“… He was standing in a room the size of a large cathedral, whose high windows were sending shafts of light down upon what looked like a city with towering walls, built of what Harry knew must be objects hidden by generations of Hogwarts inhabitants. There were alleyways and roads bordered by tetering piles of broken and damaged furniture, stowed away, perhaps, to hide the evidence of mishandled magic, or else hidden by castle-proud house-elves. There were thousands and thousands of books, no doubt banned or graffitied or stolen. There were winged catapults and Fanged Frisbees, some still with enough life in them to hover halfheartedly over the mountains of other forbidden items; there were chipped bottles of congealed potions, hats, jewels, cloaks; there were what looked like dragon eggshells, corked bottles whose contents still shimmered evilly, several rusting swords, and a heavy, bloodstained axe.
Harry hurried forward into one of the many alleyways between all this hidden treasure. He turned right past an enormous stuffed troll, ran on a short way, took a left at the broken Vanishing Cabinet in which Montague had got lost the previous year, finally pausing beside a large cupboard that seemed to have had acid thrown at its blistered surface. He opened one of the cupboard’s creaking doors: It had already been used as a hiding place for something in a cage that had long since died; its skeleton had five legs. He stuffed the Half-Blood Princes book behind the cage and slammed the door. He paused for a moment, his heart thumping horribly, gazing around at all the clutter… . Would he be able to find this spot again amidst all this junk? Seizing the chipped bust of an ugly old warlock from on top of a nearby crate, he stood it on top of the cupboard where the book was now hidden, perched a dusty old wig and a tarnished tiara on the statues head to make it more distinctive…”
requested by anons <3 prompt;
Challenge for you (well - I doubt it is but XD) If your writing could you do one for Ramsey Bolton? Have all the freedom you need^^ /
Do you have any GoT imagines coming up? x a/n; in tnr you will get to meet ramsay…so might as well get used to him
did not fit in this image: a glowing bright maiden overshadowed by heavy stone
walls and the bleak sunlight that barely reached Winterfell. Ramsay was only
able to take his eyes away from you when one of his servants called him, and if
he was not still caught up in a light daze he would have gotten beyond furious.
The servant shrunk under his gaze, meekly informing him about the guests that
came here all the way from Highgarden. Ramsay looked back at you – you stood by
your horse and a few older men, your sun kissed skin hiding behind layers and
layers of tailored cloth of a beautiful dark blue dress. The cold pinched your
cheeks. Ramsay grinned, though his smile was soon wiped off once he turned to
the servant, “Well? What are you standing around for?” Despite the lingering
excitement in his voice there was still a rough note that implied impatience.
The servant hurriedly bowed with an apology, scurrying down the steps and
rushing to your side.
it was time to make his appearance. He stepped into view with in a confident
stride and a pleasant look on his face – whether it was real or fake was
entirely up to interpretation. The hilt of his sword shimmered by his side – a
show of authority in case your friends decided to bite. As he reached the steps
he practically glided down them, catching you gaze and refusing to let go. A
smile rose to his face. A timid one graced yours as well. “Welcome to my humble
abode!” He said happily, stopping to shake hands, “To what do I owe the
Mr. Bolton. I believe you have received our letter?” One man asked.
may I please introduce you to your betrothed…that is if the deal goes through,
of course.” The man motioned to you. As Ramsay turned to look at you again, he
noted the man’s lips move in a prolonged boring speech he heard absolutely
nothing of. You seemed strange. Different. You filled the empty space and made
it difficult to focus on anything else. He took a step forward and with a
pleased smile extended his hand. Shyly, you let him take it. Leaning in he
pressed a soft kiss on your reddened knuckles, though did not let go at first –
his eyes, steel and intense, and continued to watch your reaction with a
is my greatest honor to marry such a beautiful woman as you.”
2. “It reminded me of you.” For the Starmora prompts thing
Gamora sighs for the fifth time in a row, watching as Rocket’s ears twitch in front of her;. The mission was supposed to be a simple one. Get in and get out. Drax and Peter went to gather the artifact some neo-Kree group had stolen from a Shar’i museum that was said to once hold the Cosmic Seed. Whatever the hell that was.
And so, Gamora had been stuck behind with Rocket and a toddler-sized Groot. Well, Peter had said he was toddler-sized but nobody really knew what a toddler was.
“Why’re we waitin’ here like id'jits when they get all the fun!” Rocket snarled, lips curled up to show sharp teeth. “I feel cheated.”
“Someone had to watch Groot,” Gamora responds, “and the complex is volatile. You could have blown everyone up.” She lifted Groot up to her shoulder and felt a tug as he tangled his hands in her hair to hold on. “Why don’t we look around? I’m pretty sure there must be some stuff you need for the ship.”
“Fine. But I’m not happy about it.”
“When are you ever happy?”
“I am Groot!” The tiny squeak in the bin next to her alerted Gamora that Groot had found something. “I am Groot! I am Groot! I am Groot!” Obviously, whatever he found was either of extreme value or something sentimental. Probably a bit of both.
“What’d ya find, Groot?”
He dives back into the bin, his tiny legs wiggling as he sifts through the contents. He reaches back with a hand, wiggling his root fingers and Gamora understands. She pulls him out and he smiles at her, holding up his loot.
“I am Groot!” he squeaks.
“It’s–” Gamora’s voice cuts off as the tiny tree puts the object in her hand. She can feel tears at the edge of her eyes but she doesn’t allow them to fall. She is a warrior, a hardened assassin. She does not cry.
“I am Groot!”
“I’m sure he’ll love it, Groot,” she says reassuringly. She runs her index finger over the ridges of Groot’s cheek and pulls both him and the object to her chest.
“And we have vanquished our enemies!”
“Drax, we just stole the artifact back. Piece of cake.”
“I do not understand why that sugary confection has anything to do with our mission.”
“It’s just a… Gahhhh.” Gamora watches from the main table as Peter runs a hand through his hair.
“I am Groot!” The small tree-child runs over to Peter and holds out his arms, vines stretching. “I am Groot!”
Peter chuckles as he picks the tree up. “It’s nice to see you too, buddy.” He turns to Gamora and Rocket, who is glaring at the tabletop. “How was holding down the fort?”
Rocket’s lips curl up again. “If you make me stay here one more time, I’m gonna put a turd on your pillow.”
“Yours or Drax’s?” The Terran crosses his arms.
The raccoon shrugs. “It’ll be a surprise… this time.”
“Whatever, man.” Peter throws himself into the seat next to Gamora, being careful to put Groot down first. He turns to her. “So, how did it really go?”
“Groot was well-behaved. Rocket, on the other hand.” They could hear Rocket banging around in the background. Probably building another bomb or something equally as dangerous. Groot squeaks out his typical phrase and heads off to help his best friends. “We went to the market in town. Just for something to do.”
Peter nods. “I did a little shopping myself on the way back from the museum.” He reaches into his purse– knapsack– and pulls out a small device. “For you, my lady.”
“What is it?” Gamora asks, holding it close to her nose. Peter takes her hand and puts it down on the table.
“Well, on my planet, it’s called a pen.”
Her heart flutters and she scowls at the object. “What can you do with it?”
“Take off the top.” She does as he says and a sword quickly forms in her on the table. It’s a beautiful shimmering silver sword with a double-edged blade, a leather-wrapped grip and a flat hilt riveted with silver studs to match the blade. The center, where the hilt and grip are connected glows with the same energy she’s seen come from the Godslayer. She swipes it a few times and smiles at the perfect weight of it.
“It’s beautiful,” she breaths, unable to take her eyes from the craftsmanship.
“It reminded me of you,” Peter admits as he puts his hand over hers. The sword emits some sort of glowing warmth. “Flick the pen cap.” She does and a disk, a shield, forms in her other hand. There’s an owl midflight on it. “It an adamantium-vibranium alloy. Strongest stuff on Earth. Maybe not in the galaxy, but it does seem to rival Godslayer in that regard. It’s almost indestructible and—”
“Thank you, Peter.” Gamora’s voice is a whisper as she traces the shape on the shield. “Why the animal?”
“It’s an owl. Athena, the Greek goddess of wisdom and battle strategy had an owl.” At her questioning look, Peter explained. “It’s an ancient religion. My mom loved them so I know all about them.”
Gamoma’s cheeks flush a dark green as she reaches into her pocket. “Groot and I found something for you as well, but it cannot amount to this amazing thing.”
“I’m sure it’s—” Gamora hands him a Walkman player. It’s not like his old one, the one that got destoyed by his evil megelomaniac father, but it’s still… “Gamora, how did you—?”
“Groot found it at the bottom of a scavenger’s trash bucket. He gave it to us for only a handful of units.” She traces the buttons at the top. “We couldn’t find anything to put in it.” Tears bead at the corner of Peter’s eyes before he throws the Walkman aside and wraps Gamora in a tight hug.
“Thank you.” He buries his face in the crook of her neck, breathing in the scent of leather and rosewater. “I can’t… I don’t know… Thank you.”
The green woman pulls him up so he’s looking into her eyes. She shrugs and rubs a thumb over his tearstained cheeks. “It reminded me of you.”
They both got each other gifts. And yes, the sword is from Percy Jackson because can you imagine Gamora with another retractable sword. One for each hip. The shield from the pencap is my idea, though. I love soft Starmora and baby Groot with music.
❝ I took off the cap, and the pen grew longer and heavier in my hand. In half a second, I held a shimmering bronze sword with a double-edged blade, a leather-wrapped grip, and a flat hilt riveted with gold studs. It was the first weapon that actually felt balanced in my hands. “It’s name is Anaklusmos,” Chiron told me. “Riptide.” ❞