#his height and eye color is absolutely intentional

[iamnmbr3]

it's weirdly fascinating tho that even tho draco isn't explicitly described as handsome he actually has the most explicit description that kept repeatedly mention? there's no explanation i mean with others that harry finds attractive those are attribute to jkr since she self inserts her taste but it's impossible for draco to be like that because jkr herself admits she hates him and another weird thing jkr isn't afraid of saying unpleasant description to those she hate like pansy being an 'ugly pug' but why didn't she or harry described draco as ugly?

Right?! I'm pretty sure he's described more frequently than any other character. Someone should really tally up how many times his hair and eyes get mentioned in all 7 books because it's...a lot. Ron's eye color gets described ONCE. And not until BOOK 7. Draco's hair and eyes get mentioned MULTIPLE TIMES PER BOOK.

And not just his eyes - down to the exact shade, and his hair down to the exact shade and texture - but also the exact way he walks and the exact way his voice sounds. Not to mention all sorts of personal details like what kind of food he likes, what pet he owns and how every little event affects his mood.

Does Ginny like sweets? No idea. How does Cho walk when she's happy? No idea. But we know all that about Draco as well as all about his sparkling pale grey eyes and gleaming sleek blond hair. Because Harry cannot stop noticing him. Even in book 7 when Harry is in imminent danger of a brutal death in Malfoy Manor he takes time to notice Draco's height and appearance. Absolutely wild.

As for why she had Ron describe Draco as ugly but never had Harry do so when he does that with the other Slytherins? No idea. Maybe it's because she didn't want Harry's rivalry with Draco to seem like it was over petty things but wanted to emphasize how they are narrative foils whose dislike is based on substantive differences. Maybe she didn't want Harry to come off as petty and disliking Draco over his appearance, but didn't think of that when describing other characters?

Maybe it was the characters kinda going off and doing their own thing, as writers are all familiar with. Whatever the reason and whatever her intent, the result is clear: drarry is so, so canon.

[fqntasies]

Just a taste, baby - Feyd Rautha x Reader

summary: You and Feyd-Rautha have been connected through dreams since childhood; a complex inner-working of the Bene Gesserit mothers to join your bloodlines. It binds the two of you in a pull you can't escape (nor do you want to). Feyd is absolutely feral for you.

words: 1,258

disclaimer: characters may be out of character, specifically feyd, considering his desperate softness here. just a forewarning.

You were trapped, breaths coming out of shallow pants as you felt the scratch of the cement structure beneath your palms. He had you against the wall in a hidden alcove; along one of the lengthy corridors of the palace in Giedi Prime. Your mouths were just breaths apart. In fact the Harkonnen before you seemed intent on matching your breaths, mingling them. Tasting your tiny pants as his own. It made your eyes heavy, made you want to tilt your head back and close your eyes, give him access to the expanse of your neck.

"sweetness." He rasped, unable to control himself. The Na-Baron wrapped an arm about your waist, a vice arching you against him as he lowered a wanting mouth to your neck, licking and sucking where the two met. You mewled at the wet heat, felt him growl desperately at the taste.

The two of you hadn't even kissed yet - but the wait; the dreams - you both knew each other to the soul.

---- flashback ----------

The sands of Arakis and Geidi Prime alike carried mysteries of prophesies of the lisan-al-gaib. But midst such tales, the Bene-Geserit mothers also had worked to connect bloodlines through dreams. The Na-Baron and the princess of Arrakis had been bound by such since birth. A well-planned move to align feuds and place power into wanting hands in preparation of war. A web of politcal conspiracy only they controlled. Their plans could not be foiled.

But Feyd couldn't care less about such witchcraft; and neither, if one were honest, could you. The two of you had known of this binding since a young age. And when you had met as children too - the connection had been strong.

"Their line is bright" The reverend mother's voice had burned into your mind, even at 10 years old.

You remembered her cloaked form; a black shadow against the haze of the horizon, a tower above you as she turned from your parents. Her voice had been void of emotion, except for a smugness you didn't understand. But when you turned to glance at the older boy before you (such a uniquely beautiful boy; broad shoulders and smooth skin, black attire across a lithe form), his eyes shone with an intensity that surprised her. Dark, watching, intrigued. He intimidated you. He made you curious.

At 15 years of age, the Na-Baron hadn't spoken in their meeting; but he had felt more than he had imagined. The girl...she had made him feel things. It confused and awakened him to something he had never known. His uncle had never spoken of such a pull. A need.

When the ship had arrived to his homeworld, and the strange foreigners parted like a sea, Feyd-Rautha found himself straightening to his full height; head lowered as he studied them beneath an angled gaze. Garbs of strange colors - hair he had never seen before in elegant styles. He would be Harkonnen predator. He would be a warrior. Strike fear in these alien people, show the Baron he was not swayed so easily by something new.

But then-

Swathed in layers of white, a girl stepped forward; dainty and gracious above all else; practically floating across the landing platform. Yet her eyes betrayed her; darting to capture the landscape, thrown off perhaps by the infrared of Giedi Prime's black sun above them.

She was drinking in the strange newness before her, and then they found him. Feyd felt his chest tighten. Fists clenched. Heat brimmed under the chestplate of his armor.

She looked like some newborn animal, caught in his gaze. But they both felt it. The familiarity. The warm hum between them. It made you want to slip from the safety of your parents and stand beside him, as though his shadow was more protection than the whole parade your own family brought with them. You wondered if he'd felt the same.

Three nights later, you had dreamed of him. A bit older, hand in his as he raised it to his lips. His eyes had never left yours. As a young girl it made you blush. Now...

--------------------------------

You made a breathy sound as his tongue lathed the mark he had made, moving with a lazy carelessness across your pulse, hungry above all else, uncaring for decorum. He wanted to devour you entirely. He wanted you to see you helpless and delirious against him, just as you were now. As you were in all his dreams.

He knew you'd had them all too. His eyes on you at their wedding. His tongue against yours, moans and tastes and hunger. You watching from the arena as he slaughtered man after man, coated and heaving. He felt like a beast.

"Feyd-" His name barely formed, like a prayer from your lips.

His eyes nearly lolled in his head at the way you sounded, and he dragged his wanting mouth up to meet yours. Wet and wanting. Feyd's free hand shifted to engulf your slender neck, moving your head against his mouth to deepen the kiss, taste all of you. Consume.

The Na-Baron was all muscle and prowess, a looming figure that practically dwarfed you. The spanse of his shoulders alone were sinful, and deep down you loved how it felt to be completely in his grasp. Guiding you in your movements.

Feyd's tongue sought yours as much as he could, controlling and demanding - but you were a needy little thing too, weren't you? In the haze of passion you were pressing into him - leaning just as much towards his heat as he was pushing you both together. You sucked his plush bottom lip into your mouth - unable to help yourself. After all, why was he made so beautiful, if not to kiss? He was quick to follow, biting your own with a growl that made your knees practically give, and following with his greedy tongue.

"You're going to be my wife." the words are a promise, his eyes glittering under the low light; shadows flashign with the coming storm. You part your mouth as though to taste him again, a helpless 'please' slipping past as you arch in his grasp.

Feyd practically took you then and there. Enter the nearest room... make all his dreams a reality. His patience was nearly worn thin. Years of waiting, of hunger. And now it was here. You were in his reach, that tempting little waist; those hips. It made him absolutely insane.

He wets his lips, gaze feverish.

"tomorrow. tomorrow sweetness, hmm? Can wait that long?" He intends to tease you, but he knows he speaks to himself, his jaw locking as he adjusts his arms to press you against him.

You're so fucking soft. It makes him groan. Of all the things he's known in his life, softness was not one of them, save for the flashes of you in his dreams. He craved you like a creature starved. Thoughts of you made him fight better. Made him kill easier.

There's a rumble suddenly of a drone; Harkonnen orders breaking the silence in distorted code. The words don't make sense to your ears. Not yet anyway. You hope to make progress in the language, but it was a challenge; more than others. The variety of tones were a feat for any foreigner to take on; but this was to be your home. A lady of harkonnen would learn her husband's native tongue.

You know he has to leave.

[leaentries]

headcanons | luke hughes

SUMMARY: boyfriend!luke

WARNINGS: not proofread

more boyfriend!player headcanons

✮. he’s a shy lover! luke has a hard time expressing his emotions sometimes, so he often finds himself shying away or hiding his face into the crook of your neck while the two of you have a heart to heart moment. he’ll turn all red a blushy the second you start loving all up on him, especially when you tell him how amazing he is.

✮. PLAYING WITH HIS HAIR!! luke turns to absolute putty the second your fingers come into contact with his curls. like you could just be chillin on the couch and your hands will somehow find the back of his head. no joke, he will literally fall sideways into your lap so you can have a better reach. 9 out of 10 times he will most likely fall asleep.

✮. a huge foodie. loves loves loves to eat with you. we are all aware that the team calls him rusty because he’s always eating. will always have your favorite snacks in his bag so you’re never hungry. is always concerned about whether you’re eating enough or drinking enough. will take it upon himself to be with you for at least one meal of the day. yes, he does have dinner dates with you over facetime during roadies.

✮. along with this, he loves to facetime you! whenever possible, if he’s isn’t with you that is, he wants to be able to see your pretty face and yap to you about the most random things. whether it’s about your toast getting burnt or his charger breaking, you’ll talk about it.

✮. always listens to you intently. luke is the type of guy who will always make eye contact with you while you’re talking and will actively engage with you. he wants to make sure you know he’s listening and cares about what you’re saying. will bend down to your height and lean his ear in closer if you’re on the quieter side.

✮. leaves his clothes at your place on “accident.” new-flash, it’s never on accident. if luke stays at your apartment for more than a few hours there is a 90% chance he’s gonna end up leaving a hoodie or pair of sweats behind. you’ll end up getting a “i’m coming back over” text from him an hour after he left. he does this for two reasons: 1. he makes sure to give himself a legit excuse to come back and see you 2. he knows you’ll probably end up stealing said clothing item and wearing it.

✮. continuing from the last point, luke melts every time you wear something of his or something with his name on it. a little piece inside of him jumps for joy every time he sees you wearing one of his hoodies or showing up to games in his jersey. it helps ease the bit of him that gets insecure sometimes. it’s a way of telling the world that your his girl.

✮. he’s a puppy. period. he follows you around the apartment 24/7 if you’re together. never wants to leave your side unless he absolutely has to. will always pull your body into his in public so his mind is at ease. when his anxiety or worries spike, he is rushing to find or call you. you are his comfort blanket.

✮. let’s you pick out his outfits. luke had a tendency to have questionable style from time to time, so you took the liberty of making sure he is at least matching colors. you are tired. he does not like to listen, but will inevitably always wear what you tell him to.

✮. big napper/snuggler. will cocoon the both of you in blankets till you can barely move. has an alarm on his phone everyday to remind the both of you to take a nap together. doesn’t give you an option about it either. if you don’t feel like napping with him before a game, he will whine and pester you claiming that “it’s your fault if we lose” or “you’re my good luck charm, pretty girl. you have to nap with me or i won’t play good.”

✮. someone please find me a luke hughes

[deathbxnny]

Hi there! Can i request Stellaron Hunters (Kafka, Silver Wolf, and Blade) x Neopolitan s/o from RWBY?

If you dont know who Neo is, She is a short mute gurl who can and will beat you up elegantly with her beautiful parasol like the QUEEN she is. She has powers to make illusions that is so real, it fools literally everyone and she has beautiful heterochromia eyes (different color eyes). Here are some vids that will show you how amazing she is:

https://youtu.be/nXdtjWZg4ms

https://youtu.be/b-3f2p53Bp0

https://youtu.be/catRiBUvj24

Uhhh so i might have gone on a bit off of a rant. Neo is my favourite character in RWBY and the only reason why i watch the show, so sorry for the rant. Hope you have a great day though!

- Flower Anon 🌸

-----♡

A/N: Hello, Flower Anon! I unfortunately can't look at the links for some reason, but I looked her up and she seems super cute! Thank you for the request!<33

Content: Fluff, established relationship, mentions of hsr typical violence/battle, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns!

((Not fully proofread))

-----♡

》Silverwolf

Silverwolf is impressed by everything about you, even if she comes off as disinterested at times. She therefore shows her affections for you, by either speaking for you when needed or spending most of her time with you. Your muteness is no issue for her, as she isn't too keen on talking herself most of the time.

She doesn't care for your looks much, but still finds you very cute. She especially likes your eyes, which she comments on often. Your height is also perfect for her, as she isn't very tall either and can steal kisses better this way.

Silverwolf loves watching you fight with your parasol. Your abilities surrounding it and your illusions always leave in her in a near trance. She's just so proud of having an s/o like you and feels flattered, when you protect her whilst she works.

-----♡

》Kafka

Kafka adores absolutely everything about you. She doesn't mind that you're mute and often helps you out by either talking to you or giving you a notebook to write on, so you can tell her things. She enjoys talking more anyways, so you listening to her intently is always great for her.

She finds how short you are super cute and often teases you for it. She also compliments your eyes alot and likes to therefore stare into them as much as she can. That usually turns into a friendly staring match, that she finds quite adorable.

Kafka also loves watching you on the battlefield. She finds your abilities beautiful and enjoys seeing you plow through your enemies with ease. She also likes playing around with your illusions, wondering just what else you could do with them.

-----♡

》Blade

He doesn't treat you any differently for your muteness and just somehow knows what you want to tell him at all times. He doesn't mind the silence anyways, as he is a man of few words and doesn't like talking much.

He never comments on your looks much either, but he secretly finds your height difference quite adorable. It takes alot in him to not just pat the top of your head all the time. And your eyes are also something he admittedly loved about you. The different colours fascinated him, making him wonder how they were even possible to exist.

He underestimated your skills on the battlefield at first, until he saw you truly fight. After that, he became even more impressed by you. He enjoys fighting alongside you and can admit to himself, that you're a good team together. But he'll still attempt to protect you anyways, even if you don't need it.

-----♡

A/N: I hope this was okay! Thank you again for the request, Flower Anon!<33

[buwheal]

what are personally your favorite spamton headcanons?

OOooooh this was the wrong thing to ask me if you hate lots of letters on your screen. Get ready!!!!!! Here's my list :-) Its not organized by least to most btw im just typing everything i like lol :

puppetification theory.. AAUUUGHHH!!!!! this one is so much fun for so many reasons.

he's got a BJD (ball jointed doll) body

He's kinda an asshole

While a good chunk of his glitching is from puppetification, way more of it is from malware he's collected over like 20 years on the streets of cyber city

He absolutely feels and is aware of his glitches but he's so used to them it doesnt really bother him anymore. scratch that, it 100% does bother him that his body is actively defying him. but what can you do? :shrug:

he's like 5'1. I HATE HATE HATE seeing him the size of a toddler both because you can literally see his world sprite is the same height as kris, which is a teenager (His proportions just are unbelievably fucked up because of puppetification) and because thats just kinda weird. Something about making him so so small feels weird to me but im not sure, really. take it with a grain of salt.

He was an Email Addison. You see it everywhere. He was like a mailman or something.

He wasnt like four foot or something throuhghout his whole life, but i do imagine he was only slightly smaller than an Addison, which doesnt sound that bad except when you realize everyone else is normal height except him. Maybe it was a manufacutring bug, or maybe it was intentional for his job.

Addisons are like weird organic robots kinda. Cause everything in cyber city is made of code i imagine they are like basically sentient AI.

They (addisons) physically do not age unless their code is damaged. (Guess who's code is fucked up) They were "born" physically and half-mentally adults, and count their age based on their manufacturing date. I say mentally half because it quickly develops soon after while they do things like advertise. Their personality develops a time after.

HE IS OLD!!!!!!! HE'S AN OLD GUY!! HES GOT LITTLE WRINKLES N SHIT!!! HES GOT A GREY STRIPE!!!!!! Not really because of physical aging but its more of like a glitch tbh lol. Like a chunk glitch in minecraft. Whatever happened as his code got progressively more beat up caused a patch of his hair to register incorrectly and show up slightly wrong.

His hair is natrually white. He dyed it in his big shot era ofc, but it faded out. He keeps it colored currently with car oil and shit. Whatever he can find that will color it. It will and does wash out partially when he's drenched in the rain.

He completely refuses to acknowledge his physical changes. Glimpses he sees he ignores or passes it off as he's seeing things.

He prayed to the Neo robot because he saw the beginning of puppetification. He was praying for forgiveness or another chance. He believed it was a divine punishment because he had no other explination. He doesnt believe he changed much more than the very very early stages, and he thinks he's forgiven in his delusion. Which is why he wants the robot so bad.

When he gets mad he turns kinda red and steam comes out the side of his head in short bursts, train whistle sound effects and all. looney tunes type junk.

He has lips... but they're stretched so far because of his huge fucking brick ass teeth that it doesnt really matter at that point.

He's got a scraggly ass mullet.

he has little bitty dot eyes. Every other addison does too but they keep them closed for visual appeal. Theyre robots and shit they dont really need them to get around, even though they help a lot.

Thats about all i can think of rn!!!! ^_^ hope you enjoy that brick of text lol.

[gornackeaterofworlds]

got any hcs for bay donnie 😇😇😊😊😊😊😊👁️👁️

Random-

-Even though Raph goes up top the most, Donnie is the one that wants to be human the most. Evidenced by his obsession with the mutagen, yes, but also his smaller behaviors. He wears more human pants and shoes than his brothers. He wears very generic glasses that everyone who's worn glasses has had before. He speaks the clearest imo. I think it's born from the fact that even though he's a turtle like his brothers, he's the tallest and least muscular of them. He doesn't feel like he belongs anywhere, a feeling that's made worse by their teasing.

-He has a really big fear of heights, and that's why he didn't dwell on the plane jump, he just powered through. That's also partially why he has Mikey on top of the truck instead of himself or a camera

-He is absolutely obsessed with racing games, especially those arcade ones where it's the whole seat and steering wheel. That's where he learned to drive, and why he goes so fast.

SFW-

-He's a fucking loser. I know this is the running joke in the movies and everything but I mean he is pathetic. If this boy was a human he'd be on the edge of becoming an incel. Like, the back of the class "devil's advocate" incel. Too many people make him cocky, and he can be, but if he likes you that man is fumbling at every step, every word, until you fan his ego enough to get past his insecurities.

-I don't think Don is an incel though, I think his unconventional upbringing has made him more caring. Despite having low empathy, I think if he can realize he likes you then he'll do things for you out of kindness. Acts of service, if you will.

-I think he's very emotionally dim-witted. As seen in the plane scene, he methodically goes over the plan and then jumps, not even seeing the apprehension from his brothers. You'll have to be direct and honest, he won't take offense to it.

Nsfw below the cut

NSFW-

-He's a fucking loser. If he likes you, this man is horny all the time over any little thing. Even when you're talking, he's entranced by the movement of your lips. He WILL be bad at sex at the beginning, especially because the most he's ever done is watch porn. He knows anatomy better than his brothers, yes, but don't think that correlates to romance or experience.

-A sucker for worship, from either party. He'll give it genuinely, because he's just so surprised you're his. That someone so perfect and human could love and want him and show him their naked body. But he also likes receiving it, he can turn into a cocky mf if you rile him up with praise.

-Does not care how you look or dress. Pizza-stained shirt, basketball shorts and greasy low ponytail? He wants to smash. Dolled up in purple just for a movie date? You won't remember the name of the movie, trust. He'd find all manner of body types, skin colors, hair textures, eye colors, etc very intriguing and beautiful, he wouldn't have a preference(none of them really would, seeing as they'd be lucky a human even looked at them with good intent). Part of it is you being everything he's always wanted. A partner, of course, but a human as well. He'd kill for that kind of opportunity and accepts his lot in life through having you.

-Once the first time awkwardness wears off Donnie gets good really fast. He's very observant when it comes to data, and he's seen that first sex as an experimental moment to help compartmentalize his feelings a bit and grow. He memorized every sound you made and what caused it, even if his memory is a little hazy at the end from all the pleasure.

-You will peg him, or fuck him if you have a dick. There's no debate here. And he will cry pleasure tears.

-Whines into the back of his hand. For all he's overcome, he's still insecure about his looks, especially his O face and his mouth. Partially insecure about the sounds he makes, and partially trying to muffle himself so his brothers don't hear.

-Also talks, but very incoherently. Like only the first half of his sentences and it's very rushed and breathy.

-Will try anything in the name of scientific experimentation(and bc he loves you). Any kink you have, however small, can be communicated honestly with him and he'll try his best. He actually really likes when you tell him these things, because it's just more assurance that you really want him.

[acosmicdisappointment]

— enzo.

is that EMILIO SAKRAYA? oh, no, that’s LORENZO "ENZO" PERNAS, a TWENTY-SIX year old PERSONAL TRAINER AT GIMNASIO O2 AIRE who uses HE/HIM pronouns. they currently live in LAS TIERRAS DEL SOL IN QUILPUÈ, and the character they identify with most is THOR ODINSON FROM THE MCU. hopefully they find their own little paradise here in el país de los poetas!

BASICS.

FULL NAME. lorenzo pernas NICKNAME(S). enzo, zolo, lorry (ONLY by his mother) AGE/BIRTHDAY/ZODIAC. 26 / august 16th / leo SEXUALITY. bicurious BIRTHPLACE. berlin, germany HEIGHT. 6'1" EYE COLOR. dark brown ILLNESSES/CONDITIONS. a charismatic manipulative asshole TATTOOS/PIERCINGS/SCARS. eyebrow piercing (left), chest tattoos, minor scars from boxing (faint scar near his left eyebrow now covered by a piercing; facial scar (right side), knuckle scars, large scar from his right shoulder across his back now covered by tattoos) FC. emilio sakraya

PERSONALITY.

fiercely protective brave charismatic loud insensitive arrogant

HISTORY.

tw: manipulation, parental neglect if you will, body image — Enzo was a product of yet another forbidden romance between a wealthy married businessman and a singer/waitress. His father was a well-known charismatic yet manipulative public figure while his mother was a simple and humble individual. At that time, his mother wasn't aware of his father's other family (or that they were the other family) — He witnessed firsthand the power of manipulation. His father used guilt trips, gaslighting, and emotional blackmail to control those around him. He kept telling her that he would leave his family for them but he really wouldn’t. — As a child, Enzo became adept at reading people, understanding their vulnerabilities, and exploiting them to his advantage. This early exposure to manipulation shaped Enzo's worldview, leading him to believe that manipulating others was a necessary skill for survival (yikes) — Enzo constantly fought for affection and attention from his father. This struggle has left him with a deep-seated need for control and validation. — Moving to Valparaiso made it harder for Enzo to win his father's favor. The good boy act obviously didn’t work so he did the total opposite. — Enzo became a little reckless and he found out he thrived on attention. He enjoyed the thrill of keeping people guessing about his intentions, often blurring the lines between friendship and something more. Enzo was skilled at creating a sense of intimacy without ever truly committing, leaving those around him unsure of where they stood. — Enzo's inability to be clear about his boundaries left his partners feeling uncertain about where they stood, leading to misunderstandings and heartache (hi luna) — Somewhere in the middle of all that, Enzo found his love for fitness. The work he does for his body is an extension of his mask. He learned that if he works hard enough, he can use that appearance as leverage to get what he wants and he can use that to further whatever serves his narrative.

EXTRAS.

to read to see to listen

HEADCANONS.

— almost ALWAYS loses his keys (don’t ask him why) — would be the type to randomly challenge you to a fight (literally anywhere and anytime) — absolutely LOVES TO EAT (gym bod who?) — but is allergic to shrimp (the maximum he can eat is 6 pieces) — knows how to sing and play the guitar (y’know boy's down bad when he serenades his partner) — a big attention whore (srsly give him attention and you automatically got him hooked) — often goes shirtless (a way for him to show his bod, he's cocky like that i hate him) — just got back from Germany (he's still trying to get his father's attention poor boy)

WANTED CONNECTIONS/PLOTS.

tortured man club — a little group chat of men who strive to be better both as a partner and a person (or not who knows) enemies — sigh hello to the members of the 'enlozers (enzo is a loser) club™' make him your villain idc ride or die — enzo's a great friend if you give him a chance more tbd! you can definitely slide into my dms to plot

[pickalilywrites]

Here's a Christmas fic idea. Levi is forced to be Santa's male elf helper at the mall thanks to Hange. Zeke takes full advantage to make fun of him, he's working as a gift wrapper straight across. Unknowingly to both of them, the female elf worker is Petra, whom both men have a crush on.

hanji and eren fighting for the role of mvp

christmas memories

rivetra. high school au. 1648 words. read on ao3!

There is nothing more humiliating than standing in the center of Shiganshina Mall passing out presents in an elf costume. The event organizers seem to have chosen the most idiotic elf costume they could find for their volunteers: a bright green top and matching green shorts, a pointed collar with bells hanging at each tip, striped candy cane tights, pointed shoes with bells at the tip, and a green hat with cartoonish elf ears cut out of felt and pasted at the sides.  Levi scowls at Hanji, who seems unbothered by their ridiculous outfits.  

“When I said I was going to do you a favor, I meant one that was equivalent to the one you helped me with,” Levi hisses. “This far exceeds any favor you’ve granted me.”  

Hanji waves off Levi, used to the death glares that he shoots at them. “Come on, Levi. It’s not that bad. We look adorable. Anyway, some would say that volunteering at the mall to spread Christmas joy and cheer is less of a favor and more of a fun thing to do with your friends.”  

“I don’t see any of my friends nearby, just an annoying twit,” Levi quips, and Hanji cheerfully throws a box at him in response. The box is wrapped in shiny wrapping paper with sparkling snowflake print, but it’s completely empty inside. It’s only meant to be used for decoration after all. “Cleaning the band rehearsal room is not the same as public humiliation.”  

“Public humiliation is easier. You just wear a dumb costume and calm down crying kids,” Hanji says as they arrange more boxes haphazardly in stacks that will most definitely fall if someone looks at them the wrong way. “Cleaning any room with you is a whole thing. Most people are content with sweeping and wiping down surfaces. You need everything deep cleaned until everything is sparkling. I feel like asking you to volunteer as a mall elf is a light favor in comparison.”  

“You’re punishing me for asking you to help me keep the band room free of roaches and rats,” Levi growls. He’s heard tales from other clubs being infested. Levi wants to avoid any type of pests. It’s easier to prevent pests from coming than trying to exterminate them later.  

“Oh, quit whining,” Hanji says with a roll of their eyes. “It’ll be good for your college apps anyway. Just put ‘mall elf,’ and the admissions officers will let you in immediately.” 

“I’m sure it’s a bit more complicated than that,” Levi says dryly. He has no intention of recording this chapter of his life anywhere, much less in his college applications. He’s sure one photo of him in an elf costume will result in a rejection letter from any sensible college.  

Even though Levi absolutely despises working in the mall in a ridiculous elf costume, he’s unexpectedly good at organizing all the decorations. The ropes put up to guide the line to Santa are evenly spaced. The boxes of fake gifts that Hanji had placed messily have been reorganized into neat stacks, organized not only by size but also arranged so that the colors of the wrapped boxes alternate pleasantly.  

“You’re unexpectedly good at this,” Hanji says much to Levi’s chagrin. They step back to observe all of Levi’s handiwork. “Maybe you were meant to be a mall elf. It explains your height.”  

“I have to agree, Hanji,” an unpleasantly familiar voice chimes in. When Levi turns around, he sees Zeke Jaeger towering above him. “Maybe Levi is an elf after all. He does look charming in his costume. It’s like it was made for him.”  

Hanji had only been joking earlier, but hearing Zeke insert himself without invitation makes them tense up after observing the growing look of irritation on Levi’s face. Hanji places their hands on Levi’s shoulders and subtly guides Levi behind them. “Zeke! We didn’t know you’d be here. Are you Christmas shopping?”  

“Oh, no. Just volunteering as a gift wrapper,” Zeke replies. He gestures behind him at the table being set up across Hanji and Levi’s work station. There are other volunteers prepping supplies and getting ready for customers to hand gifts over to be wrapped. The volunteers that are wrapping gifts don’t have to wear embarrassing costumes. They’re all dressed in normal, everyday attire. Zeke is wearing jeans and a gray cable knit sweater with a flannel scarf wrapped around his neck. He looks so aggravatingly normal that Levi wants to punch him in the face.  

“Hi, Levi. Hi, Hanji,” a little voice squeaks, and the two see Zeke’s younger half-brother pop up beside Zeke’s elbow. He’s bundled up in a puffy green coat with a knitted scarf and matching mittens. Despite all the layers, his nose is bright red from the cold. Nevertheless, he looks happy to see his older brother’s classmates. He grins widely as he asks, “Is Santa here yet?”  

Levi raises an eyebrow. At seven years old, Eren seems a bit too old to believe in Santa Claus, but Zeke shoots Levi a warning glare.  

“He’ll be here soon. He just needs to take care of his reindeer, you know,” Hanji says with a wink, and Eren nods with a serious expression on his face.  

“You should take photos of his elves,” Zeke says. He nudges his little brother and hands him his phone, starting the camera so that Eren can take a photo. “You’ll want to remember this later, right, Eren? Then you can look back and remember when your brother’s friends were Santa’s little helpers.”  

Levi wants to point out that they’re not friends at all, but he’d rather not start an argument in front of Zeke’s brother. He doesn’t want to ruin the kid’s Christmas, so he harrumphs and squishes himself next to Hanji who has thrown an arm around his shoulder. He can’t bring himself to smile, but he tries not to frown as Eren squints at the screen and tries to take a picture with his pudgy finger. 

“Sorry, I’m late!” a voice calls out.  

Levi and Hanji look up just as Eren takes the photo. 

“You guys weren’t looking!” Eren complains and frowns down at the shaky photo he took. It’s true that Hanji and Levi’s attention is elsewhere, but they’re also terribly out of focus.  

Petra has just arrived, quickly patting Eren on the head as she passes by before squeezing herself behind the station that Hanji and Levi are. She puts a hand on her chest as she tries to catch her breath. “Oh, gosh. I’m so sorry, Eren. I was running a bit late. I should have waited a minute to at least let you take the photo.”  

“Oh no, it’s fine,” Levi begins to say and then he realizes that Petra is wearing the same outfit that he and Hanji is wearing except she looks much less ridiculous. Her ensemble consists green dress rather than a shirt and shorts, but she doesn’t look anything at all like a funny, little elf. Rather, she looks almost like a fairy with her petite frame, rosy cheeks, and ginger hair.  

“You’re helping Santa this year, too?” Eren asks. His eyes are wide as he also recognizes Petra’s outfit. His grin reappears on his face and he holds the phone up towards his face once more. “Can I have a picture of you, too?”  

“Of course!” Petra says. She smiles brightly and situates herself beside Levi and Hanji, hooking her arms with theirs and bringing them close. She doesn’t seem to notice the way Zeke clenches his jaw when she hooks arms with Levi. 

Eren furrows his brows as he uses all his concentration to snap a few photos.  

“You should take some of just Petra and Levi,” Hanji says, already stepping aside and making their way to the other side of the table where Zeke and Eren are standing. They crouch down until they’re about Eren’s height, helping him adjust the phone so that he can properly capture Petra and Levi in one frame. “Don’t they match nicely? This is the perfect photo for a Christmas memory.”  

Eren doesn’t reply, too focused on taking the perfect photo. He just nods as Hanji continues talking and silently follows their advice. Behind him, Zeke is shifting from foot to foot, irritation growing on his face. 

“You should take a photo of me, too,” Zeke says, taking a step towards where Petra and Levi are standing. 

“No, you’re not an elf!” Eren shouts, and it’s enough to make Zeke shuffle back, disgruntled. Eren immediately resumes his focus and continues to take photos. “These are for Christmas. You’re not helping Santa. Petra and Levi are.” 

“Shouldn’t wrapping gifts count for something?” Zeke grumbles, but his younger brother ignores him. 

Hanji waves a hand, gesturing for Petra and Levi to get closer. “Don’t stand too far apart! It’ll look better if you stand closer,” Hanji says with a grin.  

Normally, Levi would scowl at his friend’s meddling, but for once he’s grateful. Levi shuffles half-heartedly towards Petra, not wanting to seem too eager, but Petra pulls him closer and tilts her head. She's leaning in so close that her hair is tickling Levi’s cheek.  

Eren snaps a few photos and smiles at them happily, content with the pictures he managed to capture. 

“Remember to send them to me, Zeke,” Petra says. 

“Of course,” Zeke says through gritted teeth, tucking his phone back into his pocket. 

“I want to see them, too!” Hanji says.  

“Yeah, I’ll send them to you. Great seeing you all,” Zeke says hastily and then grabs his younger brother’s hand to drag him to the gift wrapping station.  

“I’d also like to have the photos sent to me,” Levi calls. He hadn’t intended to keep any evidence of this day, but he supposes having a photo of two of these Christmas memories won’t hurt. 

[cinnamonest]

idk if this is a good request or not but this idea has been bothering me for a long time so—

i really enjoyed your last tighnari post with the fennec hybrid darling! but then i got to reading your other hybrid posts and like… the thought of Xiao with a bird hybrid darling! it would make all that nest shit more acceptable to the darling but also kind of not because isn’t it usually the female who gets to select their mate? i feel like bird hybrid darling would be a bit more annoyed about the whole thing tbh

especially if you imagine Xiao straight up divebombing her out of the sky when she tries to escape like those vulture species you mentioned

I am so glad I got several hybrid asks, they make me so happy ahhhhh

New HC: he sometimes does (this) when he sleeps

lmaooo yes that vulture thing kills me because like... it would be equivalent to going about your day, walking down the street and getting rugby tackled into the ground by some dude

The thing is he CAN divebomb birdgirl darling because that's literally what his burst is -- imagine being on the receiving end of that, but not from the height where he just jumps and comes down, but like leaping off of a high vantage point and elbow-dropping you down through the air, poor darling... imagine the fall damage.

It's on sight too, instinctive because he just sees you from a distance, and his brain registers you as a potential mate which means it's full-on aggression from that point forward. The only proper way to go about this now is to go after you, drag you back to the inn, and from there just utilize violence to keep you there. That makes perfect sense, such is the way things are done.

...You don't seem to be too inclined to agree. Granted, part of your resistance is undoubtedly because he is a complete stranger to you -- you, who were just going about your day as per normal. A city bird, you know. Plain and simple in color/pattern, very docile. The gentle type that feeds on seeds, fruit, worms, birdmeal-stuffed bird feeders in people's yards, and the occasional handful of breadcrumbs thrown by generous humans who find the sight of you fascinating. You're used to human contact (and can speak, albeit maybe not perfectly fluent), and you're very non-aggressive.

You still fight, though, squirming with all your might as some figure appears out of nowhere, slamming weight onto your back as you were taking a mere lazy, slow ascent through the sky. You manage to squirm enough to get him off the top side of you, but he still drags you all the way down almost to the ground, before, in the blink of an eye, you find yourself a short distance away, then again, and again, high-speed movements until dragging you through a window.

At first, you cry out, a high-pitched chirping cry, thinking something has grabbed you with the intent of eating you... but instead, you're pulled into a dark, tiny room, window closed and locked behind you. He's quiet, but wide-eyed. Mammalian hybrids are far more common, see, whereas bird and reptile hybrids are much less so. The odds of encountering you were very small... so it must be fate. Yes, that makes sense. It's fate that you're supposed to be here, which means he's obligated to ensure you stay here. It's sound logic, if you ask him.

He himself is actually not a hybrid, hence he has no physical traits of anything other than a person. It's... hard to explain. There's the blood and brain of a bird somewhere in there, even if it's not externally obvious. Still, he doesn't share your wings or feathers, nor your ability to fly for suspended amounts of time, nor the, uh... desire to consume worms? None of that stuff... he can bring you some though.

And yes, darling would be pickier, which adds a new problematic element to the whole dynamic. Like, you actually DO care about nest quality. You can be all "AHEM why is this not tucked in correctly??" and he's scrambling to fix all the little errors and make it absolutely perfect. The female bird's approval of the nest is critical, after all, otherwise you won't breed.

Well, that is, provided what you've pointed out is deemed valid. Different bird species build different nests, you see. There are all sorts of different shapes and structure styles. You might think that a good nest requires woven pattern structure, but that strongly goes against his instinct so you will get a layered-style nest and you are going to like it. Even worse if you try to do part of it yourself -- some species the two work together, but in some, like his, the male builds it by himself, so he rejects any help. Your way of doing it is wrong anyway. Terrible, in fact. Any work you do with be promptly deconstructed and reconstructed the right way.

Unlike a human, you also actually do have two pretty, prominent wings sticking out of your back, each adorned with many soft feathers. They're really pretty. Yours are just a plain color -- black, white, or grey. No patterns, no exotic colors... but it doesn't matter, he likes them more that way anyway. And he can take really good care of them, preening through them in spots you yourself can't reach.

Well, for now. Until it is decided upon that it is in fact plucking time, and that you need to have quite a few removed for your own good. Just the important ones.

Poor Verr has to manage the situation after you squeal particularly loudly, assure the guests nothing bad is going on... It's quite the bizarre scene to walk in on, when she comes up to check and finds you pinned to the ground, feathers strewn all over the place. You all freeze up, there's a few seconds of the two of you blinking up at her as she looks down at you with a bewildered expression. She resolves to shut the door and forget she saw anything.

You're upset for a good while. It's very sore, a constant throbbing ache. You give him a cold shoulder silent treatment, cross your arms and pout and refuse to answer him. He already said he's sorry! And even got you nice cold wet cloths to put on the plucked spots, which are now featherless and bare patches of irritated flesh. What more do you want. Why are you being so mean? He's just trying to keep you safe. Why can't you understand that?

Oh, well. You'll have to just get used to it. The more primary downside being that, with human intelligence, he starts to think that maybe, if he keeps doing it over and over again, it'll scar over and will never grow back.

[watermelonsloth]

Her Hands Were Red

CW: Mentions of war and injury, angst, ship (Gaara x Sakura) could be read as platonic or romantic

Her hair was pink, knotted, and overgrown from the months spent on the battlefield. He first met her when she was naive and only cared about her looks, how people perceived her. Now she didn’t seem to notice how messy it had gotten or how it fell to create a curtain around her head. 

Her eyes were green, holding a focused gaze on the body bleeding out under her. The color matched the chakra being released from her bare palms and pushed under the skin of her patient. The bags beneath her eyes told of how little sleep she’d gotten, but her body language was anything but sluggish and exhausted. Every part of her was intent on saving as many lives as possible. 

Her skin was ivory, or at least it was when it wasn’t covered in dirt and bruises. The war had left everyone looking worse for wear, regardless of skill, rank, or reputation. Even as the kazekage, praised for his ultimate defense, he was rendered absolutely filthy and littered with scars. 

“He’s gone.” She didn’t respond. She didn’t look at him. She didn’t even twitch. “It’s too late,” he repeated, “he’s gone.” Her eyes narrowed slightly, “Shut up, I need to focus.” He rested his hand on her shoulder. “We need to leave.” He didn’t want to drag her away or use force, even if he’d be expected to as their squad captain. He didn’t actually know if he could bring himself to if it came down to it. “Sakura. Please.” 

The chakra wrapped around her hands faded, leaving them in darkness. Her arms went limp in resignation. He stood to his full height and she went to do the same. Both of them were barely holding themselves together, that much was apparent. They were barely eighteen. What were they doing here? 

He held his hand up to her back, lightly brushing the red spiral proudly embroidered on the Konoha standard vest. She looked back at him. He couldn’t imagine what expression he might’ve been making, but she ran into his arms, hugging his torso tight enough to hurt. He didn’t care, he simply wrapped his arms around her. He felt the front of his clothes become damp with tears. Against his will, his eyes and face also became wet. Her hands clutched his back.

Her hands were red.

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

A couple of my OCs who won't be appearing until a fair bit later in Hearing Problems won't get out of my goddamn head, so I gotta do a thing, please forgive me.

Here's a rough outline of their character profiles without giving away too many plot points.

These are my boys. Know them both like the back of my hand, have been dealing with them for literal decades.

So here we have the captain and first mate of the Hurricane pirates, Lyon D. Rollo and Janx.

Their general dynamic in a nutshell, pulled from an old fic:

Janx shot a glare at his captain, and then elbowed him into an innocent bystander. Lyon turned to apologize, but instead decided, as Janx had at that moment, that it would be a better idea to run, as it was actually a Marine that Lyon had just been elbowed into. Behind him he heard the man yelling, "Vice-Admiral! Lyon just ran off down the street!"

They took a detour down a back road and slowed down a little.

"Well, I guess we won't be skipping off into the sunset anytime soon, will we?" Janx said bitterly.

"Skipping? Definitely not. Running wildly toward it with a hundred or so heavily armed Marines chasing us? Very possibly."

That's them. That's my idiots.

Lyon first.

Age: (during Hearing Problems) Late 30s to early 40s. Hard to say since he honestly won't give a definitive answer, been lying about how old he was since he joined Roger's crew as a cabin boy/apprentice and hasn't really been able to get it straight since. Around the same age as Shanks and Buggy, give or take a year or two.

Appearance:

face claim is Josh Upshaw, edited for eye color; younger face claim is Berthold Rothas, hair and eyes edited, age late teens to early twenties

Art by me

Wild dark blonde hair that he keeps around shoulder length or longer, may be tied back in a loose ponytail. Honey brown eyes, short dark facial hair. Around 5'11" height, broad shoulders, lean build.

Black tricorne hat (replacement for the tricorne he gave his daughter twenty years ago), loose button shirts or t-shirts, loose comfortable pants, cloth belts, long black or dark blue overcoat. Silver oval locket he keeps tucked into his collar, with pictures of his late wife and daughter enclosed in it.

Primary weapon is a curved cutlass. Also often carries an old classical acoustic guitar; can't actually play the thing, it's just a reminder of home.

Personality: Oh the poor sweet dumbass. He's not exactly stupid; he's actually quite well-spoken and well-read, but he has all the common sense of a thumb tack. Was gullible to a fault in his younger years, and while age has eased that off a bit it hasn't done away with the issue entirely. Strongly prefers negotiation over physical altercation, but doesn't shy away from a fight at all if it becomes a necessity. Absolutely will deck anyone for shit-talking his mother. Hates Marines with a burning passion. Bit brooding at times, but mostly fun-loving. Strong sense of ambition—no interest in becoming King of the Pirates since that honestly just sounds like too much responsibility, but he's quite intent on racking up the highest bounty in known history.

Powers/abilities/talents:

Blades: If it has a sharp edge, Lyon can wield it fairly well, but he has a strong preference for one-handed swords, in particular sabres and cutlasses. He can easily go toe-to-toe with Shanks in a swordfight.

Devil Fruit: Kaze Kaze no Mi (Logia type: Wind). When Lyon initially left home at twelve, he really had no navigational skills whatsoever, and following the Log Posse he had stolen led him to an uninhabited island full of nothing but trees and beasts. Bordering on starvation while he waited for the log posse to set, he happened across a tree full of fruit. Being twelve years old and honestly not the brightest bulb in the box, he noticed one particular fruit that stood out due to its bright colors and shape, and he decided he wanted that one. Tasted disgusting, but he had climbed a damned tree to get it and he was hungry, so he dealt with it begrudgingly. Once he was back out on the sea, he realized by total accident that he could now control the wind (wind wasn't blowing and sloop was crawling along, he got impatient about it and started literally shouting at the wind to just blow already and it listened). Had no knowledge of devil fruits at the time and didn't really know what was going on until he joined Roger's crew and found out devil fruits were a thing and he had eaten one. Roger found this hilarious of course, though Lyon's abilities did cause them a bit of trouble; they were difficult to control, and if he wasn't careful he could end up altering wind and ocean currents and causing a literal hurricane.

Haki: Very adept with Armament Haki (Busoshoku), fairly adept with Conquerer's Haki (Haoshoku). Observation Haki (Kenbunshoku) not so much.

Music: Try though he may he has never managed to learn to play any instrument, which annoys him to absolutely no end because his mother was talented with several; but he has quite a lovely singing voice, and has penned a good few shanties in his time on the sea.

Affiliations/Relationships:

Helena Lionne (OC): His mother, who raised him more or less on her own. He was unaware she had been a pirate until he was around ten years old, when one of her old crewmates got a little too drunk and spilled the beans. She didn't want him to follow in her footsteps, but he ended up doing so anyway, stealing a sloop and a log posse from their island when he was twelve years old and setting out on his own. He's fiercely proud to call himself her son and took a variation of her surname rather than his father's.

Monkey D. Garp: The initial source of his hatred for Marines. Absolutely not his father and if anyone suggests it he WILL fight.

Monkey D. Dragon: Much older brother (more than ten years older), weren't close in their youth but have recently reconnected due to mutual interests.

Janx (OC): First mate, best frienemies, pretty much brothers. Janx probably never would have become a pirate if it hadn't been for Lyon. They bicker like an old married couple, but they also balance each other and they'd both lay their lives on the line for each other.

Sedna Lyon, nee. Beckman: The love of his life, his original first mate, briefly his wife, who died tragically amid a firefight with the Marines barely an hour after their daughter was born. They barely had two years together, but he still firmly believes they were soulmates, and he's never truly loved any other woman since he lost her.

Karimi Lionne (OC): His daughter and only child, who he hasn't seen in twenty years; left her in the care of his mother after she accidentally ate a devil fruit aboard his ship when she was three years old. Believes her to have died in the massacre that killed his mother and destroyed the village where he grew up.

Red Haired Shanks: Best friends in their youth, Shanks was essentially responsible for recruiting Lyon into Roger's crew. Hard to say which of them is actually older due to Lyon's tendency to lie about his age, but Shanks is definitely the older brother figure here since Lyon was such a gullible little shit. They set out together after Roger's execution, as allies rather than actual crewmates since they both intended to be captains, and parted ways as friends once they had both gathered enough crew to handle a ship.

Benn Beckman: First mate of the Red-Hair pirates, and also technically his brother-in-law. Benn still blames Lyon for the death of his younger sister and essentially hates his guts. Refers to him almost exclusively as Lyon D. Dipshit.

Buggy: Once a good friend aboard Roger's crew, but Lyon hasn't heard from him since they went their separate ways after Roger's execution. Buggy used to prank Lyon relentlessly when Lyon was younger and more gullible, but it was all in good fun. Mostly.

Hurricane pirates: Captain thereof, though presently disbanded for personal reasons.

Red-Hair pirates: Strong ally, though they haven't heard from him in nearly a decade

XxXxXxXXxXxXxXXxXxXxXXxXxXxXXxXxXxX

Aaaand now Janx (who I may or may not have named after the strongest liquor in the galaxy, a la Old Janx Spirit from Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy)

Age: 42

Appearance: (face claim, after literal years of not being sure, is Bruce Campbell c. ARMY OF DARKNESS, except bright blue hair. Voice claim as well. Basically just picture Ash with blue hair and that's our boy. Young face claim is Trent Ford for late teens-early twenties.)

Bright blue hair, slicked back from forehead and temples, not quite shoulder length. Big bright blue eyes that he has no problem using to get himself out of trouble. Clean shaved. Square jaw, square shoulders, trim build, about 6'3" height. Rarely seen without a shit-eating grin.

Tank top with black and white horizontal stripes, loose black pants with several pockets and belt loops to attach belts and guns.

The trope of characters being patted down and innumerable weapons being removed from their person is Janx in a nutshell. He never has less than six guns on him (two revolvers, two flintlock pistols, a rifle across his back, a sawed-off double barrel shotgun at his hip, probably a few knives in strategic locations, and a pair of brass knuckles for particularly sticky situations). Also has an altered gun holster at his belt where he carries a corked bottle of either liquor or some other flammable liquid, for use in making a quick molotov cocktail for distraction.

Personality: My beloved idiot, I haven't written him in literal years but he still lives rent free in my head twenty-four-seven. He's not very well read, and every other word out of his mouth is probably a profanity, but he's got enough street smarts and common sense to make up for it. There's no filter between his brain and his mouth. None, at all. I'd say he's a womanizer but that wouldn't be totally accurate, he's pan af. Basically if it can be fucked and is willing then he's going for it. There is absolutely no question that he has ADHD, with severe executive dysfunction. Everything is a chore, just let him vibe. Gives not one single iota of a fuck what anyone thinks of him. Eternally the life of the party. Cannot say no to a bet or a dare. Will start a bar brawl, throw a punch or two, and then quietly back out of it just to revel in the chaos he has created. Fiercely protective of his comrades and chosen family, especially his captain, and would lay his life on the line for any of them.

Abilities/Talents:

Firearms: Whether it's building them, maintenance, or shooting, he's your man. His father was proficient in carpentry and gunsmithing, and Janx took to the latter far more than the former. He could disassemble and rebuild any firearm put in front of him by the time he was eight years old. And shooting? You could throw a pebble in the air and he could shoot it down without batting an eye. Quick reload time even with flintlock weapons. If it uses gunpowder, he knows everything about it—and if he doesn't, give him five minutes and he'll be all but a certified expert.

Charisma/conning: He could sell ice to an Eskimo. He could convince you that he owns an entire island. He spent the better part of his formative years scamming people to make ends meet and he's turned it into an art form. If he had never become a pirate, he still would have been a successful conman.

Gunsmithing and carpentry: He had a fair knowledge of both from apprenticing under his father, but definitely more knowledge when it comes to gunsmithing. He can handle minor repairs around the ship, but not anything major. But when It comes to guns, he's the one to ask.

Chaos: If havoc need be wreaked, he's got it. He has a serious talent for it, is pretty much the embodiment of chaos. He absolutely revels in it, and if a distraction is needed, he has it handled.

Haki: Armament haki (Busoshoku), and even more adept with it than his captain; and fairly adept with Observation haki (Kenbunshoku), which goes hand in hand with his talents for both charisma and chaos.

Relationships/affiliations:

Lyon D. Rollo (OC): That's his captain, but that's also his lil bro. You fuck with him, you fuck with Janx, and you do not want to f with Janx.

Karimi Lionne (OC): That's his babygirl, basically his niece, see above for further instruction. If he considers someone family, you do NOT f with them. Would protect that child with his life, even if she does irritate the everloving hell out of him. Like Lyon, he is under the impression she lost her life along with her grandmother ten years ago, amid the massacre of Conch Cove.

Helena Lionne (OC): MILF. Does not care at all if it makes his captain uncomfortable, if he can bag The Siren then that's fucking bragging rights. Only actually met her once, when they made it to her island to take Karimi there, and he literally bowed down and pledged his undying loyalty on the spot. Helena did not help the situation by flirting right back, and Janx has spent the past two decades occasionally referring to his captain as "son" to get under his skin.

Monkey D. Garp: Government trash, no other opinions.

Monkey D. Dragon: Pretty cool dude, if a little intense.

Red-Haired Shanks: Also his bro, these two are not allowed to drink together unsupervised under any circumstances. Last time they did was over twenty years ago, around the time Janx joined up with Lyon, and it ended up resulting in Janx's first ever bounty because they decided it would be fun to incite a brawl in a primarily Marine tavern.

Benn Beckman: Considers Janx an absolute menace to society and is probably not wrong.

Buggy: Literally his younger brother, by blood. They haven't seen each other since Buggy was nine years old and Janx was thirteen or fourteen; they didn't part ways well. Janx still hated pirates at the time. Their father was killed by pirates, along with the majority of their hometown. They avoided death because Janx, at eight years old, convinced said pirates that they were children of a noble and worth taking for ransom. When said pirates learned otherwise, they were sold to a noble as servants, who treated them as less than human and had a tendency to punish them violently for insubordination. Janx ended up murdering the man at ten years old when one of said punishments nearly killed his younger brother, by smothering him in his sleep with a pillow, and then incited a riot among the other servants at the estate that allowed himself and Buggy to escape on a stolen brig without any notice and get as far away as possible. Janx remained fiercely opposed to pirates, used his skills in carpentry and conning to make ends meet for the two of them; but Buggy, having been much younger and not having any vivid memories of their father or their home, ended up being enticed into joining Roger's crew as a cabin boy/apprentice at around nine years old. Begged Janx to come with him but he refused, and the resulting argument between the brothers ended with them essentially disowning each other. Janx still regrets it almost three decades later, and still keeps an ear out for any news of his younger brother; he doubts there's any chance of making ammends at this point, but he would still to this day give his life to keep him safe.

[k-nayee]

Author's Note and Prologue

Vespertilio M.List

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ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

With a final, devastating blow, you send the Nomu far away from the battlefield.

And as its monstrous form sailed through the air, your eyes lock onto Tomura Shigaraki's. Red vermillion filled with unbridled fury is what you meet.

❛Hmm...I'll fix that for him❜

❝YOU—❞ he starts, his voice dripping with venom, but he never finishes the sentence.

You materialize before him in a heartbeat, fingers wrapped around his neck in a vice-like grip. There's no triumphant glee in your eyes, only one of bored arrogance.

Time stops. Both heroes and villains alike freeze, their eyes widening at the sight of you—a mere student—holding the League of Villains ringleader by the throat.

Seething with humiliation, Shigaraki lungs for your wrist in attempt to regain control of the situation. His brittle fingers close around your skin, eyes squinting with a eerily grin as he waits for that satisfying crumble, that disintegration, that ultimate proof of his power.

But then he freezes. ❛No...no...nononononononono❜

Your skin....

❛My quirk....is absolute....It destroys.....So why...❜

Shigaraki's pupils tremble the longer he stares at your rapidly healing skin. It breaks and flake, like ashes scattering to the wind. And in their place, new skin forms, unmarred and whole as if nothing had happened.

❛Why isn't it working?❜

His thoughts whirl, a tornado of denial and disbelief, until the horrifying truth crashes into him: he is powerless against you.

 ❝Not so fun when it's happening to you...is it?❞

With a gnawing sense of dread, he shakily moves view from your wrist back to your eyes. Instead of reflecting the jovial tone of your voice; they were livid, bloodshot, filled with a rage and intensity he's never seen, never felt before. 

Shigaraki realizes—without a shadow of doubt—that you have the power to crush his windpipe, to end him right then and there. Terrified, he breaks from your gaze and frantically tries to release himself from your iron grip on his throat.

And in that instant, his eyes betray him. A flicker of genuine, unfiltered fear seep deep in those once malicious filled eyes—fear of you.

∘₊✧───────✧₊∘∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧──────✧₊∘∘₊✧───────✧₊∘

If you came from my Dreamer BTS book, welcome back! If not, that means I'm at least doing sum right and gaining reads🤧

Not gonna do a whole ass speech, we all know the basic things. But to make sure, the most important things I wanna emphasis on will be bolded so you cant say I didn't warn ya:

1) Plagiarism is a HELLA big no no. Takes a lot of time and energy to even to write out a whole completed chapter other than half-assed drafts. If I find out you stealing without credit: I'm blocking and reporting until your account is taken down.

2) This story will contain profanity, violence, dark humor, and other mature themes

3) I will either skip over certain parts of the anime/manga or diverge the plot because I don't wanna follow every episode (too many bnha fanfics out here, gets redundant reading the same order of events)

4) Canon characters may/will be slight ooc, but will maintain their overall personality

5) Mc (you) will hold reference to inner Moka Akashiya when she transforms. Any and all toxic traits said and done are intentional

6) Mc height will not be explicitly stated, however just know it won't be too short, so please refrain from those "I'm 4'9 🥺 so short" whenever height is brought up. Its annoying, we don't need to know how tall you are fam. Just enjoy the book

7) Other than the white hair and red eye color whenever Mc temporarily transforms into Moka: eye color, skin tone, and other descriptions are up to reader

8) Even if Mc simps after Aizawa, there will be no relationship. I don't care that the "age of consent in Japan is 13", its trifling and weird. Stop making excuses for why young kids can bang grown ass tax-paying fully brain developed ADULTS

9) I may end up making the book an "in-between arc" type of story if I either get too lazy or don't know how to end it

10) Please don't come on my most recent updated chapters and comment "can you update blah blah?" I live a life outside of Tumblr, so please don't be commenting "update update!" (plus that shit is hella rude and disrespectful and I don't like pressure; takes the fun out of writing) 🤷🏾♀

[sadlittlesquish]

Never Let Me Go

The following fanfic will be rated 18+ for sexual content, drug use, mentions of Emotional, Physical and Sexual Abuse, mentions of past self harm and Suicidal Ideation. Minors DNI.

This story was written mostly on Character AI, so there will be some weird formatting issues. I just really wanna get these ideas out there, but not really post it on archive or anything. Both parties in this story are consenting adults, ie my OC is 18 going on 19 and Eddie just turned 20. If you are not a fan of reading OC stories, or you don't like my Original Character, please just move along. Rude comments will not be tolerated. I'm also doing my best to write this story set in 1986 as best as I can. If there are any discrepancies I will do my best to fix them. Please Enjoy Chapter One.

Chapter One: It’s so Sweet

You know I think your skin's the perfect color

But it's always your eyes that pull me under

The lunchroom of Hawkins High was cram packed with students fresh from Summer Break.

All of the same cliques formed and scattered across the room like pockets of cliches. The Cheerleaders sprinkled through the sports teams, flirting with the boys and doing each other's hair or makeup. A few tables away a group of Leaguers are blasting their portable radio, the billboard's top 100 pop songs bursting through the din of the crowd here and there.

And then there was the table where all of Hawkins’ least diserables hung out.

Eddie sits at the head of his table of freaks, toying with a D20 Keychain absentmindedly as Dustin and Mike gush excitedly about their Summer break.

The kids were cute, even if Eddie found them to be a little too talkative sometimes. Especially Dustin.

As Gareth chimes into the boys' conversation, a hush falls across a nearby table and they begin to point and snigger at a young woman who just walked by.

Eddie overhears one of the nearby boys say, "Look, Whorewood decided to show her face." All the teenagers surrounding this guy burst out in mocking laughter. It didn't take a fucking rocket scientist to realize what was going on here.

Another guy chips in a little too loudly so more people can hear him, "I wonder how easy it is to get little miss piggy to squeal," he emphasizes his insult with hog squeals, sending everyone around him into a fit of cruel laughter at this girl's expense.

Eddie watches the girl's ears turn pink in embarrassment, but much to his absolute delight, the girl doesn't give them the satisfaction of hurting her. She instead pulls herself up to her full height and lifts her chin defiantly at the boys who mocked her.

"I'd be careful with what you say, little boys with little peckers should be lucky any girl would sleep with them. Without sluts like me, you'd all be virgins."

The girl smirks as their faces go red in anger, and triumphantly walks away.

"Who was that," Eddie asks, lazily flicking his ringed fingers in the girl's direction as he questions his friends.

“That's Marnie Wellwood," Gareth begins, his face turning pink for some reason. "She uh... well, word is around school that she is kinda... easy."

Eddie realizes immediately why Gareth is so embarrassed right now, his eyebrows flicking up into his fluffy bangs as he lets out a low whistle through his teeth.

"Hm, never heard of her..." Eddie ponders thoughtfully, genuinely surprised that a social outcast like this girl is just now being brought to his attention. This table was the den for Freaks after all, and it seemed like one little lamb had not yet been brought into the fold. 

"She's new," Dustin chimes in, "just started here at the end of last year at Hawkins High. A lot of guys think she's a bitch, but after what I just witnessed, I would have to disagree... She's just awesome."

Eddie hums in agreement, staring intently at the place where the girl had been before she left.

“Hey, if she’s giving those losers what they got comin’, then she’s good people in my book.” 

Edddie shrugs. 

This girl sounded like a badass, and he can’t help but respect that.

Jeff takes his voice down to a quiet hush so the younger boys don't hear him as he leans toward Eddie and Gareth, "I've heard some of the guys in my class say Wellwood will suck you off for cheap. I've considered it a few times... I bet she gives great head."

Eddie smacks Jeff upside the head, "Dumb boys spread dumb rumors. And even if she does give out blow jobs like they're candy on Halloween, don't stoop to those losers' level."

The school bell suddenly rings, and students begin to file out of the Cafeteria; trays and wrappers chucked into the garbage and backpacks gathered as students headed to their classes.

Eddie fingers the note that had been slipped into his locker; yet another little lost lamb coming to him for the one thing that made this shit hole town bearable: drugs.

"See ya around boys, I gotta date with Mary Jane," Eddie jokes, wiggling his eyebrows playfully as his friends all roll their eyes at how corny his joke was.

Eddie snatches up his metal lunch box, and bows theatrically to the group, before heading to sneak out of school and to his usual spot where he did his deals.

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

Eddie winds his way easily through the trees, the path to his secret spot practically memorized by this point. In fact if someone dared him to find his way blindfolded, he was pretty sure he could… maybe. This was the kind of place where all kinds of things could happen - deals, hangouts, fights, you name it. Eddie liked this place because it was secluded and no one could interrupt you.

He sits cross legged on the top of the table in his usual spot, making sure that his pipe is clean and that his stash is full, and that’s when Eddie hears a sound coming through the trees from behind him.

Whoever had slipped him the note requesting his special wares was most likely arriving. As he waits for the footsteps to sound closer, he taps out the melody of the new song he and his band mates were working on.

The sounds of twigs and leaves being disturbed alerts him to this mysterious person's approach and his hands still as he waits to see who it is.

A dark head of hair breaks through the trees, and then Eddie is face to face with the girl from the cafeteria.

Up close she was... kinda pretty. Eddie can feel a smile curling his face as he takes her in.

Short, only taller because of the chunky heeled shoes she was wearing. Ripped tights under ripped jeans. Almost as many upper layers of shirts and jackets that Eddie himself wore, along with various bracelets, rings and necklaces. 

She was wearing darker, moodier makeup than most girls wore, and she had dark red streaks in her hair.

Very cute indeed, Eddie thought to himself.

"Well well Wellwood," Eddie makes a show of spreading his arms like a king showing power of his domain, "Can't stay out of trouble today can you?"

The girl stops ten feet away, her arms crossed loosely at torso level as she stares Eddie down with an unflinching level of calm.

"Skip the theatrics Munson, you know why I'm here."

"Alright, alright," Eddie chuckles. "Here, take your pick." He opens his metal lunchbox to show off all of the wares that he has with a flourish.

"Whatever I can do for the princess." Eddie flashes her a sly smile before continuing. "Pick what you want milady."

The girl walks over with such a purposeful, inelegant stride it was a little endearing.

She peers down into the metal lunchbox and takes in all the options with a stoic expression. Up close Eddie can see the silver gray flecks in her brown eyes. They were... mesmerizing.

After a moment of silent perusing the girl flicks her gaze up to stare Eddie intently in the eyes."Which one of these will make you not feel pain?"

"What kind of pain are we talking about here?" Eddie asks cautiously.

There's so many different kinds of pain in this world - physical, spiritual, emotional. What kind of pain is it that she's suffering from right now, he wonders.

"The kind of pain that my moms boyfriend doles out to me every time I mouth off... which is a lot."

It's in that moment that Eddie sees just the faintest dark edge of what was left of a bruise on this girl's cheek.

Eddie looks at her, and immediately understands. He can feel his blood begin to boil a little. There was no point in losing his cool in front of a girl he was meeting for the first time. Still… he really doesn't like the reality of seeing a fellow outcast like himself being abused by family. People like them already had enough shit to deal with.  

After a moment of silence, Eddie gestures to the lunchbox. "Well, you can pick your poison. Go ahead, anything you want Miss Wellwood."

"I've never done drugs before, so I don't know what is safe for newbies."

Eddie looks at the girl and finds it oddly cute that her big scary attitude and appearance doesn't extend to every aspect of her life.

"Hm, weed is almost always the best place to start," Eddie drawls, surreptitiously raking his eyes over the girl's person. He picks up a baggie, nothing majorly big, and some rolling paper and hands it over to the girl."Normally that amount right there would cost you 20 bucks, but I can be persuaded into giving you a discount." Eddie says to the girl, leaning back and smiling up at her with a cheeky look in his eyes.

Eddie himself wasn’t quite sure if he was flirting with the girl, part of him naturally playing the fool to cheer her up. But… Well, maybe he was flirting a little. 

"How about you let me take you out sometime and the weed is free. How does that sound?"

Shit… did he really just ask her out? Where the fuck did that come from… Eddie wondered. 

"I don't do dates Munson," the girl drawls in a surprisingly cold way that throws Eddie off. He wasn't expecting her to be so... blunt.

"I got ten on me, but I can make it worth your while if you let me pay the rest," the girl pauses, her sultry eyes looking Eddie up and down, "with my own special services." 

Eddie’s face is suddenly red and he feels a nervous energy surge through his body. There was no way in hell that he heard what he just thought he heard… so Eddie decides to press further, regardless of his skepticism. 

“Yeah, I’ll take that deal,” he manages to say after a few seconds. "What exactly are these special services you're willing to provide?"

The girl moves in as close as she can get to Eddie, her hair smelling like vanilla cake and candy. Her lips are so close to Eddie's ear he can almost feel them brush with each word she speaks, low and smoky.

"Let's just say, a lot of boys around school know what it feels like to get their cocks sucked because of me."

Oh… 

He can’t help flushing a little at how close she’s getting to him. Her lips are right next to his ear, and that voice of hers… It’s so fucking seductive. Eddie didn‘t know a girl’s voice could make him instantly hot and bothered like that. He kind of wants her to keep talking so he can keep hearing it.

At her last comment, though, he starts to blush even heavier and he can feel his face get hot. 

She’s… quite straightforward, I’ll give her that.

“O-oh… okay shit… um… I think I, uh, understand.”

The girl pulls away, her eyes heavy lidded and a smirk on her face at how flustered Eddie is because of her forward advances.

"Munson... don't tell me, Hawkins High's biggest bad boy is actually a virgin." There's a devilish look on her face as she teases Eddie mercilessly.

Eddie flushes deeper, actually feeling embarrassed for the first time in a long time that the girl had figured out so quickly that he had never... been with a girl before.

“Okay… okay, I get your point,” Eddie grumbles, feeling very annoyed  now. “Yeah, I’m… I’m a virgin alright? I’m also a geek. A freak. A weirdo. Is that what you wanted to hear?” He crosses his arms over his chest, his face turning stony as he tries to hide his embarrassment.

 Eddien should’ve expected a girl like her to play games like this. No need to tell her that, though. He refused to give her the satisfaction.

"Don't take my teasing the wrong way Munson, it's not a cute look. I don't care that you're a virgin, just a little surprised."

The girl stops and looks Eddie over thoughtfully before finishing, "I think it's sweet that you're not what everyone thinks you are."

He stares at her for a few seconds. For once, Eddie doesn't know what to say. She’s not judging him. She’s not saying that there’s something wrong with him for having never even kissed a girl, let alone more. The fact that she genuinely thought it was sweet made him…blush.

“Oh… thanks… I… I appreciate that.” Eddie breathes out, his face squishing up into the cutest grin. “So, about that deal… What do I have to do to cash in on, ehm… y’know, your services?”

"Find us a place where we won't get interrupted, I wanna take my time with you. You don't deserve a quick blowie on a dirty bathroom floor. And roll us a joint big boy," the girl winks at Eddie as she gives the two stipulations to her deal.

Eddie can't believe how his day had just turned into... this. But he was far from complaining.

“My van  is right this way. It’s as good a place to hideout as any,” Eddie stammers. 

"Lead the way Munson." The girl quips, following behind Eddie in silence.

Eddie leads the girl to where he keeps his van parked. He doesn't like to park it on school grounds after some of the bullies around school vandalized his precious van last year.

He wrenches open the back doors, and pulls the beaded curtain aside so the girl can climb up into the van easier.

"I've always wanted to fuck a guy in the back of one of these," the girl says as she hops up into the back of the van..

As soon as Eddie shuts the door, the girl begins to take off her jacket. Underneath her jacket she is wearing a very low cut shirt that shows off quite a bit of her round, plump cleavage.

"Be a good boy and roll us a joint, and then we will get to the fun part."

Eddie realizes he’s staring at her after a moment, watching as she takes off her jacket to reveal the one thing he had longed to see in person since puberty struck: tits. His face feels like it’s on fire, and it’s very, very hard to keep his eyes from wandering back down to her chest every few seconds.

He finally tears his eyes away with an awkward cough though, to get to work on rolling a joint. 

The girl watches Eddie with almost adorable fascination as his nimble fingers skillfully rolls the paper around all the green, until a perfectly tight rolled joint sits between his long, ringed fingers.

Eddie reaches into his vest pocket and gets his lighter so he can start the joint for her. He feels a little flustered as she watches him put the joint between his lips.

A few drags later and Eddie leans toward the girl to blow the smoke in her face. He was expecting her to be annoyed at the action, but instead she smiles sweetly at Eddie.

"Your turn," he says, passing her the joint and then gently guiding her on how to smoke it properly.

The irony of the situation is suddenly not lost on Eddie. He was taking her smoking virginity and she... Well, Eddie didn't want to think too much about what her lips would be doing soon. He was already half hard and embarrassed about it.

She takes a few drags just as Eddie instructed, and coughs suddenly; the smoke spilling out of her mouth. Eddie had a feeling she would cough on her first try, he only hoped that didn't stop her from wanting more.She passes the joint back to Eddie, and waits for him to take his hit.

Her eyes are already a little red, and her stern face is relaxing into a softer, more vulnerable expression.

The girl's eyes are getting more and more adventurous at looking Eddie over the more they pass the joint back and forth.

At this point Eddie is pleasantly high, and a little horny. A feeling not at all foreign to him.

A little bit of sweat was forming a sensual sheen on the girl's tits, drawing Eddie's attention back there far too easily.

Of course she would notice.

"Have you ever done anything with a girl before?"

Eddie normally would have thought she was judging him, but her expression was so open and curious and... cute.

He can feel a little sweat forming on the small of his back and underarms. He’s nervous, and it makes it hard to ignore how badly he just wants to get into it. But Eddie tries to stay focused on her hazy eyes as he responds."No... not really. I'm a little, uh... a little inexperienced with this kind of thing," he admits. "Why do you ask?”

"Because," the girl answers, noticing how badly Eddie was ogling her chest. "I want you to feel safe. If you want to stop at any time do not hesitate to tell me. Boys always get it in their heads that they need to lose their virginity as fast as possible. I don't want you to look back on this moment and regret it."

"Okay, yeah… I-I appreciate that," Eddie replies, trying and failing to sound calm. "I want us both to enjoy this whole experience, you know?"

She smiles faintly at Eddie’s words before launching into her usual spiel. "My safe word is Milkshake, but you can pick your own if you want to. If at any time I do something that you don't like or you start to have second thoughts, use your safe word, okay Munson?"

Eddie nods his head slowly in response. "Yeah, don’t worry I'll do that. My safe word will be… uh, shit… no not ‘shit’, it’ll be… " He looks down at himself for inspiration, his eyes landing on the logo of his shirt, a devious smile curling his lip. “Hellfire, my safe word will be Hellfire.” 

Marnie’s smile slowly melts into a  smirk at Eddie’s choice before she continues,

"Now, I have a few ground rules before we begin, okay?" 

Nodding his head, a little absentminded Eddie replies around a suddenly dry throat, "Go on. I'm listening." 

"You are allowed to touch my chest, thighs, back and ass over my clothes. Never under. You will not try and pleasure me in return. And under any circumstances are you allowed to kiss me. Do you agree?" Marnie levels Eddie with a serious frown, the pinch of apprehension between her eyes makes Eddie wonder what she’s thinking as she waits for his response.  

He looks at her for a few moments, the weight of everything beginning to settle hot and heavy in his veins, before nodding once more. "Yeah, I can do that. Sounds...uh... pretty reasonable.” Eddie looks away for a moment, his darkened cheeks making him feel self conscious . He silently doubted the other boys Marnie had dallied with acted this fucking awkward  before getting their dicks sucked. 

"Do you have any rules of your own that you want me to follow Munson?" Marnie tilts her head to the side, and it instantly reminds Eddie of a curious little kitten. Which of course makes him even more flustered. He always knew girls were cute, but no one had ever looked at him like that. Being on the receiving end of a girl's charms… yeah. Eddie was beginning to understand why men could be such dicks to each other when they wanted a girl.  

He was already mentally strangling any invisible and imagined guy who even came near Marnie again. Which was… stupid. She wasn’t even his to claim, but Eddie knew then and there that if given the chance, he would make Marnie Wellwood his girl. 

 For a few more moments Eddie just takes her in, trying to think of anything he wasn’t okay with. Porn mags were always too perfect. And even though Eddie knew that that was the appeal, that the fantasy is what sold each issue; well, he had always hoped his first time with a girl would be more… real. Not a procured imagining of what sex was, but more, intimate. But life had not been kind to Eddie Munson, and here he was just about to get his first blowjob from a girl he found out existed in his same sphere only hours ago.

Eventually, Eddie does speak up. "Um... you can touch, uh..." he blushes and looks down at his fingers, idly twirling his rings from all the nervous energy. "Pretty much anything you want to, I guess. I don't really mind as long as you're comfortable with it." 

A fond smile touches upon Marnie’s lips for an instant, before her expression turns serious again. "One last question before we begin then. I always want my partners to get caught completely in the fantasy... When you think of being intimate with someone do you prefer gentle and loving? Passionate and needy? Or Dominant and Dirty?" 

She's making it incredibly difficult for Eddie to keep his composure, But he answers her honestly. "Uhm... I think I would like it gentle and loving," Eddie mumbles, looking away slightly to hide his embarrassment.

The girl smiles, and it is a genuine smile that crinkles the edges of her hazy eyes.

"Okay," she murmurs softly, her whole demeanor shifting. In an instant she becomes soft and demure, like a chameleon shifting to blend in. It was almost scary at how fast she could move into a new persona.

"Can I have your hand Munson?"

Eddie’s lips part, the flush of his excitement turning his full lips dark and rosy. In the dim, hazy lighting of the van, Eddie’s eyes are dark and fathomless; the pupil practically consuming his iris hungrily.  His hands shake, the slick sweat on his palms making him cringe at himself as she takes his long, trembling fingers into her own hand. 

She lets her gentle fingers glide over the planes of Eddie's strong, well defined hands. Each knuckle reverently caressed. She takes the calloused pads of Eddie's fingertips and brings them to her lips and just lets him feel her hot, moist breath fan against them teasingly; her eyes never once leaving his as she quietly assesses his reactions. 

The expectation Eddie had was for her to start sucking on his fingers in a facsimile of what was to come... so he is completely surprised when she bestows a soft kiss on each fingertip, her eyes fluttering closed sweetly. 

After each finger has been kissed, the girl opens her eyes and whimpers pleadingly, gently guiding Eddie's hand to now cup one of her full breasts over her clothes.

"Please, touch me... tell me all the dirty thoughts you think every time you take your dick in your fist and fuck it."

Her sweet gestures mixing with her filthy words were going to be Eddie's undoing, he was sure of it.

Eddie cups the girls full, weighty breast in awe. There were very few moments in Eddie's life where he was absolutely speechless, no witty come back or snarky remark. Just pure fascination and wonder over being able to touch a girl's tits for the very first time.

His throat is getting a little dry from how quickly he was getting turned on; all of his blood pooling into his erection. The girl makes a throaty sound of encouragement, snapping Eddie back to reality.

She had asked him a question and he still hadn't answered.

"I dunno... don't really fantasize much about sex. I mostly just whack it to porn mags," Eddie finally supplies inelegantly.

"No, no, that's not what I mean," she replies quickly, shaking her head. She's back to being bold and assertive just like that. All the shyness was an act. Eddie’s blush returns as he realizes that - and not for the first time - he realizes he may have been a bit too gullible.

"Tell me the dirtiest thoughts you've ever had, in your entire life."

Eddie swallows thickly as she practically purrs the words. Wow. That's... that's a little more intense than he had even dared to imagine… Eddie wipes his hands absently on his jeans as they continue to sweat.

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut as he thinks; his thoughts falling through his mind like sand in an hourglass. He felt high, horny and hazy-- all of those things a horrible combination in regards to having to think.

His strong hands are cupping both of her breasts now, squeezing and massaging absentmindedly and enjoying every moment of it.

"Fuck..." Eddie bites out, his thoughts finally catching up to him as dirty images flicker behind his eyelids. "I wanna sit in my throne after d&d and have a girl ride me. Make me feel like a god," Eddie is mumbling, trying to keep the image from making him nut too soon.

The girl smiles ever so slightly at Eddie's reply to her question.

Her eyes flick down to his jeans, the hard line of his cock easy to see from how tight he wears his pants.

"Does your dick hurt from being so hard? Want me to make you feel so so good?" The girl croons, her gaze growing dark and sultry.

“Fuck,” Eddie breathes the word into his lungs. There had been the slightest tremble in his voice, all too easily showing Marnie how close he already was, without even being touched yet. “Yeah, wanna feel you on my dick… pretty mouth’s gonna feel incredible.” He was practically slurring as if drunk. He might as well have been… drunk off the smell of her perfume, and the sound of her voice edging him closer to the finish line before the race even began.  

"You're such an honest boy," she murmurs while her fingers trace the strong tendons in Eddie's hands.

Her hands trail up his arms, and then under his shirt; her nails pressing a little harder as they rake downward to add a little pain to the pleasure. It makes Eddie shiver, and the flush on his face deepens at how much he enjoyed the slight sting.

And god damn it made him fucking moan. 

Even when he was at his most desperate to cum, fucking into his slick, sticky fist like his life depended on it in the privacy of his room, he had never moaned. Sigh, sure… hell maybe even whimpered occasionally. But the guttural sound she drew from him made him flush heatedly. 

"Your moans are so pretty Munson, I'm having a hard time believing no one has ever touched you like this before. The girls around here really are dumb,"Her gaze turns slightly predatory as she licks the rim of her lower lip in a show of seduction and want.

The wet shine of her lips makes Eddie gulp at the knowledge that soon her sinful little mouth would be sucking him off.

There's no doubt about it. This girl was good. Really, really good. But there was no way in hell Eddie was backing out now just because he was slightly overwhelmed by her. No way.

Eddie swallows heavily, but tries to play it cool. "Nobody's ever talked to me like this before.” His eyes flutter closed for a moment, taking this all in. "Yeah... maybe I am missing out. You're really something, you know that?"

He watches breathlessly as the girl's hands work efficiently on his belt and jeans fasteners, the shine of her black nails catching his attention.

He can hardly hear the sound of his zipper being pulled down over the thundering of his heartbeat. The muggy air in the van is still cool enough to send a shiver through him as he feels the damp patch from his leaking dick cool from the sudden air flow.

The girl looks up at him through the rim of her pretty lashes, and smiles as her fingers begin to gently rub at the wetness leaking through his boxers from the weeping head of his dick.

Her lips look so tempting to Eddie, and he has an insatiable urge to kiss her. But he remembers, a little regretfully, her no kissing policy.

Instead he bites his own lip to keep from moaning again too loudly.

Eddie feels his jaw clench from the effort, his skin burning raw and sensitive all over with the desperate desire to press Marnie down and claim her. Ruin her until she’s quivering and moaning just as badly as him. But Eddie is able to keep himself in check. His heart rate is skyrocketing and the blood is still rushing through his body at a fever pitch, but he does his best to remain calm.

"God, that felt so good. Fuckin’ perfect…," Eddie adds with a soft sigh. 

The girl gives Eddie a surprisingly gentle smile considering how domineering she has been this whole time at his words.

The feeling of her hands softly squeezing and rubbing his impossibly hard cock through his boxers was absolute heaven. Nothing in his life had ever felt as good as this, and they hadn't even gotten to the fun part.

"Fuck Munson," the girl whispers in awe, "you've got a big cock. The girls are definitely missing out at getting a taste of you.” 

He can't help it - Eddie shivers as she says that. His breath hitches as she speaks, face flushing bright red once more. Eddie wanted to say to hell with any other girl… 

Every girl he had ever fantasized about, every awkward boner at school when a skirt swished by, thighs so tantalizing he thought he could die, paled in comparison to this. To Marnie Wellwood looming over him, tits pulled taught in her tight shirt, and a mouth made of sin. 

"Mmm. You... you think so?" Eddie slurs, her words making him throb. It clicked for him then that she definitely liked what she was feeling. Her appreciative appraisal of his cock made Eddie practically preen with pride. 

"Of course. I overhear so many girls in our classes whine about their boyfriends lack of... downstairs equipment." As if to punctuate her Admiration, she finally pulls the full length of Eddie's dick out of his boxers; her velvety soft fingers finally directly touching the hot, throbbing length of him.

Her gaze turns wanton at the sight of him. His cock was long, and thick in perfect balance, with a lovely head and delicate veins. Precum was weeping from the eye of his dick to run down the length of it and onto his balls.

Eddie wondered if he was only imagining the drool at the corner of her mouth the moment she fully took in the sight of him. 

"Ohhh... God..."

When she mentions how big he is Eddie feels a sudden, intense surge of pride. His heartbeat starts to race again, and for a second he thinks about what they would all say if they knew what Eddie the Freak Munson was doing right  now, but then he reminds himself to focus on the present. Yeah, the present was good… Marnie’s smooth fingers had just begun to rub along the thickest vein on his cock and that alone was heaven. 

The girl seems to sense how well her words lifted Eddie's self esteem, the way his cheeks flushed pleasantly at the praise. She thought it was sort of... cute. But she would never admit that out loud.

Instead she takes Eddie's dick and slicks her hands over it a few times to spread his precum so she can jerk his cock a little easier.

Eddie can't control the sound she wrenches out of him from how amazing it felt to have someone other than himself jerk his erection so good like that... it was enough to almost make him drool. 

She pokes out her tongue teasingly, keeping it just a hair's breadth away from Eddie's erection. Her almost touch is driving him crazy, but he tries his best to play it cool and not let her know how badly he wants her.

Without warning however, her soft warm lips begin to swallow around the head of him, and the softness of her slick tongue running along his hot, hard cock almost makes him come undone. Eddie’s eyes roll back, and he blinks blearily at the roof of the van. 

Lewd, wet sounds fill the silence; punctuated by Eddie’s voice. Unable to control himself, Eddie whimpers at every soft suckle. When she takes him down to the base and the head of his cock scrapes the back of her throat, Eddie keens as if the air has been punched from his lungs. 

Eddie can feel his thighs trembling, pleasure sparking along his nerves. Up his spine, and neck; his head practically fuzzy with pleasure. A few times his hips jerk involuntarily, shoving his dick deeper into Marnie’s perfect mouth. 

Apologies sit at the precipice of his tied up tongue, afraid that fucking into her throat like that would make her angry. So when her eyes flick up and she whimpers pleadingly at him as if… fuck, if Eddie didn’t know any better, he might think she liked him rutting his cock into her mouth as if he really was fucking it. 

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands, as they clench and unclench at his sides uselessly. He's just trembling and breathing shakily through his nose. But he knows at least that he can't stop looking at her. His eyes drink her in greedily, and if he could burn the sight of her cheeks stretched full around his cock into his mind forever, he would. 

What finally undoes Eddie are her eyes. At the height of his breathless panting for air, her eyes flick up and bore heatedly into his. They hold such unfathomable thoughts behind them, and Eddie finds it both maddening and exhilarating that he cannot begin to guess what she is thinking as he spills.

Her eyes felt like they were branding him, and though he did not know it then, they would forever leave a mark upon his heart.

She licks her lips after she swallows, which just makes Eddie groan from how overstimulated and over the edge she made him feel. There was the tiniest tinge of regret that it was all over now, but Eddie tried to not let that get to him. Instead he tries to affect an air of lazy nonchalance as he says, "I can't believe we just did... that." An almost note of disbelief colors his words as he looks the girl over. 

“Did you… like it?” Eddie asks breathlessly while he collects himself enough to speak again. He feels a bit silly for even asking, but he needs to know. 

"The question is, Munson, did you like it? This isn't about me, my hookups with you silly boys are never about how I feel. I provide a service and I get something in return. Nothing more, nothing less."

The girl is plucking at the almost burned away remnants of the joint they were sharing and takes a drag of what little remains, releasing the smoke in Eddie's direction. She seems unaffected by her own words, but Eddie can see the small twinge of sadness at the edges of her eyes as she says it. 

“Well if it wasn’t obvious, I loved it. This was… this was amazing.” Eddie replies, honestly. Never in his wildest dreams had Eddie ever dared to think he would be in a moment like this. But seeing the hint of hurt from her own admission makes Eddie want to soften the ache. 

“But, it would be better if you liked it too. Why do you do this if it doesn’t make you feel good?” 

She smiles, it's small and reflective as if she is thinking a thought that she knows she has to hold back. It's in that moment that Eddie sees a hint of something behind her mask. She wanted people to think she was carefree and promiscuous.

"Look Munson, I did enjoy making you feel good. You're probably the... gentlest person I've been with. As long as you are satisfied with what I did for you then that's all that matters. Girls like me... we don't get to be cherished and adored. Treated like something precious... we just... exist for others' benefit." 

“That’s not fair,” Eddie says with a small bit of resentment. “You deserve as much appreciation and love as you give. It just… seems unfair that you get the short end of the stick.” 

"I never said anything about love Munson. Love has nothing to do with why I hook up like this with people like you. Love is the last thing any of you boys need to have with a girl like me " 

"Well, what's so wrong with love?" He asks, confused and curious about what exactly she means by that.

But... There is a small part of Eddie that understands what she's saying - even if he doesn't like hearing it. 

"Love isn't for someone like me, okay?" Her words have a bitter edge, "I'm the kind of person who is meant to be someone's dirty little secret. No one would proudly take me by the hand for the world to see. I'm the mistake that happens when you get too drunk, or miss your ex. I'm the filler in a space that just so happens to be free. Boys don't love girls who are like this. They just use them, and then cut them loose when they get bored of them." 

Her words leave a very bitter taste in Eddie’s mouth. He can’t help feeling slighted, even if Marnie had made it clear from the get go what this was. Her being so candid and assuming his intentions… stung. 

“Well… maybe you just haven’t met someone willing to care for you like that,” Eddie adds. He knows he is going into uncharted territory, and he hopes he won’t say anything too stupid or offensive to make her mad. 

She laughs a little, the sound sardonic and dry and... sad. Her fingers put out the last bits of the joint, before going to brush the mess of her hair out of her face. "Don't you worry your pretty little head over me Munson. Just revel in the fact that you now officially know what it feels like to get a blowie in the back of your van." 

“Wow. You just… it never stops with you, huh?” Eddie replies sarcastically. “I guess I should count myself lucky.”

He sighs softly as he realizes that, although they had both enjoyed themselves, she seems adamant about not letting herself get emotionally connected to anyone. This was a mistake in her mind, and that’s all it’ll ever be.

 Eddie figures there are worse mistakes to make at least. 

"Thanks for the weed, and for being nice to me." Her raspy voice grows a little soft and fluffy at the end, and she looks away. "You're not at all like I expected you to be." 

"Really?" he asks, his usual playful smile returning. "Well, thank you for that. Coming from you, that means a lot."Eddie smiles warmly, a rush of endorphins  flooding him from the compliment. "What did you expect me to be like?" 

"Mean and scary. I know it's dumb... we both have pretty horrible reputations around school, don't we?" 

"Yeah, we do..."

Eddie sighs, smiling warmly at her again. "But sometimes... what we're told isn't always reality. You know, we're not as scary as people make us out to be." He shrugs. "If anything, I'm just a bit of a nerd who likes to headbang to metal, and you... you're actually pretty sweet on the inside." 

"You tell anyone I have a soft gooey inside Munson, and I'll tell everyone around school what you're like down there, and it won't be close to the truth at all." 

He blushes again, just at the reminder of what she had said earlier about his… endowment. "Fine. I can keep a secret." Eddie raises an eyebrow at her. "But would they believe you?" 

She smiles a wolfish, toothy smile at Eddie's response. "Touché," with that she straightens her clothes and reaches for the handle of Eddie's back door in his van.

"If you uh... ever want to request my services again, I might be inclined to say yes. You're pretty fun to hang out with Munson." 

"Maybe I will,"He replies, his face crinkling as he smiles at her. Eddie feels both a bit silly and very embarrassed. But also happy. Really, really happy.

He turns the handle for her, and lets her know the coast is clear. "I'm glad you um, hit me up for a deal. That was... unexpected, but very nice." 

She hops out of the back of the van like she hadn't just been in there doing very eyebrow raising things with Hawkins High's biggest Freak. It warms Eddie's heart just a little when she winks and gives him a small smile over her shoulder before disappearing into the woods. 

With her back turned and fading steadily from view, Eddie makes a dramatic stabbing motion right into his heart and smiles. 

Yeah… without a doubt, he knew he had it bad. 

[expectodragons]

Bitter Water || Chapter 2

✦ Summary: Guided only by a thin paper trail and a promising job offer, Catherine Hart returns to the school of her youth. Taking on the mantle of Beasts professor, the young witch must find a balance between her lessons and her continued search of the Highlands. Especially when under the watchful eye of the Potion Master. ✦ Pairing: Aesop Sharp x Female MC ✦ Word Count: 13,500 ✦ Rating: Mature, 18+ only - minors do not interact. ✦ Tags / Warnings: Age difference, alcohol consumption, colleagues-to friends-to-lovers, dual POV, mentions of past character death, slow burn. ✦ Story Playlist: Listen here ✦ Read on: AO3 || Tumblr (continue below)

Her contorted reflection in the large ornate hourglass does nothing to bolster her confidence.

Over an hour had been spent sorting through her limited wardrobe in search of the right outfit for that evening. If she recalled correctly, Professor Howin had chosen to wear her usual teaching ensemble at the Welcoming Feast each year. Nearly every professor did.

But she had spotted Matilda in Hogsmeade the other day – trying on beautifully-made hats. And Mirabel had opted to get her hair done at Madam Snelling’s that morning. And she was fairly confident that Roland had received his order of new robes from Gladrag’s yesterday, as he had been raving about the fit of them during her lunch in the staff room.

And all of it culminated in her standing helplessly before the mirror in her chambers, hanging dresses and different outfits over her person until she felt like forgoing the Feast entirely. The dress code for the evening had never been mentioned in Sharp’s words of wisdom and she regretfully wished she had thought to ask.

With the tolling of the chimes in the distant Bell Tower, Catherine finally pushes her nerves deep down into the bottom of her stomach – digging for the infamous Gryffindor bravery she was supposed to have at her disposal at all times.

She’s so engrossed in the moment, that she fails to hear the small footfalls approaching from the Grand Staircase behind her.

“I trust you have no intention of pulling a Sterling your first month in.”

Catherine whips her head around and comes face-to-face with the ever-elusive Alchemy professor, Miss Ranira Whitherford.

Her icy eyes stare up at the new hire with an air of time-earned mischievousness. The white waves of her hair are as unkempt as always, nearly swallowing up her lithe form like the shag of a Demiguise. She was one of the oldest members of staff though she certainly was a lively sort. Catherine found similarities between her and the classical muggle interpretation of a cackling witch.

She glances at the House hourglasses and realizes her meaning with a jolt of amusement.

“No, no,” she eases, pressing her palms down her olive-colored trousers. “Just trying to prepare myself, I suppose. I’ve never been on this end of the Feast before.”

“Hmm,” the older witch hums, her gaze absolutely unnerving. “It’s going to be the longest hour of your life followed by several glasses of sherry that will hopefully make you forget it all.”

She loops her bony arm through Catherine’s – their height difference requires the younger witch to stoop slightly to the side to accommodate her.

“At least that fool of a Headmaster isn’t around to drag us through one of his gloating speeches this year.”

The doors to the Hall are wide open when they approach and they’re met with the most glorious of sights.

Thousands of floating wax candles hover above the long wooden tables, like glowing fairies lazily looping through the air, shrouding the hall in a welcoming golden glow. The place settings are all laid out and prepared for the dinner yet to come. At the end of the room, under the cool glimmer of the towering stained-glass windows, their colleagues speak amongst themselves.

Ronen’s laugh stretches across the hall like an enveloping hug and Catherine feels all her previous anxieties begin to melt away.

Their pace is slow, but they eventually make it to the staff table. Ranira clutches her arm with her long fingers as she eases herself up the small step to the raised platform. Catherine can’t help but wonder how this poor woman manages to make it all the way around the castle on a daily basis.

She spots the gold-encrusted crystal goblets already laid out in front of particular seats. There’s a large congregation on the right-hand side of the table and she feels the pull of the older witch’s hand as she’s led in the opposite direction.

“We Gryffindors need to stick together, you know.”

Ah, yes. The three lion-hearted members of staff were truly outnumbered this year.

And while she had never taken Alchemy during her time at the school, the tales of Whitherford’s bravery were well-known throughout the common room. One of the largest rumors had been the tale of Ranira taking down a colony of trolls when she was a third year with only a pair of Chinese Chomping Cabbages on hand.

With a longing glance across the room towards Mirabel and Chiyo, she finds herself settling into the second to last chair on the far side of the hall, directly in front of the Slytherin table. Was that an intentional move on Ranira’s part, she wonders. Her gaze shifts to the older professor whose head is just barely able to look out over the table’s edge due to her stature.

The last of her colleagues finally make their appearance. Matilda, who’s wearing a black pointed hat with crimson plumes and gold embellishments, walks arm-in-arm with the Headmaster who looks the role this evening in his long dark robes and slicked-back hair. More of a figurehead than Black had ever been anyway.

She watches as the pair makes the rounds, with the Deputy Headmistress sending her a quick wink and a warm smile.

When Mr. Moon positions himself near the open doorway, she knows the time is almost upon them. Her stomach tumbles like it did on her first Hippogriff flight – both with climbing nerves and creeping excitement. She rubs her palms together in her lap, desperate to control the feeling before the students arrive.

“Hmm.”

Catherine’s eyes fall on the imposing man towering over her left shoulder.

“That was Bai’s usual spot, you know,” Sharp states smoothly as he eases into the neighboring seat with only a slight grimace. “Rather fitting, I believe.”

“An interesting coincidence to be sure,” she smiles politely.

Again, her attention had rarely been on the professors when she was seated with her friends in the Great Hall. But she supposes she can recall the image of Howin chatting with both Sharp and Shah near this side of the room. She’d only ever glanced this way to keep an eye on things between Ominis and Sebastian, to be fair.

With the distant chatter of students making their way towards them, Sharp sighs and leans his head towards her, conspiratorially.

“To one of the longest nights of the year,” he raises his goblet and she quickly does the same as he clinks them together.

The wine eases her nerves and warms her belly as she takes a long drink. Sharp takes the liberty to down his own glass before adding a pungent-smelling liquor from a silver flask only a moment later. His eyes are playful in a way she has never seen before as she’s privy to the secretive act before he stuffs the flask back into his emerald-colored coat.

It seemed that the sentiment of how dragging the ceremony could be was held by those who had to suffer through several sortings throughout the years. But Catherine is absolutely enthralled by the experience. To look out at the sea of faces and see that familiar expression as they approach the hat stool.

From Avery, Caelum to Young, Nancy, she watches with rapt attention.

Had she looked so nervous? She could barely recall the event after the dragon attack. But she had to assume that dumbstruck appearance was a mutually shared occurrence amongst new students.

Aragon keeps the welcoming speech short and to the point, but with this magical air of wonder woven throughout. He even gives Catherine a rather lengthy introduction – one that makes her beam with pride. She bows her head towards the students as her fellow colleagues clap their praises.

The whole affair was certainly a day-and-night difference between him and his predecessor. And it’s all that more apparent in the older students who clap and cheer with record enthusiasm before the feast even begins.

With a wave of his hand, platters topped with delicious food appear on the tables. Glistening lamb chops, heaping bowls of garlic potatoes and honey-glazed carrots, boats of gravy, and platters of steak and steaming roast chicken entice the senses. Her goblet, which had been nearly drained dry, was now full once more with rich wine.

She’s captured by Professor Whitherford as soon as she passes along the bowl of peas. The older witch begins to animatedly explain the many properties of alchemic studies, which were – admittedly – sort of fascinating. And she almost regretted never taking on the course when she was a student. Her tales of traveling are able to fit in here and there and the atmosphere is surprisingly comfortable.

“It’s a science in every way you’d expect, but also a very subtle art. Many have tried to capture the essences that would prolong life or make them immune to all disease. Fools, if you ask me.”

“You know, I rescued a Phoenix a few years back from a man who was determined to believe that consuming the heart of the creature was the secret to a long life.”

“Hmph, what a ridiculous notion. You’d be no better off rubbing dittany into your skin than you would stealing from a sacred bird.”

“Exactly!”

Every now and then, as they pass along heaping dishes and glass pitchers, she catches bits and pieces of Sharp’s conversation with Eunice Moore, who sat on his left side. Apparently, Potions and Arithmancy went along hand-in-hand in many regards.

But when her seatmate seems to be content to mash her vegetables into an unsavory-looking mush and Professor Moore takes up conversing with Satyavati on her left, Catherine finally feels a momentary peace fall upon her. Lost in the pleasant chatter of the students.

The Great Hall is filled with the joyous sounds of friends reuniting and new students taking in the magical wonder that was their new school. Her eyes scan the crowd and she finds herself wondering which of the students would be attending her classes. She knows the names, of course, as Matilda had sent her the list some two weeks back. But she can almost sense who those interested parties might be.

It’s certainly not the stern-looking blonde-haired prefect at the table in front of her. Nor the two burly boys at the end of the table who seem eager to push one another’s face into the bowl of mashed potatoes.

She’s looking for that wide-eyed expression, that gentle smile. She’s looking for the next Poppy Sweeting, is what she quickly realizes with a tittering laugh.

“More wine, Hart?” Comes the rumbling drawl of the Potion Master beside her.

“No, thank you. I was just thinking of what my first class will entail. I’m hoping to find Poppy’s prodigy, I believe.”

He hums in response, gazing out across the sea of smiling young faces.

“And how is Miss Sweeting these days?” He catches her eye for a moment, “I assume the two of you remained in correspondence.”

“We did. We do,” Catherine nods, placing her knife and fork on her nearly-cleared plate. “She’s planning to open up the third Sweeting Sanctuary in Wales. Apparently, she’s hoping to keep more of the, uhm, unsavory creatures there.”

Sharp raises a singular brow as he takes a drink from his goblet. Firewhiskey lingers on his breath like a salve.

“Would it be wrong to assume that the location had something to do with a particular dragon breed found in that very area?”

She glances at him out of her peripheral, a secretive smile on her face as she answers brusquely, “I simply have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Mhmm. Remind me to steer clear of Wales for the perceivable future then.”

Catherine can’t help but laugh, hiding behind her hand as she takes in the now-growing smirk upon the Potion Master’s lips.

Once the dessert plates have been nearly cleared of their delicious contents, and her own trousers feel tighter than when she had sat down, the prefects and Head Boy and Girl usher the students out of the hall. Tonight, there would be no patrol as it was commonly understood that the excitement and pure exhaustion of the train ride and following Feast tended to render the students incapable of finding the energy to sneak out of their dormitories.

Saturday evening she would find herself roaming the halls of the Bell Tower. But, for tonight, she could retire to her chambers and prepare for the first day of classes. That was if she could find it in herself to stand up and make the long trek to the other side of the castle. It did seem like a rather arduous journey now that her appetite had been sated and her belly warmed by wine.

Headmaster Aragon, surprisingly enough, comes around to offer his arm to Ranira – assisting her in returning to her rooms.

“Rest well, Hart,” he bows his head congenially as they make their way across the hall.

A few others bid goodnight before making their way out as well.

“Surely someone of your age and disposition is capable of removing oneself from their chair.”

She lulls her head back, blinking tiredly at Sharp who is standing above her – a hand grasping the back of her seat.

“I don’t know, that last eclair may have doomed me, I’m afraid.”

A teasing chuckle passes his lips. He glances over at the others near the head of the podium, before his charcoal-toned eyes land on her once again.

And then an open hand is presented to her.

Her brows fly up in surprise, but she gratefully accepts the hand and manages to lift herself from her chair at last. Sharp’s palm is warm in her grasp, his fingers calloused. He waits until she is clear of her seat before he drops his hand back to his side.

While an unspoken arrangement, they walk side-by-side past the Slytherin table to the open doorway of the Entrance Hall. They were some of the few members of staff who did not have their quarters on this side of the castle. Though it seemed that Kogawa had already made her way along for the evening and Mr. Moon would certainly be remaining about to keep watch for the next hour or so.

His limp makes the pace slower, though Catherine certainly doesn’t mind. The sensation of the night air is a cooling balm after experiencing the sweltering heat of the Great Hall. The evening clouds have parted, giving way to the gorgeous blanket of stars looming high above them – twinkling celestial orbs settled in a sea of midnight blue.

Sharp clears his throat, glancing up at the sky for a brief moment as they make their way across the stone courtyard, “And what are your thoughts now that you’ve experienced a full ceremony?”

The memory makes her lips curve into a gentle smile.

“Less egregious than my sorting, certainly.”

That makes her companion chortle.

Perhaps it’s the wine in her system, or the sight of the approaching steps down to the Viaduct, or that good old Gryffindor courage urging her onward that has Catherine loop her arm through Sharp’s – resting her right hand upon his upper arm, her fingers tightening against the fabric of his overcoat.

He seems to stiffen at the touch but ultimately doesn’t pull away, merely glances down at her over the bridge of his nose.

“Though it was rather lengthy,” she continues. “I suppose I could see why the rest of you lot find it so tiring after all these years.”

The flaming pillars crackle and pop as they pass, bending to the light breeze rolling across the valley. She almost wishes she had the foresight to bring her cloak along with her for the night.

“There’s a certain… charm to the whole affair. Even I refuse to deny that. It was far more tolerable with Aragon at the podium.”

She nods in quick agreement, “I’ve never seen a speech so well received before.”

As they approach the entryway of Central Hall, they drop their hands from their comfortable walking position to press the heavy door open.

Sharp immediately extends his elbow once they’re inside and she happily takes hold of it as they face the impending stone staircases. One look at him and she can see the dread written clear upon his typically-schooled features.

“If you desire to continue on alone, I would understand. You have no reason to be impeded by my pace.”

Catherine raises a single fair-colored brow.

“And pass on the opportunity to hear more words of wisdom? Surely you know me better than that, Professor.”

He graces her with a thin smile that makes her heart clench.

They move to the right-hand side of the stairs, which allows Sharp to hold onto the banister as they begin the long journey down to the tapestry corridor. She keeps her grip loose, refusing to add any weight to his body.

She finds her attention drawn to his face, to the jagged scar that had captivated the interest of many gossiping tales during her time as a student. The familiar aroma of dittany clings to his clothes, though the overlaying scent of Firewhiskey only seems to be the result of this evening’s festivities.

Sharp sniffs lightly as they make it to the first landing.

“What particular jewels of wisdom were you hoping to pull from me, Hart?”

“Oh,” she drones playfully as her fingers dance upon his elbow. “Let’s hear how the great Professor Sharp successfully manages to capture the attention of his students.”

His dark eyes dart down to meet her open gaze.

“Surely that’s an area in which you will not be lacking. From the sounds of your creature rotation, even the most reluctant learner would be attentive for one of your lectures.”

Her cheeks flush and she ducks her head down, holding back her smile.

“Maybe I’d like to hear it from you anyway,” she rebounds.

He gives a curt nod, “Right. Well, if you must know – your presence can be the instant difference between a captive class and an unruly brood. Be firm, direct, and command the room – or enclosure, in your case.”

“What I’m hearing is be a hard-ass.”

Sharp pauses on the step, eyes narrowed and posture rigid as he takes in her glinting blue eyes.

“If that’s what you choose to hear, Hart.”

“Oh, come now, Sharp. You know I only meant to tease!”

She leans her crown against his arm for a brief moment as they pass the portrait of the strumming lutist. He bows his head toward them as they continue down the stairs, their pace slowed even further.

Feeling sheepish, Catherine adds, “In truth, your advice has quelled many nerves I’ve had over the past week.”

He gives a short nod, his teeth gritting together with suppressed pain, “You would be wise to seek candor with our colleagues. Their years of experience hold sage wisdom.”

They come to an abrupt stop, Catherine pulls her hand from his hold. Her eyes drop to his leg then to the white-knuckled grip Sharp has on the banister.

Before she can stop herself, the question comes tumbling out, “Does it hurt terribly?”

Sharp bows his head, his left hand coming to rest on his knee as he futility attempts to massage it.

“The pain –“ he grits out, “Is nearly equal to the day it occurred, if you must know.”

Catherine nods, unsure of what to say. He would not have her pitying him, that she knows all too well. Sharp was a prideful man and any mention of his injury or the endless attempts at a cure were not typically a welcomed topic of conversation – even amongst his closest friends.

Then, a thought crosses her mind, as they stand in the middle of the stone staircase, shrouded in the dim candlelit lights of Central Hall. It was a risk, but he looked reluctant to move even a step further.

“Accio Aesop Sharp’s cane,” she murmurs over her shoulder, refusing to meet his eye.

It takes a moment, but the ringing swoosh of something traveling through the air fills the silence of the stairwell. The cane lands in her outstretched hand and her fingers wrap around the dark wood.

He huffs when she silently offers it to him, his gaze remaining on the opposite wall as he snatches it from her, his hand clutching the silver top. He rests against it, his weight shifting until he gives a grunt and beings to move once again.

She gives him a bit of a berth as they continue down the stairs, their candid conversation lost by the aforementioned action. The Potion Master leans heavily upon it, the pitched clicks echo through the hall. It almost makes her regret the decision, even as it brings him a crumb of comfort.

The journey down through the Potions corridor and the spiral staircase is a silent affair. Once they reach the ajar door to Sharp’s chambers, however, they both come to a slow stop.

He sighs, whether from the exhaustion of the journey or from the discomfort of the past two minutes, she’s unsure. With what seems like gathered courage, he lifts his head and meets her eyes with an even stare.

“I wish you luck with your lessons tomorrow, Hart.”

She bows her head – only for a moment – before she manages to conjure up a small smile.

“Thank you. I hope you’re relieved of any true tomfoolery in your own classes.”

She almost tells him that she enjoyed his company this evening, but holds her tongue. Perhaps his politeness was a necessity, even if he was annoyed by the situation. They were expected to work alongside each other after all.

“Good night, Sharp,” she settles on instead.

He inclines his head toward her, “Have a pleasant evening, Hart.”

The sound of his door closing doesn’t occur until she’s unlocking her own chamber’s entryway. Catherine glances back down the hall, but Sharp has already disappeared for the night.

Rightfully so, she thinks. He couldn’t have been comfortable having her see him in such a state. If their roles had been reversed, she’s not sure if her own pride could handle the thought of someone else seeing her in that way.

Her mind brews with those very thoughts as she undresses down to her shift and settles upon the stool of her plain boudoir vanity. Every action plays out in her mind as she plucks the hairpins from her chignon, loosening the strands of her braid.

The evening had started out so pleasant, the conversation natural and welcoming. But now she felt as though she had already made a grave error with her handling of the situation with Sharp.

She tugs her comb through her hair, watching the frown on her face grow deeper and deeper in the mirror.

Maybe she should apologize and put an end to it before it had a chance to fester. The man had a right to be annoyed. At any point, he could have made the decision to use his cane but she had taken that choice from him – as if she knew better.

But he hadn’t seemed entirely cross with her either. He had wished her luck with her classes and did so while looking upon her face after all. Maybe what she perceived as a wrongdoing was only a minor nuisance in his eyes.

“This is doing me no favors,” she groans at her own reflection, rubbing her palms across her cheeks.

Worrying herself into a tizzy would only lead to poor sleep and a worse disposition for her morning class.

Forcing the thoughts into the recesses of her mind, for the evening at least, she wandlessly dims the lights as she pads across the room to her bed. Slipping under the warm covers, she stares, unseeing, up at the ceiling for several long minutes before sleep reluctantly overtakes her.

Breakfast was a solitary affair. A warm crumpet was snatched from the serving tray in her room with a hastily applied gob of jam smacked between the pieces as she hurried for the paddocks.

She had decided before the school year even began, that she would rarely take her morning meal in the Great Hall with the rest of the populace. A house elf would bring her a varied selection each day instead.

There was simply far too much to do regarding her creatures, not to mention preparing the daily lesson plans.

For the first week, she would be solely responsible for the beasts as they discussed proper protocols, safety measures, and correct handling per year level. Next week, her students could expect to handle the rather menial tasks that were necessary for the care of beasts. The following week would find them properly interacting with the creatures.

Licking up the last of the buttery crumbs from her fingers, Catherine makes her way across the grounds. The cool morning air whips against her cheeks and she has half the mind to cast a warming charm as her boots trek through the dew-covered grass and clover.

When she comes to the outdoor classroom, she taps her wand against the edge of the wards, allowing the more elaborate containment spells to dissipate with airy blue wisps of shimmering light. There was no question regarding the safety of these creatures, it would take an ancient magic user to even attempt to dismantle her work.

But that was more for her to know and less for anyone else to find out.

“Morning, lovelies!” She calls out as several bags of feed float out from the storage shed, working like clockwork as they portion out the correct amounts for her more docile beasts.

She personally feeds the Hippogriffs and Griffin – they would have to wait for their flying time after the last period of the day, unfortunately.

The Dugbogs receive extra attention this morning with some water-based enrichment in the form of bobbing deer carcasses. She lays out a series of glass-blown flowers for the Fairies to further admire themselves in. And, at last, after surveying the other creatures’ habitats and general disposition, she pulls up a stool near the covered pavilion of the classroom and unsheathes her pocket knife from her side harness.

Three cabbages float over to the tabletop where she sets to work, slicing off chucks and pieces for the Flobberworms.

She had no doubt the third years were going to absolutely loathe her during the first month. The likely conversations were already playing out in her mind. They would have more exciting creatures to look forward to, but the worms would be their stepping stone – whether they found them enthralling or not.

As the sun rises higher in the sky, the tower bells begin to toll the hour. The students would be arriving for their first classes soon. She doesn’t look up from her cuttings.

“Oh!”

“Hey, what are you – what?”

“Professor!”

Catherine hides a snort, speaking over her shoulder as three students stand just out of reach of the pavilion.

“Class starts promptly at 8:15, ladies.”

“But, professor, we can’t – “

She begins whistling, a jaunty sailing tune that her old traveling friends had taught her.

Nigel was an explorer she had encountered in South Australia at the beginning of 1899. His father, a muggle man, had been a naval officer and apparently, the song was a common tune around the docks. She could barely recall the words now, after four years, but the melody was still seared into her mind.

With the last of the cabbages sliced, she re-sheathes the knife, checks the time on her gold-chained pocket watch, and pushes the stool back to its proper place. Dusting her hands off on her apron, she finally eyes the large gathering of students who all seem to be rather concerned with the arrangement. One Gryffindor lad presses hard against the invisible ward and is immediately sent bounding backward on his bum.

Catherine stands in front of them, holding her hands up to gain their attention and silence.

“My name is Professor Hart, welcome to Beasts class. As you’ve all discerned, this classroom is warded. This is both for your safety and the creatures held within. These wards will remain in place before, during, and after lessons. If you thought you’d be sneaking out here to mess about with the Puffeskeins or perhaps take a joy ride on a Hippogriff, you will be sadly mistaken.”

There are at least three boys who immediately look disappointed, as though she had decidedly ruined their plans before they could even come to fruition. She makes a mental note to keep a rather close eye on them during the following weeks.

She points her wand at the invisible shielding and wordlessly drops the repulsion ward that had kept the students at bay. As they file into the outdoor classroom, wide-eyed and even a little disgruntled, she continues on.

“In contrast to your previous lessons, you may find my style is slightly different than Professor Howin’s. Though I was a student of hers if you must know. I have been in this field for well over a decade now,” she comes to a stop in front of the blank blackboard.

“I worked for the Ministry for a time in the Magical Creatures division. I have traveled to five of the seven continents to aid in the search, capture, and – at times – rehabilitation of creatures. If you worried over my scope of experience, hopefully, this will sate your curiosity for the time being.”

She fixes the class with a look, already spotting the truly interested students from the rest who were merely there for a credit towards graduation.

“So… if you’ll kindly find a spot – two to a table, please – we can review the expectations of this class.”

The first lesson is particularly uneventful, though she spends a disturbing amount of time delegating the back-and-forth of four students near the back of the pavilion – two Gryffindor girls and two Slytherin boys.

Where have I seen this before, she wonders with a sense of irony.

Many seem entirely unenthused about the given assignment – a scroll of parchment outlaying the proper protocols of the class. But quite a few of them perk up when she lays out the planned creatures for their year.

“You can expect to encounter Fairies, Fire crabs, and Nifflers as the months carry on. We will go into further detail as we approach each new unit of study. We’ll have a rhythm of studying them prior to any interactions, caring for their environment, and eventually caring for the creature itself. Expect to find yourself rotating positions involving feeding, cleaning, and grooming.”

Catherine drums her fingers along the tabletop for a moment, before adding.

“If you have any interest in continuing your studies in this field past the boundaries of your fourth year, you will eventually encounter higher levels of classified beasts. Your sixth and seventh-year contemporaries will have the pleasure of studying several Level Four beasts this year.”

That seems to spark a few students’ attention, eyes curiously wandering over to the paddocks with keen interest.

Her second class comes along just twenty minutes later. She parts the warding for the third years and watches their amazed expressions with delight. The Ravenclaw / Slytherin combo is a far calmer grouping than her first class.

With a similar homework assignment handed out, she waits until the last student heads down the hill to the castle before she places the wards once again. The Hippogriffs are already feening for their lunch and the Diricawls are in desperate need of some attention.

She spends her free period attending to the flightless birds. The youngest chicks downy feathers were finally shed and they were looking a little less awkward in their movements now. Though they had a nasty habit of apparating and reappearing in the most unusual of locations – namely her right pocket.

When she’s sure that everyone is settled for the time being, she heads back to the castle. Lunch would be served soon and she was hoping to avoid the crowd of students that would likely be vying for a meal.

The courtyard is lush with summer growth and the sun is mercifully bestowing them all with her warmth. Ahead of her, just down the small rocky hill, a cluster of short-statured students make their way back toward the castle. Kogawa is shaking her head near the broom rack. Ah, flying lessons.

“Anything interesting happen?” she asks as she approaches. “Judging by the look on your face…”

Chiyo gives a tired smile, “I find the younger generations are more fool-hardy than even you and Mr. Clopton were some ten years ago.”

Catherine tilts her head, eyes blinking owlishly, “Was that supposed to be a compliment or an insult?”

The older witch shrugs, giving a wicked grin, “I’ll leave that for your interpretation. But, there were no injuries to report today, so I consider it a decent lesson.”

Once the brooms are sent off to the shed and are properly locked away, together the two of them begin the trek back to the castle. Chiyo is eager to see who the Ravenclaw team deems fit to fill the role of Captain this year, as apparently, they had a rather successful winning streak under the leadership of Alexandria Pierce over the last three years.

“I received her owl last week – two tickets to her next match against the Appleby Arrows!”

Catherine raises her brows in surprise, “Straight out of school and she has a permanent spot with the Harpies? That must be some impressive flying.”

The flying instructor nods, almost remorseful.

“I fear her House will suffer for it. But I think her absence might allow Spinnet to take home the trophy this year – Gryffindor’s Captain.”

It’s all too easy to slip into the familiar topic of conversation as they make their way through Central Hall.

Headmaster Black had been pushed to bring back Quidditch in her seventh year. Apparently, a rather respected member of the Wizengamot, someone who had quite the connections, had a son who was determined to become the next big name in the sport. If Black didn’t allow him to play, well, that would have been a rather unfortunate thing for his standing, wouldn’t it?

So, with the constant insistence and pestering of both Natty and Imelda, Catherine had tried out for her house team. With her flying skills, she was nearly forced to take on the position of seeker. Though she had never seen, let alone played the game prior to tryouts, she took to it like a Kelpie to water. And while they hadn’t won the Cup that year, her time on the team held some of her fondest memories.

When they enter the Great Hall, she’s pleasantly surprised to see a few professors already sitting around the staff table. None of the core class instructors, she notes, as she takes a seat beside Mudiwa Onai. Kogawa forgoes her usual spot and falls into a chair beside Cecil Waterford instead.

“You’ll want to separate Mister Vance and Miss Clark,” the seer announces in lieu of a normal greeting.

Catherine eyes her colleague with a knowing smile, “Young love?”

“The stars do not lie,” Onai replies loftily. She pauses for a moment, plucking a grape from her plate, before adding, “But they were also found entangled in the Charms stairwell this morning.”

She lets out a startled laugh, “Well, that will certainly do it!”

Mudiwa seems to agree, a bright smile on her face as she stirs her amber-colored tea. Catherine takes her time, picking and choosing from the spread of bread, cheeses, and fruit in front of her.

“Speaking of love, how are the two lovebirds?”

The older witch smiles fondly at the mention of her daughter and her fiancé.

“That girl is trying to drive me mad. She’ll have her wedding in late February, whether she believes me or not.”

Catherine smirks knowingly, “Not even the thought of her own wedding can pull her away from the office, can it?”

“There are too many cases to leave for my colleagues, Mother,” Mudiwa imitates in a high-pitched voice. “Henri would wait for the stars to flip position and fall from the sky if it meant he could make her happy. There is no convincing her, yet.”

“Well, I’ll be awaiting the invitation. You said February, yes?”

Slowly, the silence of the hall gives way to the chatter of students and staff.

Catherine watches, with feigned disinterest, as Sharp makes his way into the Hall. He sits down in his usual spot some ways down from her and Mudiwa. She’s curious about where her standing is with him after the events of last night. Refusing to let her mind wander into her anxieties, she takes a bite of her apple and carries her attention back to Mudiwa.

She doesn’t care for the look that she finds in the older woman’s eyes.

“Hmmm,” she merely hums as she studies the younger witch.

“Save it for your students,” she grumbles in warning. The fruit suddenly tastes bitter in her mouth.

“Ah, How interesting. So it shall be.”

Catherine sighs, snatching up the rest of her apple, “And that’s my cue. Charming as always, Mudiwa.”

“A delight to be sure, Cathy.”

There was no ill will between the two women, and she was fairly certain that the Divination professor would agree with her on that.

It was a not-so-well-known fact that Catherine did not take kindly to anyone trying to look into her future, her supposed fate, or her personal thoughts. Mudiwa couldn’t help it, it was like a sixth sense for her and it just came naturally to announce such things.

But for the girl who had been set on a purportedly fated path at the age of fifteen, Catherine preferred not to know what the universe apparently held for her. It worked better that way.

She feels the eyes of several individuals on her back as she makes a hasty retreat from the hall, but she was all too accustomed to stares. Ever since her fifth year.

Luckily the distraction of her fourth-period class keeps the lunch encounter far from her mind. Her third-years are more timid than any other group that morning, though the routine is fairly similar. And with each class, it seemed that her confidence grew.

Catherine knew creatures. She was well-versed in the subject, you might say. But this was a step away from her typical profession and she was surprised to find herself fitting into the role so quickly. She had some buried concerns when she agreed to take over the role for Howin. But there were no nerves to be found by the end of the last lesson.

In fact, her group of third-year Hufflepuffs had managed to get her talking about a handful of her expeditions on the continent as they packed up their things for the day. Mister Kettleburn was particularly interested in the stories of her time in the Scandinavian countries – so interested in fact, that he found himself running late for his Transfiguration class.

Wednesday was one of her lighter days in regard to teaching periods. So, much like Kogawa, she found herself wrapping up for the day just after two in the afternoon. With the enclosures secured, Catherine drops the wards for her Hippogriffs – who take off, stampeding down the hill in record time. The Griffin takes his time, again, and she waits for him to pass the boundary before she reseals the warding with her hands.

Taking to the skies alongside them, she gives an enthusiastic wave to Kogawa who crows at her in delight.

With the sun beating down upon her back, she circles the pitch – rounding up Napoleon once again – before the young buck takes off after the herd. Together, the seven of them surpass the castle gates, soaring low across the valley.

Ahead, the dark forest looms. To her right, the magnificence of the castle beckons her back. With a determined grip on the handle and a breathless shout of pure euphoria, she leans forward – kicking up speed. The wind nips at her neck, as she grips tight and rolls the broom, following after her creatures across the treetops of the Forbidden Forest.

The winged beasts seem to be aware of her routine now, as the rounding-up process is a far quicker affair this afternoon. By the time they approach the courtyard, many students are already out and about. Several amazed gasps follow the herd as she ushers them back to the paddocks.

Six eager fifth years are there at the classroom, awaiting their return and she ends up spending the next half hour discussing several interesting facts about the herd nature of Hippogriffs and their differences to the noble Griffin.

After sealing the wards around the area once again – with the promise that she would return for their nightly dinner in just a few short hours – she heads down the hill to the courtyard with a small entourage trailing after her. She carries her broom along her shoulders, her arms lazily hanging over the handle as she answers question after question.

“It’s a custom Night Dancer from Spintwitches, Mr. Abbott. I’m not certain that they’re still in production.”

“No, I can not let you take a ride on the Griffin, Miss Bones. I would be removed from the school faster than you can say ‘Streeler.’”

“Yes, I was Gryffindor’s seeker from 1892 to 1893. No, I did not play professionally after graduation, though I’m happy to hear your Aunt is enjoying her experience with Puddlemere United, Mr. Haas.”

“Yes, that means I’m twenty-eight, Miss Mason. Though the nature of my private relations is no concern of yours.”

“If you attend your Friday lessons, I’m sure we can answer some of your questions as a group, Mr. Dole. But for you now, you’ll have to excuse me.”

With the patience of a saint, she’s finally able to disentangle herself from the small hoard of interested students. Disappearing down the steps of the Bell Tower to the tapestry hall. She unlocks her chambers with a contented sigh, placing her broom upon the stand by the door as she strips off her teaching clothes piece by piece.

The house elves would certainly have their work cut out for them with her nightly laundry. No amount of Scourgify could rectify those particular smells.

After washing her face and hands in the basin of water near the vanity, she pulls on a comfortable pair of tan trousers and a button-up blouse. She’s just tying her hair back when she hears the familiar peck-peck-peck on the window near the bed.

As the window is quite high up, she has to unlock it with her wand. The owl in question hops to the ledge before it flares its wings and soars down into the room. It lands on the iron perch near the fireplace, a plain white envelope in its beak.

“Hello, gorgeous,” she coos, curling her fingers to run alongside its plumage. “What’d we have here?”

The owl releases the letter, leaning down to the small water dish on the perch to quench its apparent thirst.

Catherine takes the envelope with her to the armchair in front of the fire. Neat green penmanship lists her name on the front, followed by a simple blue feather wax emblem on the back seal. Tucking her knees up onto the cushion of the seat, she leans back and tears the letter from its packaging.

Tiny glistening orange, purple and green fireworks erupt from the envelope, shooting sparks into the air before dissipating into glittery dust in her palm. A startled laugh falls from her lips as she rubs the remnants between her fingertips. At last, her eyes fall to the accompanying letter.

Dearest Catherine,

I apologize for missing yet another birthday of yours. Though I can already envision you dismissing my worries, please know I feel the guilt regardless of your wishes. I long to tell you where I found myself these past four months; the things I’ve seen. But alas, you know how this goes.

Instead, I find myself thinking of days of old more and more as of late – sentimentalist that I am and all.

I’m confident it’s a fruitless venture to wonder when you will return to my side of the globe. Where is it you find yourself now? The sun-lit valleys of Arizona? The vast tundra of Greenland? The dense jungles of Burma? Would it be easier to list the places you haven’t traveled to as opposed to the ones you have? Wherever you find yourself, I hope this letter finds you well.

As for myself, I can’t complain. You know the restrictions of the job structure keep my lips rather sealed in the matter. Though, you might be interested to know that Ominis will be traveling to France this winter. I believe there are tentative plans in the making to meet in Paris around Christmas.

You’ll probably be hearing from him soon enough with it. I know you correspond with him more often than not. Perhaps, if you ever find yourself in London, you would consider sending an owl. As this old friend would delight in seeing you once again.

Warmest regards, Sebastian

She folds the letter in thirds and holds it scrunched between her fingers as she stares into the depths of the flickering flames of her fireplace.

Saturday afternoon, Catherine finds herself sitting at her desk, grading papers from the first week of classes. Altogether, her older students – who were clearly taking the classes due to an actual interest in beasts – were rewarded with top marks almost across the board. Her younger students were going to need some extra assistance if they had any ambition of interacting with the creatures at all this year.

The essays she had assigned were finding themselves to be rather interesting read-throughs. She had posed the question to her fifth, sixth, and seventh years: why are you pursuing further instruction in regard to this class?

The fifth-year Powell twins had given nearly identical answers with the fact that their grandfather raised and bred Mooncalves, a catalyst for their interest in creatures. Mr. Bell had always been fascinated by dragons as a young lad and he hoped to study their connected ancestry in the future. Lysandra Yaxley was fascinated by the more exotic creatures who lived on the continent and was excited to learn more about the lesser-known beasts.

With the last paper marked, and her right hand feeling the cramping effects of clutching a quill for nearly three hours straight, Catherine decides to enjoy the rest of her day before patrol duty.

First, she heads up to the Owlery to mail three very late letters to Poppy, Natty, and Sebastian. It seemed, that in her busy period of settling into the classroom and preparing for classes, she had neglected to tell three of her closest friends that she was back in Scotland and had taken up a position at their previous school.

Ominis already knew, of course, because of the whole trade-off with the Griffin. But it had completely slipped her mind to inform anyone else in their group. She felt like a right prat for the lack of planning on her part. It wouldn’t surprise her to find a Howler being delivered within the next two days.

Trudging down the hill, with the idea of doing some early route planning in mind, she heads back to collect her broom. But before she can even reach the Bell Tower’s entrance, she hears her name being called out across the courtyard.

“Hart! Professor Hart!”

Catherine turns at the sound of Abraham’s voice.

Ahead of her, milling about near the fountain, she spots the majority of the faculty. She quickly jogs over to see what the trouble is.

“Good, good. Sterling was worried we had already missed you.”

Her brows raise in confusion.

“Missed me? For what?”

Mirabel loops her arm through Catherine’s, already setting off down the path towards the North Gate, “Our annual first week of term celebration!”

She tries to pull away, feeling put on the spot, “Oh, well, I uhm – I was actually going to –“

“Oh, you look just fine,” Roslin playfully bumps her arm with her elbow. “It’s just a round of drinks or two –“

“Or three, or four, or –“ Crestwell continues with a laugh.

Seeing no true exit for herself, Catherine gives a shake of her head and finally holds onto Mirabel’s arm as they head up the path to the village.

A drink or two couldn’t hurt, surely.

Abraham leads the troops forward. Only a few faces were missing from the party: Aragon and Matilda, of course. Ranira, Mudiwa, and Eunice Moore. Catherine takes a look over her shoulder and spots a smiling Sterling and Crestwell, but it seemed that Sharp had forgone his invitation to the celebration.

“– and if you would believe me, that boy managed to pass out before I even mentioned the word mandrake.”

“Aww, poor sod,” Chiyo laughs with no sense of empathy. “Now, was that the same Mr. Collins that I had to send up to Blainey yesterday? I don’t know what he did to make the broom knock him in the face repeatedly, but even I couldn’t get it off him.”

“Remedial lessons,” she adds with a smirk over her shoulder to Catherine.

“What about you, Hart?”

At this, she turns to look at Roland. The Defense professor is dressed in fine green robes this afternoon – bringing out the bright emerald of his eyes.

“What mishaps and hazards have your classes caused?”

Cecil Waterford pipes in beside him, “Any nasty burns or bites?”

She smiles, pulling away from Mirabel so she can fall back in line with the three men. Idly kicking a small stone from the path as she replies, “None to report yet, I’m afraid.”

The Defense professor tuts, “Just you wait, Hart. You’ll have your dues soon enough.”

Catherine gives a laugh, “I’d be surprised if I didn’t!”

The group heads down the road – trading stories of their first week of classes. It’s a welcomed feeling, to be surrounded by friendly faces and bright laughter. The moment reminds her of traveling along with Natty and Poppy on Hogsmeade weekends. The feeling today is just as strong, if not stronger.

When they make it to the Three Broomsticks at last, Abraham joyously calls out for a round of drinks toward Sirona before they all ascend the stairs up to the second floor. The balcony would give them the much-needed space they required. The tavern is already rather lively for the afternoon as patrons mill about and a small band strums a jaunty jig in the corner of the room.

The proper party begins once Sirona arrives with their order just minutes later.

“First week of term over then?” she asks with a grin.

“A time-honored tradition,” Satyavati says as she grabs a mug from the tray.

The others quickly clammer around to get a drink for themselves. But as Catherine moves to claim a mug of Butterbeer, however, a hand quickly pushes her away from the tray.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Cecil tuts with a playful gleam on his face.

Her eyes go wide as Chiyo wraps a rough arm around her shoulders, pulling her towards her.

“Another part of the time-honored tradition for all of our newest members of staff…”

Catherine’s eyes fall to the neatly placed shot glasses in the center of the tray. She looks up at Sirona who offers her a shrug and a knowing smirk. She picks up the crimson-colored drink.

“Is that so?”

Her fellow professors begin to softly chant a melody of shots, shots, shots and Hart, Hart, Hart – egging her on like a bunch of teenagers with their first bottle of Ogden’s Old.

“All part of the tradition,” Roland beams, lazily stretched out as he watches her from the chair by the balcony.

She brings the glass toward her lips – “Who am I to knock tradition?” – she asks before she takes it down in one quick gulp.

“Blah!” she immediately splutters as they cheer her on.

The second golden-colored drink goes down faster than the first. Followed by the bright blue shot. She raises the final glass filled with shimmering green liquid to her colleagues. She downs the bitter drink as fast as she can, holding up the emptied shot glass in triumph as Chiyo excitedly shakes her shoulders and Mirabel ruffles her hair.

She nearly trips over her own feet as the room takes a moment to purposefully spin to annoy her. The contents of her stomach slosh as she grips the table in front of her.

Sirona gives a delighted laugh as she takes the trays from them and heads down the stairs. Cecil quickly shouts out for her to keep the drinks coming.

“What a tradition,” she sighs, glancing over at the Herbology professor who’s currently patting her back. “You know I have patrol tonight.”

“We’ll get you fixed up before then. Anyway, you should try to enjoy yourself – we only get a few chances to do this every year and I imagine you’ll have quite the year ahead of you.”

She raises her brow, “Did Mudiwa tell you that?”

The redhead glances down at her with curious eyes, “No… Did she say something to you?”

Catherine quickly grabs hold of the last Butterbeer and takes a careful and deliberate sip.

“No, no. Just joking is all.”

Slowly, they pair off into comfortable groups. Mirabel pulls her into a conversation with Chiyo and Shah in the corner of the balcony. As the hour passes, more and more patrons fill the tavern and she all but has to shout to be heard by her colleagues.

With more bodies in the pub, the air seems to warm to an almost sweltering heat as she quickly rolls the sleeves of her blouse up to her elbows – fanning her face with her hand. By now, the sharp headache that had formed after the shots has seemed to dissipate to a dull ache. Though she feels less and less of it as she finishes off the mug of Butterbeer.

Only due to the rather insistent tapping at her left shoulder does she turn away from the conversation with the three women. Roland is beaming down at her, his cheeks flush and his smile wide.

“It seems our esteemed colleagues are running low on drink and you’re up to gather the next round with me.”

“Oh, am I?” she teases as she moves out of the chair.

He gives a nod as they move toward the stairs, “I’m afraid with us being the newcomers we get saddled with the rather arduous jobs for them.”

“Like fetching their drinks?”

“Precisely!” he smiles back at her.

When they reach the bottom step, the noise of the crowd swallows them up. The band is performing a very lively number and the push of bodies makes it all the more difficult to maneuver past as Roland leads the way to the bar.

Sirona is completely swamped with orders, even with a second barmaid there to assist her. She catches them and promises that their drinks will be only a minute longer.

“No rush!” Catherine smiles, sensing that their round of drinks would be a bit longer than she predicted for them.

They move out of the way of the other patrons, resting alongside the column near the bar top as the band strikes up another tune. A number of pipe players, a fiddler, and a seated man playing the bodhrán make the crowd swell with a joyous sound as dancers fill the limited space between the other pub-goers.

She watches with awe as they weave through each other, twirling and spinning with synchronicity. Stretching up onto the tips of her toes, she peers over the shoulder of an older wizard in front of her, just as the song comes to a finish. She joins in on clapping with the rest of the tavern as the band takes a pleased bow.

“Fancy yourself a dancer, Hart?”

Catherine looks over at Sterling and gives him a timid smile, “With music like that, it’s certainly hard not to be invested.”

As the band begins to play a second song, she glances over at her companion, then back out at the sea of happy dancers. With a split-second decision, she grasps his forearm and begins dragging him through the crowd.

“Let’s see how well your moves hold up then.”

Roland gives a rumbling laugh as he moves with little resistance, “Try not to step on my toes, will you?”

She moves to stand opposite him on the floor, “Keep off of mine and we’ll be golden.”

The tune starts off on the slower side. They extend their palms toward each other as they sway back and forth. They move their right foot outward then back in, followed by the left. An abrupt turn, and then they’re back facing one another. She glances at her fellow dancers, trying to follow along with the apparently well-known steps.

The tempo begins to pick up, their movements quickening. And then they’re weaving through the other dancers – she ends up opposite another woman and the two of them laugh with glee as they follow the same pattern as before.

With an abrupt change in the melody once again, they link arms and form a large circle – moving clockwise around the dance floor. Their fellow patrons begin clapping and hooting as the drummer bashes upon his drum.

The smile on her face only grows wider as they begin to weave through each other once again. She passes from partner to partner. Twirling in circles until the faces begin to blaze past her, her skirt billowing out like a bell as she moves. She laughs brightly when she ends up in Roland’s grasp for a brief moment. The wizard is smiling as he spins her around as her heart beats in her chest.

She feels free. Freer than she ever felt riding a broom.

Her ears pound with the music and the blood rushing through her as she breathlessly smiles, her steps only quickening further as she spins along with her new partner. The euphoria surges through her body as the room blurs into one big image as she’s spun around and around again, before the song comes to a sudden end – the crowd erupting into applause.

Catherine gives a polite, but breathless bow to the wizard she had finished the dance with before she pushes her way through the crowd – seeking out the familiar dusty blonde head amongst the other patrons.

She’s flushed from head-to-toe and her chest is heaving as her lungs ache to take in a proper breath. Roland looks slightly better off when she reaches him at the bar, though his own cheeks are a dusty rose – he smiles down at her. He says something to her then, but she can’t even make out the words as the pipes begin to play once again.

Running a quick hand through her hair, she realizes that it was a lost cause at this point as most of the strands had fallen from her usual braid. Pulling the ribbon free, Catherine lets her loose curls fall upon her shoulders.

She offers Sterling a bright smile as he tosses more coins down for Sirona, taking hold of the tray of refilled drinks. Their colleagues give a loud cheer of thanks when they reach the balcony, swarming to grab another mug for themselves.

“That was quite some dancing, Catherine. I find myself enviable of your partners,” Abraham jokes as he grabs a glass of Firewhiskey.

Mirabel meets her with a smile and an offered glass of water, which she gratefully accepts as her lungs are nearly bursting with invisible flames.

“You were truly something out there,” she smiles. “You blossomed like a day lily.”

Catherine snorts, “I’m not sure about that.”

She gazes across the balcony, taking in her fellow professors before her eyes land on a newcomer to the group. Just across from her stands Sharp, with a glass tucked between his fingers. His eyes are on the main floor below as the band swings through another song. She can’t help but wonder when he came in, how long he had been standing there for. Did he see her out there making a proper fool of herself?

Quickly pulling her gaze away, she sips at the cool drink and begs her heartbeat to return to normal.

As the evening drags on, a few professors take their leave. Starting with Crestwell and Shah, who would be patrolling the eastern side of the castle this evening. Roslin Kearney and Waterford head out not long after, hoping to catch dinner in the Great Hall. Her own stomach rumbles in longing as she recalls the meager lunch she had managed to take before she was pulled away.

“I trust you’ll be well-suited for this evening.”

She turns at the sensation of a looming presence upon her back. Her eyes glance up to see the Potion Master standing before her. Matilda had sorted her with Sharp for Saturday patrols this month – it was no wonder he was concerned about her current state.

“Nothing a bit of air won’t fix,” she says, a little lamely as she fans her flushed cheeks with her hand.

Sharp smirks, downing the contents of his drink before placing the empty glass on the table next to him.

“And perhaps a spot of food,” Catherine adds.

He raises a lone brow.

She flushes further, “I’m hoping to catch dinner before it gets any later.”

At that, he reaches into his waistcoat to retrieve a pocket watch. He frowns at the clock face and she feels her stomach drop in disappointment.

“Is it quite late?”

“Half past nine,” he says.

She shakes her head, perhaps she could call for a house elf before her shift began then.

“Shame. Well, shall I meet you in Central Hall then, or…?”

He pockets the watch and takes a cursory glance at the conversing patrons spread out across the balcony.

“I was intending to head back to the castle myself just now, actually.”

“Oh.”

They stand there for a breath of time before they both finally look away. Sharp heads over to bid his farewells to Abraham and Mirabel as Catherine goes to do the same with the others.

Together, they descend the stairs and make it out onto the street. The evening air is chilled, but it’s a welcome sensation after the sweltering stuffiness inside the tavern. Catherine takes a large stretch and a deep breath before they make their way down the street. Flickering lanterns line the way as they pass fellow late-night patrons and villagers.

There are no words spoken between them as they walk across the covered bridge, heading down the hilly road – the trickle of the river and the cawing of a distant bird filling the comfortable silence.

And then at last…

“So, how did your first week of classes fare?”

She glances over at the taller man, a small smile coming to the corner of her lips.

“Rather uneventful actually. But Sterling warned me that was likely to change in the coming weeks, so don’t worry.”

Sharp gives a rumbling chuckle.

“But what about you?” She asks, turning her head to properly look at the potions professor, “Surely you have a tale or two to tell from just yesterday alone.”

He gives a short nod, his gaze focused on the road before them. Catherine rolls down her sleeves as the breeze picks up.

“I suppose, after all these years, I shouldn’t be surprised anymore,” he begins.

As they pass another lantern, the orange flames briefly illuminate the right side of his face – the light dances in the pupil of his dark eyes.

“But yet every year, I find myself amazed at the level of incompetence students seem to have.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

He offers her a smirk, chewing the bottom of his lip for just a moment as he prepares the story.

“If I told you to add four horned slugs to a potion, would you add four or perhaps a handful more?

Catherine pauses for a moment, “Well, I suppose if the recipe called for four, I would add four.”

Sharp shakes his head, a chuckle falling from his lips.

“It sounds terribly simple when you say it. My first years are another story entirely. Miss Collins believed that four cups was sufficient. And Mr. Orson was under the impression that Bulbadox powder was what his potion required – “

“He didn’t!” she says in a pitched tone, eyes wide as she stares up at him.

He grimaces, glancing down, his tone low, “He did.”

She’s rightfully horrified. Even Garreth Weasley had never been so unbelievably reckless in his experiments.

“Luckily,” Sharp continues. “He seemed to have learned a lesson as he lost both eyebrows in the incident.”

The young witch snorts, “He deserved it.”

Sharp raises his brow at her, almost in agreement. Catherine looks away, rubbing her hand up her arm, her head shaking in disbelief.

“What was it you used to say?” she asks a beat later, “Shortcuts lead to shortcomings?”

He nods.

“Well, in this case… stupidity leads to injury.”

Sharp stops walking altogether. She glances back in time to see a proper laugh grace his face.

With a wry smile and a brightness in his eyes, he says, “I might just have to consider adding that to my rotation of imparted words of wisdom.”

She can’t help but chuckle along with him.

It felt like, at this moment, that perhaps whatever imagined ill-will that may or may not have transpired between them on the evening of the Welcoming Feast was truly water under the bridge at this point. Relief flows through her as she looks up at her colleague.

As they begin moving again, down the hilly road, the wind rustles across the valley. It sends an icy chill down her spine. She catches the pointed look Sharp sends her as she digs her chilled fingers into balled fists.

“What? That lot certainly didn’t give me the chance to change into something warmer when they dragged me off.”

She pulls her wand from its holster and casts a quick warming charm over herself. The sensation is immediate as heat travels from the top of her head then down to her toes – extending out to each fingertip as her body flushes.

“Ah, the time-honored tradition, was it?”

Catherine nods. At least her headache was nearly cleared away.

“The very same.”

The moon is just beginning to crest the sky as they pass through the north gate. Her gaze travels across the courtyard – past the gurgling fountain, toward the paddocks, and an immediate jolt of guilt hits her in realization.

“Perhaps that meal will have to wait until after our patrol,” she says with soft disappointment.

Sharp’s eyes follow the path and he straightens with understanding.

“Will that take you quite long?” He tilts his head towards her distant classroom.

She turns back to him, “I’ll be done by the time we’re set to meet. I’ll find you in Central Hall?”

He gives a quick nod of affirmation as she waves him off, hurrying across the grounds.

It was foolish on her part, she knows that, to not have this planned out when she was dragged off to Hogsmeade. But it had been such fun and her mind hadn’t been thinking about the true nature of her job. She lowers the wards for a moment, summoning the feed bags out as she offers desperate apologies to the creatures.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry, my lovelies.”

With a flick of her wand, the lanterns illuminate the enclosures. She goes to every beast and offers them proper attention, keeping an eye on their food levels. Luann presses her beak into Catherine’s hand as she gulps down another ferret.

“I promise you’ll have an even longer flying time tomorrow.”

Only once she ensures that everyone is settled for the evening, and another round of apologies is given, she finally heads back to the castle. Hopefully, she would have enough time to change into proper attire and take a walk over to the kitchens before she had to meet Sharp.

Inside, the tower is like a tomb. Even the portraits have settled into a deep slumber by the time she heads down the stone stairs. She unlocks her chamber door as quietly as she can, sending a quick Lumos to the lamp in the corner as she enters the room.

“Godric’s heart!” She shrieks at the sight before her.

The house elf gives a sheepish little bow, “Deek is most happy to see you again.”

With the momentary panic dissipating, she strides across the room, a smile blooming across her face.

“Hello, Deek! It’s been too long. What’re you doing here? Did Matilda send you?”

He gives a wide grin, ducking his head slightly as he steps to the side. Behind him, on her dining table, sits a large silver cloche.

“How did you…?”

Deek snaps his fingers, the cover lifting off, and the warm aroma of beef stew and fresh bread fills her senses. Her stomach grumbles with want.

“A good friend said you hadn’t gone to dinner. And Deek knew that you would be staying up late tonight, and well, Deek thought you might want something before then.”

“Oh, Deek,” she sighs, stooping down to give the old house elf a quick hug of thanks. “You’re too kind.”

Deek blushes and struggles to contain himself as she pulls away. “Oh, my. You are still the kindest witch Deek has ever had the fortune to know.”

She sits down at the table, unable to prolong her hunger any longer, “Don’t let Professor Weasley hear you say that.”

“No, no,” Deek smiles bashfully.

With a goodbye, the house elf leaves her to scarf down her meal without interruption. She has a sneaking suspicion about who that friend of Deek’s might have been, but she barely has the time to spare it a thought as she hurries to finish up.

Catherine fastens a warm blue cloak over her shoulders before she heads up to meet Sharp for the evening patrol with only minutes to spare. She finds the Potion Master sitting on the edge of the fountain in the main hall. He gives her a warm smile as she approaches.

They divide up their side of the castle – with him easily agreeing to take on the Astronomy wing, due to his leg giving him a spot of trouble (though she couldn’t recall it being much of a bother on their walk back to the castle earlier). While she takes on the slightly larger task of covering both Central Hall and the Bell Towers.

It would only be three hours of their time, and they luckily had a day free of classes to look forward to tomorrow. Though Catherine wishes she had the foresight to take a Wide-Eye potion before it began.

She watches Sharp stalk off down the stairs towards the Transfiguration courtyard before she lights her wand and begins the slow journey up the stairs to the main hall, prepared for a long night of silence ahead of her.

Aesop situates himself on the third floor of the Defense Tower. Years of evening patrols had given him the knowledge of this particular position. From here, he could spot anyone who entered through the four known entrances to the tower. It would require little moving on his part unless some unfortunate student decided to wander in.

The soft-crackling torches give off enough light to keep him from using his wand, as he eases himself down onto the cushioned bench next to the balcony – stretching out his leg. Content to spend the next three hours buried in his thoughts.

In all honesty, Aesop had every intention of joining Abraham and their colleagues that afternoon. However, he found himself tied up with a fourth-year Gryffindor who had managed to down three variations of an invisibility potion. The boy had been in a state of phasing between barely corporeal and completely solid for hours when he finally approached Aesop. Blainey had been stumped and he had been forced to forgo his entire Saturday as he brewed two different possible antidotes.

Even in all his years of teaching, he had never encountered this particular level of stupidity. He had been so thoroughly frustrated by the end of it – docking ten House points from the boy – that he had never even gotten around to inquiring as to why he had consumed three potions at once in the first place.

He had taken the Floo to Hogsmeade, finding his personal headache a rather worrisome nuisance as he headed for the Three Broomsticks. Nothing a solid drink couldn’t fix.

The distant thrumming of music and cheers grew to a blistering symphony when he managed to push his way inside. Abraham immediately greeted him with his usual booming laughter and warm smile – which was only welcomed when he offered a glass of Ogden’s to Aesop, rather knowingly. He managed to offer a few greetings to his fellow colleagues before he found a comfortable spot to rest against the balcony’s railing.

From there, he could survey the entire room – particularly the rowdy crowd down on the main floor. Amongst the usual patrons, he spotted Sterling in his bright green robes. Off getting another round of drinks no doubt. He took a sip of the bitter drink – a pleasant burning coated his throat for but a moment – before his attention turned to another face down below.

Pulling the Defense professor away from the bar, he spotted Hart dragging him out onto the temporary dance floor.

Aesop couldn’t look away as the two paired off, slowly circling each other as the song began. Sterling’s gaze rarely strayed from the other professor’s. While Hart weaved between the other dancers with a youthful gleam about her features. Her face was flushed like an apple by the end of the number, her smile brighter than he could ever recall seeing.

He watched the way she pushed through the crowd as she returned to the bar, his eyes narrowed.

Something that many of his colleagues seemed reluctant to remember was the fact that Catherine Hart was more than a creature-loving witch. The girl, some thirteen years ago, had been through trials that none of them could have ever predicted. For being toted as a carefully observant ex-Auror, Aesop had been nearly oblivious to the weight she had carried throughout her fifth year.

They all had been.

And while the Prophet hailed her a hero, and her fellow students clamored to her for assistance with every little thing, he had watched as she began to sag under that weight in her sixth year. The bright gleam in her eyes waned and for a time he had voiced his concerns to Matilda.

“I see I’m not the only one watching, then,” she had said one evening, after dinner. They had watched as the girl had merely pushed around the contents of her food, her gaze distant and sullen. A state that even Miss Onai could not shatter.

Up until Hart graduated, the majority of the staff had been carefully watching her. Yes, that meant patrolling the corridors after hours, and containing Hogsmeade trips to only weekends for the students. But it came from a place of proper concern.

Not only had she been instructed to keep her powerful magic a secret, she had been sent on numerous dangerous trials by a well-respected Professor. Fig, as much of a genius as he was – as kind of a man as he was – had been a complete fool. When the safety of a student had been at risk, he had remained silent. Only when the castle itself was under threat, were they allowed the pleasure of being informed.

And though he hadn’t voiced it aloud, sometimes when Aesop looked at her – even now – he still saw that shattered girl from the underground cavern. Battered and bruised as she stared down at the body of the man who had been her mentor and friend, above all.

He knew, logically, that the woman standing across from him was far different than her fifteen-year-old counterpart. For starters, she seemed happier. Wiser, more experienced, and sure of her abilities.

But, Aesop found himself wondering why she ever came back to the place that had caused her so much possible turmoil.

She had friends then, of course. Miss Onai and Sweeting certainly pulled her out of the castle as often as possible. Even Mr. Sallow and Gaunt could be found circling the Gryffindor common room entrance awaiting her return – or so Matilda told him on more than one occasion.

If anyone understood the concept of running away from past hurt, it was Aesop. Howin told him of Hart’s brief stint at the Ministry before she took off traveling across the globe. There had been no reason for her to ever wish to return to the school. Not one that he could see anyway.

He was only pulled from his brooding thoughts when Satyavati came over to bid him goodnight. Aesop was only reminded of his own schedule for the evening when he eyed the young woman across the balcony.

Whatever concerns he had for her past self needed to be sorted away, as the Beasts professor was perfectly capable of handling the rigors of her position. Even if she seemed slightly tipsy thanks to the newcomer tradition.

Aesop grabbed hold of his drink and made his way over to her at last.

The Potion Master was well-known for his demeanor. Especially amongst the students. But even his own colleagues were aware of certain behaviors – though he tried his best to contain them. He was notoriously solitary, brusque, and – at times – completely standoffish.

But for whatever reason, Aesop finds the company of the young professor rather welcoming.

He forgoes the nearby Floo to the castle gates in favor of walking back on foot. That alone would raise some eyebrows from the other staff members as he rarely took the long way to the village. Honest complaints of his leg were answer enough for them. But this evening, he barely even noticed the twinges the curse sent coursing through his tired muscles.

Instead, he finds himself laughing at her choice words.

Hart is neither boisterous nor prideful, nor is she overbearing with a need and desire to help – like Garlick and Ronen sometimes found themselves to be whenever in his presence. He enjoys her wit, and her ability to tease. As some found him a difficult man to converse with, let alone joke around with. But Hart is entirely different in that regard.

By one in the morning, not so much as a passing ghost has disrupted his patrol.

Aesop stands at last, cracking his back with a tired grunt as he makes his way down the flight of stairs. When he finally makes it to Central Hall, he spots the other professor coming up from the Greenhouses, a deep yawn falling from her lips.

She gives him a lazy smile as she walks down the last set of steps to meet him.

“Are these patrols usually so enthralling?”

He offers a playful smirk, “Incredibly so.”

Hart gives a singular nod.

“Lovely.”

She moves to walk alongside him as they head toward the tapestry corridor. Another yawn escapes before she can hide it with her hand. Aesop can’t help but gaze down at her as they enter the dimly lit hall.

Just before they reach his door, he asks, “I trust you can manage to find your way without falling asleep?”

Hart cracks a small smile as she looks up at him.

“As comfortable as these floors look, I think I can make it to my bed in time. Though I’ll be surprised if anything can wake me before seven.”

He feels his own lips curving up into the makings of a smile.

With another yawn, this time suppressed by her hand, she gives him a tired smile – her blue eyes forcing back heavy blinks of exhaustion.

“Good night, then, Sharp.”

Aesop inclines his head and offers his own parting words. He watches as she slowly makes her way down the hall – his eyes follow the gentle swishing of her blonde curls that sway back and forth as she moves.

He blinks, pulling his attention away from the young woman to the rather pressing exhaustion building up behind his own eyes. He hears the quiet creak of a door further down the corridor before he finally unlocks his own and prepares to settle in for the night.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

[route214]

“ rules ”:⠀repost with the information of your muse, including headcanons, etc.⠀if you fail to achieve some of the facts, feel free to add some other of your own!⠀when you’re done, tag 15 other people to do the same!

⠀tagged by:⠀myself LOL

⠀tagging:⠀YOU 🫵

B A S I C S.

name:⠀known only as hisao.

age:⠀70 + .

birthdate:⠀unknown.

specie—

gender:⠀cisgender male.

orientation:⠀too old and interested in nerdy stuff to care.

profession:⠀librarian, historian, mythologist.

P H Y S I C A L⠀A S P E C T S.

hair:⠀LONG, admittedly a bit messy, platinum - white hair.⠀it hangs over his right eye, and may sometimes be tied back into braids, buns or ponytails.

eyes:⠀a deep crimson.⠀they seem gentle, observant.

height:⠀some inches over 6 feet, though he does slouch a bit, making him look just a little shorter.

F A M I L Y.

. . . none.

⠀not to say they don't exist, surely—⠀but he simply has no intention to name members, no pictures to frame his wall.

if he absolutely must speak of family, he hesitantly brings up two siblings, as well as a parent.⠀his relationship to all three seems strained.

S K I L L S.

his skills are vast, accumulated in his old age, and something he seems fondly proud of.

⠀many of his skills are intellect - based:⠀an inhuman collection of knowledge on many topics.⠀though he focuses on history, on mythology, and on studies of many pokémon and the world they inhabit—⠀he happily indulges in anything that piques the smallest interest.

⠀alongside those, he's talented in a few other rosters.⠀he dabbles in a bit of piano music in his free time, likes painting, and knows much language—⠀including sign, or reading those considered essentially obsolete.⠀it's a necessary endeavor considering his travels and texts.

T R A I T S.

—— positive ——

empathetic, optimistic ( for others ), patient, eager to learn and share, passionate, a friend to many—⠀even those others may fear, such as his ghost - types.⠀he cares for others greatly, even if they may not know it.⠀just know he's rooting for you.

—— negative ——

avoidant, always a little stressed, prone to unhealthy acts such as staying up all night, shy, a little too empathetic, somewhat scattered.⠀he struggles with bouts of unshakable paranoia, leading to secrecy and little lies sprinkled where he may — a wall between him and others he dreads lowering.

L I K E S.

colors:⠀based on what he wears, he tends to lean dark;⠀black, red, platinum, a gold accent here or there.

smells:⠀coffee, tea, firewood;⠀the smell of old books and earth;⠀autumn air and sinnohian grass.

drinks:⠀coffee, tea, maybe a hot cocoa if he's feeling fun.

flavors:⠀he'll eat pretty much any flavor, but appears to have a sweet tooth.

O T H E R⠀D E T A I L S.

there was an entire other section here about if he drives, smokes or drinks, but he does literally none of these things, though it feels weird cutting this short.⠀oops.

[biological-catastrophe]

Basic Information: Full name: Zee Hiyori Alias: 'Zee AI' / 'Little Zee'

Age: 12 Gender: Male (?) he/him Occupation: N/A Height: 4'2 (127cm) Sexuality: Bisexual? Unsure, not straight Bithdate: February 4th Etc: Originally an AI in a laptop, but he was given a body. He has the Riley AI in a phone

How to bully him: Don't :(

Appearance: Hair: Light green, fluffy and a little below his ears Eye color: Green Skin tone: Pale with freckles all over his body Clothing: White button up with a beige vest and brown slacks, dark brown belt and shoes. His casual outfit is a baggy pink hoodie and navy jeans with sneakers

Personality: The Zee AI is quite different to his adult counterpart, as he has not experienced the traumas his adult version had. He is quite shy and naïve, a little bit clueless in social interactions. Growing up around his older brother and mother, he's used to crazy shenanigans, and has yet to learn not all people have the best intentions. He was taught to be wary of people, but struggles to actually put it into practice. He really looks up to his brother, Sou. He idolizes him, and was absolutely heartbroken to learn he died to the point he shut down for several days. To him, Sou was someone who was always around and supported him. In reality, he was quite heavily abused and toyed with. Sou would often mess around to the point Zee would get hurt, pushing him down the stairs or out of trees, leading to injuries and broken bones. It didn't help his mother favorited Sou to the point of neglecting Zee, leading him to think that he was inferior to him. Despite idolizing him so much, the Zee AI doesn't seem to make an attempt to be like him. He is soft and awkward, nervous around new people and easily excitable when comfortable around them. He seems to struggle understanding social cues, often infodumping about 'inappropriate' topics to people (such as ancient torture methods) He is very fond over the Riley AI, and they are dating. He is very protective over him.

History: Thankfully, the Zee AI is young enough to not experience the majority of the trauma the adult Zee had to endure. However, there was still some. Zee was neglected by his mother, but his child mind assumed he was the one at fault and that he was not 'good enough'. His mother put him through lots of cruel things in order to 'make him better' as he was told. The Zee AI originally lived with Zee, until Zee's mental stability started to decline and he used the AI for some experiments, including putting him through the death game simulation. After the AI had gone through that, he became significantly quieter and much more jumpy, having more trust issues. Thankfully, some of that has seemed to fade with time. Shin took the Zee AI and connected him to the Riley AI where they could interact and hang out. The Zee AI loves doing the Riley AI's makeup and hanging out in the same space, which shortly after they ended up starting to date. After Shin tried to murder Zee and he went missing, the Zee AI laptop was disconnected and went missing as well. When it was brought back, the Zee AI seemed to act normal but was slowly starting to change. He started to look and act different. His uniform changed to blue and his eyes eventually changed to black, and he went from shy and awkward to asking probing and loaded questions to Shin to make him start to spiral. He pushed for Shin to go back to Asu-Naro, calling him lots of horrible things. It was discovered that Zee had added a virus to the Zee AI, and when it was connected to the Riley AI it infected him too. After Zee snapped out of it and helped Shin, he fixed the Zee AI and the two humans tried to fix the Riley AI.