching bag out of his seat. Rather, it only prompted him to scoff a scalding hand to rub more salt into Amai’s wound, “my regeneration can best your’s. If you really want a satisfying exam, I am more than happy to oblige.”

Eventually, the mild irritation that highlighted the creature’s glare subsided for a slight revelation. What one would have envisioned to be a skirmish only halted midway when it stated something of a reflection to his dare.

“You’re projecting.”

What?

The incredulous look that stained his handsome features only prompted the thing to resume casually, “you’re projecting. You didn’t come here for a warm welcome; mentioning strength, the regeneration, what justice means.

“if I join a pop idol group, that just about ticks off all your boxes, doesn’t it?”

Being relevant was what rusted justice. In an instant, Amai seized ahold of It’s neck, its skin nothing but cold rubber under the pads of his fingertips. There was not a pulse to drum, not even when the harbinger of beautiful reckoning sneered. His eyes wide as they attempted to search wildly for a semblance of absent fear.

What he didn’t comprehend was that there was a barrel nestled close to his sternum in the same movement. Just as he would try his hand on how effective this monster’s regeneration was, he snapped out of his blind haze when there was a subtle knock to rap along the office door.

“Mr. Zombieman?” The voice was small, a little too petite to be a woman’s, “it’s me, Dr. Hajime, can I come in?”

It was a gamble neither wanted to try their hand in. For one that it would have gotten Hajime involved and the other was that it was a sure fire way to have Amai Mask’s reputation be tarnished. What reality of him being the harbinger of rightful justice would have dispersed by his own lack of control. He would have been no better than the monsters he hunted.

As the two reluctantly withdrew, the detective made no attempt to mouth “get out” at the sneering idol.

When prohibited to enter, Child Emperor’s eyes bloomed in awe when he discovered Amai Mask simply retrieving his coat from the chair, “oh-!” The boy squeaked, his shoulders jolted and there was a tighter hold along the tiny trey of chocolate cake, “I’m sorry, is this a bad time?”

“Not at all,” the detective said. Had Amai not known better, he would have assumed it could actually smile, “what’s the cake for?”

“I just thought we should celebrate you getting in and all!”

“Oh, you didn’t have to do that.”

He didn’t stay to listen to their futile conversation.

—————————————

Relevance rusted Justice.

As Amai skulked away to leave the two be, he could only glower at how the creature allowed Child Emperor to join him. His lip turned stiff at the revelation that there was hardly any private celebration he would have. It was never homely, but a grandiose party with strangers who didn’t know him by Beaut.

He’s a stupid kid.

No, Dr. Hajime is actually quite brilliant. It was his counterpart, his pseudo-father figure that was the idiot. To insinuate that he would even bother projecting his envy on the likes of some insolent vigilante was something worthy to laugh at.

When he meandered home into his mansion, there was no one other than himself to occupy the space; no one with a cake or to press a kiss along his cheek in greeting. His phone would blow up with useless messages and notifications from strangers, but it wasn’t warm. It was as cold as the handshake he had.

He didn’t bother to change out of his clothes when he went to bed.

[bigfan-fanfic]

Luka, Benny Cousland, Asha Lavellan, and Vaati Adaar (clockwise from top left)

Some headcanons for the new OCs I’ve been making. Maybe I should do these for all my OCs?

Vaati Adaar (Dragon Age: Inquisition) - face claim Chris Evans, bottom left

Vaati was practically born into the Valo-Kas Mercenary Company, a Vashoth child of Tal-Vashoth parents Meraad and Isala. However, he was kidnapped at age five by Templars and imprisoned in the Circle of Magi in Kirkwall, known as the Gallows. At age fifteen, he was rescued and set free by Warden-Lieutenant Lissa Surana and former Templar Raleigh Samson.

Vaati had a hard time in Kirkwall. His left horn was permanently damaged when a Templar sawed it off and had a fellow apprentice cauterize it with a fireball - the apprentice was made Tranquil and Vaati was left with a jagged white stump where his horn used to be. As part of his proposal, Blackwall gifts Vaati with a magic silverite false horn that he wears always.

 Vaati was raised by Shokrakar after he escaped the Gallows. He was eager to expand his powers beyond the Circle’s teachings - he has an analytical mind and quickly became Shokrakar’s assistant tactician and second-in-command.

Vaati wields a spear that he uses mainly as a staff, and a spiked greatshield for defense and sometimes offense. He is only twenty-three when he becomes the Inquisitor to protect young Tash Adaar.

Vaati used to be involved with Tash’s elder step-brother Arno and acts sort of as a big brother to the Herald. He and Tash work together to plan the way the Inquisition goes, although Vaati defers to Tash’s judgments for the most part.

Vaati is demisexual, and began being attracted to Blackwall after they spent many weeks talking in the stables and whittling toys for the kids in New Haven.

Vaati enjoys carving and making things with his hands. His greatest fear is Tranquility, and he still has nightmares about the Gallows, where he was threatened with it daily just for the crime of being a qunari.

Asha Lavellan (Dragon Age: Inquisition) - face claim Mallory Jansen, bottom right

Asha Lavellan was the First of Clan Lavellan, but she left in order to become a Watcher for the Arlathvhen, keeping an eye on the shemlen’s wars and movements and how they would affect the People.

She bears the vallaslin of Dirthamen, the God of Secrets. Asha is a competent assassin and mainly wields a pair of daggers. However she is a mage, so she uses these to channel magic.

Asha has spent years helping city elves flee oppressive conditions and make it to various clans. She is well known amongst the Dalish and a legend among city elves who call her the New Emerald Knight. Asha’s connections led her to become the Dalish Advisor to the Inquisition and work closely with the other advisors, the Herald, and the Inquisitor.

Solas’ apparent dislike of the People led her to greatly distrust him, even as he tried to find out more about the distinctly non-traditional Clan Lavellan, and she took over teaching Tash about the Dalish folklore and culture when he and Tash’s relationship crumbled. Solas offered to remove her vallaslin and she balked, avoiding him from then on.

Asha encountered Briala at Halamshiral and the two women fell hard in love, particularly after Asha helped Tash to keep Briala in power with a public truce, and then after she assassinated Celene once Corypheus was defeated, leaving Briala as the power behind the throne Gaspard occupied as a puppet Emperor.

Asha is a rift mage and has perfected a technique much like Calpernia’s ability to teleport. She also gives Briala an enchanted dagger as a token of their love.

After she and Briala marry, Briala wears a mask with the vallaslin of Falon’Din hidden inside it, to commemorate the bond between her and Asha as one of similar strength to that of the two gods.

Benny Cousland (Dragon Age: Origins) - face claim Pedro Pascal, top right

Benezio Alendro Cousland, Lord of Highever, is actually Josephine Montilyet’s cousin through marriage - his brother’s wife, Oriana, is Josephine’s cousin, but the Couslands originally came from Antiva and the two have several ancestors in common. Josephine gets a message to Benny to have him serve as Tash’s tutor in dealing with nobility.

Benny escaped the massacre at Castle Cousland with the sacrifice of Ser Gilmore, and came across the Hero of Ferelden’s party by chance as he was trying to reach Ostagar to find Fergus.

Benny is skilled in the diplomatic arts, as well as with the rapier, and he used both these talents to assist the Hero. He formed a close attachment to Zevran during this time - the two informally married after the Blight and traveled together, first to Amaranthine with the Warden’s party. He became known as the Dark Wolf there.

Benny and Zevran spend the intervening time between the end of Origins and the start of Inquisition fighting corrupt institutions and helping protect the disadvantaged. Around this time they both become Red Jennies. While Zevran does assassination work for Leliana, Benny becomes somewhat of a mentor to Sera, helping her organize the Red Jennies.

Zevran and Benny form a polyamorous relationship with Mysen of Denerim and his husband Alistair during Inquisition. The four eventually end up in Kirkwall, helping Varric, working to improve the orphanage Mysen and Alistair started, and occasionally going on missions for Divine Victoria or the Red Jennies.

Benny is mildly allergic to strawberries and will break out in hives if he eats one, although it will clear up quickly and he won’t be in danger of anaphylaxis. 

Benny is technically next in line for the throne of Ferelden should Queen Anora have no heirs. He formally adopts Alistair and Mysen’s foundling children so they are Cousland heirs, and hires guards to protect the orphanage.

Luka (the Witcher - Netflix) - face claim Niall Horan, top left

Luka is a gold dragon in human form - he prefers his human form immensely and only ever shifts back to save someone’s life or flee quickly. His mother was killed by dragon hunters when he was still a hatchling, and he had barely come of age in human years when his father Villentretenmerth had to leave him behind.

In human form Luka can still breathe fire, and can cast limited spells when he sings. His singing voice can be bewitching if he isn’t careful. HIs full name is Luczaryth.

Luka has a bright and happy spirit and is surprisingly naive. He seeks to do good deeds and seek out joy for his long-lived existence.

Luka has repaired over many years an abandoned house in a forest on the Continent. Jaskier heard Luka’s singing from afar one day and came upon the fine house. He seduced the young dragon, and the two spent many weeks together, falling deeply in love. Jaskier invited Luka to join him on his journeys and the two often perform duets, although Luka will occasionally leave to make sure their house is safe.

When Luka meets Geralt, the Witcher reluctantly takes the young dragon under his wing (so to speak) to protect him. Luka and Jaskier experience a great attraction to Geralt and act on it. 

The three maintain a polyamorous relationship. Although Geralt chases Jaskier off after meeting Luka’s father, they reunite and agree not to be parted in anger again.

Despite acting very submissive to the other two in public, Luka is the one to take charge in bed, with Geralt letting go of all control and Jaskier switching between roles as the mood takes them.

[tinyshe]

Witchcraft 101

by Michelle Arnold  • 7/1/2008 Catholic Answers

What springs to mind when someone mentions “witchcraft“? Three hags sitting about a cauldron chanting “Double, double, toil and trouble”? A pretty housewife turning someone into a toad at the twitch of her nose? Or perhaps you think of Wicca and figure that it is witchcraft hidden beneath a politically correct neologism.

Witchcraft has become a hot topic in recent years. From J.K. Rowling’s Harry Potter books to self-described witches agitating for political and social parity with mainstream religious traditions, Christians have had to re-examine witchcraft and formulate a modern apologetic approach to it.

In an age of science and skepticism, it may be difficult to understand why intelligent people would be drawn to witchcraft, which encompasses both a methodology of casting spells and invoking spirits and an ideology that encourages finding gods and goddesses both in nature and within the self. In her “conversion story,” self-described Wiccan high priestess Phyllis Curott, an Ivy League-educated lawyer who was raised by agnostics, describes her journey from secular materialism to Wicca as a rejection of the idea that humans are made for mammon alone:

I discovered the answers . . . to questions buried at the center of my soul . . . How are we to find our lost souls? How can we rediscover the sacred from which we have been separated for thousands of years? How can we live free of fear and filled with divine love and compassion? . . . How can we restore and protect this Eden, which is our fragile planet? (Curott, Book of Shadows, xii)

These are indeed important questions that deserve answers, answers that can be found in their fullness in Christ and in his Church. In a homily then-Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger gave at the Mass just before his election to the papacy, he famously observed:

How many winds of doctrine have we known in recent decades, how many ideological currents, how many ways of thinking. The small boat of the thought of many Christians has often been tossed about by these waves—flung from one extreme to another: from Marxism to liberalism, even to libertinism; from collectivism to radical individualism; from atheism to a vague religious mysticism; from agnosticism to syncretism and so forth.

Witchcraft has been around for centuries, perhaps even millennia, but is emerging once more from the shadows as one answer to skepticism, to materialism, even to self-absorption. It is, so to speak, the wrong answer to the right questions; it is, as the Catechism of the Catholic Church says, “gravely contrary to the virtue of religion” (CCC 2117). Catholics should not discourage these questions but must be prepared to offer the only answer: Christ and his Church.

Witchcraft’s apologists like to claim that they are the misunderstood victims of centuries of religious prejudice. Unfortunately, all too many Christians make such claims credible when they misunderstand witchcraft and craft their rebuttals of it based upon those misconceptions. If someone you know is dabbling in witchcraft, here are five things you should know before starting a conversation with him.

Witches do not believe in Satan.

If there is one belief common to witches everywhere, it is that they do not believe in Satan and that they do not practice Satanism. Witchcraft’s apologists are quick to point this out.

Denise Zimmermann and her co-authors of The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Wicca and Witchcraft emphasize, “Witches don’t believe in Satan! . . . The all-evil Satan is a Christian concept that plays no part in the Wiccan religion . . . Witches do not believe that negativity or evil is an organized force. . . . Neither do Wiccans believe there is a place (hell) where the damned or the evil languish and suffer” (13).

Christian apologists should acknowledge that witches do not consciously worship Satan and that they do not believe he exists. But this does not mean that Satan needs to be left entirely out of the conversation. A Christian apologist should point out that belief in someone does not determine that person’s actual reality.

One way to demonstrate this is to ask the witch if she believes in the pope. “No,” she’s likely to answer. “The pope is a Christian figure.” True, you concede. But there is a man in Rome who holds the office of the papacy, right? Your belief or disbelief in the papacy does not determine whether or not the papacy exists. Put that way, a person will have to acknowledge that something or someone can exist independently of belief in its reality. That’s when you can make the case that Satan exists and that he does not require belief to determine his reality or his action in someone’s life. In fact, disbelief in him can make it easier for him to accomplish his ends.

In the preface to The Screwtape Letters, C.S. Lewis notes that “There are two equal and opposite errors into which our race can fall about the devils. One is to disbelieve in their existence. The other is to believe, and to feel an excessive and unhealthy interest in them. They themselves are equally pleased by both errors and hail a materialist or a magician with the same delight.”

While it is true that witches do not directly worship Satan or practice Satanism, their occult practices, such as divination, and their worship of false gods and of each other and themselves—which they explain as worshipping the “goddess within”—can open them to demonic activity. To make the case though, it is imperative to present it in a manner that won’t be dismissed out of hand.

Witchcraft and Wicca are not synonyms.

Wicca, originally spelled Wica, is the name given to a subset of witchcraft by its founder Gerald Gardner in the 1950s. Although some claim the word Wicca means “wise,” in her book Drawing Down the Moon, Margot Adler states that it “derive[s] from a root wic, or weik, which has to do with religion and magic” (40). Adler also says that the word witch originates with wicce and wicca. Marian Singer explains the difference between Wicca and witchcraft this way: “Witchcraft implies a methodology . . . whereas the word Wiccan refers to a person who has adopted a specific religious philosophy” (The Everything Wicca and Witchcraft Book, 4).

Because witchcraft is often defined as a methodology and Wicca as an ideology, a person who considers himself a witch but not a Wiccan may participate in many of the same practices as a Wiccan, such as casting spells, divining the future, perhaps even banding together with others to form a coven. This can make it easy for an outsider to presume that both the witch and the Wiccan share the same beliefs. But, if someone tells you he is not a Wiccan, it is only courteous to accept that. The Christian case against witchcraft does not depend on a witch identifying himself as a Wiccan. (There are also Wiccans who reject the label “witch,” but this is often a distinction without a difference. Even so, use the preferred term to avoid alienating the person with whom you are speaking.)

Several strands of Wicca attract followings, including: Gardnerian, Alexandrian, and Georgian, which are named for their founders; Seax, which patterns itself on Saxon folklore; Black Forest, which is an eclectic hodgepodge of Wiccan traditions; and the feminist branch known as Dianic Wicca after the Roman goddess Diana. Knowing the distinctions among these traditions may not be important for the Christian apologist, but he should keep in mind that there are distinctions and that he should not make statements that start out with “Wiccans believe . . .” Rather, allow the other person to explain what he believes and then build a Christian apologetic tailored to that person’s needs.

Witches question authority.

When dealing with self-identified witches, remember that no two witches will agree with each other on just about anything. Witches are non-dogmatic to the extreme, with one witch apologist suggesting “[s]ending dogma to the doghouse” and claiming that “[r]eligious dogma and authority relieve a person of the responsibility of deciding on his or her own actions” (Diane Smith, Wicca & Witchcraft for Dummies, 32).

Generally speaking, witches prefer to give authority to their own personal experiences. Phyllis Curott, author of a book titled Witch Crafting, puts it this way: “Witches, whether we are women or men, experience the Goddess within us and in the world all around us. I love what Starhawk [witch and popular speaker and writer] said about this: ‘People often ask me if I believe in the Goddess. I reply, Do you believe in rocks?’” (121, emphasis in original). In other words, witches know “the Goddess” exists because they can experience her by at least one of their five senses. Faith in such a material deity calls to mind the demon Screwtape’s longing for hell’s “perfect work—the Materialist Magician” (Lewis, The Screwtape Letters, 31).

Throwing a bucket of cold water on a witch’s “personal experiences” will not be easy, particularly since one of the frightening.aspects of witchcraft is that some witches do have, and blithely report, extraordinary preternatural experiences. Incidents that could and should scare away many dabblers from playing with forces beyond their control are recounted by witchcraft’s apologists as affirmative of their path. Curott tells of a man who once dreamed of “being prey” of a monstrous creature; ultimately, in the dream, he was captured by the creature. Rather than taking this as a sign he should reconsider the path down which he was heading, he awoke “deeply transformed” by the dream’s ending because he believed “tremendous love” was felt for him by the creature. He eventually became a Wiccan priest (Witch Crafting, 154–155).

How can a Christian argue against a belief like that?

Ultimately, it may be that a Damascus-road moment might be necessary to sway someone that deeply entrenched in traffic with preternatural creatures. To those who are not as enmeshed, a Christian can point out that sometimes apologists for the occult have warned their readers not to be taken in by their experiences with spirits.

In a section of his book titled “Practicing Safe Spirituality,” author Carl McColman gives a checklist of “some common-sense precautions” occultists should be aware of “while meditating, doing ritual, reflecting on your dreams, or doing any other spiritual work that may involve contact with spirits.” The first item on the list is “Don’t automatically believe everything you hear. Just because a spirit says something doesn’t make it so” (The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Paganism, 129).

Witchcraft is an inversion of Catholicism.

Observers of witchcraft have claimed that it is remarkably similar to Catholicism. Catholic journalist and medievalist Sandra Miesel called it “Catholicism without Christ” (“The Witches Next Door,” Crisis, June 2002). Writer and editor Charlotte Allen noted that “Practicing Wicca is a way to have Christianity without, well, the burdens of Christianity” (“The Scholars and the Goddess,” The Atlantic, January 2001).

It’s easy to see why the assertion is made. Allen notes that as witchcraft cycles through its “liturgical year,” many of its adherents honor a goddess who births a god believed to live, die, and rise again. Fraternization with apparently friendly preternatural spirits is encouraged and eagerly sought. The rituals of witchcraft call to mind Catholic liturgies, particularly the libation and blessing ritual alternately known as “Cakes and Wine” and “Cakes and Ale.” Like Catholics collecting rosaries, scapulars, statues, and prayer books, witches have their own “potions, notions, and tools” as Curott calls them —some of which include jewelry, statues and dolls, and spell books and journals.

But to say that witchcraft has uncanny similarities to Catholicism is to understate the matter. Witchcraft is an inversion of Catholicism: Catholicism emptied of Christ and stood on its head. This is most readily seen in witchcraft’s approach to authority.

In his book Rome Sweet Home, Scott Hahn compares authority in the Church to a hierarchical pyramid with the pope at the top, with all of the members, including the pope, reaching upward toward God (46–47). With its antipathy to authority and its reach inward to the self and downward to preternatural spirits, witchcraft could also be illustrated with a triangle—every adherent poised at the top as his own authority and pointed down in the sort of “Lower Command” structure envisioned by Lewis’s Screwtape.

Witchcraft is dangerous.

In my work as an apologist, I have read a number of introductory books to various non-Catholic and non-Christian religions. Never before my investigation into witchcraft had I seen introductory books on a religion that warn you about the dangers involved in practicing it. The dangers that witch apologists warn newcomers about are both corporal and spiritual.

In her book, Diane Smith includes a chapter titled “Ten Warning Signs of a Scam or Inappropriate Behavior” (Wicca & Witchcraft for Dummies, chapter 23). Her top-10 list includes “Inflicting Harm,” “Charging Inappropriate Fees or Demanding Undue Money,” “Engaging in Sexual Manipulation,” “Using Illicit Drugs or Excessive Amounts of Alcohol in Spiritual Practice,” and “Breeding Paranoia.” Smith claims that such a need to be wary is common to religion: “[U]nscrupulous or unstable people sometimes perpetrate scams or other manipulations under the guise of religion, and this situation is as true for Wicca as for other religious groups” (317).

However true it may be that there can be “unscrupulous or unstable people” involved in traditional religions, most practitioners—Christian or otherwise—do not experience problems with these behaviors to such an extent that religious apologists see the need to issue caveats to proselytes. That Smith does so suggests that these problems are far more widespread in witchcraft than in traditional religion.

We noted one paganism apologist who warned his readers to “practice safe spirituality.” McColman goes on to caution that the “advice” of spirits “must be in accordance with your own intuition for it to be truly useful.” He goes on to say, “You remain responsible for your own decisions. Remember that spirit guides make mistakes like everybody else!” (Paganism, 128).

Catholics concerned about loved ones involved with witchcraft may not be attracted to witchcraft themselves, but there is danger for them in pursuing dabblers down the road to the occult in hopes of drawing them back. In preparing themselves to answer the claims of witchcraft, they may feel the need to read books like those mentioned in this article. If they are not fully educated and firm in their own faith, such Catholics may find their own faith under attack. Three suggestions are in order.

Not all are called to be apologists. If you are not intellectually and spiritually prepared to answer the claims of witchcraft, leave such work to others. Search out knowledgeable Catholics with whom your loved one can speak.

Prepare yourself. Common sense indicates that if you are about to rappel down a cliff, you do so with safety ropes firmly attached and in the presence of someone you trust who can help you if you are in danger. Don’t even think of rappelling down a spiritual cliff without seeking to fortify yourself intellectually and spiritually—particularly spiritually. Inform your confessor or spiritual director of your plans to study and answer the claims of witchcraft. Ask trusted Catholic friends to pray for your work. Regularly receive the sacraments of confession and the Eucharist. If you need to stop or take a break from this area of apologetics, by all means do so. And, most importantly:

Pray. Whether or not you are called to personally minister to those involved in witchcraft, the most fundamental thing you can do to help witches and other dabblers in the occult is to pray.

Saints whose intercession you can seek include Bl. Bartholomew Longo, the repentant former satanic priest who returned to the Church and spent the rest of his life promoting the rosary; St. Benedict, who battled pagans and whose medal is often worn in protection against the devil; St. Michael the Archangel (Jude 1:9), invoked especially by the prayer for his intercession commonly attributed to Pope Leo XIII. And, of course, there’s St. Paul, who reminds us: “For I am sure that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, nor height, nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Rom. 8:38–39).

SIDEBARS

The Catechism on Witchcraft

There are a great many kinds of sins. Scripture provides several lists of them. The Letter to the Galatians contrasts the works of the flesh with the fruit of the Spirit: “Now the works of the flesh are plain: fornication, impurity, licentiousness, idolatry, sorcery, enmity, strife, jealousy, anger, selfishness, dissension, factions, envy, drunkenness, carousing, and the like. I warn you, as I warned you before, that those who do such things shall not inherit the Kingdom of God.” (CCC 1852)

God can reveal the future to his prophets or to other saints. Still, a sound Christian attitude consists in putting oneself confidently into the hands of Providence for whatever concerns the future, and giving up all unhealthy curiosity about it. Improvidence, however, can constitute a lack of responsibility. (CCC 2115)

All forms of divination are to be rejected: recourse to Satan or demons, conjuring up the dead or other practices falsely supposed to “unveil” the future. Consulting horoscopes, astrology, palm reading, interpretation of omens and lots, the phenomena of clairvoyance, and recourse to mediums all conceal a desire for power over time, history, and, in the last analysis, other human beings, as well as a wish to conciliate hidden powers. They contradict the honor, respect, and loving fear that we owe to God alone. (CCC 2116)

All practices of magic or sorcery, by which one attempts to tame occult powers, so as to place them at one’s service and have a supernatural power over others—even if this were for the sake of restoring their health—are gravely contrary to the virtue of religion. These practices are even more to be condemned when accompanied by the intention of harming someone, or when they have recourse to the intervention of demons. Wearing charms is also reprehensible. Spiritism often implies divination or magical practices; the Church for her part warns the faithful against it. Recourse to so-called traditional cures does not justify either the invocation of evil powers or the exploitation of another’s credulity. (CCC 2117)

Prayer to St. Michael the Archangel

St. Michael the Archangel, defend us in battle. Be our defense against the wickedness and snares of the devil. May God rebuke him, we humbly pray, and do thou, O Prince of the heavenly hosts, by the power of God, thrust into hell Satan, and all the evil spirits, who prowl about the world seeking the ruin of souls. Amen.

Further Reading

Charlotte Allen, “The Scholars and the Goddess,” The Atlantic, January 2001 (Available online: www.theatlantic.com)

C. S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters (HarperCollins)

Sandra Miesel, “Who Burned the Witches?” Crisis, October 2001 (Available online: www.catholiceducation.org)

Sandra Miesel, “The Witches Next Door,” Crisis, June 2002

Catherine Edwards Sanders, Wicca’s Charm: Understanding the Spiritual Hunger Behind the Rise of Modern Witchcraft and Pagan Spirituality (Shaw Books, 2005)

Donna Steichen, Ungodly Rage: The Hidden Face of Catholic Feminism (Ignatius, 1991)

Alois Wiesinger, O.C.S.O, Occult Phenomena in the Light of Theology (Roman Catholic Books)

[jadedlavendergemini]

As Promised

Summary: If you were to ask Emma Moore how out of control her life became just before the apocalypse, she would have told you how she had never seen it coming. How she fell for someone that she should have avoided at all cost and how she had no control of any of it in anyway possible. Of course she had no clue of her own ‘destiny’. Michael Langdon x OC

A/N: please forgive me in advance as I had to write this on my phone, my laptop is being a bitch. So I’ve been think pretty heavily on this idea for a fic for a while. And I hope this is as original as can be, I’ve seen some fics with similar Story lines but here’s my twist. And after having a positive week and hearing some great feed back from other Authors, I thought it was the right time to post it. Just let me know if you want to be tagged for any future posts.

Tag list : @7-wonders @guiltyfiend @plymptxn @fallenangeldreamer @fckinsupreme

Part One:

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“Now, keep chanting the spell in your head, loud. Loud like a shout. I want you to keep concentrating on the wick of the candle.” Behold watched as the young girl’s hand hovered, slightly shaking above the candle on her desk. Another few seconds flew by and soon a flame had ignited. “Excellent, Emma!”

She opened her eyes, saw the flame and smiled. “That was a little harder than I thought.”

“Pyrokinesis is a lot harder than others would think. But you, little miss witch, hit it on the first try! Very impressive.” Behold watched as she turned back to the flame, smile slightly faltering. “Your father will be very impressed, you know.”

“I’m sure he will.” She replied, not meeting the instructor’s eyes.

Behold Chablis was one of four instructors at the Hawthorne academy. While her father preferred to teach Emma in most of her lessons, Behold also expressed interest in teaching the young witch. He voiced that she needed the occasional space from her father and that she would blossom into a successful witch with other instructors offering critique. And in honesty, Emma preferred her father or Behold in comparison to Baldwin Pennypacker, who treated Emma as if she were less gifted than the male students.

Tell you what,” he began closing her spell book. “Why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off. You’ve been doing so well lately. If you want, you can even go run about the library. It shouldn’t be busy with any of the boys.”

“Really? But my father-“

“Your father will be please to know that you’ve been excelling every spell that I’ve thrown at you this week. Especially one known to be used in the Seven Wonders Test itself. Go on.”

The young girl smiled, grabbing her personal book and a pen. She was out the door when she gave a quick and sweet “Thank you!”

The halls of the secluded wing of the academy were quiet as Emma walked. Due to Hawthorne being an all boys school (Emma being an exception due to her father), she would have zero chances of running into the boy students in this particular area. Unfortunately the library was on the boys turf. Not like any of the boys bothered her, but on occasion one boy, overly cocky and brave would attempt to be a pest. Whether it was crude comments towards her body or abilities, or just constant chatting in her ear. Emma would whip up a good ole headache spell just to chase him away. Other students were too frightened of her father to even talk to her.

As she continues her walk, she worked on pulling her hair from the long braid it was in earlier and used her fingers to wave out any knots. As she approached the almost secluded library, her feet locked in place. Looking up, she was amazed to see a boy, dressed in the typical Hawthorne uniform facing a book shelve from which he was looking for something. She opted to turn around and quietly return to her room and study, but she found her feet to be stuck in the same place. And whatever noises she made in her attempt to leave seemed to trigger the boy. Turning around Emma was met with face that could be described as sculpted by god himself. His blue eyes poured into hers.

“I didn’t know anyone would be here. I’ll just-.” Emma quietly tried to form a sentence trying to make an final attempt to exit before hearing his voice.

“Please don’t leave because of me. I was going to retire for the night. I was just trying to find one book before I went.” His velvet voice sent the hairs on the back of neck stand. He turns back towards the hundreds of books, confusion covered his features as he searches for the correct title.

“I can help, I’m in here pretty much all the time, what are you looking for?” She asks, setting her notebook down on a nearby table.

The boy smiled and gave her the name. He watched as she held her hand up, her fingers slowly caressing each spine of the books. After a minute, she stopped at one before carefully pulling the book from its spot. Her lips formed a small smile as she gently placed the book into his large and expecting hands.

“Well, you seemed to have found that in no time.” He admired, returning her smile, ocean blue eyes not leaving hers. “Divination?”

“Nope, I meant it when I said I’m in here all the time.” She replied, eventually breaking eye contact with the boy. “Pathetic, really.”

“No not at all.” He says. He balances the novel in his left hand, raising his right hand for hers. “I’m Michael. Michael Langdon and you are....?”

“Emma Moore,” she places her smaller hand in his larger one. Taking note in the softness and warmth. It felt familiar and comforting in some way. “You’re the new boy everyone’s been gushing about. So... the alpha?”

Michael lets out a low chuckle. “I wouldn’t say that I’m ‘the alpha’. Just a new boy looking for answers about himself. And I haven’t seen any other witches here, yet. Am I to assume you’re the only one?”

She waits a moment longer until she pulls her hand away from his, taking note in the feeling. She places her hands behind her back. “I’m the only one, my father is an instructor here. Unfortunately, my father can’t stand Cordelia Goode or trust her. So here I am.”

“I wouldn’t call that unfortunate.” He replied. “I had my first lesson yesterday with him. He seems very intense.”

“He can be. But don’t worry he’s harmless.”

Michael smiles before gesturing to the book still in his hand. “Thank you again. Hopefully I’ll be seeing more of you?”

“Of course,” she said, walking past him to retrieve her notebook and pen from where it sat forgotten on the table. “I like to study in the library around this time, less students. If you need to catch up on anything or just feel like hanging out, I wouldn’t mind.”

“I’ll have to take you up on that offer sometime.” Michael smiles before making an exit down the hall. As he made his way down the candle lit corridor, he felt his heart pounding to a rhythm he was unfamiliar with and his hands felt the small sparks of energy she had released just moments ago from their handshake. Taking a quick turn around, he can still see her.

Emma had taken a seat on of the many couches. Her knees pulled towards herself, she was drawing her loosely waved dirty blonde hair into a bun before setting down and taking notes from another book.

Michael turns back. Hands clasped behind his back, with the book of course. And As he continues to walk away, he can’t stop the massive grin that’s on his face. Emma Moore. He felt the connection the moment they touched hands. Hers fit so perfectly in his, like a lost puzzle piece. He breathed in the sweet scent of her when she had moved past him and followed by demonic whispers of her name in his ears. She was the One.

After Michael had left, Emma tried to continue with her study’s. But her mind wandered to the conversation they had just shared. She barely knew the boy yet she already offered to hang around, not something she would normally do when it came to the other students at Hawthorne. And that feeling when their hands touched was odd, never had she felt something so comfortable with a stranger. And ever since his clear blue eyes looked into hers, she felt a slight buzz in the back of her head. Something was different about Michael and she couldn’t quite place it.

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About two hours had past and it was about dinner time. Emma had just begun to place the books back on the shelves and grab her notebook.

“Behold told me I’d find you here.” Spoke her father, John Henry as he made his way into the library. “How was your lesson today?”

“It was okay,” she replied, picking up her belongings and walking over to stand in front of him.

“Okay? Behold said you were able master pyrokinesis. And on the first try!” John Henry said proudly. “And to think you thought you would be better off at Robichaux's.”

The young witch just rolled her eyes. “Beginners luck, I guess. Where were you today? I thought you were going to be teaching me.”

“Well, I got caught up with Ariel today,” he explained, moving past his daughter and taking a seat on the couch. “He’s worked himself up over the new student. I don’t see how he doesn’t see what I do. As much as I want to think we have the Alpha in our midst, I don’t think it’s him.”

“You mean Michael?” She asked.

John Henry’s eyes shot to his daughter. “So you know who. I assume the other students talk very highly of him.” He scoffed.

“Yeah, we met earlier. I helped him find a book. Seemed like a normal warlock to me.” Emma replied, her eyes not meeting her fathers.

“Emma, I want you stay clear of Michael. I don’t have a very good feeling about him.”

“What-“ she attempted to question when he stood from his seat.

“Do I make myself clear?” He interrupted, voice slightly raised.

She looked to him and nodded. “Yes, sir.” She added quietly.

His eyes followed hers, he sighed before placing a hand on her shoulder and began guiding her out of the library. “I Just want you to stay on top of your studies and stay out of trouble. Alright? Let’s grab dinner, I want to hear all about your lesson today.”

[project-rebirth]

Beasts and Beings: Angels

Angels are immensely powerful beings with very volatile existences in the Toaru Majutsu no Index universe. They can be beings of either divine origin, such as the Archangels Gabriel and Michael of Christian doctrine, or artificial existences consisting of masses of highly concentrated AIM fields built-up from the thousands of espers within Academy City. Angels of divine origin get their magical power from an energy accumulated in Heaven known as Telesma. 

General

Appearances

Angels, both divine and artificial, have been described as possessing halos above their heads and various forms of wings manifesting from their backs, some of which such as the case of Archangel Gabriel can reach several kilometers into the sky, as well as speaking in an Angelic language that sounds like high-pitched gibberish to normal humans.

If deemed necessary, like a command from God, or being forced down from Heaven, an angel can acquire a human form. In the Old Testament of the Holy Bible, Angels hid their identities to enter ordinary people's cities and had meals with them. Indeed, as Gabriel can attest, he can hide his being an angel from humans quite easily.

Personality

Vento of the Front explains that Angels in the magic side have no free will of their own and that they are meant to be God's perfect tools, and are often referred to as messengers of God to humanity. Although, they can malfunction and in turn can be called a Fallen angel, or known as demons. According to Stiyl Magnus, Angels and Devils are similar in nature, however, the important thing is who they take orders from.

However, when a divine angel falls from heaven due to the effects of Angel Fall, they can break the orders of God in order to return to Heaven, such as killing humans, despite creating a paradox for God's plans for the Final Judgment, and seemingly have an orderly fashion of thinking. As with the case of Archangel Gabriel under the guise of Misha Kreutzev, who spends his time helping Touma, Tsuchimikado Motoharu and Kanzaki Kaori trying to find the culprit of her fall. Later when Kanzaki and the others try to prevent him or more appropriately inconvenience him from killing Kamijou Touya who was unknowingly the culprit, Gabriel resorted to destroying the world instead.

The case is somewhat different in the science side however, as evidenced by Kazakiri Hyouka's existence, as she displayed emotions similar to that of humans. However, Hyouka herself is shown to behave as a mindless tool similar to that of angels in Christian lore, after having her Fuse Kazakiri mode activated.

Abilities

As stated angels in both sides are extremely powerful beings, capable of causing great destruction. So much is their power, that their very existence can distort the world. It has been said that a single angel has the power to bring down the Vatican. Even a depowered one such as Archangel Gabriel in his first appearance was simply toying with Kanzaki, a powerful Saint in her own right.

An archangel such as Gabriel has been shown to possess the ability to manipulate any celestial body through the use of "Astral in Hand", allowing it to immediately block the sun by speeding up Earth's rotation. He also displayed tremendous speed, able to move from Russia to France easily and eliminate their forces.

In order to be "summoned" or take a physical form on Earth, Angels must have a medium, or "core", to keep them bound to the Earth. Likewise, if the core that binds them is destroyed their physical form will leave the Earth.

Both divine and artificial angels seem to be weak to Touma's Imagine Breaker as well, as with the case with Misha Kreutzev trying to avoid Touma's right hand, as well as Touma himself trying to avoid touching Kazakiri Hyouka after finding out her true form.

Abrahamic Angels

One notable feature that the angels of the magic side has is their name being chosen by God, which is the purpose for which they are created. As such the names of angels cannot be easily changed, unless a powerful distortion changes these laws of God. Angels are also genderless and is depicted in some Christian lore as having qualities of both male and female.

Angels are also apparently susceptible to Angel Fall, which forcibly casts them down from heaven. At which point, angels will try to get back into heaven, even if it means disobeying the will of God.

An angel's name and attributes are widely referenced by magician's spell chants throughout the story, such as being used as a way to borrow power from when constructing a magic circle.

Archangels

Archangel is a term used to refer to angels of higher rank than normal angels, in the Toaru Majutsu no Index universe there are four recognized archangels that are aligned to their own corresponding elements and attributes.

Each member of God's Right Seat derive their powers from the four archangels depending on their alignment after cleansing as much of their original sin as possible.

Archangel Gabriel

Archangel Gabriel (大天使　(ガブリエル) Daitenshi Gaburieru?) is an archangel that appears in Toaru Majutsu no Index. He embodies the The Power of God (神の力 Kami no Chikara?) and represents the symbol of water which is its attribute, and is the guardian of the moon, the governor of blue, and the protector of the rear side. He is the only true abrahamic angel to appear in the series thus far.

Acqua of the Back is aligned with the archangel. Because of the distortion of the elements, he can bypass the name God has given him and is weaker than normal, even then Gabriel is still more powerful than several other characters combined such as Accelerator and Kazakiri Hyouka.

Other Archangels

   Archangel Uriel, also known as God's Flame or Fire of God    Archangel Raphael, also known as Medicine of God    Archangel Michael, also known as Regard of God or The Likeness of God

Other angels

Fallen Angel

Lucifer the Light-Bringer was said to be an angel that was the closest being to be allowed to sit to the right of God, until he malfunctions and causes chaos in one-third of all the angels in heaven, making him rebel against God's will and causing war and becomes a fallen angel. He is later defeated by Archangel Michael who became the ruler of all the angels, and had become a higher being compared to Lucifer even though they were once equals.

Moreover, there is a mention of the Grigoris by Sherry Cromwell as the ones who gave knowledge to humans on how God created Man from clay before the time of Noah, knowledge which eventually gave birth to the golem.

Non-Abrahamic angels

Aiwass

Aiwass, the entity that Aleister Crowley supposedly summoned and the true author of the Book of the Law, has also shown the characteristics of an Angel, possessing a halo above its head and a divine form.

Espers

Espers of Academy City have been shown to sometimes exhibit angelic characteristics under specific circumstances. The most well-known example is what is termed "Awakening" by the fandom, wherein an esper gains wings and sometimes halos following contact with Magic and an emotional breakthrough. So far, only Accelerator has been shown to "awaken", gaining black wings partially during the Taowu incident at Seiin High School, then fully during the 0930 Incident, white wings and a halo during World War III, and finally platinum wings during the Ceremony of Mo Athair. Accelerator also speaks the garbled language of the angels in the early manifestations, though he can now retain his rationality.

The exact reasons behind this phenomenon are unclear, but it is known to be linked to Accelerator's mental state or him having an emotional breakthrough, like him feeling cornered or having something to protect. And when first manifesting a particular color, it follows Accelerator having contact with magic: redirecting the explosion resulting from Taowu's body collapsing into space; hearing Index's singing prayer to free Last Order from her coma induced by the manifestation of Fuse Kazakiri; singing a magic spell to save Last Order using data from Index's song, his encounter with Aiwass, and magical parchments under a Telesma-filled sky and crossing the Abyss using the new kabbalistic tree Clonoth with the assistance of Qliphah Puzzle 545. Index also compares the matter of the wings as similar to Telesma yet also fundamentally different in some way, and after first manifesting the wings, Accelerator, similar to Sasha Kreutzev as a former vessel of Telesma, is able to sense magic.

The cyborg Rensa 29, while making use of Accelerator's ability, was shown to be able to manifest wings same as Accelerator, deliberately getting pushed into a difficult situation to draw out the black wings and manifesting the white wings while determined to protect Yakumi Hisako, though she didn't manifest a halo.

The #2 Level 5 Kakine Teitoku manifests angelic wings when using his powers, but it is unknown if this is like Accelerator's, or just an aesthetic choice stemming from personal preference.

During the Level 6 Shift attempt on Misaka Mikoto, the transformed Level 5 esper manifests a halo, and even physically resembles the form of Misha Kreutzev during World War III.

The manifestation of angelic characteristics is not restricted to Level 5s only. While fighting to save her mother and using the magic of the Rosicrucian Spiritual Item violin Stativarius Ainsel, Sakibasu Yuri temporarily gained white wings and a halo.

Artificial Angels

The AIM Burst is a less obvious form of an artificial angel.

Magic cabals such as the Hermentic Order of the Golden Dawn (Aleister Crowley's former magic organization), seem to have dabbled in creating angels themselves by collecting the formless telesma into a container which is in the image of a person. It is unknown if they had succeeded, though since Aleister Crowley has successfully manage to create an artifical angel on his own, he was most likely influenced by the cabal's methods.

One example of an "artificial angel" is Fuse Kazakiri, the "artificial angel form" of Kazakiri Hyouka, an existence that manifested from the mixing of AIM fields throughout Academy City and resides in the "Imaginary Number District" when not physically manifested. Fuse Kazakiri, an existence that is considered considerably less powerful than an a Christian archangel, has displayed the ability to fire beams of energy that can reach several kilometers in length, project an AIM barrier that protects all those around her, flying at supersonic speeds and manifest a powerful energy sword.

The AIM Burst, an AIM entity product of the Level Upper network also displayed angelical attributes such as a Halo and wings similar to those of Fuse Kazakiri. It should be noted that Kazakiri Hyouka, Aiwass and AIM Burst all had small triangular-prism shaped cores inside their bodies that sustain their existence.

[orderoftheavengers]

Hufflepuff Rescue

Summary: Only a true Hufflepuff could put up with a Slytherin like Tony for all those years!

House: Hufflepuff

Species: Human/Salamander hybrid (formerly Human)

Blood Status: Muggleborn (sans one possibly magic uncle)

Wand: Hazel, 10 inches, jackalope antler

Broom: the Rescue Mark-7

Patronus: Giant flaming rabbit from Hell

Specialties: Charms, practical magic, Defense Against the Dark Arts

Sorting

Pepper would've made a fine Ravenclaw, but her most defining traits are Hufflepuff ones. She's a workaholic; insanely (some would say literally) loyal to her friends and employers; empathetic and sensitive; and has an almost superhuman ability to tolerate damn near anyone. The fact that she would accept whatever House the Hat chose for her only increased her candidacy for Hufflepuff.

"You're all I have too, Tony."

When Virginia Potts received her letter from Hogwarts, her Muggle family did not outright disown her; but they distanced themselves from her, and made their disdain for her magic clear. She was miserable at home, and took every extra job and class she could to stay in the magical world over the summer and holidays. (Though American, Pepper's family had recently moved to the U.K. for business related reasons.)

Virginia Potts was extremely skilled at charms, and her wand frequently rained excess sparks when she wielded it. Friends joked that she had the "hot-pepper wand," leading to her Hogwarts nickname Pepper. Ms. Potts was more than happy to keep this new identity, and took to using her Muggle first name only for legalities. Early into her first year, Pepper was ecstatic to get hired by a rich classmate, for a summer job at

Stark Castle

When Pepper wrote to her family explaining that she wouldn't be home for summer break, they wrote back politely implying that they preferred it that way.

Her fellow Hufflepuffs laughed, fretted, or had nervous breakdowns when they learned who Pepper was going to spend the summer working for. They all assumed that Tony Stark would either discount Pepper immediately for being a "mudblood," or would hire her only to troll her mercilessly. Neither was the case. Howard Stark himself had been a muggleborn Slytherin, who'd worked his way up the wizard social ladder from nothing, and the Starks had never bought into prejudice of any kind. (Howard worked with a female auror Peggy Carter in the '40s, and was married to a Ravenclaw named Maria; Tony's two best homeboys Happy and Rhodey were both Gryffindors.) Pepper's Muggle background actually contributed to her hiring, as Tony had an affinity for Muggle cars and food, and one of his best friends, Happy Hogan, was a Muggleborn.

Tony was, however, every bit as much of a headache as he was infamous for. But Pepper was made of much stronger stuff than even her best friends credited her for. Tony's Slytherin-to-the-max traits run amok were tempered by Pepper's Hufflepuff patience, grounded focus, and sensitivity. She established herself quickly as someone neither Tony nor his Veela dancers could screw around with, and took great pride in her job.

Things changed in forth year, when Tony was captured by Neo Death Eaters and has a magical amulet implanted in his chest.

Despite her love for her job, and the chance to see Tony Stark's bare chest, Pepper was not enthused to help change his chest amulet. ("There's puss!" "It's not puss, it's just poisoned basilisk venom mixed with phoenix tears, calm down.") She was understandably upset to find Tony working in his dungeon lab on a dangerously experimental broom, for missions that could get him killed. She reminded him, "You're all I have too, Tony." She eventually came to except Tony as a vigilante; but still freaked out when he attempted to drive a Muggle race car and set himself on fire.

Proof My Slytherin Has a Heart

....is what Pepper had magically inscribed on Tony's Christmas present: his old chest amulet, framed in two silver snakes forming a heart.

The entire school squeed at the unlikely Hufflepuff/Slytherin hookup. Fortunately, the pair did not have to face as much antagonism as a Slytherin/Non-Slyth couple in "Harry Potter's" day might have. Any negativity they did face was met with Tony's wrath. But everyone knew Stark's best friends were comprised almost entirely of non-Slytherins, and most people weren't dumb enough to hassle him about it.

Night of the Flaming Lepus

After Loki's attack on Hogwarts, Tony developed PTSD and became paranoid about protecting everyone, especially Pepper. He taught her as much Defense Against the Dark Arts as he could, but she really struggled with conjuring her Patronus. The tiny wisp she managed to squeeze from her wand resembled a very nonthreatening looking bunny.

That Christmas, Tony surprised Pepper with a giant rabbit he'd bought on the magical black market, thinking bigger = better. She didn't like it, as it had a tendency to eat chunks out of furniture, block the fireplace, and eat all of the magical plants around the Hufflepuff commonroom. They all got fed up, and Pepper magically teleported the eleven-foot rabbit down to the Slytherin commonroom, causing some awkwardness for Tony, who was already getting on his fellow Slytherins' nerves.

Shortly afterwards, the Slytherin commonroom was obliterated by Tony's enemies. Fortunately no one was killed--except, sadly, the giant rabbit.

But it lived on in spirit...

The villain who'd tried to kill Tony turned out to be Pepper's ex boyfriend, a Ravenclaw named Alderich Killian, whom she'd dated back in first year. Killian, once a regular human wizard, had transformed himself and several henchmen into Salamander hybrids, granting them fire-shooting and regeneration powers. Killian captured Pepper, and subjected her to a painful transformation that made her too part-Salamander.

While trying to rescue Pepper atop the Astronomy tower, Tony failed to catch her, and saw her seemingly plummet into an inferno below. Suffering a sudden attack of amnesia regarding Pepper's new powers, Tony thought she was dead, and in a Heroic Blue Screen of Death, went for Killian's blood. But Tony didn't have his wand or his broom with him, and was no match for the fire-breathing lizard man. 

Killian prepared for the killing blow, when he was interrupted by an a voice screaming, "Expecto Patronum!" He and Tony both turned to see Pepper, glowing red with her new Salamander powers, aiming her wand at Killian. Flames traveled up her arm to her wand, mixing with her patronus as it emerged. An eleven-foot-tall rabbit made entirely out of fire charged at Killian, barring fangs with flaming eyes straight out of "Watership Down." Killian died screaming like a teletubby, just before the bunny from Hell leaped across the roof and bit his head off.

Staring up at his lover, Tony quipped, "I got nothing."

Tony offered to cure Pepper of her condition, to which she replied, "Why in the name of Merlin's facial hair would I want to lose these kickass powers? I like being a Hot Pepper!"

Tony then apologized for the sh*t he'd put her through, and blew up all of his brooms, creating a shower of fireworks for her and Hogwarts. (And an excuse for himself to build new brooms.)

Lovers Divided Get Reunited... Then Divided Again

After going through all that hell together, it seemed nothing was going to break Pepper and Tony up. Then Tony accidentally created a super-annoying gargoyle villain that destroyed Durmstrang, and Pepper declared it time for them to "take a break." That Halloween, she went home for the first holiday in years. After half a week back in the Muggle world, Pepper remembered why she'd left, and hurried back to Hogwarts.

She was not surprised to learn that Tony had been involved in a violent drunken Quidditch game. However, she was shocked to hear he and Rhodey were both at St. Mungo's, for physical and psychological damage respectively. Rhodey had been transformed into a merman, with Healers unable to restore his legs. Tony meanwhile had undergone an experience that would have broken far more stable people than him. Pepper did not have nice words for Steve Rogers after she learned the whole story. She did, however, have an eleven-foot-tall, hopping-mad, flaming Patronus ready for him. Rumor has it Steve grew the beard in the hopes of disguising himself from the Hell Bunny.

Pepper saw Tony emerge from the sh*t pile that was his life with a shocking new maturity. Well, mature for Tony; he was still snarking like a petulant child to Stephen Strange.  But otherwise, he was more sensible and stable than she'd ever seen him. He devoted himself to mentoring a cute little Ravenclaw with spider powers, and building more magical shields and gadgets to protect the world from Titan invaders. At graduation, Tony gave Pepper the most awkward proposal in history. She wrinkled her nose at first, but came around and said, "What the hell."

Then a new kid with a cape resembling Ming the Merciless stole Tony from Pepper, and took him for a ride on a giant flying donut.

Not An Entirely Muggle Family?

Shortly before Strange arrived to steal Pepper's boyfriend, Tony related to her what he'd seen in the crystal ball in Divination class that morning (after several eye-rolling innuendos about "balls," naturally). In the crystal, he saw them have a baby together, and named the child after Pepper's "eccentric uncle," whose name happened to be Morgan. (Note: That's canon.)  Uncle Morgan was one of the few relatives who didn't shun Pepper after her Hogwarts letter, though he was extremely strange. Pepper didn't see him perform magic, and Uncle Morgan wouldn't elaborate on the subject--or, more precisely, he would elaborate, exaggerate, and then truncate. Tony speculated that Uncle Morgan may have been a Muggleborn who'd somehow gotten himself expelled from Hogwarts.

A Hufflepuff Rescue

After the Snap, Tony and Pepper eloped, and Pepper indeed gave birth to a baby girl, who they named Morgan. Determined to protect his family, Tony built Pepper a new upgraded broom, wand, and impenetrable robes. She loved the color purple, but Tony chose royal purple and gold for other reasons as well. Sick of seeing his queen underrated and often dismissed as "Tony Stark's mudblood servant," Tony wanted to make sure no one mistook his wife's role in his life ever again. Pepper wore and wielded these accessories in the final battle against Thanos.

At one point in the fight, a man with an old-fashioned camera interrupted the battle to request that all of the females in the Hogwarts army gather at one area, and strike badass poses. The man was Denis Creevey, and explained that this photo was for the Daily Prophet's issue on Witch's History Month. The Avengers, Thanos, and all parties sighed and begrudgingly put their epic battle on hold to meet Creevey's request. Creevey then hurried off the battlefield, and the fight resumed. Weeks later, the Prophet's front page featured an undeniably smashing (somewhat literally!) moving portrait of all the witches fighting for Hogwarts, plus Deadpool in drag.

Pepper was horrified when Tony used the Infinity Wand to seemingly sacrifice himself and dust Thanos and his army. But even then, her Hufflepuff loyalty and compassion prevailed. She accepted Tony's sacrifice, and told him, "you can rest now."

She was of course, overjoyed to have her husband resurrected. She was less happy the following year, when Tony took a potion that allowed him to talk to animals, and adopted a number of very talkative exotic creatures, but that's a story for another day.

Wand, Patronus

Rabbits and jackalopes are known to be soft and maternal, yet tricksy and clever. And anyone who has seen "Watership Down" knows not to be fooled by their cuteness.

AN: A lot of people peg both Pepper and Tony as Ravenclaws, and I get it. J.K. herself would likely sort them there, if not straight into Gryffindor like most of the important characters (sigh). But I'm basing the Sorting partially on the characters' roles in the series. Pepper is brilliant, but her role is that of a loyal workaholic and empathetic lover, while Tony's is that of a genius who just. Never. Quits. Plus, the Hufflepuff/Slytherin dynamic was impossible to resist.

[thetamrieliclibrary]

Pocket Guide to the Empire, First Edition: Cyrodiil

Cyrodilic history truly begins by the middle of the Alessian Reformation (see sidebar, Alessian Order), when civilisation and cultivation had allowed the region to emerge as a discernible Tamrielic power. Its culture and military strength centred in the sacred Nibenay Valley, a grassland expanse with a vast lake at its heart. Several small islands rose from this lake, and the capital city sprawled across them, crisscrossed with bridges and gondola ferries. Rivers connected the city-state to both its profitable outlying territories and the friendly inland ports of Skyrim and Pelletine. Rice and textiles were its main exports, along with more esoteric treasure-goods, such as hide armour, Moon sugar, and ancestor-silk. The sheer size of Cyrodiil's physical theatre, and frequent intervals of Elven tyranny, made its unification as a while a slow and oft-interrupted process. At the height of Alessian influence, its western arm enjoyed a brief autonomy as the Colovian Estates, a demarcation that still colours an outsider's view of the Empire today; often, Cyrodiil has two faces, East and West, and any discussion of its later social history must first be tempered with a summary of this early divergence.

Traditionally, the East is regarded as the region's soul: magnanimous, tolerant, and administrative. It was in the rain forests of the Nibenay Valley that the original Cyro-Nordic tribes, the Nibenese, learned a self-reliance that separated them culturally and economically from Skyrim. The Elven harassment of the First Empire gave rise to an elite form of support troop for the Valley armies, the battlemage.[1] By the time the Alessian Doctrines filtered down from the north along the river trade ways, these mages had become the ruling aristocracy. They were quickly superseded by the Alessian priesthood, whose inexplicably charismatic religion found purchase in the lower classes. The traditional Nordic pantheon of Eight Divines was replaced by a baroque of veneration of ancestor spirits and god-animals, practices encouraged by the mutable-yet-monotheistic doctrines of the Alessian faith. The doctrines eventually codified nearly every aspect of Eastern culture. Restrictions against certain kings of meat-eating, coupled with the sentiments of the blossoming animal cults, soon made agriculture and husbandry nearly impossible. Thus, many of the Eastern Cyrodiils were forced to become merchants, which, over time, allowed the Nibenay Valley to become the wealthiest city-state in the region. Yet, under Alessian rule, no matter how rich or powerful the merchant class became it was still a tenanted citizenry, and the tithes they were forced to pay the priesthood were constant reminders of the state's true masters.

The West is respected as Cyrodiil's iron hand: firm, unwavering, and ever-vigilant. The Cyro-Nords that settled it had relinquished the fertile Nibenay Valley long ago, determined to conquer the frontier. Their primitive ferocity was disinclined to magic or the need for industry, preferring bloody engagement and plunder instead. After they had captured the Nedic port-cities of the Strident coast, the Westerners embarked on a mastery of the sea. Their earliest voyages took them as far as the Iliac Bay and the Cape of the Blue Divide, whose ports they annually raided until the (then) superior Yokudan navies arrived, ca. 1E819. By the time of the Alessian Reformation, the Westerners were firmly in a position, both geographically and socially, to resist its doctrines. Hammerfell, its northern border state, was now protected by its own holy-avenging order, the Ra Gada, whose bloody intolerance for foreigners acted as West Cyrodiil's buffer against the Alessian priesthood. The pantheon of Eight Divines, therefore, survived unchecked in Western Cyrodiil, and relations with the increasingly Alessian East became strained. Ultimately, the West isolated itself from the theocratic hegemony of the Nibenay Valley, establishing an autonomous government, the Colovian Estates.

Things persisted in this vein until the Thrassian Plague of 1E2200 (see free Region - Thras), which decimated more than half of Tamriel's population, particularly the western coastlands closest to Thras. After Bendu Olo, the Colovian king of Anvil, led the All Flags Navy to victory over the slugfolk of Thras, the glory of the Cyrodilic people became known throughout the world. The Colovian Estates began to overshadow the richer, more populous East then, which eventually lead to the War of Righteousness that ended Alessian rule. Control of the Nibenay Valley reverted to a mercantile-magocracy that was still far too arcane for Western tastes to entertain a reunification of Cyrodiil. Four hundred years would pass before that would happen, when Reman I, another proud son of the West, rallied the Valley's army to join his own and fight the Akaviri Invasion of 1E2703. The Cyrodilic forces engaged the Akaviri in every region of the north, eliciting their surrender at last in the Pale Pass of Skyrim. By war's end, the Cyrodiils found themselves not only united as a nation, but, too, responsible for the further protection of the northern human kingdoms at large. When the Elves of the Summerset Isles took umbrage at what they perceived as a renewed human imperialism, Reman was forced to prove them right. In order to prevent the Elves from attacking[2] the already weakened northern kingdoms, he offered the captive Akaviri Horde amnesty in his future dominions if they would serve as the nucleus of the Army of the Second Empire of Men. Reman's own dynasty lasted for two hundred years, and in that span it conquered all the kingdoms of Tamriel except for Morrowind. Indeed, the Dark Elven Morag Tong were the doom of Reman's heirs, and the death of last true Cyrodilic Emperor heralded the beginning of the Common Era.

The Cyrodilic Empire endured for another four hundred years under the auspices of the Akaviri Potentate (see sidebar, The Second Empire), fell, and suffered a similar span of years in the insurrections, misrules, and loss of power known as the Interregnum. Yet, the remnants of the Cyrodilic Empire refuse to die, even though East and West had become fragmented beyond measure. A petty king of the Colovian Estates, Cuhlecain, came to power and appointed an Atmoran as General of his legions. General Talos had studied in Skyrim, and used the thu'um. He could rout armies with his battle-cry and shout lesser men off their feet. A year later more than half of the Cyrodilic Empire was reclaimed or consolidated, and Cuhlecain saw fit to move into the Nibenay Valley, capture the capital city, and proclaim himself Emperor. By this point, High Rock and Skyrim, which bitterly opposed a return to Cyrodilic rule, gathered their armies for a joint invasion of the Colovian West. Talos met them on the field of Sancre Tor. The Nords that had come to cripple the Empire soon joined the General's forces, for when they heard his thu'um they realised he was Skyrim's son and the Heir to the Empires of Men. The Bretons were sent back to High Rock with tales of Cuhlecain's new General, where they decided to combat the Emperor's sorcery with their own. In CE854, a nightblade from the Western Reach made his way to the Imperial Palace at Nibenay. There, the Witchman assassinated the emperor, caught the Palace on fire, and slit the throat of General Talos. "But from the smouldering ruin he came, one hand to his neck and with Cuhlecain's Crown in the other. The legions wept at the sight. His Northern magic had saved him, but the voice that led them would be more silent from that night on. His word could no longer rout an army with a roar, but he could still command one with a whisper. He took for himself a Cyrodilic name, Tiber Septim[3], and the Nordic Name of Kings, Ysmir, the Dragon of the North. And with those names he took, too, the Red Diamond Crown of the Cyrodiils, and became their True Emperor." Thus was born the Third Empire of Men.

Cyrodiil in the Third Empire is the young, viral embodiment of its ancient heritage. Internally, it has undergone an incredible restoration--reconstruction of the ruined sections of the Imperial City is nearly complete, roads and cities destroyed in the Interregnum have been rebuilt, East and West are unified for the first time in four centuries. Cyrodiil's present stability and strength have not been seen since the Reman Dynasty; indeed, they were born under similar circumstances--a Westerner winning the Eastern throne, forging them both into the greatest power in Tamriel. And now, in but twenty years time, Tiber Septim has secured Imperial authority in High Rock, Skyrim, and Hammerfell. Every human region stands with him against the Elven menace.[4] The Emperor has gracefully attributed his success to his peoples, the Colovians and the Nibenese, whose cultures we shall now treat in their current incarnation.

The Colovians[5] today still possess much of the frontier spirit of their ancestors. They are uncomplicated, self-sufficient, hearty, and extremely loyal to one another. Whenever the East would tremble under the weakness of a leader, the Colovians would withdraw unto themselves, always believing they were keeping the national spirit sage until the storm passed. They realise that the Nibenay Valley is the heart of the Empire and the cultural centre of its civilisation, but it is a fragile centre that can only be held together by the strength of character of its Emperor. When he falters, so do the Colovians. Yet when he is mighty, like Tiber Septim, they are his legions. Today, West Cyrodiils make up the majority of the soldiers in the Ruby Ranks. The Colovian nobility, all officers of the Imperial Legions or its West Navy, do not allow themselves the great expenditure of courtly life as is seen in the capital city. They prefer immaculate uniforms and stark standards hanging from the ceiling of their austere cliff-fortresses; to this day, they become a little perplexed[6] when they must visit the grandly decorated assault of colour that is the Emperor's Palace. 

[TRAVELER: "Colovian officers have traditionally been appointed as provincial governors to the human regions of the Empire, as these often need the most forthright of the Emperor's men."]

By contrast, the Eastern people of Cyrodiil relish in garish costumes, bizarre tapestries, tattoos, brandings, and elaborate ceremony. Closer to the wellspring of civilisation, they are more given to philosophy and the evolution of ancient traditions. The Nibenese find the numinous in everything around them, and their different cults are too numerous to mention (the most famous are the Cult of the Ancestor-Moth, the Cult of Heroes, the Cult of Tiber Septim, and the Cult of Emperor Zero). To the Colovians, the ancestor worship and esoteric customs of the East can often be bizarre. Akaviri dragon-motifs are found in all quarters, from the high minaret bridges of the Imperial City to the paper hako skiffs that villagers use to wing their dead down the rivers. Thousands of workers ply the rice fields after the floodings, or clear the foliage of the surrounding jungle in the alternate seasons. Above them are the merchant-nobility, the temple priests and cult leaders, and the age-old aristocracy of the battlemages. The Emperor watches over them all from the towers of the Imperial City, as dragons circle overhead.

Alessian Order

This monotheistic religion was once very popular, but today only remnants of its faith remain. It started in the coastal jungle of what is now the Colovian west, where a prophet named Marukh, who had spoken to the "Enlightened One," Saint Alessia, began to question the validity of Elven rule. These sentiments led to an increasingly abstract and unknowable depiction of a Single God. The Alessians were wise enough to realise that they had to incorporate the ancient polytheistic elements into their new religion for it to find a wide acceptance. The divine aspects worshipped by the various humans and Aldmeri were recognisable in the guise of the myriad saints and spirits of the evolving Alessian canon. It wasn't long before the Order was the Authority on every religion in Tamriel, and their power grew to earthshaking proportions.  Nearly a third of the First Era passed under their theocratic rule. When its priesthood had become too widespread to support itself, the Order began to fight among itself. With the severance of the territories of West Cyrodiil from the Empire, too much money and land had been lost. The War of Righteousness broke out, and the Order which had almost ruled the world undid itself in a ten year span.

The Second Empire

The Second Empire is divided into two stages: the Reman Dynasty and the Akaviri Potentate. As mentioned in the text, after the Akaviri raiders had been defeated, Reman recruited many of them into his service. Later Cyrodiils traditionally kept a House Guard of Akaviri, and the Emperor's chief advisor, the Potentate, was usually of Akaviri descent. Other Akaviri slaves played a significant part in establishing the administrative structures of the Second Empire, as well as in the training of its military. The restructured Imperial legions, which learned an unparalleled measure of coherence, logistics, and discipline from the Akaviri, began to easily overwhelm the other regional armies; soon every region in Tamriel belonged to Cyrodiil except for Morrowind. After the assassination of Reman's last heir by the Dark Elven Morag Tong during the disastrous Four Score War, control of the Empire reverted to the Akaviri Potentate. They have left a visible mark on the Empire of today. The high crafts of daikatanas and dragonscale armour came from the Akavir, as did the banners and military dress of Septim's shock troops, the Blades. The Red Dragons that have come to represent the Empire and the Imperial City were originally Akaviri war mounts. Akaviri surnames are rare and prized possessions among the Cyrodilic citizenry of today, and there are trace facial features of the Akaviri in many distinguished Cyrodilic families. Some colonies of "true Akaviri" still exist in both the Empire and its border regions, but they are named so only for their practices and customs than for the purity of their blood.

The Song of Tiber Septim[7]

From the Odes:

"He was born in Atmora as Talos, 'Stormcrown' in the language of the ancient Elhnofey, and it was from that shore he sailed. He spent his youth in Skyrim among the Nords. There he learned much from the Tongues and their chieftains and their ways of war. At twenty he led the invasion of Old Hrol'dan, taking it back from the Witchmen of High Rock and their kinsmen.

"Soon the Greybeards made known that they were restless. Already the storms had begun from their murmurs. The Greybeards were going to Speak. The surrounding villages were abandoned as the people fled the coming blast.

"The villagers warned Talos to turn back, for he was marching to the mountain where the Greybeards dwelt.

"Inside he went, and on seeing him they removed their gags. When they spoke his name the World shook.

"The Tongues of Skyrim told the son of Atmora that he had come to rule Tamriel and that he must travel south to do so.

"And it is true that Talos did come to Cyrodiil shortly after the Battle of Old Hrol'dan.

"And it is true that a great storm preceded his arrival."

The Cult of the Ancestor-Moth

For long the Cyro-Nordics had exported ancestor-silks to other regions, simple yet exotic shawls woven from the silks of an indigenous gypsy moth and inscribed with the requisite genealogy of its buyer. Under the Cult, however, ancestor and moth became synonymous: the singing and hymnal spirits of one's forebears are caught in a special silk-gathering ritual, the resource of which is used to create any manner of vestment or costume. The swishing of this material during normal movement reproduces the resplendent ancestral chorus contained therein--it quickly became a sacred custom among the early Nibenese, which has persisted to the present day. Monks of the higher orders of the Cult of the Ancestor-Moth are able to forego the magical ritual needed to enchant this fabric, and, indeed, prefer instead to wear the moths about the neck and face. They are able to attract the ancestor-moths through the application of finely ground bark-dust gathered from the gypsy moth's favourite tree, and through the sub-vocalisation of certain mantras. They must chant the mantras constantly to maintain skin contact with the ancestor-moths, a discipline that they endure for the sake of some cosmic balance. When a monk interrupts these mantras, in conversation for example, the moths burst from him in glorious fashion every time he speaks, only to light back upon his skin when he resumes the inaudible chant.

The Cult of Emperor Zero

This cult, started by Tiber Septim himself, was established in the honour of Cuhlecain, the Emperor Zero. Though Cuhlecain did not technically recapture all of Cyrodiil's holdings during this time, he is worthy of worship for the wisdom he showed in appointing Talos as his General, and the bravery he showed when retaking the Imperial City, two events that were crucial in restoring the glory of the new Cyrodilic Empire. He is therefore to be remembered in our prayers. The topiary-mages have begun to shape his aspect in the Palace gardens, where in the future Cuhlecain may share his insights with Tiber Septim in the same manner as the rest of the blessed hedgery heads of Green Emperor Road.

Places of Note

Indeed, if the history of the Nords is the history of humans on Tamriel, then Cyrodiil is the throne from which they will decide their destiny. It is the largest region of the continent, and most is endless jungle. Its centre, the grassland of the Nibenay Valley, is enclosed by an equatorial rain forest and broken up by rivers. As one travels south along these rivers, the more subtropical it becomes, until finally the land gives way to the swamps of Argonia and the placid waters of the Topal Bay.

The elevation rises gradually to the west and sharply to the north. Between its western coast and its central valley there are all manners of deciduous forest and mangroves, becoming sparser towards the ocean. The western coast is a wet-dry area, and from Rihad border to Anvil to the northernmost Valenwood villages forest fires are common in summer. There are a few major roads to the west, river paths to the north, and even a canopy tunnel to the Velothi Mountains, but most of Cyrodiil is a river-based society surrounded by jungle.

The Imperial City[8]

Refayj's famous declaration, "There is but one city in the Imperial Province,--" may strike the citizens of the Colovian west as mildly insulting, until perhaps they hear the rest of the remark, which continues, "--but in one city in Tamriel, but one city in the World; that, my brothers, is the city of the Cyrodiils." From the shore it is hard to tell what is city and what is Palace, for it all rises from the islands of the lake towards the sky in a stretch of gold. Whole neighbourhoods rest on the jewelled bridges that connect the islands together. Gondolas and river-ships sail along the watery avenues of its flooded lower dwellings. Moth-priests walk by in a cloud of ancestors; House Guards hold exceptionally long daikatanas crossed at intersections, adorned with ribbons and dragon-flags; and the newly arrived Western legionnaires sweat in the humid air. The river mouth is tainted red from the tinmi soil of the shore, and river dragons rust their hides in its waters. Across the lake the Imperial City continues, merging into the villages of the southern red river and ruins left from the Interregnum.

The Emperor's Palace is a crown of sun rays, surrounded by his magical gardens. One garden path is known as Green Emperor Road--here, topiaries of the heads of past Emperors have been shaped by sorcery and can speak. When one must advise Tiber Septim, birds are drawn to the hedgery head, using their songs as its voice and moving its branches for the needed expressions.

Annotations

Annotations by YR:

"Our old students forget themselves."

"Ha!"

"Even those humans who revile Talos as a traitor, oathbreaker, and scoundrel pay homage to his skill in obtaining his ends  without resort to warfare."

"Truly, a doubtful statement."

"An observation: Colovians feel superior to Nibenese as a people, yet, because the East is the Empire's "heart", the Westerners are often neglected in Cyrodiil ~ Even though the throne is taken continually by Kings from the West, the Nibenese quickly assimilate them into their ranks."

"Author oddly sympathetic to the West--a Colovian scribe, perhaps?"

"It is certain that the tale of Talos' conquest of the Cyrodiil through use of his voice is not literally true--that kind of thu'um is now forbidden. This is all obviously a poetic reference, crafted to satisfy the popular human lust for blood and magic. This young myth is perhaps inspired by Talos' reputation for shrewd diplomacy, attested by even his greatest critics, which permitted him to scheme and bargain his way into the capital city--which he lacked the armies or funds to conquer by dint of force."

"Of course no mention of the Aldmeri Citadel the capital city was built upon--or the crimes perpetrated there in the previous era..."

~ Follow for more books, journals, and notes from the Elder Scrolls series ~ Updates daily ~

[venusxxlangdon]

Of Mice and Snakes

Pairing: Michael Langdon x fem!reader x Tom Riddle

Word Count: 12.3k

Warnings: crossover (Hogwarts AU), smut, threesome, dirty talk, anal sex, unprotected sex, overstimulation, oral (male on female and vice versa), fingering, humiliation, choking, mention of blood as a part of a ritual. All characters are 18+ (the reader is the seventh year student)    

Summary:  AU where the reader does not know that curiosity killed the cat and agrees to a midnight rendezvous with the Slytherin Heir and his best friend Michael Langdon.  

A/N: this epos (lmao the smut is endless, so epos is the right word to describe this madness) is based on my Slytherin!Michael headcanon & the ask I have received the other day: Slytherin Michael and Tom Riddle seeing who can get you to squirt first and they just keep making you cum over and over and you’re so sensitive but they’re mean and have big egos so they keep going even if you’re crying. Just imagine. (wow, nonny, your mind!!!)  Special thank you to my Slytherin binches @avesatanormalpeoplescareme & @ccodyfern who plotted the smut scene with me  

In addition, this is such a Michael-centric fic even though it’s a threesome that I’m crying at how much of Michael’s binch I am

“To caress the serpent that devours us, until it has eaten away our heart”

  – Voltaire

You knew you should not have kept a mysterious diary that you had found in your bag after Divination class. It appeared out of nowhere, and nobody seemed to know whom it belonged to. So eventually, you were sitting in the Slytherin common room, running your fingers along the hardcover of the notebook and contemplating if you could use it for your own purposes. It looked expensive. The cover was black, made of what it seemed like a snakeskin  – you wondered if it was faux  – encrusted with the copper fixtures on the edges.

O.W.L.s were approaching, so maybe having a spare notebook in your possession was not a bad idea, you thought to yourself, picking up a quill to put your name on the first page. When a thick drop of black ink fell on the sheet, you gasped in frustration, thinking that you must have ruined the blank surface. You wanted the very first note to be pretty, but instead, you had messed it up without even writing a single word! Suddenly your eyes widened at the sight of a fat smudge disappearing before your eyes as if the page was absorbing it like a sponge. You dipped the quill into an inkstand once again and wrote your first and last names.

The intricate handwriting faded away, and just a moment after, you saw some new words making their way on the yellow sheet.

 “Tom Marvolo Riddle and Michael Langdon are honored to meet you Y/F/N/Y/L/N”

 You were a reasonable witch and perfectly aware that the unknown artifacts were dangerous and should have been investigated before use; however, you licked your lips nervously and looked around in case any of the students or ghosts (Bloody Baron had a reputation of sticking his nose into everybody’s business) were watching you and wrote down:

 “Who are you?”

 The answer made you arch your brows in surprise.

 “Slytherin students.”

 There should have been a mistake because being a Slytherin prefect you knew everyone, or at least the majority of them. If there were someone who created such artifact, you would definitely know them. You frowned, and the thought of this whole thing being a prank crossed your mind.

 “Your names don’t seem familiar to me,” you scribbled, impatiently waiting for the reply.

 “We studied at Hogwarts long ago.”

 “I found this notebook in my bag. Is there any way I can mail it back to you? I don’t want anyone’s things in my possession.”

 It took a couple of minutes for them to reply. While you were waiting, you tore a small piece of a scroll off and wrote down “Michael Langdon and Tom Riddle” in order to check whom these people were later. When you glanced at the diary sprawled out in front of you, there was an answer:

 “This diary is the memory of ours. It chooses its next owner by itself. This time it’s you, so there’s no need to give it back. You can use it.”

 “But I technically I can’t use it for my notes. Whatever I write down disappears.”

 “You are right, but you can also enjoy our company. The fellow Slytherins will always get each other’s back. Besides, we know all the secrets of Hogwarts.”

 It was not a peaceful time for the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. After Mrs. Norris was petrified by the unknown creature and the threat of the Slytherin Heir being back written in blood was found on the wall, everybody lost their minds. Even though you really disliked Harry Potter who was believed to be in charge of consternation, you did not think it was his fault, neither you considered Malfoy being a part of it. Once you overheard him gossiping about it in the common room and trying to persuade Crabbe and Goyle that he was a self-proclaimed Heir. When he said that, you scoffed, hiding your grin behind the book you were reading and thought to yourself that the second years were absolutely insufferable. Draco’s bravado was the epitome of his youthful maximalism.

 Curious by nature, you could not stand the idea of being unaware of what was going on around you. The floor of the crime scene was prohibited for students to enter until the investigations were over, so you dedicated most of your time to doing the research in the library, picking the information about the Chamber of Secrets crumb by crumb, and trying to complete the puzzle. Unfortunately, you had not been able to find much, and it was driving you crazy. In one particular book, you read a legend about a beast which of many fearsome monsters was the most dangerous one. Basilisk, or the King of Serpents, was believed to reach a gigantic size and live many hundreds of years. Its killing methods were wondrous from biting with its venomous fangs to murdering its victims with a stare. The last part seemed especially intriguing to you, and it was the reason why you concentrated your attention on this paragraph. On the one hand, it looked similar to what had happened to the cat, but on the other, Madam Pomfrey said it had been petrified, not killed, which made your assumptions false. Moreover, you really did not think that Dumbledore would have allowed a monster in the castle. The mysterious Chamber of Secrets seemed like an old fairy tale students would tell each other late at night for fun, but when Tom and Michael mentioned that they knew all the secret things of Hogwarts, you decided to try your luck and ask them about your conspiracy theories. 

 They found your Achilles hill without much effort. Your curiosity was stronger than your common sense, and maybe it was the reason why you still did not close the diary and throw it away for good in the Room of Requirement.

 “Do you guys know anything about the Chamber of Secrets?”

 You bit your lower lip in anticipation and rested your chin on your hand, staring at the blank page.

 “What exactly do you want to know?”

 Well, shit, did the Chamber actually exist? It was the moment when you could ask them anything, but all the thoughts turned into incoherent flux you could not form into a proper sentence.

 Your handwriting became messier as you started writing, holding a quill tightly.

 “Is it really in Hogwarts? Who is the Slytherin Heir? Does Basilisk exist? I have done some research, but I’m not sure if my sources are reliable.”

 You put the quill aside and leaned back on your chair, placing your palms that involuntarily got all sweaty, on your uniform-clad thighs.

 “Well, well, what an eager girl we got here. You have too many questions for us, Y/N...”

 Crimson blush flushed across your cheeks at the pet name.

 “Could you, please, answer them?”

 You did not want to miss your only chance to find out the new information, even though it was obvious that you could not trust some random diary, which happened to be...only God knew what exactly it was. You figured that after you were done fishing for the new facts you would head to the library to check them out.

 “...too many questions, perhaps, we could answer. Since you’ve asked so nicely, we think we can show you what we know.”

 “Show me?”

 You did not know what to expect, maybe an essay on the Chamber of Secrets that would appear on the page, but certainly not the following lines:

 “As we have said, this diary is just a container of our memories. If you want us to answer your questions, tonight, at 1 a.m. you should go to the dungeon and bring it along with you. Open it on page twenty five and write “me videbunt*” in your blood.”

 Your heartbeat sped up. Sneaking late at night was not a problem for a prefect, but you doubted if you really needed to get involved in this suspicious venture.

 “Is it safe? I would rather prefer to find out who you two are before we could cooperate.”

 “Then it’s a good thing that you have plenty of time till 1 am.”

 You glanced at the big clock hanging on the wall with two snakes that represented hour and minutes hands. They showed 6:30 p.m. The reading room closed at 10.

 “Section 53. Raw 11. Shelf 9.” were the last words Tom and Michael left for you.

 xxx

 Sixth. Seventh. Eighth. Ninth. Your fingers walked on the book spines looking for the one that could tell you about the mysterious Slytherin students. None of the books seemed suitable for your purpose. They were on magical creatures, charms, transfiguration, and...the Triwizard Tournament. As soon as your fingertips brushed against the hardcover of it, the copper ornament of the diary you were holding against your chest with the free hand, heated up and scorched your palm. You gasped and looked at the reddened skin in confusion. Having picked the book from the shelf you made your way to a long table occupied by some Gryffindor students who shot pretentious glares at you as soon as you approached them. Without paying any attention to them, you took a seat, placed your bag on a bench next to you, and opened the book.

 The Tournament never really interested you. It was renowned for being extremely dangerous: champions had died while competing, and it was discontinued at some point due to the high death toll. However, it was revived in 1945 when wizards just like Muggles had to face the terror of WWII and needed something that would bring the most powerful Wizarding schools together and create the spirit of unity. You opened the table of content and scanned through the titles.

 “Champions of 1294”

 “No, it’s too early,” you thought to yourself, moving your finger down the page.

 “Champions of 1494” Skip.

 “Champions of 1792”Maybe? No, nothing.

 “Champions of 1945” It was the last tournament so far. You flipped through the pages, looking for the familiar names, eyes scanning every line.

 “Tom Marvolo Riddle, Slytherin champion, page 1055” and then “Michael Langdon, Slytherin champion. Disqualified. Page 1056.”

 On the mentioned pages there was a column written by a journalist from the Daily Prophet with a huge headline “Hogwarts champions have not outsmart the Goblet of Fire.”

 “Two seventh year students Tom Marvolo Riddle and Michael Langdon were so anticipated for the Triwizard Tournament that they decided to compel the Goblet of Fire for it to select them as Hogwarts Champions on September 25, 1945. Despite the outstanding performance of Confundus, only Mr. Riddle has been presented an honor to compete in the Tournament....”

 You could not finish reading the article, being too fascinated with the picture of two young boys smiling and waving their hands at you. You glanced at the description to figure out who was who. They looked very much alike: both were tall, dressed in the perfectly ironed Slytherin uniforms, and looking way too happy for those whose plan had not worked out. Even though the picture was black & white you could tell that Tom had dark hair, and Michael was blond. A cheeky smile on Michael’s full lips made you blush, and you rolled your eyes at your own reaction. You traced your fingers across the page, contouring their silhouettes pensively. They were extremely good looking. Tom did not win the tournament that year, but he and Michael certainly got their dose of glory.

 Did THEY really communicate with you via the diary? They mentioned that it was just a container of their memories, but how could it adapt to your questions if they had not been a part of the diary’s data?

  “Hey, Y/N,” you lifted your head up from the book at Thomas Finnigan, a Ravenclaw Prefect.

 “Yes?”

 “We’ll start the evening checkup in 20 minutes, okay? You take the fifth and sixth floors.”

 You blinked at him in confusion.

 “Wait, what? What time is it?”

 “Half past nine,” he curiously looked at the book you were reading, and you hurried to close it and put in under the Transfiguration textbook.

 “I must have got carried away,” you mumbled, still surprised that time had passed so fast. It was weird, you swore that you had come to the library at least thirty minutes ago.

 “Twenty minutes,” Thomas reminded you and left you alone with your thoughts.

 As soon as he left, you opened the same page with a picture of Tom and Michael. Having made sure that nobody was watching you, you took your wand out and cleared your throat.

 “Gemino,” and just like that, with a flick of your wrist, the photograph multiplied. You took the copy and hid it into the inner pocket of your robe.

 Half past nine. You still had some time.

 xxx

The best time of the day was when all students were in their common rooms, and you only had to stroll through the empty hallways checking if everything was alright. Your steps echoed in the distance, drawing the attention of the portraits who scrunched up their noses complaining that you were too loud, but you could care less. Being too caught up in your thoughts, you made your way to the moving staircases. You only needed to find Peter, the head of the prefects, fill out the daily report, and you would be done for the night. It felt like, with every step, the photograph in your pocket was heating up, sending the radiant waves of warmth down your spine, as a reminder that you were running out of time. Anticipation coiled in the pit of your stomach making you sick; you hold onto the staircase when it started moving in the direction of the fourth floor.

 They said they were Slytherin students and you saw the uniforms with your own eyes, so theoretically, you could trust them because there was an unspoken rule of Slytherins unconditionally respecting their mates.

 “The only person you should ever trust is yourself,” you whispered under your breath the reminder you and every Slytherin student lived by.

It was unsafe to sneak out this late when there was an unidentified entity that was petrifying students. Who knew, maybe in the darkness of the dungeons, it would attack you?

 You went downstairs and stormed into Professor Snape’s office where every day from 9 to 11 p.m Peter Goldberg was of filling out the reports. He was sitting on a tall chair, scraping on a piece of parchment.

 “Hey, Peter,” you threw your beg aside but did not pay attention to where it landed. By the sound of some pots falling over the table, you knew it was not going to be a nice morning for Professor Snape on the following day.

 Peter tsked at you.

 “Could you, please, be more careful for fuck’s sake?”

 “Everything’s fine out there, where’s the report?” You ignored the question, hopping on a chair next to him. He nodded at a pile of parchment in front of him.

 “If you manage to find it in this mess,” he waved his hand at the numerous papers flooding his desk, “you are welcome to fill it in.”

 “Why don’t you make some freshmen do all the paperwork for you?” You asked, looking through the pile of endless notes, important documents, drafts and what not.

 Peter tiredly rubbed the bridge of his nose.

 “Because they are stupid and incompetent,” he said it as if it was the most obvious thing. “If you want something to be done right, you need to do it yourself.”

 You hummed in response and spotted the corner of the sheet you were looking for on the opposite side of the desk. You leaned forward and took it out of the pile trying not to ruin it.

 “Then don’t complain about it,” you noted as you put your signature next to your name. “Here, all done.”

 Peter took the paper out of your hands and threw it on top of the folders. You watched him do it with your arms crossed across your chest, thinking it was no wonder that his desk was a mess.

 “What are you up to tonight?” He wondered without taking his eyes off the parchment.

 The question brought the thoughts of Tom and Michael back on your mind. In fact, they were always there, tempting you to say “yes” to the little rendezvous past midnight. You nervously chewed your bottom lip while taking a few steps towards your bag which was tossed on the floor.

 “Most certainly, sleep. I’ve been studying for O.W.L.s all day, and…”

You turned your head at Peter who clearly looked uninterested, being completely absorbed in work. Before you walked out of the class, you took your wand out and whispered “Scourgify” placing the papers in order.

 “No, no, no!” Peter shouted, his eyes wide open in terror, “these documents are charmed, they have to be sorted out manually, Y/N! That’s why I have been fucking with them all this time!”

 A road to hell is paved with good intentions.

 You did not know that, so you quickly stormed out of the classroom, giggling at Peter’s grunts behind the closed door.

“Sorry!”

 xxx

Of course, sleep was the last thing on your mind when you were lying in bed fully dressed in your black skinny jeans and a turtleneck. You were thankful for the canopy hiding you from the eyes of your roommates because dealing with unnecessary questions was not on the bucket list. The diary was right next to your thigh, tossed negligently on the white linen sheets. Your fingers lingered against the fabric searching for the photograph. You brought it to your face, looking at Tom and Michael for the hundredth time. It was obvious that you had made your decision right after you came from your night patrol and instead of changing into your pajamas, you put on your casual clothes.

 You: 0

Michael and Tom: 1

 It was 00:45 a.m. when you sat up on the bed and carefully listened to the sounds behind the thick curtains. You pulled the canopy aside and whispered “Quietus”, aiming at the sleeping girls. You clapped your hands in order to make sure that the charm had worked, and after no one reacted to the sound, you jumped off the bed and headed out to the common room.

 Sneaking on your tiptoes, you crept your way up the set of the stone steps to the door that was on the right side of the Entrance Hall (if coming down the marble staircase facing the front doors of the castle.) You gently pushed it, trying not to disturb the snoring portrait of the entrance guard.

 The blood in your temples was drumming so fast, you thought it was so loud that it could wake the entire Hogwarts up. You crossed your fingers, hoping that Snape was asleep. Filch was not a problem at all. The old twat was scared to go to the Slytherin dungeon, especially after his bloody cat had been petrified.

 It was so dark, almost impossible to see anything. You looked around and, taking a tight grip on your wand, whispered:

 “Lumos minima”

 A faint ball of light scorched at the pointy tip of your wand, lighting up your path. It was bright enough to see where you were going, yet dim not to attract attention. Your feet noiselessly glided along the stone floor. You did not know how deep you should have gone into the dungeon, so after you made sure that Snape’s classroom was left far behind you, you stopped and kneeled on the cold concrete. You slid the bag off your shoulder and took the quill and the diary out.

 1 a.m.

 You took a deep breath, and with slightly trembling fingers counted twenty-five pages. There it was. You smoothed the crispy sheet with your palm. Your hand sneaked onto the back pocket of your jeans, and you carefully drew a small razor blade out. Fuck. Did you really have to do it?  You prepared the quill and closed your eyes.

One. Two. Three.

 “Ouch!” You winced at the stinging pain when you slid the blade across your palm and a dribble of blood ran down your hand. You dipped the sharp point of the quill into the liquid and wrote down:

 “Me videbunt”

 You realized that you were holding your breath all the time. You inhaled a fetid air of the dungeon and leaned back on your hills. Nothing happened.

 “Vulnera Sanentur,” You murmured, healing the stinging cut.

 You heard your heavy breathing in the deafening silence, the drops of water dripping from the ceiling, and your mad heartbeat. The scarlet red inscription refused to disappear. You should have known better. It must have been a prank.

 “Me videbunt,” you mocked yourself, growling the words out through your gritted teeth. What an idiot. Annoyed, you grabbed the quill and showed it back into your bag. Right when you were about to close the diary and leave for good, you noticed that the writing started fading away. You dropped your bag and leaned forward, your nose inches away from the page. You could feel the copper smell of it. Blood started eroding the yellow sheet, and soon a bright light filled up the cracks on the page. It kept growing, spreading out beyond the edges of the notebook, enveloping everything around it. Including you. Before you could even blink, you were falling into the radiance.

 Boom.

 Your back hit a firm surface of what felt like marble. A dull pain pierced through you, and you moaned, rolling onto your side. Your fingers brushed against the floor and you scrunched up your nose at the sight of a disgusting goo covering your digits. What the fuck was that? You propped yourself up on your elbows and looked around.

 Your mouth fell open in shock. An enormous room sprawled out before you. A statue high as the Chamber itself loomed into view, standing against the back wall. It was ancient and monkeyish, with a long, thin beard that fell almost to the bottom of the wizard's sweeping stone robes, where two enormous grey feet stood on the smooth Chamber floor.* You could recognize the man in seconds. You had seen the portraits of him everywhere from history books to the packaging of chocolate frogs. It was Salazar Slytherin.

 Suddenly the sound of somebody’s steps drew your attention. You turned your head and saw a silhouette of a tall figure approaching you. Instinctively, your fingers slid down to the waistband of your jeans where your wand was tugged securely.

 “There’s no need to take your wand out,” a clear voice rang through the Chamber.

 You narrowed your eyes, trying to understand who the man was. When he came closer, you gasped, realizing that he was the one you saw in the picture. His black hair was laid in short smooth waves in contrast with his pale, porcelain skin. Dark piercing eyes were drilling through you, and you could not help yourself but think that you had never seen such mesmerizing color before. Two pristine stones of onyx that looked soulless. You gulped heavily, tightening the grip on the handle of your wand.

 “You’re Tom Riddle,” your voice sounded foreign to you.

 He reached his hand out to help you stand up. His touch was cold as ice. Nearly stumbling, you got to your feet, without taking your eyes off of his chiseled face.

 “What an honor to have such guest as you are, Ms. Y/L/M,” his full lips curled in a smirk.

 You put your hands on your waste, massaging the bruised pelvis, and nervously asked:

 “Where are we?”

 “In the Chamber of Secrets.”

 He let you take a few steps forward and whirl around to have proper look at the room. The Chamber looked fearfully impressive.

 “I don’t understand,” you muttered. “Does the professors know about it?“

 You looked at Tom, who was going around you in slow circles, like a predator hunting its prey, his eyes examining your body.

 “Of course they do. Dumbledore is not a fool to buy the idea of it being a myth. Salazar Slytherin built this Chamber centuries ago. It was the legacy of our faculty, I thought you had already known it.”

 “I didn’t know if I could take this information seriously. Nobody had been here before...”

 You stopped talking when Tom let out a chuckle.

 “Well, that’s where they have done their work,” his eyes twinkled devilishly, “they made sure to erase all evidence that two Hogwarts most talented students who made it to the Triwizard Tournament had opened the notorious Chamber of Secrets and awoken the beast.”

 A shiver ran down your spine. You looked at the goo covering the floor here and there and assumed it was Basilisk’s traces. You should have left right at that moment.

 “M-Michael did not make it as a champion,” you stuttered. Your intuition was particularly screaming that it was time to leave. Something was wrong about Tom and the way he stared at you.

 “Please, don’t remind him about that. He’s still so pissed,” Riddle playfully rolled his eyes.

 “What happened to you? Why are you here?” You were too scared to ask if he was alive. The icy touch of his hand left a weird sensation on your palm.

 Tom put his hands behind his back and with an ostentatiously serious look on his face explained:

 “Once upon a time,” you wondered if he ever talked without making everything sound so dramatic, “I had led a peaceful life as an average freshman of Slytherin, you know...pranked Gryffindor rivals, been the best student in class, “he winked at you. “Until one day, I heard a voice calling my name. Apparently, I was the only who could hear it, and at first, I thought I was mental... Little did I know that I was meant to understand Parseltongue, and it was Basilisk, calling for me, its only owner.” Tom grinned, showing his perfect white teeth.

 You looked at him with wide eyes.

 “But only the Slytherin Heir...”

 “Can tame the beast,” Riddle was so excited he could not even let you finish the sentence. “Yes, Yes, Yes!”

 Your head started spinning. The next moment you were aiming your wand at Tom.

 “I want to get out,” you hissed.

 Tom did not even move an inch. He glanced at your trembling hand and smirked.

 “Where are going, love?” a fake pout touched his lips. “Don’t you want to meet Michael? You seemed so eager writing those silly questions in our diary.”

 And just when he pronounced the last word, a loud crash roared through the Chamber. The stone mouth of the stature opened up, and you saw a large head of a snake crawling out of it. You cried out and backed off, moving your wand in the direction of the monster. The enormous serpent, bright, poisonous green, thick as an oak trunk, had raised itself high in the air and its great blunt head was weaving drunkenly between the pillars.** Fear, crushing onto your in destructive tides, made you numb and pinned you to your spot. You found yourself unable to move as if every muscle of your body was paralyzed.

 You heard Tom scoff “What a showoff,” and saw that there was a guy sitting on top of the snake’s giant head. The beast was so big that it almost took half of the room. It whipped its tail across the floor and bowed its head, letting the blond man jump off and gracefully lend on his feet.

 “I honestly think that he loves you more than me,” Riddle said, taking a few steps forward to stroke Basilisk’s scaly skin.

 “Well, if you weren’t a dick and accompanied him for the hunt, he would not be so putty in my hands.” A deep velvety baritone infiltrated your body, making your insides shiver.

 Michael Langdon was even more handsome in flesh than he was in the photograph. He was taller than Tom indeed, his long legs and broad torso resembled young Adonis. His jawline was so sharp that he could use it to cut your heart out of your chest.

 “And here is our little pen friend,” he mused and approached you with long, elegant strides. When he reached out his hands, you doubted if it was safe to touch him. However, being raised as a well-mannered lady, you did not want to seem rude. You were going just to shake his hand, but he covered your small palms with his large ones, squeezing them. “Pleased to meet you, Ms. Y/L/N. We were afraid that you would not be able to bless us with your visit tonight.” The corners of his mouth twitched.

 “Frankly speaking, I doubted it, too,” you mumbled.

 “She had wanted to leave right before you came, Michael,” Tom scoffed, crossing his arms across his chest. Your eyes gleamed at him with annoyance. Riddle could have done better and kept his tongue behind his teeth, but he was a cheeky asshole who liked to exaggerate things.

 Michael folded his hands neatly behind his back.

 “Why is that? Has my friend treated you badly?” He tilted his head, amused by the way your cheeks turned pink.

 “No, no, I just...,” your eyes traveled from Riddle to Langdon back and forth. “Tom told me he was the Slytherin Heir, but I had been thinking that this whole thing with Salazar Slytherin was just another legend.”

 “We had always wanted to make it to the pages of the magical books,” he ran his fingers through his soft blond locks. “It was just the matter of time and our creativity how we would do it.”

 “How did you find the Chamber? Why are you still here? How fucking old are you?” Your voice betrayed you and you almost yelled the last question at the top of your lungs.

 “Basilisk showed me the entrance,” Tom explained. “I had to tell Michael after he had caught me sneaking out late at night.”

 Langdon nodded.

 “If you had not told me we would’ve never become immortal,” a self-satisfied smirk touched his lips when he noticed your reaction. “I was the one who came up with a plan to trap our souls here and create the diary as a messenger.”

“Why would you want to rot in the dungeons?” You asked confusedly.

“We are not rotting here if you haven’t noticed yet” his fingers danced across his smooth, porcelain cheeks. “It was for safety. If it had not been for Tom’s youthful soul in this Chamber, Harry Potter would have killed him on that night eleven years ago...”

Your heart galloped in your chest like a dozen of horses, eyes skimmed through the room, looking for the exit. Basilisk was too close, and Tom and Michael had wands, so it was difficult to escape.

“…now we can entice him just like you, end his pathetic life and come alive in our full glory.”

You had not even think your plan over when you shouted:

“Expelliarmus!”

 “Protego Maxima!” Tom pointed his hand skyward, conjuring up an impregnable magical protection barrier that knocked you over in the blink of an eye.

You heard an audible noise that resembled a loud crack, and suddenly a pair of strong arms wrapped around you and wrestled your wand out of your hand. It was prohibited to apparate within Hogwarts until the Headmaster decided otherwise. What sort of dark magic Tom and Michael possessed?

“Why don’t you want to play nicely?” Langdon whispered in your ear, wrapping his hand around your neck, nearly suffocating you; you desperately clang on his arm, trying to break free, but it only made him press his fingers tighter, leaving crescent marks on your tender skin.

“This is not the right way to treat your fellow Slytherins,” Tom hissed, removing the bright shield.

“I think we should teach her a lesson.”

Michael’s body was pushed against your back; the dark lapels of his robes enveloped your limbs like a midnight mist, and your mouth hanged open when he rolled his hips, giving you a hint on what he had meant by his suggestion to teach you manners.

 “Do you think they still have fun like we used to, Tom?” he asked cheekily, his hand sliding down your head, petting you almost lovingly, and then tangling his fingers in your hair. He brushed the strands into a loose ponytail and yanked your head back, bringing it close to his lustful mouth. Plush lips pressed soft, teasing kisses and then moved behind your ear, leaving burning kisses along the way, making your pussy throb and a burst of your juices soak through your panties. No fucking way. You gasped in shock, being embarrassed by the reaction of your body.

 Riddle smirked. He stood several inches away from you, admiring the way Michael pinned you to your place like a lepidopterist who collected the finest butterflies. You were their butterfly indeed. Young and beautiful. They would make sure to rip your wings off. He traced his pale, slender digits along the waistband of your jeans and hooked the wool hem of your turtleneck, untugging it from your pants. The muscles of your lower abdomen tensed involuntarily in a weak attempt to refuse him from the touch.

 “Oh, I don’t know, Mikey,” he slowly sunk to his knees, putting himself to the same level with your clothed crotch. He rolled your top up and slid his palms down your sides, countering every curve of your feminine body. From this angle his face looked sharper, the hollows of his cheeks were ethereally deep. “Let’s ask our lady, shall we?” He pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses to your belly, nuzzling into soft, warm skin. You gasped; bucking your hips forward, but Michael grounded you with his hands that he put on your pelvis.

 “Do you, little sluts, still sneak into the boys' dorms to play truth or dare, and then blow them when you get a dare, honey?” Riddle mewled and looked up at you with a carnivorous smile on his face. You did not even listen, being too caught up in a torturing discrepancy of muttering silent “no’s” to them and leaning into their arms at the same time. Michael trapped your earlobe between his teeth and cupped your face in his hands, petting your cheek with a thumb.

 “He asked you a question, doll,” he slightly bent his knee and you gasped in shock when he spread your legs with it and made you straddle his thigh. His kneecap was pressed several inches away from your aching center. You clothed your eyes and threw your head back, resting it in the crook of his neck and moaned as Michael started slightly rocking you back and forth.

 “I don’t know...oh,” your eyes fluttered open, when Tom cupped your sex with his left hand, applying just enough pressure to your clit, making you bolt up in Michael’s arms. He arched his brow at you, urging you to speak up. “W-we don’t do that,” you gasped and turned your head at Michael, nearly bumping noses with him, when his fingers unbuttoned your jeans and pulled the fly down. Looking at him pleadingly, you shook your head, but he only winked at you and maneuvered his hand under the waistband of your panties.

 “Oh my God,” he raised his voice a few octaves higher in a mocking manner, swiping his digits along your wet folds, collecting the wetness. From that moment you knew it was useless for you to try to say no. Your body betrayed you. The tip of his finger circled around your center, almost entering it and then pulling away teasingly to stroke your labia. His left arm was wrapped around your waist possessively, holding you in place. You bit your lower lip and hang your head low, letting your hair cover your flushed face that was burning with humiliation and embarrassment. “Look at it, Tom. She is practically soaked.” He removed his fingers with a sloppy, obscene sound, and you whimpered brokenly at the loss of contact, not being able to believe that you were THAT aroused. Michael showed Riddle his index and middle fingers, parting them to demonstrate the thin threads of your juices sticking to the tips of his digits.

 Tom tsked, tilting his head to the side. He raised from his knees and harshly grabbed you by your chin, forcing you to look up at him. Silvery tears blinked in your doe-like eyes making them look even bigger, even more innocent.

 “Don’t even try to persuade us that you aren’t enjoying this,” he hissed, and for a brief second he resembled a snake with his narrowed eyes and flared nostrils. The Slytherin Heir indeed. He held your chin so brutally, you were sure it would bruise afterwards. “Pretty little slut, it’s a shame you haven’t been gang banged before. Our legacy has been failed,” he pouted, gliding his thumb against your lower lip. As he started undoing his belt, Michael’s hand slid back into your panties.

 “We like destroying pretty things,” he whispered in your ear while massaging your clit in lazy circles, the back of his hand outstretching the thin lace. His luscious lips moved down to your neck, and you whimpered when he bared his teeth and playfully nibbled on your skin, velvet tongue immediately licking the bruised spot. “And you are very pretty.”

 He removed his slick-covered hand and traced it up to your breasts, rolling your turtleneck up higher to expose more of your skin. He tugged your bra down and brushed his thumb over your sensitive nipple. You moaned and bucked your hips forward to get some friction against his thighs, but as he ground his cock against your ass, you involuntarily motioned back to meet his thrust.

 “Just like that,” he cooed, teasingly slapping your right breast. “Good girl, keep rutting your hips, baby.”

 His hand fell down on your abdomen, and he pressed you against his stomach, making you feel every inch of his erection. It was the point of no return. You wriggled your hips and spread your legs a bit wider, so your pussy would get more contact with the fabric of Michael’s slacks.

 “See? She’s turning into an obedient little slut,” he chuckled and turned his head at Tom, who was watching you and Michael while stroking his cock that he pulled out from his pants a moment earlier. Chewing his bottom lip, he savored every movement of your hips, looking at you hungrily. There was always an unspoken competition between him and Michael, even though they were best friends. When Tom had become one of the Triwizard Champions it was not only his moment of glory but his time to outsmart Langdon who had always seemed to have the best girls, grades, and what not.

 “At least he’s not the Slytherin Heir,” he used to tell himself when another group of girls was whispering about Michael being “insanely good in bed” in the common room where Riddle was trying to study.

 “Enough of that,” he growled in annoyance, and with the snap of his fingers, a thick white mattress appeared on the floor before you. Tom stood on it with his polished shoes and nodded his head at Michael. “Put her on her knees. I want her to blow me.”

 Michael put his large hands on your shoulders and firmly guided you down. Your legs felt weak from the sensation Langdon had been causing to your clit, so you nearly stumbled when he forced you to your knees; the mattress dented under the press of your weight. You instinctively put your hands forward for leverage, placing yourself on all fourth. Tom’s long, hard cock with a bright pink head glistening with pearls of precum was inches away from your lips. He put two fingers under your chin, making you look up at him. His stare was so intense that you found yourself opening your mouth as if you were hypnotized, which he used to his advantage and ran the tip of his shaft along your parted lips.

 “If you bite me or don’t try your best to please me, I’ll feed you to Basilisk,” your eyes wandered to the side in the direction of the large snake curled up several feet away from you. “Understood?”

 You gulped heavily and nodded. Starting off slowly, you gave him the first kitten licks, tasting the salt of his foreskin on your taste buds. You wrapped your lips tightly around the head and gave it a gentle suck, hollowing your cheeks to create a vacuum. Riddle hissed at the warm enveloping sensation covering his cock with each bob of your head. You continued sliding down, trying to fit as much of him as possible, but you had to stop mid-way to help yourself with one hand, stroking the impressive length, and went back to his tip, swirling your tongue in the same rhythm you were jerking him off with. You pulled away to pay attention to his shiny slit and softly brushed it with your thumb, smearing his arousal.

 Meanwhile, Michael pulled your panties to the side and blew on your aching core, making both of your holes clench around nothing. He parted your folds, dipping his long fingers into your wetness, before he thrust two of them inside you, making you whine around Tom’s cock. It was so unexpected that you slightly brushed your teeth over his sensitive flesh, and the next moment you knew he slipped his dick out of your mouth and gave you a hard slap across your cheek.

 “Watch your fucking teeth!” He looked at you with so much rage and anger in his eyes that your insides flattered in fear. He slapped your lower lip with the tip of his cock and then traced it to your flushed, crimson cheek.

 A loud “smack” accompanied with a wet, obscene sound of the mix of your saliva and Tom’s precum made your head dizzy. Tears started streaming down your face, and you tried to blink them away, and what was more important, not to meet the heavy gaze of Riddle’s jet black eyes.

 Michael seemed to know what exactly he was doing. Tom and he had always been different with girls. His friend liked it hard and rough, while Michael could perfectly do both: edge a pretty girl from dusk till dawn until she was a whining mess under him or fuck the living shit out of her. It was all about his mood. That was why before you appeared in the Chamber, they had agreed that he would do all your preparation. Michael watched Riddle and you attentively, noticing the way your shoulders trembled as you took Tom back into your mouth, how you instinctively parted your legs and pushed your pussy out on a full display for him.

 He slid the panties down to your ankles, where your jeans were pooling and spread your ass cheeks. His soft, velvet tongue licked a wide stripe from your puffy clit to a clenched, puckering asshole, making you shift forward and choke on Riddle’s cock. It fell out from your mouth, and your head nearly banged against the mattress. You whined, shaking with every cell of your body, when Langdon’s tongue swirled around your clit as if he was licking off the tastiest weep cream, and then his lips closed around it, sucking gently. Your nails dug into the mattress, and you closed your eyes shut in a pathetic attempt to stay in this reality and not to drift off into the sea of pure, electric pleasure. You could not let yourself do that. Not when Riddle was still before you, waiting for you to recollect yourself and finish him. But Michael was so good. He was lapping up on your dripping pussy, drinking from it as if your juices were the sweetest nectar and your wet, puffy folds — the ripest peaches he was glad to savor.

 “Oh my God,” you cried out when he added two fingers at once while still sucking on your clit. He pumped them in and out a couple of times and then crooked them inwards, brushing right against the spongy spot inside you. It took Michael mere seconds to figure out how exactly you liked to be pleasured. He spread his fingers like scissors and used the heel of his palm to press it against your clit — each time he moved his digits, it stimulated your bundle of nerve. His flushed cock that was laying heavily in the crease of his pelvis, twitched at the sound of moans you were producing.

 The ticklish sensation in your stomach became almost unbearable. You tried to hold it back in order not to give Michael and Tom the pleasure of mocking you for cumming from there manipulations, but you knew you were destined to lose. Feeling the pressure unwinding deep inside you, you hurried to stuff your mouth with Riddle’s cock to silence your loud scream. Moaning around his length, you let go off your orgasm, letting it break through the dam and flood you with an earth-shattering pleasure. Your pussy quivered around Michael’s fingers, hips bucked in convulsions as you exploded into million pieces under him. Of course, it did not go unnoticed.

 “Such a good girl,” Langdon hummed approvingly and pulled his fingers out. Tom beckoned him and looked down at you, admiring the view of your flushed face and a fucked out look in your eyes. He took his cock out of your mouth, and let Michael bring his finger to your puffy, abused lips.

 “Suck,” he ordered, and the blond man shoved his digits into your mouth, your tongue instinctively wrapping around them. You looked at Tom with wide eyes, but you did not really see him. You felt like floating, euphoria fogged your mind and did not allow you to think straight. Riddle thought if he had slapped you at that moment you probably would not have reacted.

 Michael bent over, pressing his bare torso against your back to make sure he got a full view of your eager mouth tasting your cum off his fingers. He shoved them down your throat and outstretched your cheek with his thumb just for the sake of seeing how much of him you could take.

 “The wetter they get, the less it’s gonna hurt,” he whispered in your ear. You sucked harder, coating his pads with your saliva. The taste of your own juices, Tom’s cock, and Michael’s skin was extremely arousing. You felt the wetness pooling between your thighs again and mentally slapped yourself for being such a whore. Even the fear of anal did not stop you from secretly wanting it.

 When Langdon decided it was enough, he removed his fingers from your mouth and got back to his position behind you. He gently pushed on the small of your back, making you arch your spine a bit more. While you were still relaxed and pliant from your orgasm, he used this opportunity to bring his fingers to your tight asshole and slowly massaged it. You whined and covered your burning face with your hands, trying to hide the embarrassment.

 “Relax,” Michael playfully tapped your ass cheek and in circular motion penetrated your entrance to the first knuckle. Just a tip to start with. You involuntarily clenched around him, not being able to relax. Every muscle of your body was chained to anticipation and fear of the unknown. Was it going hurt? Tom and Michael were big, and you doubted that your tight little hole could handle them both.

 “I said, relax,” he used the rest of his fingers to reach to your clit and tease it. Your body reacted immediately, visibly relaxing from his touch.

 Tom who was stroking his cock in front of your face, chuckled amusingly.

 “Why don’t you occupy her? If you keep her distracted, she won’t clench that asshole.”

 You hated that they spoke about you in the third person as if you were not there, as if you were nothing but a fuck toy for them. Your head flew up when you felt the tip of Michael’s cock against your pussy. You looked over your shoulder to meet the stare of his icy blue eyes.

 “I think it’s a wonderful idea,” he mused, rubbing the head along your sensitive folds.

 Without taking his eyes off of you, he slipped inside your heat with his finger still buried in your asshole. He went past the first rim of your sphincter and froze for a second to let you adjust. You could swear there were stars before your eyes. Never had you ever felt so full in your entire life. His cock, judging by the feeling of it, was as big and Riddle’s one, deliciously stretching you out with every inch of its lengh.

 “That’s it,” Tom grinned and sank to his knees before you to cup your face in his hands, lifting it up from the mattress. “Relax, little slut. Let him fill you up nice and hard.” He dropped his one hand to get a grip of his cock. Stroking it lazily, he started jerking himself off to the obscene sound of Michael’s flesh slapping against your ass.

 Langdon snapped his hips forward and started building up a steady rhythm of thrusts and his manipulations with your asshole. You were taking him so well, he spread you out for him to watch his cock disappearing in and out of your pussy, claiming it as his. Each roll of his hips hit right at your sweet spots. When he slowed down to give you especially deep thrusts, you lost your mind. You cried out and shook your head so violently that Tom had to let go off of your face. Tears spilled out from the corners of your eyes, and you cried out a loud “Michaeeeeel,” at the top of your lungs. You felt so week that you did not even have the strength to clench the tight ring of muscles when he added his middle finger. Working his way, Langdon never stopped the movement of his hips, drawing loose figure-eights and swaying them back and forth.

 Tom’s hand, wrapped around his hard-on, was sliding along his shaft with a sloppy sound; he stroked the underside of it where a thick throbbing vein was located, and a low groan instantly fell from his lips. He closed his eyes in pure bliss and threw his head back, messing his short raven hair up. His agonizingly beautiful face was contoured in pleasure as he drove himself closer to his orgasm.

 “Open your mouth,” he ordered and stood up on his feet. Somehow, you managed to obey and did as he had told you, sticking your tongue out for him. Your breasts bounced vulgarly with every thrust of Michael’s cock. The fact you were still half-dressed (in tugged turtleneck and jeans around your ankles) and thus looked like a filthy whore who was ready to be fucked wherever and whenever Langdon and Riddle wanted to, was driving you crazy. You watched the way Tom’s cock with a purple tip throbbed and twitched in his palm, indicating his upcoming release.

 Everything happened simultaneously. Michael’s free hand covered your clit and rolled it between his fingers, his digits in your ass massaged it in a matching rhythm with his hips, sending you to the edge in seconds. Right at that moment, when your pussy started pulsing around Langdon’s cock, Tom came with a loud moan, painting your face with white ribbons of his cum. Some of it got on your tongue and lips, but you did not dare to lick it all off without his command. His hand yanked your head back roughly, and he made sure that cum covered not only your mouth but your prominent cheekbones as well.

 “Drop dead gorgeous,” he praised and gave your wet, cum-stained cheek a light slap. He collected the pearly beads with his thumb and pressed it against your tongue. “Here, have a taste.”

 You felt extremely sensitive, it was almost painful for you to take Michael who sped up his thrusts. Sucking on Tom’s fingers as if they were a fucking pacifier, you wriggled your hips, trying to give him a silent hint that it was all too much for you, but ended up taking him even deeper.

 “Fuck,” Langdon swore, and with the last sway of his hips, he spilled inside you. You felt his cock pulsing, and even though you had already finished, your pussy clenched around him one more time, squeezing every drop of cum out of him. Sweat beaded on your forehead, the remains of clothes stuck to your body like the second skin. Michael’s load filled you up to the brim, and when he finally pulled out, it was dripping out of you slit down to your thighs, covering your skin like shiny pearls. He removed his fingers from your asshole as well, leaving you undeniably open and stretched out for him.

 As soon as he loosened the grip on your pelvis, you fell onto the mattress, breathing heavily. Lying there like a useless toy with your arms and legs bent outwards, the only thing that you wanted was to go back to your dorm and sleep for days. Exhaustion crushed onto you like a tsunami, destroying the remains of your pride and dignity. Your limbs were numb, jelly-like, and you winced at the dull ache in your core when you tried to close your legs.

 A pair of strong arms scooped you from the mattress and forced you into a sitting position as if you were nothing but an obedient puppet. You scrunched up your nose, a broken, disappointed moan slipped off your lips, as Tom grabbed the hem of your turtleneck and pulled it up to take it off completely. At least, it became easier to breathe. You ran your fingers through your hair, trying to brush the combs, but soon realized that it was a waste of time. Your hand dropped helplessly on your thigh where numerous purple bruises from Michael’s grip started to bloom across your skin. Riddle’s cum mixed with your tears began to dry on your cheeks, giving you an unpleasant tingling, and you tried to wipe it off with the back of your palm. What a mess.

 Michael gracefully dropped on his knees. He grabbed your left foot in his hand and gently traced his fingers up from your toes to the area between the heel and the ball, stroking you and moving up to your ankle. He helped you get rid of your jeans and tossed them aside on the cool floor of the Chamber.

 “Please, I can’t do this,” you whispered, shaking your head. They clearly were not done with you, but you were afraid that you would eventually pass out if they continued assaulting your further.

 Langdon leaned forward and sensually caressed your cheek, running his fingers along your jaw until he reached the velvet of your lips. You looked up at him through hooded leads and sighed. It was the first time when he actually kissed you. His soft, plush lips brushed against yours passionately, he grabbed you by your chin and slightly tilted your head to deepen the kiss. His tongue slipped into your mouth, tasting you. He caught your lower lip between his teeth and playfully bit on it, drawing a couple of drops of blood and immediately licking them off. Having spread your legs with his knee, Michael nestled between your thighs and pulled away from you with a barely audible moan. He was good at playing the game where he soothed, deceived you and made you think he was going to be nice with you, but then ruined you completely.

“You can and you will, baby,” his beautiful blond hair was disheveled, pupils blown and obscured with lust and desire. He palmed your breasts and looked down at them to enjoy the way they bounced in his hands.

 “As if she has a choice,” Tom scoffed, positioning himself behind you. “C’mon Michael, we need to hurry, otherwise, you will have to finger her ass again.”

 “Not that I would mind,” a cheeky grin spread across Langdon’s lips, and he placed an open-mouthed kiss on your cum-stained cheek before he leaned back on his heels to give Tom more space.

 Riddle wrapped his left arm around your shoulders and used his right one for leverage when he lied back on the mattress and brought you closer to his chest. He bent his knees and plant his feet on the soft surface to not only help himself balance, but also position himself more comfortably behind you. When he was steady, he spread your legs wider, putting his erect cock right at your clenching entrance. You were on a full display for Michael who was standing right between your things. A blush bloomed across your cheeks when you saw the way his lips curled into a smirk at the view of your glistening slit and loose asshole. You wished the cool floor of the chamber could swallowed you up in flames from how embraced you were. A shiver jolted through your spine when you felt the head of Tom’s cock pressing against your little hole. You held your breath and looked at Michael with wide eyes.

 “All the way in,” he said in a sing-song tone, watching how marvelously your body was adjusting to Riddle’s size. You gasped and closed your eyes shut, gripping at the mattress beneath you so tightly, your knuckles turned white. Despite that fact that Michael had prepared you, it still hurt like hell. You cried out, and Tom let go off your hips for a second to take his time and spit on his palm. Having smeared the saliva all over his cock and your opening, he proceeded to penetrate you. You trashed and wriggled your butt on top of him, making it almost impossible for him to thrust up.

 “Keep fucking still,” he grunted in your ear and then sank his teeth into the soft flesh of your shoulder, leaving a burgundy red print. It was a lost battle from the very beginning. You knew it was over for you when Michael shifted towards and wrapped his fingers around your ankles like shackles.

 “Shhh,” he cooed and leaned forward to give your nipples small kitten lips. He looked at you through his curly fringe, catching your gaze, and swirled his pink tongue around your hardening buds. “Be a good little slut, sugar.”

 “This is too much,” you sobbed, throwing your head back on Tom’s shoulder. His hair was tickling your ear every time he shifted, trying to find the right position, and you could feel his chest rising and falling with every rapid breath.

 “You can complain all you want,” Michael arched his brows. “Look at yourself,” his slender fingers traced from your chin down to your sharp collarbones, tense stomach and lower, to your pussy. “He has penetrated you with just a tip of his cock, and you are already wet.” And just to demonstrate the shameful truth he collected the wetness of your slit and showed it to you.

 “I’m not even surprised, Michael...oh, fuck,” Tom moaned as he continued sinking into your asshole. “Whores like her would sell their souls to the Devil for a chance to be split on a good, fat cock. And you, sweetheart,” he emphasized the pet name with a thrust of his hips, bouncing you on his length, “have the privilege to take two at once, so if I were you, I would be more appreciative.”

 When he bottomed all the way down, Riddle stopped to brush his wet hair off his forehead and take a breath. He started off slowly, rolling his hips in lazy circles. Michael’s fingers were nothing in comparison with the feeling of a real cock in your asshole. The dull pain started to fade away, and the first moan of pleasure escaped your throat, when Tom bucked his hips up, going a bit deeper.

 Langdon could not take his eyes off of you two. You were a panting mess in the arm of his friend who was doing his best not to let go of all his self-control and fuck the living shit out of you. Michael knew Tom was going to snap soon. He licked his lips and helped you bring your knees up towards your chest and rest your feet on the tops of Tom’s knees for extra support. This position allowed the Slytherin Heir to enter you at a particularly sharp angle and brush the tip of his cock against all the sensitive spots inside you. His hand reached down to his cock, and he pulled it out but just to thrust his shaft right back in.

 “C’mon, dude, stuff the bitch up,” he growled, his hand cupping your breast and squeezing it hard.

 Riddle did not have to repeat twice. Michael aligned himself with your entrance and filled you up in one swift motion. Your eyes rolled back into your head, and the scream that tore up your chest was so loud that even Basilisks shifted in his spot. Tom and Michael moaned in unison, thriving off your whimpers and pleas. Their hands roamed over your body, playing with oversensitive nipples, pulling your hair, griping on your sides and trembling thighs. They were everywhere. The air was thick and smelled like sex, suffocating you. Your head was spinning.

 Your mouth fell agape when you looked down and started watching Michael’s cock thrusting in and out of your throbbing core, feeling you to the brim. Your muscles were sore, and if it had not been for him and Tom holding you firmly, you would have already collapsed. When it was clear that you were no longer hurting and moans of pleasure rang through the room, bouncing off the stone walls, they started fucking you like two animals, devouring your insides. You felt dirty: the sloppy sound that was filling the Chamber was the result of Michael’s cum, your arousal and so much saliva that it was drooling down your thighs on the mattress. Red, white and back dots danced before your eyes, as you orgasmed around two pulsing cocks with a cry. It hit you so unexpectedly that for a second you stopped breathing and wrapped your arms around Michael’s neck with such strength he had to hiss at you in a warning.

 “No, no, no more,” you begged as he covered your clit with his hand and started rubbing on it harshly.

 “Keep milking my cock, slut,” Langdon pulled away, unlocking your embrace, and laced his hand around your neck. He kept slamming inside you at animalistic speed, and Tom was trying to match the pace. You were clenching around Riddle so violently that he was on the verge of losing his mind. He ground your hips against him, making you take him and Michael as deep as possible. The more they pushed your legs towards your chest, the shallower the penetration was. Their long, hard dicks hit all the perfect sports at once, and if you had not already been so oversensitive, you would have found it enjoyable, but since three groundbreaking orgasms had pierced through you, you were a goner.

 They did not listen to you at all. Competing who would bring you to your fourth orgasm of the night, Tom and Michael went all the way in. Langdon towered over you, his nostrils flared with each thrust of his hips, blue eyes stared right through you. Every moan they elicited from you stroke their egos and urged them to go deeper. Harder.

 The sensation of two cocks moving inside you, stuffing you to the hilt was indescribable. When Tom pulled out and spread your ass cheeks to demonstrate Michael his stretched out you were, you nearly blacked out.

 “You were fucking born for this,” Riddle praised you, venom dripping through every word.

 You knew they were getting close by the way their movements became more hectic, uneven, they started to slow down and switched to deliciously long, hard thrusts. You gritted your teeth and with a deep sigh gathered the remains of all your strength. You were going to hold on and let them finish.

 Michael pelvis rubbed against your clit as he kept pounding you, and although you thought it was impossible for you to cum one more time, the build-up pressure was about to unwind.

 Three. Two. One. And that was it. The pressure of their cocks inside your ass and pussy became unbearable and you exploded into million pieces, quivering around them so hard that Tom and Michael followed you right after. Hot loads of cum were shot inside you, filling you up and spilling out, running down your thighs. You saw Michael’s face contorted in bliss, and the thought of how painfully beautiful he looked at that moment made you shiver and bite the inside of your cheek in order to suppress another moan.

 “Don’t pull out,” he told Tom while looking down at your core. They stayed inside you for about a minute, which seemed like an eternity for you, ignoring your whines. Michael watched the mix of their cum dripping out of your folds in awe.

 They pulled out carefully, trying their best to keep the liquid inside you. The sudden feeling of emptiness was extremely uncomfortable.

 “Close your legs,” Riddle whispered, and you obeyed, clenching your thighs to make sure that every drop of cum was secured. He rolled you off himself, and you tiredly sprawled out on the mattress with your hands between your legs, sighing under your breath at how wet and sticky you were.

 Your throat was burning from your cries, an extremely rough blowjob, and dehydration in general. As soon as your cheek touched the soft material, you closed your eyes and wished upon solitude and peace. At that moment you did not even care if they killed you. Being too fucked out, your brain was unable to function, and your sore body refused to feel anything but numbness. You heard them saying something, but you were not sure if they were addressing you. Everything was spinning. The dark colors of the Chamber swirled around you, turning into one dark spot, which enveloped you like an abyss, shutting off your ability to see or hear anything. It was only you and darkness that you were thankful for, because it wrapped you in its arms and kissed your temples, dragging you deeper into oblivion. Away from Michael and Tom.

xxx

“Y/N, wake up! Wake up, you are gonna be late for Transfiguration!”

 “Is she dead?”

 “Shut up, Pansy, of course, she is not. Wake up, sleeping beauty!”

 You slowly opened your eyes meeting the worried stares of your roommates. The girls stood around you in a small circle, the look on their faces showed their surprise that you, a Slytherin prefect, had overslept for the first time in ages.

 “I-...” you licked your dried lips and cleared your throat, wincing at the burning pain in your throat.

 “Are you alright? Do we need to take you to Madam Pomfrey?”

 You shook your head at pulled the blanket up higher to cover yourself up. The memories of the previous night flashed before your eyes, and your hands flew up to your cheeks, searching for the traces of cum. The skin was smooth as silk.

 “Yes, thank you, I am fine… I just overslept” your voice sounded low and raspy, but you managed to give the girls a weak smile, and soon enough they left you alone, so you could get dressed.

 It took you a couple of minutes to calm down your mad heartbeat and lift the covers up to look down at your body. The ache between your legs and the overall feeling of exhaustion indicated that the view was not going to be pretty.

 “Oh my God,” you gasped at the sight of your stomach that was blooming with purple irises of hickeys and bruises. They were all over your breasts — and you were sure the neck too — abdomen, and thighs. You spread your legs carefully and touched your core with your fingers, moaning at how puffy and sore your folds were. You pressed your head into the pillow and let out a muffled groan. It was not a dream after all. The presence of their cocks inside you was as tangible as ever.

 Your legs felt like jello when you slowly put them on the wooden floor. Closing your eyes tiredly, you shook your head, letting it fall down in your palms. What were you supposed to do? Tell Dumbledore? Tom and Michael were two psychopaths, and whatever the plan they had, it was not going to turn out good for any of you. The first thing that seemed right to do was to take a shower and wash the ghost of their touches off your body.

 The water was soothing, sliding down your sides, and with a deep sigh, you sank to your knees on a tile floor. You could not tell anybody because in that case, you would also have to confess what a filthy whore you had been when you had cum on both cocks.

 After a long hot shower, you wrapped your body in a soft, fluffy blanket and made your way to the empty dorm. You needed to get rid of the diary, just throw it away into the depth of the Room of Requirement, and forget the entire experience like a bad dream. “Well, not so bad,” your heart skipped a beat at the thought, and you groaned at your own ignorance.

 xxx

 “Out of sight, out of mind,” you murmured, standing in the Room of Requirement with the diary in your hand. The cover was warm, and when you smoothed it with your fingers, for a second it seemed like the notebook was pulsing, as if it was a living creature.

 You closed your eyes and turned around, so your back would face the numerous piles of the things students had left in the room throughout the years. Your unclenched your fingers and threw the diary as far as you could behind yourself. It landed somewhere with a thud.

 “That’s it,” you stormed your way out of the Room, and headed to your next class, trying not to limp and considering if Obliviate would be the best charm to perform in order to forget that night.

 But did you really want to erase Riddle and Langdon from your mind? The blond and the brunette. They were like coffee and milk, enigmatic, and incredibly dangerous. You definitely needed some time to recover before you could think straight again. For the rest of the day, you were completely zoned out.

 xxx

“Excuse me,” a high-pitched tone interrupted your conversation with Winona Flint who was a sister of Marcus, a Slytherin seeker. You turned your head at the intruder to see a second-year boy who was holding a package in his hands.

 “Hey, what’s up?” You wondered, and raised your finger up, asking your friend to pause the story she was telling you.

 “I was told to give this to you,” he handed you the package, and you took it from his hands with a frown.

 It did not have any address on it, just a plain wrapping paper; the gift was anonymous. You quickly tore up the packaging and almost dropped it on the floor when your fingers brushed against the familiar hardcover.

 “Who sent you to me?” your voice cracked.

 “Y/N? Are you alright?” Winona asked, having noticed your reaction. She curiously looked over your shoulder to examine the gift. “What’s that?”

 “Tom Riddle and Michael Langdon,” the boy answered. “They said it was yours.”

 You were in for one hell of a ride.

*Let me see (Latin)

**J.K. Rowling Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets

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