patronsaintofdelusion

[thegalleonsnest]

Doodle page from the stream the other day! We got LOT'S of birds for this one lol.

Me and my partner ended up watching a bunch of movies a few weeks ago that were both on the list of things to watch, and also stuff we found on YT for free cause we thought it was gonna be trash, but turned out, to be pretty decent movies! So that's what I ended up drawing + some other stuff on the mind!

[brimflame]

not writing anyone linked to the construction of the enterprise or the einherjar but still having Things To Say about it be like

[keywestwildlifecenter]

Thanks to Captain Dan for making the rescue of this Magnificent Frigatebird down in offshore waters this afternoon. We were able to meet the boat at Galleon Marina and transfer the bird into care. The Frigatebird is waterlogged but uninjured and is recovering in our clinic. We will return the patient to the wild as soon as possible!

[aithusarosekiller]

Trans Reggie black brothers fic:

NOT EDITED (will be before it goes onto ao3)

Words: 2239

Warnings: outing (sort of, Sirius figures it out and asks him about it but nobody is told against reg's will), reference to bigoted parents

-

The light twittering of birds was silenced as Regulus strode across his room and pulled the window shut with a slight thud. If he wanted to get any work done before he was due to return to school he would have to do it now, or he would put it off until the last minute. It was a bad habit picked up from Dorcas but one he had come to keep under control for the most part. So long as nothing else disrupted him, he should be okay to continue. His parents were at some important function and Kreacher was out collecting shopping so there wasn't too much that could distract him.

He had managed to sit down at his desk and unscrew the lid of his inkwell by the time his bedroom door slammed open behind him. He heard the unmistakable sound of his brother's heavy-footed stomps come up behind him and had to force himself not to snap right then and there.

“Yes?” His tone was clipped but Sirius either didn't notice or actively chose to ignore it.

“Are you busy?” Without waiting for an answer he attempted to sit down on Regulus’ desk, only stopping when he received a murderous glare and shark smack to the arm; he narrowed his eyes petulantly and tried to hide his irritating grin. “Move and I'll sit in your chair then, my legs are tired.”

Regulus pretended to have not heard him and returned to the introduction of his Defense essay. After a few moments Sirius stood and walked over to the bed, sitting down silently and waiting for a few minutes to see if Regulus was going to say anything. Nothing happened.

“Turn around, you little brat.” Nothing. “Please.”

“Don't call me that,” The reply was quiet but Sirius still heard it.”

“Merlin, I try to be nice once,” He grumbled under his breath, trying to keep his composure and her to the point. “I want to talk to you about something.”

Regulus looked at him as if to say ‘go on’ so he did.

“Look, can you just come here? I'm trying to be nice to you and do sibling bonding or some shit so the least you can do one nice thing and not stare at me from across the room? I'll distract Father so you can visit your friends on Sunday if you let me have this.” He let the suggestion sink in for a moment, then watched as Regulus pushed away from his desk, stretching out the time it took to close the ink and place down the quill, then made his way over to his bed to sit at the opposite end to Sirius, his posture perfect and his hands clasped in his lap.

“Posho.”

“Sorry, do you or do you not have a pair of 35 galleon shoes in your wardrobe as we speak?”

“First of all, I got them in muggle London so technically they were £170, not galleons. And secondly, that is a very good price for a well-made, hand crafted, long-lasting product you intend to use frequently.”

Regulus couldn't help but laugh at that. “You sound like Narcissa.”

He didn't stop laughing when he was slapped on the arm or when Sirius snapped at him to shut up, it was only when Sirius attempted to redirect the conversation that his face fell back to his typical moody stare.

“I wanted to talk about school.” He managed to ignore Regulus’ sigh, having grown fairly immune to the constant dismissals by now, even if it still made him feel a little hurt when he thought about it late at night. “Over the summer term and a little bit before that, I've heard-”

“Oh for Salazar’s sake, if this is going to become one of your anti-Slytherin, ‘you're all evil' rants, I really want nothing to do with-”

“It isn't that!” He hissed, almost laughing at Regulus’ affronted reaction to being cut off halfway through his sentence as if he had not just done the exact same thing mere seconds ago. “Stop coming for my throat and give me a change to finish my sentence before you assume you know what I'm going to say.” He took a deep breath and started again. “I have recently been hearing your friends talk to you while you're in the corridor and then again while they're alone. And I noticed a few things.”

It was then that Regulus finally picked up on what the conversation was going to be about.

“Oh, for-”

“Shush, let me finish. I heard you and your friends talking quite a few times and I heard that they called you a different name.” He looked at Regulus knowingly. “You might disagree but I'm not stupid. I mean my grades speak for themselves really, I don't think I did any revision before the day of for my exams and I still…anyway. Your friends were calling you Regulus and they were calling you he and I'm no idiot. I know what that means.”

“You understand names, well done. Maybe you aren't a complete imbecile after all.”

“Alright, you're being rude because you're nervous so I'll let that slide. I know that it means you don't want to be a girl anymore. And that's great! That's okay. I just wanted to give you the chance to talk about it. With me. If you want.”

Regulus looked at him blankly for a while. He opened his mouth to speak at least four times before closing it. Eventually he picked up the courage to actually say something.

“I'm not a girl.” Sirius nodded along. “Your eavesdropping was right there.” Sirius frowned in disapproval but did not get the chance to interject. “I am a boy. My name is Regulus. Yes, like the star. My friends are okay with it because they aren't completely despicable people despite what you Gryffindors may like to think. And you didn't have to interrupt my homework to talk to me about this, you haven't spoken to me besides polite greetings since November.”

“Actually, it was your birthday.”

“December, then. My point still stands, Sirius.”

“Is it rude to ask when you knew?”

“A little bit, yes.” Regulus snapped. “I didn't always know.” He seems to consider telling the story for a second, then decided not to. “I don't want to talk about it.”

“Okay.” Sirius nodded. Maybe if the rest of the conversation went well he would tell him another time. “It's a nice name. Bit long but not bad.”

“Thank you.” It was robotic and almost cold but Sirius was not deterred.

“I might shorten it to Regs. I've heard your annoying friend call you Reggie but you'd probably kill me if I called you that to Regs it is. It's short, efficient, and probably won't get my ears cut off and fed to Kreacher.” Regulus couldn't help a smile like that, which seemed to get Sirius out of his tentative, unnaturally calculated state and make him grin himself. “I'll take that as a yes.”

“Sure.”

“I have a brother,” He mused to himself. Whether it was with shock or glee neither of them could say.

“You can't tell anybody.”

“I won't! I'm great with secrets. Really, name one secret I haven't been able to keep.” He took in Regulus’ meaningful look and recalculated. “Yeah, alright, but I won't tell anyone this. I promise.” He attempted to look as sincere as possible. When he looked down at the sight of movement, he saw that his brother’s hand was extended, palm up and waiting.

Sirius couldn't help but smile when he was it, moving his own hand to place on top before taping each of their fingers together as he muttered the words 'I swear on my life’. It was a silly way of making a promise that Andromeda had taught them when they were younger and caught her writing to her muggleborn boyfriend. They knew not that she had just made it up to get them to stay hushed but they had never really grown out of it. Without a word, they both retracted their hands, but Sirius was now smiling and Regulus seemed at least somewhat more relaxed so it was worth it even if it was a kids thing.

“I just wanted to say that I am glad you were honest with me,” Sirius began the little speech he had prepared in his head. He had gone over it time and time again, attempting to eradicate any signs of his usual self to form a kind, welcoming speech that would soften the situation. “And I am glad that you have been able to find yourself like this.” Regulus groaned into his hands and swore under his breath. “I am here if you want to talk about…this and I would be really happy if you trusted me to talk about you being….a guy now.”

“Oh Merlin, this is humiliating. Stop. Stop. Sirius, stop.” He waited for him to trail off awkwardly before letting out a relieved sigh and beginning his own explanation.

“Okay; thank you but I really don't need a lecture on my ‘validity’. I am aware of it. And I didn't not tell you because I was scared, it was because we haven't spoken properly in months and I doubted that you'd even care. It would be weird, that's why.” He grasped around for another point to make while he had the silence to be able to get a word in. “And don't you think I should have been able to tell you this in my own time instead of just barging in and asking me about it.”

“When would that have been?” He wasn't expecting an apology, but the bluntness of the reply still caught Regulus off guard. “Would you have told me? Would you really? Hm?” He got no answer. “Reggie.”

“The point is that I should've gotten the choice.”

“Well I admit I didn't think it through that much!”

“That's new.” Regulus drawled.

“I was just shocked when you didn't tell me. I was shocked that they knew basic crap about you that I apparently don't. Call me selfish but I care quite a lot about that. You used to tell me everything.” The anger in his voice was barely-veiled. “We used to be best friends but I feel like I don't know anything shoot you anymore.”

“And who's fault is that?”

“Yours! You are the one who got all those amazing Slytherin friends and decided I was the shit on your damn shoe, Regulus.”

“I don't want to do this right now.”

They fell back into relative silence. The sound of the wind against the old, thin window was all they could focus on for a few minutes. Eventually, siris cleared his throat and reached out his hand, patting his brother on the shoulder a few times like he was a delicate animal.

“What are you doing?”

Sirius blinked. “I'm comforting you.”

“Don't do that.”

“Fine, I won't.” He looked away again and waited.

“I can tell you want to ask something else.”

Sirius shrugged noncommittally, then gave in and asked what he had wanted to know the entire time. “Who else knows?” The hint of desperation in his voice was embarrassing but he hoped Regulus hadn't picked up on it.

“My friends,” He provided. “That's all really."

“And…” He didn't need to say it for the implication to be obvious. They both looked towards the doorway despite knowing the house was empty, as if anticipating their arrival. Regulus slouched slightly, seemingly having given up on acting properly.

“Do you think I'd still be here telling you about it if they knew?”

“Don't say that.” Whispering was uncharacteristic for Sirius but he didn't exactly want to say the words that left his mouth, they just sort of did. Giving away the card he held for his brother's wellbeing even after all this time.

“It’s not exactly a shock, is it? The perfect angel of the black family ends up being a man with a woman’s features, guess what happens next.”

“Regulus, stop.”

“...Sorry.” The apology sounded almost forced out but it was better than none at all in Sirius' opinion.

Sirius shook his head lightly. “It's fine. It's not like it's your fault. Hey, uh, if you wanted to, we could go shopping together at some point. Get you some stuff that makes you feel less, y'know.” ‘Girly’ was the obvious end to that sentence. Regulus frowned and turned to face him again.

“I can go shopping with my friends, thank you.” Sirius waited. And waited. Then, “When would you want to go?”

“Why, do you can be conveniently busy that day?” He suggested; Regulus stared silently. “Next Saturday?”

“Okay.”

“Yeah, good, alright. Cool. You're paying for your shit though.” He added as an afterthought.

“What? Why one earth to would you invite me shopping if you're not paying for anything?”

“I'm not your Mum Reggie.”

“You're uglier than her, that's for sure.”

Taking it as the natural lull to the conversation, Sirius pulled a face and turned to leave, spinning back around one step out of the door so he could confirm their agreement.

“Next Saturday, yes?”

“Yes, that is what I said.”

With that Sirius nodded silently and left, leaving the door wide open and Regulus sat on the bed wondering where in the name all of that had come from.

[aesopsharpmybeloved]

Bound - MAJOR UPDATE

The NEWTs can be quite stressfull. Luckily, professor Sharp knows exactly how to make his young sweetheart relax a bit.

Aah, sweet sweet PWP ❤ Huge thanks to my dear friend and partner in crime @tea-withjamandbread who authored several ideas in this smutty story, and to Maarty for her continuous support 🥰

UPDATE! After I posted this two days ago, I re-read it and realised I hated it. So like 70% of it has been rewritten and almost 2k more words appeared. Oops. So it's basically a new fic 😂

18+ GO AWAY CHILDREN, srsly

Bound (14.1k words)

tw: teacher-student relationship, age gap (reader is an adult), explicit sexual content, lights bdsm, light bondage, blindfolded, body shots, masturbation, oral sex, vaginal sex, comeplay, dirty talking, pwp, corn with feelings

During the NEWT exams, some classrooms were emptier than others. For example Potions and Transfiguration both held only about twenty-five students each, because of the complexity of the subjects. However, the same could not be said about the Charms classroom. The number of Seventh years who partook in the NEWTs exam in Charms was quite high every year, the subject (and its teacher) was not only popular, but universally demanded in most work fields. This year was no different. In fact, it seemed to break the record. 

You felt like a thousand Galleons once you left the stuffy room. While the Charms classroom was usually a very comfortable place to be, spacious and airy, when filled with nearly sixty nervous young adults, one Hogwarts professor, and two overseers from the ministry, it got quite stifling quite fast. You were rather confident that you did well on the written part of the exam, and you weren’t particularly worried about the practical part that was scheduled for tomorrow, but you knew better than to rest on your laurels. After all, it was one of the things your beloved insisted on instilling within you. So, some extra practice it was - you were certain that he would understand why you sought the warmth of his embrace a little later than usual.

You made your way over to the Owlery to let professor Aesop Sharp know that you would take some time after supper to practise your charms up in the Room of Requirement after dinner, before coming to seek him in his chambers. The summer was blooming, and most of the students were enjoying the warm day, many of them nose deep in their books, preparing for the following exams.  

After you’ve climbed the spiral staircase of the tower, you could see Diana was sitting on one of the perches, watching the other owls around her with mild interest. She hooted in greetings once you came into her field of view, and you approached her immediately, letting your finger lightly scratch under her chin. You were the only one allowed to do so for more than a few seconds. 

 “Hello, girl,” you said softly. A year ago, you didn’t think you’d ever get an owl. The school owls you’d use were, more or less, reliable, and you hardly needed a pet cat, seeing as there were dozens upon dozens of them roaming the castle. You weren’t exactly certain your parents would even allow you to get a pet. You weren’t certain of it even as you handed the nice gentleman a decent sum of money for the impressive greater sooty owl you fell in love with the first time you saw her in that shop. One of your greatest decisions ever, you decided.

 —

 Your mother nearly fainted when you returned from your international travels sporting a large cage containing the dark bird. Diana released several rather frustrated noises every now and then, less than thrilled to have to limit herself to the enclosed space. 

“That thing is not staying,” Father had said after he snapped at Mother to take a hold of herself. “That thing is an owl, father,” you replied defiantly yet calmly. Mind, you knew they most likely wouldn’t be anywhere near as excited as yourself with the purchase, but you had hoped there wouldn’t be any hostility. It would seem you thought wrong. The middle aged man was rather red in the face: “I can bloody well see it’s an owl, (F/N), and it has no place here! This is one of the finest houses in Knightsbridge, not some bloody forest!” You took a deep breath. Damn it, you used the phial of Felix Felicis potion you brewed at the end of the previous term on getting your parents to agree to let you travel by yourself, and left the rest of the potion at Hogwarts. If only you were able to use Accio on it all the way from here… 

“Hyde Park’s just around the corner, father. There are plenty of owls there, so it’s not like anyone would think it strange to see one more flying around. Father, please, it’s only for the following month before I go back to school, you won’t even see or hear her.”

 Your father lifted a finger in the air, but before he could resume talking, your mother’s voice cut in: “Let her keep the bird, Lionel. She already paid money for it, and she’s hardly going back to Australia just to return an owl… and besides, it’s not…it’s not that bad. I hear that the DeWitt fellow from Kensington had a live falcon present at a formal evening he hosted in his house, and it was apparently a big success with the guests.” 

You could hear a small tremble in your hervoice, and she was still watching the owl warily, but at that moment you could nearly hug her. Your father fumed for a few moments, his small eyes switching between Diana, your mother and yourself. Finally, he sighed, looking morosely out of the window: “Fine. But I hear one hoot in the middle of the night, I’m throwing the thing out. What a bloody waste of money…”

You hurried to your room with your new companion, before you could bite back that it was your hard earned money you spent. You didn’t want to risk your father retracting his agreement with Diana staying.

—

You grimaced somewhat at the memory, but then sent a smile Diana’s way: “Don’t you worry, girl, we’re not going back there. I rather think the freedom of the Highlands is more of your style than the busy Hyde Park, isn’t it?” The owl hooted softly, as if agreeing with you. You could hardly blame her - you now knew you were the same.

You then held up your hand, showing Diana the short letter you needed her to deliver. 

“You know who it’s for,” a grin adorned your face and in Diana’s expression, you could see the owl equivalent of a good-natured eyeroll. She offered her leg to you to attach the letter to. 

“You be nice to him,” you waved your forefinger in front of the owl in a cheeky warning, and she responded in kind, by gently nipping at the digit and then swiftly spreading her wings and leaping off the Owlery window, prompting you to chuckle.

You gazed after her for several minutes, lost in thought. You couldn’t believe that less than three weeks separated you from graduation. 

In eighteen days, your time at Hogwarts will be over. You’ll empty your dorm room for one last time, have one last breakfast in the Great Hall as a student, and say many heartfelt farewells to the people you’ve met here over the three years. You would of course stay in contact with your closest friends, like Natty, Poppy, Sebastian and Ominis, and Amit… You’ve been through too much together, too much to just say one last goodbye and begin your lives on your own. But some of the others, like Samantha or Imelda, well, who knew when your paths would cross again. 

-

 Sebastian and Natty were both hoping to catch a job as curse breakers at Gringotts, which would offer them a chance to not only become even more capable wizards than they already were in their own rights, but also see the world, get acquainted with more wizarding cultures. Poppy would be joining her Grandmother in her research, as you knew since the day you first met the girl in Beasts class. And Amit was, along with Adelaide, joining her uncle’s business, his desire to learn more about Goblins not having died down over the years in the slightest.

And Ominis? Well, he didn’t know what he wanted to do just yet - and which employer would take him in with his condition - but he seemed happy nevertheless. Similarly to yourself, the last thing he wanted was to return to his family, and having already secured himself a different abode, the lad looked content for the time being.

 However, you were certain you were one of the only ones, if not the only one to stay so close to Hogwarts. Even Sebastian planned to leave Feldcroft behind…Seeing as his once home became no more than an empty house, his uncle dead and his sister gone and refusing to speak with him, nothing but memories of his gravest mistake filling the empty rooms, you could hardly blame the Slytherin for wanting to leave it all behind.

And you? Well, you were all set up, weren’t you. A job already waiting for you, and a small house at the edge of Hogsmeade ready for you to move in. Frankly, you were quite excited at the prospect of living by yourself, setting your own rules, running your little household the way you want to, making the space yours. 

Thanks to professor Weasley being the greatest (deputy) Headmistress, you had a special permission to leave the castle a few weeks back, so that you could apparate to London and get various items of furniture and such for your rented house. 

And, interestingly, the Hogwarts potions master was somehow already present when you suddenly appeared in a little hidden alley a bit away from the Leaky Cauldron. 

And since he was already there, he could perhaps tag along to offer advice as to which items he found appealing and appropriately priced in regards to their quality. And since the two of you were already in Diagon Alley, well, you may just as well nip round back to the Leaky Cauldron for spot of lunch, and then why not take a little stroll in some park, arms linked and bodies joined at the hip, enjoying the cool air of early summer. 

 In a way, it was a little taste of what things were going to be like when the two of you no longer needed to hide, when you were free to show your feelings towards one another openly. And not just that. In a way, one that you were a bit too shy to think about just yet, it was like a taste of what things were going to be like one day, when the two of you would join in a shared life permanently… And somehow, this little secret thought was what made you blush during this little encounter of yours…

-

Dinner itself was rather uneventful - every so often, your eyes would travel up to the High table and over to the professor. Occasionally, he was already looking back at you with a small smile on his face, sometimes he was focusing either on his own meal, or on one of his colleagues sitting next to him, chatting. However, it seemed the potions master had the ability to feel your eyes on him, for after a few seconds his head would turn your way, and his own dark eyes bore into your own. 

And each time they did, you felt a little shiver run through you. 

 Somehow you managed to actually climb all the stairs leading onto the Seventh floor instead of immediately sneaking off into Aesop’s rooms following supper.

You made your way towards the training room that materialised in the Room of Requirement the previous year. The large chamber never ceased to amaze you with its ingenuity - as you finished your descent down the stairs, you found the room nearly empty with only one item in the middle. An item you recognised instantly - it was one of the puzzles you’d solve during the Merlin trials! 

Excited, you took off your blazer and rolled up your sleeves, so as to achieve maximum mobility and comfort. 

 ‘Flipendo ,’ you cast on the upper stone non-verbally, piecing together which way you have to turn it. And once you did, once the symbols matched, the whole thing just disappeared into thin air, leaving another object there in its stead - this time it was a broken statue, and you knew what to do immediately.

You sent spell after spell at the various items that appeared before you. You were handling yourself quite well too, being able to react quickly and send the correct enchantment. There was a brief moment of panic at one point, as the room suddenly filled up to the brim with water, which made casting the bubble head charm that much harder, but otherwise you felt confident and calm. 

You only just finished casting a perfect performed Descendo upon a floating training dummy, when you were suddenly plunged into darkness. Quickly casting Lumos, you realised that you were stuck in some sort of… cavern? A stony cavern, that was for certain, and a seemingly inescapable one. A frown riddled your brow.

Stone, stone, what to do with being stuck in a stony prison? 

At first, you tried to transfigure one of the rocks that seemed to be closing you in into a smaller object, which hadn’t worked. Depulso had a similarly dissatisfactory effect. Casting Bombarda or Confingo would’ve been entirely too dangerous to even try in this situation, as they would both recoil off the stone and hurt you… 

It took you a few more seconds until you remembered: the Gouging charm, of course! 

You pointed your wand at one of the stones again and thought as hard as you could: ‘Defodio.’ However, that didn’t seem to do the trick either. But the spell was correct! It had to be! You weren’t aware of there being a different spell you could use in this situation, and as Revelio did not reveal anything special about the stones that had you trapped, you were even more certain that the Gouging charm was the correct one… You just had to cast it right…You squeezed your jaw tighter and tried again.

 ‘Defodio!’

 And again, nothing. Damn it!

You were beginning to feel a little nervous if you were to be honest. The space you were in was rather tight and not exactly well ventilated, and as you attempted to cast the spell again and again, drops of sweat appeared at your hairline.

 “Defodio!” you cried out loud desperately, but all that followed was a light pop, as if a small pebble popped in half somewhere among the rocks. 

 Dear heavens…

Would the Room let you out if you couldn’t perform the spell? Or would you stay trapped inside, slowly losing precious oxygen until you suffocated? Surely not! Deek would come looking for you sooner or later certainly. He’d find you, he’d hopefully be able to get the Room to drop the spell it trapped you with. Wouldn’t he?

“Defodio,” you barely heard, the voice sounding terribly muffled. You had to actually shield your eyes as the stones around you began opening up and the light of the room hit you. 

After a few seconds during which your eyes grew used to the light once more, you finally saw the source of the successfully done spell. Aesop Sharp stood some ten feet away from you, wand raised and a little concerned expression on his ruggedly handsome face. 

 You finally managed to catch your breath which you didn’t even realise grew so laboured and fast during your uncomfortable stay within the cavern: “Th-thank you…”

He didn’t say anything for several minutes, waiting for you to calm down, and only then he spoke, his voice soft and gentle: “Are you alright, (F/N)?” 

You felt colour rush into your cheeks and embarrassment seep to your gut. Your eyes fell to the ground in shame. As if sensing your thoughts, the professor spoke again: “This is a very complicated spell, (F/N), even for many experienced wizards - there’s no point beating yourself over not being able to cast it non-verbally,” he came a little closer, and touched your shoulder with his free hand, his thumb rubbing small circles through your shirt.

“As you perhaps heard just now, I didn’t manage to cast it verbally either,” you replied, your voice quiet. Goodness, and here you were, feeling so bloody confident about the practical exam… What if this spell appeared among those you’ll be examined from? What if you fail then like you failed just now? Could one spell ruin the entire exam?

 “Darling, whatever you’re thinking right now, stop,” Aesop spoke, his large warm hand sliding down your arm until it reached your own hand, and curled around it soothingly: “not being to perform the spell non-verbally several times coupled with being very much stuck inside a pile of rocks is not exactly good on the psyche - I bet by the time you decided to speak the spell out loud, you weren’t nearly as focused on the correct hand movements as before, were you?”

 You didn’t say anything. He was right, though - during your last attempt to cast the spell verbally, you were sort of just wildly flailing your arm rather than doing the short, jerky wrist movement that the spell required. 

 “Let’s try something…” Aesop said, and then stored his wand away. He moved to stand behind you, wrapping his left arm around your waist and taking a hold of your right hand with his own. 

You let him move your hand until it was pointed forward. More rocks materialised out of nowhere and formed something of a small mountain right in the middle of the room. “Why don’t you try to send the spell non-verbally again? If it doesn’t work, take ten seconds to breathe deeply and calm down, then try again. And if that doesn’t work either, another ten second pause, and then send it verbally. The important thing is to perform the spell itself. Non-verbal casting does get you bonus points, but you’ll hardly be chastised if you speak your spells. However, if you stress yourself out because you’re unable to cast the spell without saying the incantation, you’ll find it difficult to cast the spell verbally as well.”

He then gently began moving your hand in the pattern of the Gouging charm, just making sure you remembered the proper movement, before he moved his head to be able to whisper into your ear: “Go on and try. And remember what I told you.” 

You shivered a little at the feeling of his hot damp breath upon your skin.  

You concentrated your hardest upon the stone formation, moved your wand in the pattern he made you practise again earlier, and thought your loudest ‘Defodio’. 

And… nothing.

“Alright - that was a fair enough try,” he spoke, calmly and far from critically, “I could feel your magic, but it was not enough. It was not concentrated enough. Breathe, my sweet,” Aesop whispered again, “Close your eyes, count to ten, and breathe deeply, in and out.”

So you did. You closed your eyes and began counting slowly, timing your breaths so that they were slow, deep and steady.

 “Alright - now focus. Imagine the stones already broken in half, an entrance forming among them, and only when you can clearly see it in your mind’s eye, that’s when you send the spell.”

You listened to the teacher, letting his close proximity calm you down enough to be able to once more fully focus. You stared unblinking at the small mountain in the middle of the room, trying to imagine it opening up into a cavern. 

Just like when you were standing before a treasure vault, or perhaps an ancient tomb in the Highlands, an entrance materialising right in front of you, after you’ve sent the correct spell on the stony key cube. “Steady,” Aesop whispered again.

 ‘Defodio,’ you commanded in your mind, your wrist turning in that jerky pattern, and suddenly…

Crackling and popping could be heard, and a hole started to form in the midst of the rock formation, soon reminding you of an actual entrance to a cave. You couldn’t help but turn your head to grin at Aesop, finding him grinning back at you already. Both his arms now curled around your waist: “Splendid job!” He pressed several prickly kisses on the skin of your neck, prompting you to giggle breathlessly.

 “My knight in shining armour,” you breathed out, leaning into your beloved further, “first you save me from suffocating in The Cavern of Certain Doom, then you save my performance tomorrow… Although I don’t know how we’re going to arrange you standing behind me while I cast this spell,” you finished with a small chuckle, your hands coming to cover his own around your midsection. 

“You’re in luck,” Aesop simply replied, “this spell is not among those that are used during the exam. I can’t tell you anything else, unfortunately. However, I had the chance to watch you for a while before your unfortunate rocky situation, and I wholeheartedly believe you’ve got nothing to fear tomorrow. You’ll be brilliant.” 

You smiled and fully succumbed to the comfort of his embrace. “Not as brilliant as you are,” was your whispered answer as you let your head drop to his shoulder in a silent invitation. One look at your parted lips was all it took for Aesop to seize the moment. His lips moulded against yours in a passionate kiss not a second later.

You pocketed your wand quickly to be able to turn around to face him and wrap your arms around his neck. Soon your fingers found their place in his hair, and you promptly began messing it up, dragging your fingernails through the soft locks. You accepted his tongue in your mouth shortly after, letting the older man taste you to his heart’s content and ravish your mouth as he saw fit. 

One of his hands came to take hold of the underside of your thigh, and he effortlessly lifted your leg up to place it over his hip. You lost your balance somewhat, but Aesop held on tight, his strong arms rendering you standing upright right where you were, as well as making you very aware of the effect your heated snogging had on him through this very close proximity. 

You managed to stifle the groan that threatened to escape you, but weren’t able to stop yourself from tugging on his hair harder, which in turn made him produce an unintelligible noise into your own mouth. 

“Oh, sweetheart…” he breathed out, closing his hand tighter on the flesh of your thigh, pressing you even closer, “if we don’t stop now, I think I might actually ravish you right here on the floor. Which I wouldn’t be exactly opposed to, mind, but I’d rather not traumatise our house elf friend was he to appear. For one. 

“For two, the ground is hardly a very comfortable place to rest afterwards…”

Your breath caught in your throat at his sultry voice. A few chosen words, and here you were, quite ready to actually really let him take you right there, right now. 

You were both torn from your little game of seduction by a series of loud sounds coming from one end of the room. You swiftly turned your heads in that direction, watching in bewilderment as a door appeared out of nothing. It was no ordinary door, though - it was camouflaged to look like the wall around it, and had it been closed, you could barely see it was there at all. 

From the entrance of the training room, it was virtually invisible.

“I swear, if that is what I think it is, I’m about to start really doubting this place, “Aesop said with a disbelieving expression on his face, “Vivariums to breed bloody Graphorns is one thing, but making a whole new room solely so that a professor can make love to his student sweetheart on a surface more comfortable than a stone floor? Now that’s ever so slightly questionable.”

You couldn’t help the small fit of giggles that overtook you then. Aesop watched in mild amusement as you covered your mouth. 

“You know,” you said once your laughter died down, “that’s what this place is all about; it provides without judgement. You really need to use the loo, it creates the loo. It feels like you could do with a bath, it makes a bathtub… And now here we are, the two of us very much needing a nice, comfortable and private space, and, of course, the Room is ready to provide.”

The professor pulled back slightly, a sly smirk on his lips as his hands kneaded the flesh of your hips. “Well… In that case, we’d be quite ungrateful not to make use of whatever the Room prepared for us, wouldn’t we?”

Without warning, your feet left the ground as the potions master bent to toss you over his broad shoulder. You barely avoided a collision with his strong back by bracing your hands against it.

 “Aesop!” you squealed out, only prompting him to chuckle smugly and use his free hand to swat gently at your buttocks. “You absolutely incorrigible man…” you sighed then, accepting your fate. You were unable to deny that there was something completely exhilarating about being manhandled like this. 

Several months ago, Aesop would’ve needed at least two phials of Wiggenweld potion to be able to just toss you over his shoulder and walk with you like this without doubling over in pain. However, following the extensive exercising he did while his leg was on the mend, Aesop felt healthier and stronger than ever, and he carried you like you weighed nothing at all.

From your position, you were only aware that Aesop was carrying you towards the newly formed room, but you couldn’t see a thing, despite attempting to turn around as much as your current position allowed you. Finally, the professor stopped in his tracks and whistled: “Well I never… this looks quite enticing indeed…”

Slowly and carefully he lowered you down until your feet once again touched the ground, his hands seemingly accidentally lifting your skirt slightly in the process, running over the backs of your thighs. 

You immediately turned around to see the new room for yourself, and grinned wide right away. Oh yes, you thought, this was indeed quite lovely.

The new room was bathed in a soft moonlight, and there were at least a dozen candles placed around on the various surfaces within. The flames of the candles danced and swayed slowly, creating a very tantalising atmosphere. There were several pieces of furniture. Before the artificial window stood two comfortable looking armchairs, and to the side of the room was a dresser, a white basin with a matching water jug and a few washcloths upon it. 

However, the obvious centrepiece of the room was a (very) large and beautiful bed, with intricate details adorning its dark wooden frame, and covered with deep purple sheets giving off a silky shine. It looked incredibly inviting, and you had to restrain yourself from jumping straight among the copious amount of pillows.

The Room of Requirement outdid itself indeed, it was one of the most beautiful if not the most beautiful bedroom you ever laid your eyes on, and it seemed Aesop agreed with you in this regard: “Now I feel a little self-conscious about your first time being among the mismatched chaos of my aunt’s cottage to be honest…” 

You could not help but grin at the teacher: “Oh, I thought it was quite charming, actually! However, rest assured that it matters very little to me whether we are at your aunt’s cottage, in your chambers, or in this spectacular room. I’m just glad to be there with you.” 

Aesop smiled at your words with the kind of smile that always made butterflies flutter within your stomach, and this time was no exception. You never understood his insistence that you deserved better, someone younger, better looking, who hadn’t made as many mistakes as he. 

In your eyes, he was perfect in his imperfections, and handsome beyond all reason.

You barely noticed your hand glide over his prickly cheek, your thin finger tracing the edge of his lips. His eyes fluttered a little under your tender touch, and his look was devoted and filled with adoration. And when you suddenly gripped his tie just below its knot and pulled him towards you, you were quite surprised to feel a very similar sensation. 

Aesop too held onto your blue and bronze Ravenclaw tie, and he also used it to pull you closer for a passionate, nearly bruising kiss.

The kiss was much too short however, as Aesop parted your lips mere seconds later in order to release a hearty chuckle, for he noticed your accidental synchronisation as well. The pause before another kiss was not horribly long though, and soon the professor was very much snogging the living daylights out of you, something you definitely didn’t mind.

“You know,” he murmured during one of your brief breaks for air, voice low and a little hoarse, “you gave me something of an idea…”  

“Oh? What sort of idea?” you mumbled in reply, your fingers slowly probing at the lapels of his overcoat before sneaking down to unfasten the buttons of his waistcoat. The potions master was smiling as he watched your growing desire, and his grin widened even further upon your whispered question. His dominant hand once more closed around your tie, now over the knot itself, and pulled down. The tie grew looser around your neck until it slipped from its knot entirely, remaining hanging in Aesop’s hold. 

“You see, I wondered whether I could perhaps make use of this. And my own tie as well… Tie you by the wrists to the bedposts, spread you nice and wide for me, then have fun making you come apart for me again, and again, and again…” he purred into your ear, marking the end of his sentence with a quick nip at your earlobe, prompting you to shudder noticeably. 

“So?” he whispered again, “what do you say?”

The smug bastard, you thought, grinning. He knew very, very well just by looking at you, that refusal of his proposal was the very last thing on your mind, the first electricity like impulses of impending lust fluttering through your core. Aesop smiled and started kissing a hot trail over your throat, but otherwise made no further advances.

“I need an answer, my love…I need you to say it,” he reminded after another minute or two, and you belatedly understood his restraint in taking things further just yet. 

“Y-yes, Aesop” you finally replied, voice a little shakier than before. 

“Good,” came out of his mouth as little more than a sigh, and his hands slid up to begin undoing your crisp white shirt, pulling it out from where it was tucked under the waistband of your skirt in the process. You watched almost mesmerised as his large long fingers made easy work of the small, delicate buttons, all the while his mouth latched onto your neck again. 

He kissed the newly uncovered skin after he’d slipped the soft shirt down your shoulders. Hot tongue glided over your collarbones and the clever fingers slid down the sides of your bosom before taking hold of your waist. His head dropped further and he nuzzled his face into the cleavage of your chemise before kissing at the path in-between your breasts, as much as the silky material covering them allowed him anyway.

He raised his eyes slowly and waited until your gazes connected. While his cheeks were slightly flushed and his dark eyes made even darker by the growing arousal, there was also that cheeky glint within them you were so fond of witnessing. It made another shiver run through your frame. The reason was simple: every other time Aesop had this look in his eyes, you knew he was going to say or do something that would plaster a nearly permanent grin on your face. Utter some deeply ironic quip, long-suffering comment concerning his students, or offer some rather cheesy pick up line. 

However, when he got this look in his eyes as the two of you were about to retire to the sheets, it meant a single thing: You were not leaving this bed tonight.

He bent even further, his lips making contact with one of your nipples, which was visibly perked under the thin chemise following his previous actions. The sharp sting of his crooked teeth on the sensitive tissue made a barely audible mewl escape your open mouth, and when your lover’s tongue circled the teat through the undergarment, your knees buckled somewhat.

 His chuckle against the now damp material of your undershirt didn’t help much either. 

“I can see we best get you to a seating position… Can’t have you tumble down for me just yet, now can we…” he said, sounding very satisfied with himself. 

He guided you to the edge of the bed and sat you down. The mattress felt firm yet comfortable, but you didn’t really have time to ponder about it for too long, as the potions master kneeled before you. He took hold of one of your feet and propped it up on his upper thigh so that he could unfasten the laces on your boot. And once he did, his large hands slid over your leg appreciatively, fingers teasing at the stocking covering it. Your skirt was lifted a bit to reveal the soft, milky skin of your upper thighs, as well as the simple elastic garter holding the hose up. 

Aesop made quick work of it, and seemed to be immensely enjoying slowly peeling both the garter and the stocking off your leg, dragging his nose and lips over the skin of your knee, your shin, your instep. The discarded clothes landed somewhere on the floor behind him, and he focused his attention on your other leg. 

Once you were completely barefoot, he raised a single finger in a silent request for you to give him a moment. He shifted to sit on the ground instead, and started undoing his own heavy boots, haphazardly throwing them to the side once they were loose enough for him to slip his feet out of them. With a barely audible grunt, he stood up again, rose to his full height, and made the height difference between the two of you greater than ever. 

There was a small predatory glint in his eyes as he towered over you, but he remained so gentle still, raising his hand to merely caress your cheek with utmost gentleness. You happily leaned into his touch, turning your head a bit to be able to press a kiss against the heel of his palm. 

“I’m going to need you to scoot further back on the bed, love” he requested in a quiet, unreadable voice, but you didn’t hesitate to comply. 

You only just managed to sit back enough for your entire body to be upon the bed, before your back made sudden contact with the mattress behind you. As it turned out, as soon as there was enough space on the bed, the potions master nearly leapt up upon it and on top of you with the ferocity of a wild thing, using his hands to pin yours above your head on the mattress, before rendering your entire body immobile using his body weight. You felt the low rumble of his laughter all over you, saw the irresistible smirk on his mouth, his face right above yours. Without further ado, you connected your lips again.

You couldn’t help but grin when he finished the kiss with a playful nip at your lower lip and scooted back in order to rid you of the rest of your garments. He popped open the button of your skirt, and unabashedly tugged it down along with your drawers. 

“Aesop Sharp, you truly are an insatiable man…” you muttered amusedly, prompting the teacher to snort. Soon, his palms again covered your thighs and began sliding up, excruciatingly slow, pushing the chemise up inch by inch. He always did this part slowly, almost reverently, lapping up your naked form with his eyes just like he did that very first night… 

And like that first night, you were justly bothered by the obviously unfair difference between your states of undress. You were quite ready to comment on it too, after the last piece of your clothing joined its companions on the floor, but found yourself speechless after your lover moved to straddle your waist, your previously discarded tie in hand along with his own. When did he even take it off?

“May I, dear?” he asked again, taking your hand and moving it above you at a slow pace, in case you had changed your mind about the whole thing. 

You felt your face burn as you nodded: “Yes, Aesop…”

Soon thereafter, Aesop was securing your left wrist to one of the bedposts using your Ravenclaw tie. You noted how careful he was tying you to the bed, constantly making sure the tie wasn’t squeezing your wrist tight enough to cut off your blood flow, but also that there was no way for your hand to get free following any sudden harsh movements. Your other hand was promptly taken care of as well, and Aesop moved back to sit across your hips and admire his handiwork.

The obvious hunger in his eyes made more blood rush into your cheeks, and your hands balled into loose fists.

You were completely naked before him, physically and mentally, vulnerable and defenceless… And yet you felt entirely comfortable with the situation. You felt exhilarated and excited as to what Aesop was about to do to you. The man himself seemed content to simply touch and observe you for a while, his warm hands caressing your body everywhere he could reach, mapping your curves, connecting your freckles and moles using his fingers. 

“Might have to re-tie you later,” he mused out loud in a low voice when he dragged his digits over your arms, making your body break out in goose flesh and making you squirm slightly at the ticklish sensation. “Oh?” you asked, your eyelids heavy with anticipation. You didn’t expect his next words to make a tremble run through you, but they sure did: “in case I want to flip you on your hands and knees instead…” 

Seeing your reaction, another predatory grin spread on Aesop’s features: “Oh, this is going to be fun… For now, though, I think it’s only fair you’re not the only one disrobed.”

Aesop began to take off his clothes then. First to go were his overcoat, jacket, and the waistcoat you unbuttoned previously, all of which the potions master shook down and away in one go. However, then he must’ve decided that a bit more teasing is in order, and each following article of clothing was removed slower than the last one. Aesop was fixing you with a smug smirk as he slowly shrugged the suspenders off his shoulders, and started unbuttoning his own white shirt. 

You licked your lips and your fingers flexed on their own accord as he revealed his hirsute chest.

That made him grin even more. He knew you loved to touch him, that you loved to run your nimble fingers through the hair on his breast, to pull on it, to bury your face in it to inhale his scent. He loved when you did that too. However, right now he was rather enjoying witnessing you like this even more.You remained silent but inhaled shakingly when he started to unfasten his trousers, revealing the sizable bulge in his pants.

A relieved little sigh left his mouth: “Finally. Those were getting uncomfortably tight… Then again, I hope to get into something even tighter later…” The potions master slowly untied the lace of his pants and slowly pulled them down.

His erection sprung out from its cottony confines, and your mouth watered at the sight of him. Your thighs squeezed together as much as they were able to, considering the tall man was still straddling you, and you found yourself perhaps slightly desperate to continue.

Just seeing Aesop like this, half naked, his large cock throbbing, his inhibitions tossed out of the window, and his gaze positively ravenous did inexplicable things to you. Your already swift heartbeat quickened up further and your womanhood dampened with sheer lust. 

You watched in fascination as his own fingers wrapped around the stiff penis, and he began to stroke himself slowly. Merlin, while you weren’t able to touch him, you could recall the feel of him inside of your hand perfectly, the organ hot and thrumming under your fingertips, getting even more sensitive at its mushroom-like pink tip, out of which a small clear droplet of fluid spilled already.  

He shifted somewhat and used his feet to spread your legs a little bit, just enough for him to slide the shaft into the gap that appeared between your thighs, dragging it through your damp folds and over your swelling lovebud deliciously. A noise so quiet you almost struggled to hear it yourself snuck out from your throat and you swallowed heavily, squirming at the teasing. He pumped his hips a few times, enjoying the sweet friction and riling you up further. 

He chuckled then, though it was audible in his voice that he wasn’t nearly as calm as he perhaps pretended to be. His breath was definitely shorter than it had been, and the rise of his eyebrows was absolutely unmistakable.  

He remained stationary for a little while, nestled within your legs, before a low chuckle rolled through him: “My apologies, dear, I seem to be getting terribly ahead of myself.” He braced his arms on the mattress next to your ribs, and slightly awkwardly climbed off the bed, mindful not to trip over his own undone trousers.

He removed his socks, then fully took off the dark breeches, his drawers soon following. He took his sweet time carefully folding each discarded article of clothing, which contrasted with all the other clothes that were haphazardly thrown on the floor previously. 

You watched his every move; someone as tall as Aesop shouldn’t be able to be this elegant in their movements, especially so during an activity as simple as removing one’s clothing, yet he managed perfectly. It was actually nearly mesmerising to watch him.

You heard a dark chuckle when he turned to the dresser to place his folded clothes onto it: “Oh, Room of Requirement indeed! This is exactly what I was thinking about just now,” he said, seemingly more to himself than to you. He slowly turned around to show you what he discovered on the piece of furniture. It was a long stripe of soft-looking deep green fabric, a little wider than a ribbon. It took you several seconds to understand what he intended to do, by which point he was already sitting on the edge of the bed next to you. “What do you think? Do you trust me, my love?” he asked gently, reaching out to touch your hot cheek, calloused fingertips dancing over the smooth flushed skin in gentle patterns. You thought about the idea for a little while, swallowing nervously. It all came down to a simple fact: 

You did trust him. You trusted him absolutely.

You didn’t really know what to expect from the experience of being both bound and blindfolded, though. What if not being able to touch him, or even see him at all would make it uncomfortable for you? Or what if the lack of sight would make the sensations too intense? It was yet another unknown for you. But then again, so was sex itself mere months ago. And Aesop was so completely brilliant, guiding you through all of it, holding your hand, and being so patient and sweet with you. Every single day, you discovered together what worked for one and didn’t for the other, staying respectful of one another’s boundaries and feelings.

It was so easy with Aesop. It was amazing with him. 

You knew you needn’t have ever worried. After all -

“If anything starts being too much, if it gets uncomfortable, even a little bit, just say the word and I’ll immediately stop and release you,” Aesop said sincerely, still stroking your cheek tenderly. You couldn’t help but smile at him, channelling all of your love for this man with your eyes.: “I trust you completely, Ace.”

The professor grinned in reply, his hand squeezing the piece of fabric a bit tighter. He leaned down to place a single kiss on your pliant mouth, and then tied the blindfold around your head. It indeed was as soft  and smooth as it appeared, but it blocked out way more light than you would’ve thought a thin stripe of cloth like this one could. That is, you were suddenly plunged into absolute darkness, which disoriented you momentarily.

Nothing happened for at least a full minute, no touching, no kissing, if you didn’t hear Aesop’s soft breathing right in front of you, you would’ve nearly thought he left, which was of course silly.

But then… First thing you felt was a warm body descending upon your own once more, both enticingly and comfortingly, a pair of arms coming to curl around your back. Then, a hot pair of lips claiming yours in a slow kiss. Finally, his breath teased at your earlobe again: “Could you do me a favour, dear?” he asked, sounding more playful than ever. Your mind felt quite clouded over, but you managed a very eloquent ‘huh?’. However, even in your heavily distracted state, you were sure that smug smile was still plastered on his face: “Would you please test your restraints for me?”

A breathless chuckle escaped your lips, but you decided to humour him anyway. At first you tugged at the neckties in several short bursts. That, unsurprisingly, did absolutely nothing. So you decided to truly try, and put your entire strength into an attempt to loosen the restraints enough to get free. You were sweating and breathless by the time you realised there was no way for you to get your hands free. Without magic, that is. 

“So, my dear… Are you able to free yourself?” Aesop whispered against your lips, his large nose dragging against your own in a manner that was contrastingly cute compared to the delectably filthy sound of his voice and the even filthier unspoken promise.

 “No, I’m not.”

”Good.” 

And not a second later were you gasping in surprise which swiftly turned into a moan of pleasure as the professor’s mouth latched itself onto your breast, his teeth worrying your sensitive nipple rather roughly. Aesop bit and he sucked in the way he knew you loved, and he always did so until it became nearly painful, at which point he stopped and focused his attention on your other nipple, giving it the same treatment. 

Normally, you’d be dragging your fingers through his hair and tugging on it, but now all you were able to do was to squirm and accept his merciless ministrations. Every now and then he pulled away slightly in order to blow cool air onto the teat, prompting it to harden even further than it already was.

You could only imagine your nipples being raw red and swollen when he finally lifted his head up again. They felt so very tender, and your quim was throbbing longingly. “Now what do we have here?” he asked lightly, clearly enjoying himself immensely, “another lovely thing I can use…” 

Did the Room create another object? What could it be? 

You gasped loudly when something cold and liquidy hit your collarbone and poured down between your breasts to further spill down your sides and into the little hollow of your belly button. A strong scent hit you then - is that Firewhisky?! While you didn’t enjoy the taste of the liquor, you couldn’t deny its smell and the alcoholic vapour combined with your current state of arousal made for one sensual mix. 

And the mix was made even more sensual when Aesop’s mouth proceeded to lick the alcohol from your skin, being very meticulous in his effort not to let a single drop go to waste. After he’d finished by drinking the last few drops from your belly button, he gave a satisfied grunt: “Hm, my sweet - I don’t think I ever want to drink Firewhisky a different way…”

You were now able to hear soft sounds of skin on skin, and another small sigh left your mouth. You truly wished you could see him, as you didn’t doubt he looked completely delectable. In your mind’s eye, you did see him; he was half hovering over you, half kneeling upon the bed between your own legs, slowly stroking himself while he played you like a violin, plucking at all the right strings. He repeated the process a few more times, pouring and licking the liquor off your body, mindful that it didn't get onto the more sensitive bits, all the while audibly pumping himself and groaning at the combined sensations.

It was complete and utter hedonism, and bloody hell you loved it…

“A-Aesop…” you sighed. You could smell his musk and the Firewhisky, and it was driving you positively ravenous. Not being able to touch him or even see him was only adding to the desperation. “Hmm? What is it, my sweet?” came from above your navel, Aesop’s breath cooling the damp skin and making you shiver, the words very nearly purred. You opened your mouth to speak, but no sound came out. You didn’t actually know what exactly you wanted to ask for - the only thought on your mind was him. You just wanted more of him.

There was a bit of shuffling; you felt the change in pressure on the mattress around you, and soon he was straddling you again, this time higher up your chest. He was very careful not to actually sit on you and potentially squeeze something too much. His scent got stronger, and the soft sounds of his hand languidly sliding over his shaft louder. “What would you like, dear?” 

You could feel your cheeks redden impossibly, and were all of a sudden a bit glad for the fact that you couldn’t see him. Noiselessly you opened your mouth and stuck your tongue out obscenely. A chuckle was your sole answer before long fingers slid into your hair to stroke it: “I rather think it’s my turn to make you feel good, sweetheart, not vice versa,” he said quietly, but you couldn’t mistake the little tremble in his voice. 

“Please…” you whispered back, before opening your mouth again. Aesop’s hand slid back from your hair and he caressed  your cheek instead, before putting two fingers on your tongue and making you open your mouth even more. You instantly any recognised the next thing to touch your tongue. You closed your lips around the engorged glans, and began to run your tongue around it, rolling it in your mouth and worrying at the slit at the top. You then hollowed out your cheeks to add suction to the movements of your tongue on him. 

His breath shuddered, and the hand on your cheeks tensed somewhat when you began bobbing your head up and down as much as you were able to in your position, releasing soft groans every time you managed to take him in further. Soon his own hips joined into the slow rhythm, and he used his hand to guide your head along even further.

The musky scent of him, the slightly salty taste, his beautiful sounds, oh, he was absolutely intoxicating. You licked along the defined veins of his cock, no doubt looking a right slobbering mess, but neither of you were capable of caring. If your hands were free, you'd be gently kneading at his bollocks, or perhaps toying with his nipples, but you had to admit, being restrained like this made for a very heady experience as well…

“Mhm, f-fuck,” he grit out before a hard thrust forward, one that guided him all the way in. You felt the tickle of his pubic hair on your nose, felt him twitch inside of your throat. You breathed deeply, fighting your gag reflex, the fabric covering your eyes dampening slightly with the tears that burst out following your efforts. You swallowed around the heavy prick, prompting another choked sound from your lover. 

The hand that was holding your cheek before tangled into your hair, and closed into a fist around it just enough to make you feel the pull, but not any pain. “I could just come right now-” he said, his voice low and dripping with pleasure, “paint the inside of your throat…” Your eyes fluttered under the blindfold. You wouldn't mind. The few times he allowed you to actually finish him using your mouth were completely glorious. “But that’s no fun, considering I’m planning to ruin you before I even fill that sweet little cunny of yours…”

 And then, with what seemed like a lot of effort, Aesop loosened his hand on your hair and pulled back and out of your mouth, a thin string of saliva clinging onto his tip still before separating, and falling unceremoniously down on your neck.

You heard him breath heavily for a few minutes, calming himself down a bit to be able to carry on with your little play. He moved back so that his legs framed yours again and his hands braced on the mattress on each side of your head.

 “I rather think it’s time to make you cry out for me , my dear.”

 Before you were able to gather your bearings, he claimed your lips in a filthy hot kiss, his tongue probing and penetrating, immediately overpowering your own into submission. You could taste the Firewhiskey he lapped up off your skin, and were sure he could taste himself on your tongue. You only sighed into the incredible kiss, letting him take absolutely everything he could possibly want. “You are driving me mad, (F/N)...” he muttered against your lips, a sense of urgency in his words, and ran his hands over your arms. They were beginning to feel quite numb if you were honest, but Aesop’s touch still made your skin break out in gooseflesh, and the promise of more pleasure to come made you completely uncaring towards any numbness.

Using his hand, Aesop turned your head to the side to be able to bite down on your pulse point, and he once more began to descend down your form. A trail of kisses and little bites led him back to your breasts, and he couldn't resist flicking his tongue over your poor, oversensitive teats, which made you whine quietly and toss your head around a little. Your thighs were rubbing against one another unconsciously, as you were trying to bring at least a little bit of friction to your soaking wet cunt. 

“Oh, I don’t think so, love,” Aesop said once he noticed your efforts, some of his smugness seeping back now that he wasn’t root-deep in your throat, and forced his own leg between yours, “as I said - my turn.”

You felt terribly cold when he pulled away somewhat, immediately missing the warmth of his strong body. Your legs were then mercilessly spread open, exposing your nearly aching womanhood to the cool air of the chamber and making you gasp. You heard what sounded like a growl leave the man who was currently digging his fingers into the sensitive skin of your thighs where he held them, no doubt leaving small bruises in his wake. 

“Bloody hell, sweetheart,” he mumbled, further opening your legs, “I wish you could see yourself right now… See yourself the way I see you… So beautiful. So sweet and lovely, all spread out like this. Like a feast ready to be devoured...” 

A single finger slipped across your seam, dipping within your folds teasingly before dragging over your swollen clitoris. “You are absolutely drenched,” Aesop remarked, the urgency in his voice coming back. Though he said his words lightly, airily almost, you could feel what felt like a snare drum in your veins. You were like prey face to face with a predator, and you knew that he would strike any second now. Your thighs trembled in anticipation.

And while you half expected it, it still caught you unawares when he lunged down, burying his face between your thighs. His lips, tongue and teeth all at once began an intense assault on your most primal senses, the relief of having your need finally attended to combined with the need itself forced a choked cry out of your throat, and for a second you couldn't comprehend why you couldn’t feel his hair between your fingers, when your hand was clearly reaching for it. 

No, your hands were instead balled into tight fists and you shuddered violently. Your lover was groaning in pleasure as he licked and sucked at your damp skin before letting his tongue delve into your fluttering opening, one of his hands letting go of your leg and coming in to help. His calloused thumb quickly found your lovebud, and began to rub it in a circular motion, in the same rhythm in which his tongue thrusted inside you.

Because of the absence of sight, it was like you could feel every single sensation twice as intense. Aesop’s little grunts as he devoured you, his thumb relentlessly worrying at your clitoris, that sweet, sweet sting of his beard on your tender skin, and the complete inability to do anything about any of these things, bound as you were, made the little electric sparks that announced an impending climax approach much quicker than usual. Mind, Aesop was perfectly capable of making you come within mere minutes, but the teacher was fond of taking his sweet time riling you up, and in turn making sure you were ready for him to fully take you. 

Two fingers pushed in alongside his tongue in search of that hidden bundle of nerves that never failed to make you moan for him. And find it they did, swiftly and precisely. 

You didn’t expect the orgasm to rip through you the moment the tips of his digits bumped into it, but here you were, crying out embarrassingly loudly and arching your neck and back as much as you were able to, while your toes curled and the sudden pleasure made your body feel like it was on fire. It was obvious your lover didn’t exactly expect it either, if his little gasp was anything to go by. His mouth left you, but his hands remained where they were, the fingers inside you actually pushing against your walls with every contraction of them, stretching them open. 

“My, my…” he said a little smugly as you still writhed under the sensations, your breathing laboured and your heartbeat almost too loud for you to hear him, “that was quite unexpected. However, very, very much welcomed. In fact, I rather think I’d like to do that again.” And without further warning and without you having any time to come down from your high, the teacher dove right back, his mouth returning to your entrance, and his devilishly clever hands doubling their intense assault. And just like that, you were thrown right back into the toe-curling sensations, your body so bloody sensitive, yielding to Aesop like he was its true master. Despite having just climaxed less than two minutes ago, you felt bloody close to the edge once more, and Aesop seemed hellbent on mercilessly shoving you over it again, lapping up at your fluttering entrance like a man starved.

Then however, as his fingers started to pump quicker inside you, making sure to hit that spot again and again, his mouth was forced to retreat, and he instead used it to suck at your lovebud instead. 

Another sudden and earth-shattering orgasm flooded over you in a truly ridiculously short amount of time, and now you were trembling all over, your thighs shaking nearly violently. You weren’t even aware of the surely whorish sounds you were producing, but your sweetheart obviously appreciated them, for you heard him growl: “That’s it, my sweet - sing for me…” 

This time he didn’t stop his ministrations even for a second as you came on his fingers and mouth a second time, and you remained a moaning, blubbering mess. You could feel a film of sweat covering your inflamed form, your own heart hammering in your ears louder that the bells of the Bell tower.

It was… It was actually becoming too much in the span of such a short time, and you were beginning to feel a bit dizzy from the unstopping pleasure, overstimulation setting in. Your dry throat burned from the sounds you made, and as yet another orgasm approached you, fast, intense, and feeling destructive, you knew that your limit would have been reached after that. 

So you gathered up all of your strength, all of the sense you were able to muster at the moment (which wasn’t a lot but it was hopefully enough for you to be able to say a single word), and you took several shallow breaths, fighting more moans that were bubbling in your throat.

“J- ah! J-Jobberknoll!” you managed to squeak out before another powerful burst of pleasure rolled through you and you cried out once more, the cloth over your eyes once again getting wet with your tears, the sensations too much.

Too much! Too much!

However, less than two seconds later, it all stopped entirely, the fingers retreating from your pulsing heat, the mouth ravishing your clit disappearing, and a pair of strong arms taking gentle hold of your hips instead. You shuddered out a soft sound of relief. 

One of those strong hands softly touched your face and caressed your cheek. “Are you alright, (F/N)?” Aesop asked, the concern in his voice winning over the obvious arousal, “did I hurt you?”

 It took you at least a minute but possibly even more to gather your wits about you, to catch a breath, to stop feeling like you were either going to faint right there or climax anyway despite no longer being stimulated. All the while, Aesop’s hand was stroking your cheek, the other holding your hip still, and the teacher daren’t move.

 “I-” you finally managed to grit out, your voice sounding foreign to your ears, shaky and hoarse, “N-no, you didn’t hurt me, b-but… it was becoming too much. I’m sorry…”

 You heard him click his tongue reproachfully: “What did I tell you about apologising for stopping me when you want me to stop?” You took another several seconds to reply: “... Not to.” 

“Exactly. If anything, I’m proud of you for having spoken up,” he said quietly, caressing your hair in praise. You opened your mouth a few times, and we're just about to ask for some water, when something cool touched your lower lip. You swiftly recognised it as the rim of a goblet, and eagerly opened your mouth further. Aesop carefully helped you take several large gulps of water, soothing your dry throat. Once you were done drinking, your lover put the goblet away again, probably where he found it in the first place, and again stroked your cheek.

Do you want to fully stop? It’s absolutely alright if you do,” he said then, his fingers tracing the features of your face with utmost gentleness. “N-no!” you replied, perhaps way too quickly, but completely sincerely, “No, no, I don’t want to stop, I just-... I just need a few minutes.” 

The professor’s body covered your own again, bringing on a beautiful sense of comfort. “You can have as much as you want, dearest… is it alright if I kiss you in the meantime?” he asked, and you could feel yourself melting a bit on the inside.

Yes, the older man very much was capable of turning into nothing less than a ravenous beast during your tender fun, but was completely ready to stop the very moment you showed any discomfort, and even ask permission for a kiss after he just made you come twice, face buried in your quim. 

“P-please,” you whispered only, raising your head a bit in a blind search of his lips. You didn’t have to search for very long at all, as the hot mouth covered your own in a kiss so gentle, it contrasted your previous passion beautifully. However, that doesn’t mean this kiss wasn’t passionate. 

After all, you could taste the proof of your own arousal and pleasure on his lips and tongue, and it was such a strangely heady sensation, you felt your core flutter again.

“Mhm…” your lover groaned between kisses, “can you taste how delicious you are? How amazing you smell? You are like bloody ambrosia to me, and I’ll never stop craving more. I could come just like that, just devouring you like so, forcing those sweet sounds out of you. Almost have, just now…” You proceeded to whimper into the next kiss, his words making the primal thing in you purr happily. 

“A-Aesop… I-... you can continue… please…” you whispered against his lips. You could feel him smile, his hands once more going to your hips and massaging them shortly. “Are you certain, (F/N)? We can wait a little more, if you need. Do you want more water?” he asked.

“N-no…” you replied, “no, I'm fine. Please, continue.”

He pulled back again then, and you could feel his engorged glans against your opening. You were already taking a deep breath, preparing for the penetration, when instead the teacher’s cock slid right along your seam and over your sweet spot, making you shudder in both pleasure and mild frustration. He repeated the motion several times, each one making you feel you’re about to go mad.

“You have to tell me what you want, my love,” your sweetheart whispered, his voice betraying the fact that he was barely restraining himself now too. You were already red as a salamander, but you still felt even more blood rush to your cheeks.

 “F-... Fuck me, Aesop!” You breathed out.

There was a few seconds of pregnant silence, but then the potions master chuckled gleefully: “Merlin’s beard, love… Words one could consider crude, but from your lips… Like a siren’s call… And your call is always my command.” 

However, before he could finally line up with the entrance into your warmth depths, you spoke up once more, a hint of embarrassment colouring your voice: “B-but wait! Can you… uh, can you please take the blindfold off? I need to see you…” 

Instead of laughing or refusing, Aesop gently caressed your cheek and moved his hands to remove the blindfold. “Of course, sweetheart. Let’s get this pesky thing off, shall we?”

Even though the room was quite dim, having spent long minutes in complete darkness, it took you some time to adjust to the light. You blinked repeatedly, your vision a little blurry, but soon your eyes focused on your lover. You couldn’t help the smile that bloomed on your face. Aesop too was smiling down at you, his eyes filled with both love and lust, pupils so dilated they made the teacher’s orbs look entirely black. His cheeks were reddened, and you could see the area around his lips glistening damply with the proof of your desire.

“You know,” he said gently, “I also prefer it when I can see you, see you fully, that is… I love looking into your eyes when you come for me…” 

Once more his hands took hold of your cheeks, and he dipped his head to give you another deep kiss. 

“Ready?” he asked, pushing a strand of your hair out of your eyes and across your sweat-slicked forehead. You beamed up at him, drunk on your pleasure and your love: “You take such good care of me, Aesop… Yes, I’m ready.”

The older man gave you another shiny grin and sat back on his heels. He grabbed his throbbing erection in his right hand, and gave himself several slow strokes, using his index and thumb to play with his foreskin, pulling it over his glistening glans halfway before pulling it back again, your eyes watching his every move and your womanhood fluttering in anticipation. 

“Of course, my love,” he said, “After all; you’re mine. I’ll always take the very best care of you. You can count on that… For now, however… For now I’m going to render you unable to count even to five.”

As much as you could, given your restricted position, you leaned over to watch him guide his prick to your dripping entrance. A sigh left your lips when he shifted forward and the dark pink tip sipped inside, the familiar stretch making you bite down on your lower lip. In a fluid motion, he thrust himself all the way inside, forcing another soft groan from your mouth. It was scary how addictive this feeling was, the feeling of complete fullness, of your bodies being this absolutely connected. You could feel the beat of his heart through his shaft within you, frantic like yours was. “Hmm…” Aesop sighed, his eyebrows rising in the pleasure of being completely enfolded within your plush heat, his voice soft. 

He stayed where he was for several moments, just enjoying the sensation and letting you adjust a little.

Effortlessly, he then lifted your lower body off the bed and placed his legs below your hips and bottom, making you sort of awkwardly sit in his lap while your upper body remained pretty much hanging by the hands secured to the bedposts. You were entirely in his control, unable to move at all. Not that you minded. 

His forehead made contact with your collarbone, and his arms curled around the small of your back, and he shallowly pumped his hips a few times, making the two of you produce soft sounds of pleasure. The rhythm he set was slow at first, the teacher’s mouth again closing around one of your nipples, your breast muffling his soft little grunts as he sheathed his cock within your core repeatedly. 

“Have I told you your breasts are the eighth world wonder, my sweetest?” he purred with a smile when he released the pebbled teat, once more red and sensitive from him rolling it between his teeth on the very verge of pleasure and pain. And while you were in the middle of another pleased sigh, you couldn’t help but chuckle at his words.

“Oh, Ace…,” you murmured, “I never knew how difficult it would be… Not b-being able to hold you…” Your eyes were partially closed as you enjoyed the sensations of him languidly fucking your tight little quim while worshipping your body. 

The professor smiled softly: “Would you like me to untie you?” You thought about it for a while, but ultimately decided to remain bound - after all, it was not every day you indulged in this kind of play, it’d be a shame to end it prematurely. 

“Mhm… no. No, it’s alright. I can tie you to the bed n-next time…” you whispered, moving your own hips as well as you could given the position, both of you searching for that one magical angle that made you cry out for him. “Now, that, ah…” Aesop groaned upon another thrust, “that’s an idea. Keen to leave me a moaning, trembling mess, are you?” Your eyes fluttered and your lips spread into a smile. “Y-you know how beautiful you are in that state?” you whispered, the image appearing in your mind’s eye. 

Aesop, completely dishevelled, blushing, sweating, whining in the pleasure you were bringing him. All the while being entirely at your mercy.

“Likewise, (F/N),” he growled slowly before suddenly snapping his hips roughly against your own, making you choke out a gasp, “which is why I intend to get you into that state right now .”

And then his pace quickened rapidly, and he finally found that spot that rendered you positively speechless. His fingertips dug into the flesh of your hips enough to leave small bruises there, and he began to ram into you in earnest. And, just like he promised, you were indeed soon reduced into a state of overwhelming pleasure, but this time you let it claim you fully and entirely, your hips quickly unable to keep up with his, and you could do little more than just lie/hang there and take it. 

The room was filled with the beautifully vulgar sounds of your bodies uniting, again and again, the noises of gratifications that poured from your open mouths, and the banging of the headboard against the wall behind it following Aesop's wild movements. You whined and writhed, your nails digging into your palms when they would normally be making small crescent moon shaped cuts in the skin of the teacher’s muscled back.

He leaned over suddenly, one of his hands curling around the headboard close to your right hand, while the other moved south. His thumb found your lovebud, and he began rolling it roughly in rhythm with his powerful thrusts.

The added sensation to the little pink pearl was like a summoning call to your previously snuffed out climax, and it began to return tenfold, your walls fluttering around the large cock, your entire form beginning to tremble under the delicious assault on your senses. Aesop’s other hand found your own where it was suspended at the bedpost.

“A-Aesop…” you barely managed to wine out, your grasp on the English language lessening rapidly. “I’m g-going to…” your head was thrown back, your eyes were rolling into the back of your head on their own accord, and you needed more.

“I-I’m… I’m close too,” he groaned and increased his pace even more, forcing more filthy noises pour out of your mouth at the dizzying feeling. And as you found yourself dancing upon that edge, your toes curling in on themselves, and the coil in your stomach tightening, Aesop suddenly pulled his hand away from where you were so intimately joined in order to wrap it around your throat. 

He wasn’t squeezing you very hard at all, just sort of pushing, lessening your oxygen supply. You trusted him, though, you trusted him to never hurt you, and right now he was making you feel so, so bloody good. 

The shortness of breath somehow made the chaotic flurry of sensations even stronger, and you gave a half-choked hoarse cry when you felt that knot inside finally explode into blinding white pleasure, one that made all of your muscles spasm. You felt that intoxicating feeling of soaring hot pleasure roll over you like a tidal wave. You let it consume you.

Your following sound turned into something of a sob, because of the sheer intensity. When you somehow managed to open your eyes, all you saw was Aesop, his face directly above yours, his eyebrows knitted and his eyes screwed shut. His mouth was opened, and a string of grunts was leaving it as he too found himself on the very verge.

With a muttered curse that had his voice rising half an octave, his eyes snapped open, and he looked directly at you. His gaze was both frightening and beautiful, he looked wild, like a primal being. He intended to take, and he was clearly past the point of all reason, chasing his pleasure within your contracting depths.

In a quick move, he pulled out, and used the hand he was gripping your neck with to roughly tug at his cock one, two, three times. A guttural growl that reminded you of a predatory animal reverberated through the room, and a hot rope of pearly white come spread over your stomach, followed by another one upon your ribs, reaching your breast even. He then proceeded to roughly thrust himself back into your quim, forcing a desperate whine from your mouth, and you felt more of his hot seed filling you in short bursts, igniting you from within.

Aesop’s forehead landed on your own, hot puffs of his breath landing on your damp lips, the hand that was holding your own tangling into your hair as he still pumped his hips slowly to ride out his orgasm.

You were perfectly marked by him, inside and out, claimed as his own again.

His strength gave a minute later, and he collapsed on top of you heavily, his breathing ragged and his heartbeat frantic.You gratefully accepted the weight and warmth of his body. Waves of gratification still rocked through you, and a sweet afterglow was settling in. 

You turned your head to the left, where Aesop’s face was still buried in the crook of your neck, and pressed several soft kisses against his bearded jaw, nuzzling against his scarred cheek with your nose. One of his hands was still stroking through your hair, damp with perspiration, while the other curled around your back, holding you close.

As you cooled down from your shared ecstasy, your lover finally lifted his head, but only to connect your lips in a satisfied, lazy kiss, the previous lust-crazed passion replaced by sweet tenderness. After several minutes of gentle kisses and soft words, he looked into your eyes. 

“Are you alright, sweetheart? I haven't hurt you, or squeezed you too hard?” the professor asked, his voice low with residue pleasure and slight fatigue. The hand in your hair went to gently stroke at your neck instead, checking for any damage he might’ve caused. You couldn’t do much else than beam back at him: “I’m alright, Aesop… Although I can’t really feel my hands.” Your smile got a little sheepish as you nodded in the direction of your hands, still tied to the bedposts by your and his neckties. 

“Ah,” Aesop hummed, “of course, dear, let me just-” and then, following a wave of his hand, the ties began unknotting themselves before simply sliding off your arms. You felt pins and needles in the limbs as you finally lowered them to rest on Aesop’s strong back, but couldn’t find it in yourself to care, just happy to be finally able to hold him.

You stayed like this for a few more minutes, just enjoying the intimate closeness, before Aesop finally moved to sit up on his heels again, his now soft member leaving your depths. Your lover murmured something under his breath as he looked down on your body and then on his own. And then he smiled: “I made a bit of a mess - I’m sorry dear.” 

His voice betrayed him though, he sounded everything but apologetic.

He was looking at you with a mix of smugness, possessiveness, a hint of renewed desire, and overwhelming love, as he observed the product of his pleasure clinging to both of your stomachs and dripping out of your core. You were blushing heavily, but didn’t feel uncomfortable at all. With a simple wave of his hand, the jug that stood upon the dresser poured water into the washbasin. Another wave, and it floated towards the bedside table, along with one of the soft looking cloths. 

Aesop’s elegant fingers curled around the textile, and brought it into the water. After squeezing out the excess liquid, he set to clean you. You were happy to find the water nicely warm, perfect for your tired, slightly sore body. Aesop very slowly and very carefully washed your torso, making sure to be extra gentle around the more sensitive areas like your tender nipples. He rinsed the cloth and continued lower. 

Many times, a quick Scourgify was enough to get both of you by, but it seemed Aesop was currently intent on prolonging the intimate atmosphere that settled between you, taking the sweet time to clean you up himself. 

Only after he was done with you did he finally use the washcloth on his own body, scrubbing the drying seed from the hair on his stomach and giving himself a quick wipedown. Once he was finally all done, he carelessly tossed the fabric into the basin and curled up next to you on the bed. He helped turn you on your side to face him, and pulled one of your legs over his hip. 

Soon thereafter, a very soft duvet slid upwards to cover your bodies and wrap them in its warmth. Your older lover then gently brought your wrists to his face and frowned momentarily: “If time comes when the two of us want to repeat this experience, I’ll get you some softer and finer restraints.” Your wrists were red where they were tied. “And I’ll get you some ointment for your wrists.”

You smiled at the professor. He was always so concerned for you, always making sure you were alright, even after he made you see stars and experience pleasures you wouldn’t have thought possible. 

“You do take such good care of me, Ace,” you repeated, drunk on your current state of comfort as well as the love you held for the incredible man who held you in his arms, blinking slowly, “but I think I quite want to keep my wrists as they are… As a… little reminder…”

A new wave of possessiveness flashed in his eyes for a second - you knew he adored seeing you embrace the marks he left on your body. You, after all, also loved to see the imprints of your fingernails clearly visible on the skin of his broad back, or the hint of the love bite you left just below his collar. It was clear the two of you had some sort of thing for marking the other as your own, as well as being marked. 

Your eyes closed on their own accord when his large, warm palms enveloped your face in their hold, and he sought your lips in a slow kiss. He helped you mould around his body in a way that was comfortable for both of you. 

“How long do you reckon we can stay here?” you asked softly, the fatigue that followed your most pleasurable love-making turning into outright sleepiness as you snuggled under the duvet. Your hands lazily stroked each other's bodies, your hair spread around your heads on the shared pillow. The moonlight from the artificial window got dimmer, and the flickering candles became the main light of the room, further deepening the intimate atmosphere. 

 Aesop hummed quietly: “I’m not expected anywhere. And I rather think your roommates no longer question your absence at night - after all, we planned to be together tonight anyway.” You huddled further into his warmth: “Good. I’m fairly certain I wouldn’t be able to walk back to your chambers right now anyway.” 

Your responses prompted a small chuckle out of the potions master: “I would’ve gladly carried you all the way back into my chambers, though I suspect the portraits and the ghosts would surely give us some curious looks.” You chuckled as well.

“It’s nearly surreal that in less than three weeks, there will be no more sneaking about… well, as successful as we were actually sneaking about anyway…” you continued, “if I finish my practical exams, that is.” The teacher only smiled at you, squeezing your waist: “You’ll be incredible. I know you will. And, I mean,” he pulled back to look at you, a grin on his face and a mischievous look in his eyes, “we can sneak about recreationally, if you so wish. However, I for one am quite looking forward to not having to do that, and instead be able to court you openly. If you’ll have me, that is.”

Another blush entered your face upon his sweet words: “Always, Aesop…”

“Still,” he spoke again after a while, “shame you’re such a responsible adult, going nearly straight to work following graduation - I would’ve hoped to have you all to myself for the summer. Though I of course realise you, uh, didn’t know whether there was even a possibility of a shared summer when you applied for and accepted the job. Still, if Miss Peck would be able to relieve you for, let’s say, a week… Well, we could go somewhere if you’d like. Devon, for example, is quite lovely this time of year.” 

As he spoke, the older man was fidgeting with your fingers, a hopeful undertone to his voice. You couldn’t help but smile warmly at him: “I think Ellie can miss me for one week, as long as I owl her about the matter in a timely manner… What can you tell me about Devon?”

Aesop’s grin could light up the entire Great Hall, and it certainly made a whole kaleidoscope of butterflies flutter around your stomach, as he turned to lean over you a bit: “Oh, let me tell you…”

Hello, and thank you very much for reading. I hope you enjoyed this dirty little story. As always, you can also check this story as well as all of my other stories over at AO3. I adore feedback! ❤

[veritas-scribblings]

own - @bartylusmicrofic - words: 455

‘Reg,’ Barty sighs. ‘Reggie. Regulus. Rejulus. Regimas.’ He shuffles up the bed so he can tuck his head onto Regulus’s lap, staring up at Regulus with his best pathetically doe-eyed expression. ‘Babe. Baby. Darling. Light of my life. Fire in my loins…’

‘What!’ Regulus looks away from his textbook and down at Barty. Just half an hour ago, Barty had returned from the common room with an armful of sweets and a handful of galleons, his winnings from absolutely thrashing their housemates at Blackjack.

Barty cheats, Regulus knows, and has roped Evan into helping him. Well, not so much cheats as counts cards, because Barty and Evan will never pass up an opportunity to swindle their housemates. No one has picked up on it yet, though it is just a matter of time as Dorcas is already suspicious.

Barty dramatically sighs again and whines, ‘Pay attention to me, I’m bored.’

Across the bed, wrestling with a packet of pepper imps, Evan snickers and gives Regulus a look. It’s a look-look, a silent knowing communication understood only by them. One that Barty notices and immediately feels left out about. Barty shuffles closer to Regulus and prods him, all scowly and sulking and needy and demanding.

‘Evan…’ Regulus says slowly, raising an eyebrow to communicate: you are going to help me with this, arsehole.

‘Don’t look at me. I told you.’ Evan snorts. He shakes his head. ‘He’s your boyfriend.’

And Evan had told Regulus. Right after Regulus and Barty had first slept together and their dynamic had taken a very, very slight shift in a different (adjacent) direction, and Regulus and Barty had separately run off to Evan to talk about what had happened between them, Evan had ‘told’ Regulus. That Barty was Regulus’s ‘problem’. That most things Barty-related will now be handled by Regulus as Barty’s ’significant other’. Regulus had naturally thought this is all terribly unfair as they’ve shared the responsibility for the last five-or-so-years, but Evan disagrees. They’re growing up. It’s part and parcel, he had said, of the whole ‘shagging Barty’ nonsense.

‘He’s your friend,’ Regulus snaps.

Evan grins triumphantly when he manages to get the pepper imp packet open. He throws a couple at Regulus and Barty. ‘He was your friend first.’

‘First for all of five minutes. You’re meant to be my friend. What happened to loyalty?’

Evan has popped a pepper imp into his mouth. There’s smoke furling from his ears and nose and Regulus just can’t take him seriously like this. When he speaks, licks of fire escape between his lips. ‘You chose to shag him,’ Evan says. ‘He’s your problem now. I did warn you. Barty’s like a baby bird. He’s imprinted. There’s no getting rid of him.’

Barty sits up, scowling at both of them. ‘Well now I just feel fucking unloved. You’re all arseholes.’

[breadbrobin]

the bet

part one.

cedric diggory x reader — harry potter

[fem!best friend reader]

summary: you could turn down many things. good, romantic advances, friendship. but you could never turn down a good bet

warnings: quite a lot of swearing, betting/gambling, GOD they’re so in love it’s stupid, minor character death (sort of???), i think i’m a comedian (i’m not), switched from an x oc story so might have a few mistakes oops

word count: 1.1k

(this is the x reader version of this story! i figured i might as well put it out there. why not, ig? anyway this story is kinda old now but i love it sm it’s so silly and fun so enjoy!!)

(i’ll be posting part two and three anyway but lmk if you want them!)

part two

part three

—————————————

The Inciting Incident

It all started when Lizzie Crawford entered the bathroom.

“God, Liz, do you ever knock?” You asked, mostly unfazed. You were used to her friend bursting in unannounced almost every time you were showering.

“No,” Lizzie said, perching on the edge of the closed toilet and picking at her chipped nail polish. “Now, I have a proposition for you.”

You poked your head around the opaque shower curtain. “Oh?”

She hummed absently, running her hand through her hair. “So you know how Diggory’s spending some of the summer with you, and then you don’t live that far away so you’ll probably be in each other’s pockets all break?”

“Uh… yes? Obviously, I know that? Why does that matter?”

“Well, I’ll bet you twenty galleons that you’ll get some action with him over the holidays.”

You turned the shower off and peeked around the shower curtain at your friend. “Come again?”

“I bet you twenty galleons that you’ll get some with Diggory over the holidays.”

“He’s my friend.”

“And? Do we have a deal?”

You paused, considering your options. On one hand, you knew you didn’t have feelings for Cedric. On the other, it felt wrong to take a bet like that. Finally, your lack of moral compass won. “Fine. We have a deal.”

“Great! I can’t wait to be twenty galleons richer.”

“Yeah,” you laughed, turning the shower on again and letting the water run through your hair. “Keep dreaming, Liz.”

“What are the conditions?” Camilla Maquez asked, leaning across the table at dinner.

“Conditions?” you asked, buttering a bread roll and handing it to her.

“Yeah, like, what constitutes as ‘getting some’,” she used quotation marks. “Because you two are so affectionate anyway, so Liz, you need to specify.”

You rolled your eyes and pulled a face at your friend.

“No, she’s right,” Lizzie cut in. “Kissing? That counts.”

“Only lips though right?” you clarified.

“Yes, babes. Holding hands romantically counts. Gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes.” she hummed in thought. “Hugs with romantic context.”

Camilla snorted into her bread. When the other two shot her a confused look, she raised her hands. “It’s funny because they do all of this anyway.”

“Not romantically,” you pointed out.

“Mhm,” she smirked.

“Piss off.”

“Anyway,” Lizzie continued. “Legs. Anything to do with legs. Touching your leg with his hand or leg or anything romantically.”

“Mm, that’s sexy stuff,” Camilla mocked.

“Like I said, piss off.”

“Obviously sex.”

“Liz!”

“Which you probably won’t do, but I need to keep my options open here.” she rectified.

“I have a bet myself,” Camilla spoke up again.

You sighed. “Yes?”

“Not with you.” she waved you off. “Five galleons says Diggory makes the first move.”

“That is not fair. We all know Y/N’s a pussy.”

“Hey!”

Lizzie laughed. “Just speaking the truth, hun. Oh! Pet names, but like, meaningfully, counts.”

“Are you taking my action, Liz?” Camilla implored, sticking her hand out.

She shook her head. “I guess so. You better prove me doubly right, Y/N!”

“Not planning on it,” you sang quietly, returning to your dinner.

The Cow Situation

Before you knew it, the school year was over.

You woke up around midday, that first day back, and stared at the ceiling, relishing in the silence that surrounded you. The birds chirped outside you window and a thin ray of sunlight peeked through the tan curtains, leaving a golden line across your body and room.

With a sigh, you rolled out of bed and rubbed her eyes. Your hair was a tangled mess around the back of your head, but you simply pulled it into a loose bun and headed downstairs.

A note sat on the kitchen counter.

Taken the dog for a walk, be back around 1:30. Hopefully you’ll be up by then…

Love, Mum

You smiled softly and put two pieces of bread in the toaster.

You leaned against the counter and stared out into the yard. A few chickens pecked and scratched the dusty ground and a pair of cows grazed in the field behind them. A small girl sat on the trampoline, not bouncing.

You frowned as you opened the door and walked over, scaring a chicken out of her way.

“Hey, Little C,” you called. “What’s up?”

Cordelia Ridge, your nine year old sister looked over her shoulder and looked back. “Hi.”

Your smile fell from your face and you climbed up onto the trampoline beside her. “Uh oh. What’s going on, Cords?”

“Mummy says Diedre is sick,” she pointed at the black and white cow.

“Sweetie, Diedre’s always getting sick.” you sighed. “Shoddiest immune system I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen you.” you poked her side, enticing a giggle out of the girl.

“So she’s gonna be okay?”

“Of course. It’s Diedre. She’s always pulled through before. Why not now?”

They were holding a funeral for Diedre the cow.

Cordelia was absolutely beside herself. You stood behind her, a hand on her shoulder, the other hand holding a bouquet of long grasses, hand picked and arranged by Cordelia that morning.

It was a dry day, and the sun was shining, and Cordelia was glaring up at it like it was personally offending her.

“Don’t look at the sun, Little C. You’ll go blind,” you chided, pulling your sunglasses off and slipping them on your sister’s face.

“Maybe I want to,” she sniffed. “Maybe I deserve it.”

Your face contorted in confusion. “What?”

“I should have realised sooner,” she wept. “I should have given her the love she deserved.”

You stared down at your younger sister, whose bottom lip was wobbling precariously. You crouched down and tucked her wispy hair behind her ear. “Listen to me, Cordelia. There was nothing you could’ve done. The animal doctor said that it was just time for her to go. Like Grandma.”

That apparently did not help.

The floodgates opened and the sunglasses fell off. Cordelia planted her face in your shoulder and wailed.

As the young girl cried, your eyes caught onto two tall figures walking towards the family.

Your mum smiled softly at you before walking over to the people.

The larger of the two hugged her and she led them over to you and Cordelia.

You saw it was Cedric and waved slightly.

He raised his brows at the crying girl you held before crouching down beside her and tapping Cordelia’s shoulder.

“Hey, Dells.” he said quietly, making her sobs quieten and her head turn towards him. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

She sniffled once, then twice, and detached herself from you. You breathed a sigh of relief, believing the worst to be over, when the nine-year-old launched herself onto Cedric, crying into his black shirt.

He shot you a small smile, reaching out and patting your knee gently as he comforted her sobbing sister.

Your stomach lurched.

That should have been your first sign.

[legally-lupin]

Her pt2 - Mattheo Riddle x Theo Nott X fem! Reader

Summary: who will you agree to a second date with ?

Go to part 1 for this story <3

Her pt1

It only took a night for an owl to come. Y/n sat in the great hall eating her breakfast when a huge owl crashed on the table spilling everything around it. A goblet of tea fell onto her lap. She jumped up from the sudden temperature change

“Merlin’s beard!!” She huffed wiping her skirt with tissues. Hermione helping her

“Who’s bloody dumb bird is this?” Ron said taking the letter from its foot the bird screeched and flew away its big wings causing everyone’s hair to blow

“It’s for you” Ron handed you the paper you stared at it the owl put you In a sour mood and whoever sent it will get an earful from you.

“Let’s see who was smart enough to send in a bloody owl the size of a dog!” Y/n huffed peeling the green ribbon off it

Dear y/n

Meet me at the astronomy tower doors before dinner

Bring a blanket or a jacket you choose :)

MR x

“Well?” Hermione asked looking over her friends shoulder

“Mattheo” y/n replied looking around for the boy smiling at him he winked at her with a piece of toast in his mouth

“Well we have class so let’s go before the traffic starts” Harry said laughing y/n pulled out a spare skirt out of her bag

“Can we stop by the toilets first I need to change”

Theo and Mattheo gave y/n subtle glances throughout the day which she responded with a smile her mood much better after changing.

During potions Mattheo sat next to y/n the trio looked at him but ignored him.

“Hey pretty girl” a kiss was placed on her cheek she gave a small smile and continued with her potion

“Sorry about the owl. He’s a bit dumb” Mattheo chuckled y/n gave the slytherin a really? You don’t say look laughing.

“Mr.Riddle I don’t think this is your table” professor snape raising an eyebrow. Mattheo smiled awkwardly before whispering

“See you in a few hours” and walked to his table. You can see Theo’s clutch on the silver rod tighten

“What am I gonna do?” Y/n sighed mione tried to comfort her friend

Dinner came by quickly. As you got dressed into something nice you faced Hermione spinning

“How do I look?” A big smile formed on your face

“Amazing as usual!” You linked arms as you left your common room

As you bid your goodbyes to your friends you made your way to the tower where Mattheo was already waiting for you. With a large bouquet of your favourite flowers in it.

“Hey” y/n said blushing. Mattheo pulled her into a hug her arms went over his shoulders and his went to her waist.

“You look so gorgeous” Mattheo whispered in her ear his lips pressed against her cheek

“Well you clean up rather nice your self” she remarked placing a kiss to his cheek

“Shall we?” Mattheo offered his arm which she gladly took as they ascended the stairs. Y/n was shocked to see the astronomy tower littered with lights and a table it was very sweet

“Oh wow you did all this ?!” You gasped looking at every detail Mattheo nodded proudly

“Of course I wanted it to be a great first date!” Mattheo pulled the chair out for you and tucked you in.

“A gentleman?!” You joked Mattheo chuckled before sitting himself opposite you

“For you” he smiled a big cheesy smile

“So what’s on the menu today?” Y/n asked looking at her surroundings

“Uh I’m not sure I told the house elves in the kitchen to surprise us for 10 galleons” as if on que the house elves arrived and placed the food in your table.

You both sat on the floor covered in soft pillows and watched the beauty of Hogwarts in comfortable silence

“I’ve really enjoyed our time together mattheo” y/n sighed her head leaning on his shoulder he hummed in agreement a hand snaked around her waist pulling he closer.

“Thank you for giving me a chance and if you don’t choose me I don’t mind as long as we stay friends” his voice was soft and you can tell he was tired

“Do you want to head to bed! Woah!” Mattheo practically tackled y/n to the ground holding her tight

“No I don’t want this night to enddddd!!” His grip tightened as he layed on top of her she laughed at his childishness

“Oh your laughing at me now ?!” The boy challenged y/n eyes widened as he started to tickle her.

“Mattheo no!!! I’m sorry!!” She pleaded in a fit of giggles mixed with Mattheos chuckles the bittersweet moment lasted only seconds before he stopped and stared at your face

“Wha-“ y/n was cut off with a pair of lips on hers. She froze not knowing what to do until she gave in and kissed him back her hands wrapping around his neck Mattheo hands raked her body as they made out. The two pulled away panting for air.

Mattheo walked y/n to her common room both very tired considering it was 1am.

“Thank you so much for such an amazing night. It’s been so fun” y/n pulled Mattheo into a big hug which he gladly returned.

“No, thank you for giving me a chance” y/n kissed Mattheo on his cheek before bidding him good night.

She entered the dorm she shared with Hermione and Ginny. They were both awake and y/n flopped on Miones' bed squealing

“Good night?” Hermione asked her friend laughing

“Tell us EVERYTHING!!” Ginny sang landing next to you. As you gave them a brief story about your date you sighed

“Girls I really don’t know what to do”

“Just sleep on it until you have to go out with Theo” Ginny suggested

“But what if I can’t choose?”

“Then date both” Ginny joked making Hermione laugh

The next morning y/n sat down once again for breakfast as she enjoyed her much-needed coffee. Theo sat next to her holding a bouquet of your favourite flowers and chocolates glued to it. Your smile was huge at the sweet gesture.

“Hey Theo!” Y/n said looking up at the boy who smiled warmly

“Hey y/n I wanted to ask if you wanted to go on a date with me today?” Theo said confidently as he handed you the flowers/sweets

“Of course I would love to”

“Brilliant meet me at the courtyard fountain in like 3 hours does that give you enough time?” Theo sweetly smiled

“More than enough I’ll be there!” Theo pecked y/n forehead before going off to his table

“Bloody hell” you hear Ron mumble Harry rolled his eyes

“Mioneee you have to help me get ready pleaseee!!!” Y/n begged hugging on to her friends arm

“You don’t even have to ask” the curly haired girl beamed as y/n grabbed her hand and they both ran out the great hall

You took a while to get ready making sure everything was perfect you looked at yourself in the mirror. It was weather appropriate but still amazing !

“You look so good!!!” Hermione said fixing your hair

You both headed down to the courtyard as some people were going to hogsmeade you see Theo waiting for you with his friends

“I’ll catch you guys later yeah?” Y/n waved goodbye to her friends and made her way to Theo. Draco was the first one to notice her he nudged Theo making him look to where he was nodding to.

“Hey y/n. Let’s go boys” Draco said dragging Mattheo with him Theo pulled you into a hug

“You look gorgeous as usual” Theo smiled twirling the girl around making her giggle

“Thank you Theo. You look handsome nothing new”

“So I was thinking we can go to London for the day instead of Hogsmeade I have permission from professor snape" Y/n's eyes lit up at the sound of going to her city.

"no way! I was waiting until the holidays to go and restock oh this is going to be so fun" she squealed hugging Theo. the boy laughed rubbing her back

"come on then before it gets too late" As they travelled via flu powder to London they found themselves at the Leaky Cauldron. theo placed a protective hand on the small of her back leading them out to the street.

theo watched as y/n went in and out of shops a smile never leaving her face

"hey Theo what do you think about this smell?" y/n presented her wrist to theos nose he wrapped a large hand around it and inhaled the perfume humming in satisfaction

"this one is much better than the other one" he put it in the basket that he was holding for her

as the pair shopped longer Theo noticed a group of guys staring at y/n and whispering to each other. theo went up behind her and wrapped both arms around her making her jump "oh, Theo you scared me! is everything alright? I'm sorry I'm taking ages" she apologised leaning into him.

"Don't apologies princess take your time" he smiled against her neck the group of boys long gone now.

y/n showed Theo the best places she liked to go considering she was born and grew up in this city. They somehow ended up outside y/n old house, the place she grew up in the place her mother was found dead.

"I'm sorry I brought us here. I just always visit it when I'm around" she sniffled leaning into Theo

"Never apologise for that it's absolutely fine" A small sincere smile was set on his face

"I don't want to rush you but we should head back to the leaky cauldron soon. professor snape gave me a time limit" he whispered into her hair. She nodded in response pulling away.

they headed back to Hogwarts. it was almost curfew when they arrived outside her common room.

"Theo?" y/n asks looking up at the boy

"hmm?" he responds

"what if i can't choose? like you guys are best friends and I don't want you to fall out over me" She began to get teary-eyed, making Theo's gaze soften as he pulls her in for a hug

"hey don't worry about us, and don't rush into a decision if your not sure yet just take your time. we will both be here for you." he rubbed her back she gripped his shirt tighter

"i like both of you and it's hard" she wiped a stray tear away she lookd up at Theo all doe eyed before grabbing him by the collar and pulling him in for a kiss which Theo gladly returned placing a firm hand on the back of your neck and another on your waist squeezing the area. Theo slipped a tongue in your mouth making you moan softly he smirked against your lips and got hungrier by the second wanting more of you. Theo pulled away from the kiss and started nipping at your neck your sweet noises make him let out a groan. Before pulling a way making you whine.

“Love. We can’t not yet. As much as I would love to” his forehead rested on yours as you caught your breath

“Get some sleep angel. I’ll see you in the morning” he placed kiss to your lips before bidding goodnight.

As you blindly entered the dorm room your vision too clouded by your own mind Hermione stepped in front of you

“Wow your flustered” she smirked helping you sit down

“How was it?” She gave her friend a supportive pat on the back as she laid her head on her shoulder

“It was nice. But I think I’m gonna sleep. Night mione” sleep overtook y/n within minutes

Who will you choose ?

If you choose Mattheo:

The next morning came and y/n was more then ready to see him. She went to the great hall and gestured for him to follow her.

“Hey gorgeous. How are you ?” Mattheo winked shoving his hands in his pockets

“Mattheo I uh. I choose you” you whispered mattheos slit eyebrow cocked up

“Sorry sweetheart couldn’t hear you could you maybe speak up?” He got closer to you knowing full well what you said

“I choose you. I want to be with you” you said a but too loud. Mattheo smile grew as he lifted you off the ground spinning you

“Oh love you don’t know how happy I am right now” he pulled you into kiss keeping you in his grip as tight as he could. You wrapped your arms around his neck and tugged at his hair making him grunt

“Don’t be doing that princess. Not here anyway” he whispered In your ear making you blush HARD.

“And don’t worry about Theo we had a conversation after your date with him and agreed no matter who you chose we will be happy for each other and not get in the way of the other one’s relationship” he pecked your lips tenderly and a bunch of wolf whistles were heard behind you. You span around to see your friends cheering you on. You hid in Mattheo chest making him chuckle

If you choose Theo:

You made your to the great hall a big smile plastered on your face as you looked around for him. Finding him at his usual table in his usual spot you went over and sat down next to him.

“Good morning ange-“ Theo was cut off with your lips on his he smiled and pulled you in closer

“Alright you two it’s too early for that” Blaise says chucking a piece of toast your way Theo gave him the middle finger as he kissed you one more time.

“So does this mean?” Theo questioned looking down at you. You nodded and smiled shyly as he pulled you into his side

“Mattheo and I spoke yesterday so don’t worry about anything ok. We are good” Theo whispered in your ear

“But will you do the honours and be mine?” Y/n nodded pulling the boy into a big hug

[teecupangel]

Idea for the Harpy!Desmond thing: imagine how insanely confused Desmond would have been when he woke up the first time. Like, getting used to losing your digits and now having wings must be hard. He wakes up, tries to rub his eyes, thwacks himself in the face with feathers.

The Harpy Desmond idea this ask talks about. Since I already wrote a Harpy idea with Altaïr, Ezio and Ratonhnhaké:ton, let’s go for another ancestor for this one.

.

Whack.

Edward grunted and pushed the wing that had smacked his face, his head spinning from the unholy amount of these delicious devil’s drink that Desmond calls ‘cocktails’ he had consumed the night before.

To be more exact, since night had fallen until the sun had started to rise.

They had a good haul yesterday, pillaged from the Spanish galleons that tried to sink them while they were just going their merry way.

No love was lost back then.

They held a lot of supplies, including different kinds of alcohol and fruits that made Desmond make a squawking sound he swears he never made.

From there, Desmond ordered the crew’s kitchen staff to present these concoctions he calls cocktails and…

Edward’s memories start to grow foggy after the third drink that tasted like summer’s dream.

“Oh shit!”

Edward grunted as he was hit once more by a wing, making him grown, “Desmond…”

“Sorry, sorry.” The wing patted his chest lightly, “Fuck. I forgot I had wings.”

Edward let out a small huff, used to the strange words Desmond would sometimes say.

“Oh, right. I can’t give you the bird with these.”

“… I don’t have opposable thumbs, fuck.”

Desmond would sometimes forget how to move his body, especially when he had just woken up. Most of the time, his reactions and movements seemed more like he was supposed to have human hands than wings.

Edward didn’t try to pry, simply happy to have such a mythical being in his ship.

The crew truly believes he brings auspicious tidings.

And, according to one of the old sailors, ‘would keep the sirens away’.

Edward liked to have him on the ship because their enemies would always be surprised when he would swoop down and join the chaos.

He heard the door creak open and listened as Desmond’s talons scratched the wooden floor as he walked out of the captain’s cabin.

His headache was killing him so he tried to return to the blissful peace of dreams.

But he swore he heard Desmond outside, “Adé… can you groom my wings? Edward’s too drunk to pretend to be an actual adult.”

[emilybeemartin]

Inktober Days 10-12

Day 10: "Fortune"

On the farthest-flung spit of the Florida Keys are a handful of islands bearing the second-oldest surviving European name in the US, recorded by Ponce de León for the abundance of sea turtles and the lack of fresh water (Florida’s name is considered the oldest). Shallow straits create a ship trap that has claimed hundreds of vessels from the age of sail, including loaded Spanish treasure galleons. Old lighthouses stand as memories to the effort to guide ships through lucrative but risky channels. Rising from Garden Key is a hexagonal fortress—Fort Jefferson, the largest all-brick fort in the US, which housed Union prisoners during the Civil War. Under the turquoise water are some of the most intact coral reefs in the continental US. The water teems with sea life, and in addition to several year-round seabird species, the islands serve as stopovers for migrating birds. It’s a treasure trove lousy with natural and historical abundance. A vast fortune of biodiversity and human history.

This message is not brought to you by Visit Dry Tortugas LLC—it’s brought to you by a too-romantic ranger who’s a sucker for lonely maritime outposts and would desperately like to visit this unusual little member of the National Park Service.

Day 11: "Wander"

Some parks more than others seem to invite visitors to wander. It’s the twists of a path, dipping in and out of the rises in a landscape. It’s the light filtering through dark forests, promising something new beyond the branches. It’s the shoulders of a massive mountain standing like a beacon, or its invisible summit covered in clouds. Mount Rainier, like so many other protected places, seems to beckon—come. Explore. Take it in.

But stay on the path—alpine habitats are fragile.

Day 12: "Spicy"

Olympic was the first park I fell in love with, and it was a twenty-year long-distance relationship. A National Geographic article I read in high school painted a picture of verdant rainforests dripping with moss, wild windy coastlines, and high snowy peaks. I desperately wanted to see these places myself, stand under the towering cedars and breathe in their spicy scent. My desire to visit was so strong that the summers I worked in Glacier and Yellowstone, I would constantly plot the drive west, hoping the travel time would somehow get shorter. It was eleven hours. I could do that in a long weekend, couldn’t I? Take one of my precious few days off and just blitz to the coast?

The plans never worked out, which is probably for the best. Instead, after two years of Covid-cancelled plans, my husband and I decided to make the trip together from the east coast. It was infinitely better than a snatched day and a half all alone. For a week, we explored the glaciated mountains, rocky beaches, and primordial rainforests. After two-thirds of my life spent pining after this park, it was everything I’d dreamed it would be and more.

[woe-begotten-spirit]

So I know not a lot of people in the world have a strong opinion on who is best to ship Middle Earth’s Sun with but I am obsessed with The Lost Tales era Eonwë/Arien (or Fionwë/Urwendi) and the parallels with Elwing and Eärendil. 

The Arien/Tilion thing of Moon in love with the Sun of course makes sense in a sort of collective unconscious mythology type way but something about a romance between Bird and Celestial Body is just 🔥

In both versions our bird flies through the air seeking lover lost at sea

Manwë sent Fionwë his son, swiftest of all to move about the airs, and bade him say to Urwendi that the bark of the Sun come back awhile to Valinor, for the Gods have counsels for her ear; and Fionwë fled most readily, for he had conceived a great love for that bright maiden long ago, and her loveliness now, when bathed in fire she sate as the radiant mistress of the Sun, set him aflame with the eagerness of the Gods. (LT I, VIII)

Indeed for a while mishap fell even upon bright Urwendi, that she wandered the dark grots and endless passages of Ulmo’s realm until Fionwë found her and brought her back to Valinor (LT I, IX)

For Ulmo bore up Elwing out of the waves, and he gave her the likeness of a great white bird, and upon her breast there shone as a star the Silmaril, as she flew over the water to seek Eärendil her beloved. (Silm, ch 24)

who sails in a hallowed ship through the Door of the Night. 

Ulmo draws the galleon of the Sun before the Door of Night. Then speaks Urwendi the mystic word, and they open outward before her, and a gust of darkness sweeps in but perishes before her blazing light; and the galleon of the Sun goes out into the limitless dark, and coming behind the world finds the East again. (LT I, IX)

But they took Vingilot, and hallowed it, and bore it away through Valinor to the uttermost rim of the world; and there it passed through the Door of Night and was lifted up even into the oceans of heaven. (Silm, ch 24)

And then our birds Eonwë and Elwing end up being the ones to deliver the Silmarils to their fated places (from Elwing to Eärendil to Air, from Eonwë to Maedhros and Maglor to Fire and Water)

And thus it came to pass that the Silmarils found their long homes: one in the airs of heaven, and one in the fires of the heart of the world, and one in the deep waters. (Silm, ch 24)

There are several more similarities like the early idea that both Eärendil and Arien encountered mermaids while they were at sea (LT I, commentary on The Tale of Qorinómi and LT II, V) and Tilion originally chasing Eärendil instead of Arien (LT II, V)

And also I just think Eonwë should be allowed to do the apocalypse as revenge for his girlfriend because come on:

For ’tis said that ere the Great End come Melko shall in some wise contrive a quarrel between Moon and Sun, and Ilinsor shall seek to follow Urwendi through the Gates, and when they are gone the Gates of both East and West will be destroyed, and Urwendi and Ilinsor shall be lost. So shall it be that Fionwë Úrion, son of Manwë, of love for Urwendi shall in the end be Melko’s bane, and shall destroy the world to destroy his foe, and so shall all things then be rolled away.’ (LT I, IX)

[thegalleonsnest]

There is no caption

[imagine-darksiders]

The Lovelorn King.

Bowser X Reader - Chapter 1

Summary: As a royal hailing from lands far removed from the Mushroom Kingdom, you find yourself alighting upon the shores of Princess Peach's city, there to answer her request to enter into an alliance that will unite your realms. But you arrive to a suspiciously empty port-side town and go searching for the inhabitants, much to the ship Captain's chagrin.

It doesn't take you long to stumble upon somebody the likes of whom you've never seen before. He calls himself, 'Bowser Junior.' Upon learning of his failure to procure his beloved 'Papa' the perfect birthday present, you invite the boy back to your galleon, hoping that he might find something among the treasures there to give his father. If only you knew that there was one thing on that ship more valuable to the Koopaling than pretty gems and valuable objects...

Tags: Bowser X Reader, Royal Reader, Female Reader, Bowser Jr, Kidnapping, Fluff, Angst, Unrequited Love, Infatuation at first sight, Lonely Bowser, Protective Bowser, Slow-Burn, Big himbo energy, Friendship, Developing friendships, Bowser is BIG okay? Koopa Troopas.

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

As far as welcomes go, you've definitely had warmer.

This, of course, you deign to keep to yourself as nothing more than a closely-guarded thought, never to be voiced aloud, though you can tell from the look on the ship Captain's face that you aren't the only one who has been caught off-guard by the notably empty port.

With a generous spin of her oak-wood wheel, The Bonhomous turns her bow to the east of the port, cutting a path through the placid waters as her crew scuttles about on deck in preparation of a seamless landing. The ship's oaken bowsprit juts out over the sea and seems almost afire, burning orange and gold in the dawn light.

Up on the stern with the Captain, you stand with your hands clasped loosely at your back, drawing in a long, crisp breath that fills your lungs and clears your sleep-fogged brain, blinking salty residue from the corners of your eyes, whilst below you, down on the deck, an authoritative bellow from the Quartermaster booms out across the ship, heard well above the screaming sea birds that soar overhead on updrafts of sun-warmed air.

“DROP ANCHOR!”

Positively music to your ears...

The clattering rattle of a chain stirs the air as the anchor is released from its holdings and goes plunging down into the frigid waters.

It seems a long time coming, the sight of dry land and civilisation after several months spent traversing the vast and oftentimes indomitable ocean. To have finally arrived here in the rich and vibrant Mushroom Kingdom is as much of a relief as spring sunshine after the winter frost, empty port or no...

The last letter you'd received from the monarch of this kingdom – one Princess Peach – had requested your personal presence here in order to solidify and sign into this newfound alliance. She'd also made mention that you'd be received as if you were an old friend, which, you suppose, isn't such an embellishment of the truth. Your kingdom and her own have been corresponding and trading for well over a year now. This is just the first time a member of your Royal Household has made the perilous journey to the Mushroom Kingdom.

You and the Princess had struck up something of an accord through your numerous letters after you took the plunge and reached out, explaining to her how your home is small and secular, but you've been working tirelessly to try and rebuild the connections that your tyrannical father had torn down before his passing.

Her lineage never did have dealings with yours, which may be why she seemed more open than others to extend the hand of friendship back your way.

And now, here you are – as your kingdom's sole surviving ruler with a ship stuffed to the gunnels with supplies and treasures from your homeland, all intended as a show of your good faith and willingness to establish a long-term alliance with the Toad people.

The only thing amiss is that the welcoming committee you'd been anticipating is... nowhere to be found.

There's a sudden and muffled thud as the anchor's flukes collide with the sea bed, followed by a troubled hum from the Captain, shifting on her feet at the helm beside you.

“Not sure what to make of this, Ma'am,” she announces warily, casting her flint-grey eyes out at the bizarre structures lining the port.

Buildings, you venture, fashioned from gigantic toadstools.

Ingenious! When Princess Peach included an illustrated encyclopedia with one of her letters, you'd been enchanted by everything inside it, enough that you felt inadequate as you packaged off the history of your own kingdom, dull and grey and lifeless comparatively.

Even now, your restless fingers begin to fidget with the fabric of your travel dress, eager to begin exploring this unfamiliar world.

The Captain's suspicious grumblings do little to dampen your spirit of adventure.

“It is only dawn, Captain,” you reason, watching the crew hoist the mainsails and drop the wooden gangplank onto the dock, effectively bridging the gap between your vessel and solid ground. “Perhaps their customs differ from ours. They might be a little later to rise, for instance.”

Her weather-beaten brow furrows beneath her hat, forging deep crevices across the dark expanse of skin.

She hardly looks reassured by your words.

Inevitably, her own trepidation only feeds yours like billows to a dying fire, causing an apprehensive bubble to burst in your stomach. It... really is quiet out here...

“Still... you don't suppose....” Trailing off, you turn to hide your lips from a crew that have spent years honing an ability to read their Captain's lips when they can't hear her over a howling storm. “Supposing it's an ambush?” you finish softly.

If the crew is already on edge about sailing into a seemingly abandoned port, you don't want to put their backs up by voicing their concerns out loud and giving them traction.

The Captain sniffs, stepping away from the wheel and circling to face the stern of her ship alongside you. “Not likely,” she huffs, jerking her head towards the enormous mushrooms, “See the chimneys?”

Flicking your gaze up to the line of unconventional 'roofs,' you quirk a brow at the thin trails of smoke drifting out of the aforementioned chimneys, blown inland by a stiff, ocean breeze. “Smoke,” you hum in understanding, “People are at home...”

The Captain's broad hat dips as she nods. “Mm, seen a couple of shapes moving behind the windows too. Nobody'd be daft enough to attack a galleon with her starboard cannons aimed at their settlement. Not when they're hiding out in the buildings. She's armed to the teeth.”

… Sound logic, you muse. There's a reason you restored her title as the Bonhomous's Captain the moment you had the authority to do so. One of the biggest mistakes your father ever made was to give Captain Skip the boot.

Her words serve to ease your nerves a little, and soon you find the trepidation has moved aside to allow a healthy dose of curiosity to settle in your chest.

“Perhaps they're just painfully shy,” you excuse at last as you turn to head for the ornate stairs leading from the stern down onto the deck, “Regardless, we should be concerning ourselves with making our own first impression, not theirs.”

Lifting the hem of your dress up so as to avoid catching splinters in the fine silk, you take the stairs one brisk step at a time, though you only manage to make it halfway down before the Captain's voice halts you in your tracks.

“With respect, ma'am, I hope you're not heading for that gangplank...”

You have to bite down hard on the vulgar word the crew taught you last week, instead plastering on a demure smile and twisting your head to peer innocently up at the Captain over your shoulder, past the ruffles festooning your neck.

“I'm afraid I don't know what a gang plank is, Captain. I'm just going to stretch my legs.”

Her eyes narrow dangerously until they resemble little more than thin, dark slits, shadowed by the brim of her hat.

“Pardon my language, Your Majesty, but you know bloody well what a gangplank is. Don't go near it.” Then, for added measure, she squares her shoulders and adds, “Captain's orders.”

Ever polite, you dip your chin at her out of genuine respect, your voice solemn when you reply, “I am well aware of Maritime Law, and your absolute authority on this ship. Rest assured, Captain, I will not be going near that gang plank.”

From the flare of her nostrils to the tightening of her angular jaw, you know she can see right through you as if you're made of the flimsiest glass. But just as she takes a step in your direction, mouth falling open with a sharp word or two doubtlessly hanging off her tongue, she's interrupted by the familiar call of her Quartermaster.

“Captain!” the short, portly man lumbers across the deck, beckoning her down from her perch on the stern, “A word?”

Her head snaps towards him, crow-like, but you don't stick around to waste this perfect opportunity. Trotting deftly down the rest of the steps, you duck underneath the arm of one sailor who's hauling a bucket of soapy water on his shoulder and turn your shoes towards the ship's bow, where there are lines of rope dangling from the foremast, those that have yet to tie its sail back.

No. You won't go near the gangplank. Your word is solid, and you endeavour to keep it whenever you can. But you never said you wouldn't find an alternative way to leave the ship.

The Captain should have learned by now that you've spent far longer playing the game than she has, having growing up in the company of nobility and the aristocracy, who use their words as weapons, and who honed their language into a powerful tool that could be used to their advantage.

When Captain Skip goes ballistic at you – which she inevitably will once she realises you've disembarked without an escort – you'll remind her that she only told you to stay away from the gangplank, not that you were forbidden from leaving The Bonhomous at all.

Oh, you imagine she'll spit and hiss and fume like an over-boiled kettle, but she won't have a leg to stand on.

You smile wryly as you hoist yourself up onto the woven shrouds and curl your fingers around a piece of dangling rope, tugging on it to test its give.

She fails to realise, that for as much as she believes you to be under her protection, she is just as much - if not more so – under yours.

They all are - Everyone man and woman on this ship, and those that have remained back home. You're their ruler. Those in charge are supposed to take care of their people.

If there is something untoward going on in this strange, fungi-infested town, then you'd much rather be the one to encounter it first. The Bonhomous and her crew are here at your behest, after all. If you've lead them into a trap, then you must be the one to spring it.

The loose rigging line sits sturdy in your hands, and it's well-affixed to the reef tackles high over your head. Behind you, a sailor clicks their tongue whilst another hesitantly asks what you think you're doing.

You only pause long enough to shoot a fleeting grin over your shoulder at them, catching the eye of a few, weary crewmen, all of whom seem resigned to your imminent departure. And then, in a most unladylike fashion, you hoist your skirts up over your knees with one hand and use the rigging to haul yourself up onto the side of the hull, peering out over the water.

The gap between ship and shore is hardly substantial. With a good run up, you could make it without the rope, but as it is...

You take a flying leap out over the water and feel the rope go tight as it catches your weight and swings you gracefully across to the pale, stone dock, revelling in the blast of cool wind that blows through your hair.

As your shoes touch down on the other side, you release the rope and swallow a giddy whoop to maintain your dignity.

“Oh, at last,” you gush instead, clasping your hands together, “Dry land!”

Sticking out your chest, you allow a tiny ounce of pride to lift your cheeks into a grin.

Already, you've trodden further afield than your father ever went in his life.

“Now then,” you muse to yourself as you swivel your head up and down the port, “To solve the mystery of the missing townsfolk...”

Before the Captain can register your absence, you take off at a brisk stride, stealing away from the docks and heading towards the town proper.

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

Every corner you turn, you only find more of the same gigantic mushrooms that have been painstakingly fashioned into homes, shops and cafes, dotted along every cobblestone street. And yet for the sheer number of them, all you seem to be able to find are more boarded up doorways, shadowy figures flitting past window panes and the all too familiar prickle at the back of your neck that alerts you to eyes watching your every move.

Letting out a disconcerted hum, you try to recall whether Princess Peach had ever made mention of the Toads being particularly skittish or wary....

Rounding the corner of yet another mushroom, you find yourself venturing out of a narrow street and onto a pretty town plaza with a row of homes surrounding its perimeter and a large, glittering fountain taking centre stage, spurting out torrents of water that sparkles brilliantly in the golden sunrise.

It momentarily causes your step to falter, gazing up at the resplendence in the architecture.

Aside from yourself, the plaza appears just as empty as the rest of the town, much to your dismay.

As you start to consider simply going up to one of the tiny, wooden doors and knocking on it until somebody answers, an altogether new sound catches your ear, vastly different from the brush of leaves across stone, or the ocean waves lapping at a distant shoreline.

All at once, you hone in on the sound, whipping your head around fast enough to leave a twinge in your neck.

It sounded like... a horribly desolate sigh.

Curiosity piqued, you start towards the fountain, casting your gaze about until your shoes come to an abrupt halt on the cobblestone.

There, slumped upon one of the wooden benches set up to face the watery spectacle, you spy a figure, one that sports a startling shock of fiery red hair.

Relieved to have at last stumbled upon another person, you approach the back of the bench, and once you draw close enough to confirm that, yes, that's definitely a person sitting there, you raise a fist and clear your throat, making your presence known.

“Ahem, excuse me-”

Whatever you'd intended to say afterwards is sadly drowned out by a deafening yelp as the person on the bench leaps from their seat, and in their haste to spin around, they end up toppling over backwards and landing on the ground with an audible, bone-crunching 'smack!'

Aghast at yourself, you inhale sharply and dash around the bench, apologies tumbling off your lips in quick succession. “Oh my-! I am so sorry! I can't apologise enough! I-I thought you heard me. Are you all right?!”

As soon as your eyes land upon the stranger, you suck in another, tiny gasp as your jaw falls open, briefly overcome with awe and wonder.

This person is quite unlike anybody you've ever come across in your life, and you unwittingly pause mid-stride, taken aback for a time.

Floundering around on the cobblestone between the bench and the fountain on their back, apparently stuck, is somebody who reminds you at once of some kind of overturned turtle.

They've landed right on top of their shell – a green, spiked dome that covers the expanse of their back. Grunts of frustration fill the air as stocky little legs kick madly in an effort to right themselves, and a disproportionately large head attempts to lift itself off the ground to glare at you.

Within less than a second, you blink away your surprise and drop down onto your knees, grasping a pair of thickset, yellow wrists and hauling the unfortunate person back onto their feet.

'Cripes!' you think to yourself. They're heavy, whoever they are. But after struggling for several, awkward seconds, you manage to heave them up without putting your back out, and as soon as they're upright, you release their arms and flop back to sit on your heels, finally taking proper stock of your unwitting victim.

“HEY! What's the big idea!?” they – he? - shouts at you, balling his pudgy, three-fingered hands into fists and tearing backwards as if he means to get as far away from you as possible before the wall of the fountain obstructs his retreat.

He's squat and round, standing only half as tall as you with tiny eyes as black as pitch and entirely featureless as they glare up at you hotly. Beady, but still expressive.

Frankly, you have no idea what he is, but his voice, stature and the large, white bandana slung around his neck all lend to the impression of someone very young.

And if that's the case, then what in the world is he doing out here alone at this ungodly hour, in the middle of such a suspiciously quiet town?

Shoving speculation aside, you remain there before him, the knees of your dress gathering dirt from the ground as a trickle of shame pools in your stomach.

“Again, I can't apologise enough,” you gush, wringing your hands together in your lap, “This is... not the first impression I was hoping to make... Are you hurt?”

One of his hands has reached behind his head to probe at a spot near his fiery ponytail whilst he grumbles under his breath, pulling a face that exposes the large, gleaming tusk jutting out from beneath his upper lip.

Without thinking too hard on it, you click your tongue and reach a hand out for him again, murmuring, “Here, let me see...”

You feel him flinch underneath your fingers as they alight gently on his chubby, yellow cheek. But rather than wrenching himself away from you, his whole body stiffens in an instant and his eyes bulge out when you turn his head to one side and lean forwards, inspecting the dome of his skull.

To your relief, the only sign of damage is a small patch of grit sticking to his scales, picked up from the dusty, stone ground.

Tutting to yourself, you pull the sleeve of your dress down over a thumb and wet it with your tongue before returning your free hand to the back of his head. “Hold still,” you instruct him, though the request seems redundant in hindsight, given that he's as rigid as the stone underfoot.

Careful as can be, you sweep your thumb over the grit and wipe it away to reveal the tiny, thankfully unbroken scales beneath.

Satisfied, you draw away and return your hands to your lap, offering the stunned stranger your most amicable smile. “There. No scrapes or bumps in sight. I think you'll survive.”

Thick, auburn eyebrows twist up in confusion as he turns to face you again, cocking his head and regarding you as if you've sprouted an extra pair of arms.

Even kneeling, you're still an inch or so taller than he is standing up.

Before you can utter another word, you find a clawed fingertip jabbing at the air just in front of your nose, his little tail held high and alert.

“Just who the heck do you think you are, lady!?” he demands in a shrill, raucous voice, “You can't go around sneaking up on people like that! I could'a blasted you!”

Caught off guard, but pleased that he seems fine, you lean away from his finger and splay your hand across your chest, feigning an impressed look. “Goodness! I suppose I should be counting my lucky stars, then.”

“Yeah! You should!” he readily harrumphs, withdrawing his arm and folding both of them across his chest, turning his snout away from you again.

Apparently snubbed, you muscle down a grin for the sake of his pride. You must have startled him more than he'd care to admit, if the embarrassed pinch of his lips is any indication.

After a few seconds, he shifts his nose towards you once more, his dark eyes flitting up and down as he gives you a quick once-over.

“Who are you anyway?” he demands, “I don't recognise you.”

Amused by his informality, you offer him a patient smile and reply, “I'd be surprised if you did. I'm afraid I'm not a frequenter of the Mushroom Kingdom. This is my first visit, in fact. I've sailed here from across the ocean.”

At that, his brows quirk up in intrigue and he drops his arms to his sides. “Sailed across the ocean?” he asks with the barest hint of awe softening his tone. Then, all at once, his eyes grow exceptionally wide and he excitedly blurts, “Are you a pirate!”

Letting out a good-natured laugh, you say, “Sadly, no. No. Piracy is not in my job description, I'm afraid.”

To your surprise, he looks downcast at the admission, but in the next moment, he perks up again and points at you, his claw once again hovering just inches from your nose. “What's your name!?” he all but barks.

Dimly, you wonder if anyone has told him that it's rude to point...

Clearing your throat, you reply, “My name is Y/n.” Then, after a pause, you offer him a sweep of your hand. “And you are...?”

In response, he sticks out his chest and plants one hand firmly on his hip, jamming the opposite thumb against his sternum, striking a dignified pose.

“Name's Junior!” he declares with all the confidence of a venerated dignitary, “Bowser Junior!”

'Junior... What a charming title,' you muse, 'I wonder if he's named after anybody.'

“Well, it's a pleasure to meet you, Bowser Junior,” you tell him earnestly, tipping your head to him in a gesture of respect.

For reasons unbeknownst to you however, your response seems to knock some of the wind from his sails. Two, thickset shoulders slump dejectedly and he squints up at you, slowly reiterating, “The Bowser Junior...?”

…. You start to wonder if he'd be offended that you haven't, in fact, heard of 'The Bowser Junior...'

When you don't respond, his posture droops even further and he gapes at you, borderline desperate. “You know. After King Bowser? As in, King of the Koopas!?”

Well... That little tidbit of information is quick to grab your attention, though you've never heard of this King either.

“King Bowser?” you echo, drawing your brows together to form a pensive frown, “I... Forgive me but I was under the impression that Princess Peach is the reigning monarch here.”

Blowing a haughty scoff through his fangs, Junior turns his soft, round snout skywards and barks, “Nu-uh! She's just ruler of the Mushroom Kingdom. But someday, my Papa's gonna rule the whole world!”

And just like that, your frown recedes along with your trepidation.

Of course... You ought to have guessed that this child is only doing as children often do.

Gone are the days when you used to whittle away the long, lonely days playing pretend by yourself in the castle grounds.

'King of the world indeed,' you smile to yourself. You're beginning to like this kid.

“And your... 'Papa,” you say aloud, “He and this King Bowser are one in the same, I presume?”

“Sure are!” he exclaims proudly, “He's the best Papa in the entire galaxy! Not every kid can say their dad is a King!”

“Mm, that's quite the accomplishment,” you quip, smiling brightly when he juts his chin high into the air, “But... does your father know you're out here by yourself?”

In a blink, Junior's broad grin vanishes and he lowers his eyes to glower at you. “Hey! I'm no baby! I can take care of myself, lady!”

“I never said you couldn't,” you hastily return, holding your hands up to placate him, “I only wondered if he was nearby.” Swallowing thickly, you turn to cast a searching look over the plaza and murmur, “It'd be nice to know that someone else is around. This town seems rather... vacant, at the moment.”

Bowser Junior's muzzle curls around a snort, his slitted nostrils flaring as he follows your eye and shoots a dark glare at the nearby houses. “You're tellin' me,” he gripes.

Silence sits between the pair of you for several, uncertain moments before he abruptly breaks it by puffing out his cheeks and raising a hand to scratch at the green scales that sit just beneath his ponytail. “Well.. Sorry to disappoint you, but my Papa's not here. He was still asleep when I left.”

“Ugh. Jealous.”

“He always has a lie-in on his birthday.”

“Oh, is it his birthday today?” you ask, carefully adding, “In that case, shouldn't you be at home too, ready to wish him a happy birthday when he wakes up? Won't he be worried when he finds you gone?”

For a few more moments, the boy doesn't offer a reply until, to your dismay, his hard expression promptly crumples like a brittle bone and he heaves another sigh, trudging around you to make for the bench you'd startled him from.

Puzzled at this abrupt shift in his demeanour, you quirk a brow after him and rise to your feet, turning to watch as he hoists himself onto the seat and slouches down in it, letting out a soft, petulant huff.

“That's the problem,” he mutters, glowering at the fountain over his crossed arms, “I wanna be there to wish him happy birthday, but I can't be!”

Stretching your lips into a thin line, you take a tentative seat beside him and ask, “Why not?”

“Cause I haven't found him the perfect present yet!” he barks as if it should be entirely obvious.

Should it? You couldn't rightly say.

“I see...” Regardless, you give a nod of understanding, puckering your forehead thoughtfully. “And so, you're here to look for something in the shops?”

You have to recoil a few inches to avoid his arms when he throws them out wide and exclaims, “Exactly! I've been lookin' all over this stupid island! But I can't find anything good enough! So, I came here! But none of these Toads'll open their doors!” Snatching his hands back, he tucks them securely under his armpits with a grumble. “M'not even tryin' to steal anythin' this time.”

Setting aside the worrying mention of 'this time,' you duck your head and try to catch his gaze, reasoning softly, “Perhaps it's just too early? Their shops might not even be open yet.”

You find yourself cut off by an abrupt scoff.

“Nah, they just hate me,” he pouts, “Even though I brought my allowance and everything, they still won't even let me look for somethin' to get Papa. I wouldn't have come here if it wasn't an emergency! But all those Toads wanna do is hide in their mushrooms and tell me to 'go away!”

Now, that is definitely odd. 'Surely,' you think, jaw set, 'Surely these townsfolk aren't barricading themselves inside their homes because of one, little kid?'

Aloud, you say, “What makes you think they're hiding from you?”

Sparing you an exasperated look, Junior retorts, “I told you, cause they don't like me. And they especially don't like my Papa.”

Deep within the cavern of your ribcage, indignation begins to raise its sleepy head... How often have you been spurned by those around you because of your heritage?

“Why on earth don't they like you?” you blurt, incredulous and frankly irked on his behalf, “You seem perfectly likeable to me!”

Turning to aim a disdainful glance at some of the mushroom houses across the plaza, you miss the bewildered look Junior is sending your way, his lower jaw hanging slightly agape.

It's an absurd idea, if it's true. An entire town wouldn't shun a rambunctious kid like this...

But if it is true....? Well...

“More fool them, I say,” you huff to yourself.

At your side, Junior perks up at your words and his wide mouth stretches into a smirk.

“Hey, yeah!” he bobs his head decisively, leaping to stand up precariously on the bench and thrust an arm into the air, “Yeah! They are fools!”

The wood below you creaks and groans in protest when he stomps his foot on the seat enthusiastically.

Overcome with the urge to disguise your laughter, you cover your mouth with a few fingertips and send him a playful frown. “I don't think that's quite what I said, but I'll let it slide... because I've just had a brainwave.”

Junior stills, tipping his head sideways curiously. “Huh?”

“Well,” you start, “It just so happens that the ship I came here on has quite a few treasures stored in her hold. I'm sure nobody would mind if you picked something out to give to your father.”

Princess Peach won't miss what she doesn't know is missing, after all.

And besides, the sun has risen considerably higher since you set off from the Bonhomous. You should really have returned well before now.

The boy next to you leaps down off the bench before whirling to face you again, his eyes sparkling like a pair of obsidian gemstones. “Woah! Seriously? You're just gonna let me take your pirate treasure!?” he shouts just a little too close to your ear.

Suppressing a wince, you get to your feet and gesture in the direction of the docks. “Again, I'm afraid it isn't pirate treasure. Everything we've brought with us, we came by honestly. But there's all sorts in that hull. Hopefully something is bound to catch your fancy. Come, I'll show you.”

Though his legs are squat and stocky, Junior is surprisingly nimble on his feet as he bounds after you with an eager chirp, keeping up easily with your longer, more languid stride.

--------

As you make your way back towards port, you quickly discover that, like most children, your newfound tagalong has a seemingly bottomless well of questions that never runs the risk of drying up.

“Are there any blasters on your ship!?” he asks, hopping along the cobblestone pavement whilst taking great care to avoid any cracks – a game which you yourself can recall playing during your youth. “What about diamonds!? Giant hammers? Oh! Oh! You got any comic books in there!?”

You're having a tough yet admittedly fun time keeping up with his runaway trains of thought as he jumps from one extreme to another.

Sparing him a knowing glance from the corner of an eye, you drawl, “Oh? Does your father enjoy reading comic books?”

The boy's game is put on pause as he lands on a wide slab ahead of you, balanced on one leg with his shoulders hunched. “Uhhh...” he falters, only briefly. Soon enough though, his confidence comes charging back full-force. “Uh, yeah! Yeah, he loves 'em! But they gotta be really, really cool ones. He's a collector!”

“A collector? I see... It sounds as though your, ah, father has impeccable taste,” you remark, striding past him and pretending not to notice the way his stumpy, little tail begins to wag from side to side. “Well,” you continue, “While there aren't any comics stored in the cargo hold, I do have some from my own, personal collection. You're welcome to peruse those, if you like.”

As you stroll on ahead of a now stationary Junior, his jaw drops open, gawking in disbelief.

“Wait a second!” he blares, “You read comic books!?”

Nonchalant, you swing your hands behind your back and clasp them together, replying, “Of course. Don't you?”

Without missing a beat, he barks, “You bet I do!” only to cut himself off when he seems to remember something, quickly lowering his voice to add, “I-I mean, not as much as my Papa does though. He goes nuts for 'em! Kind of embarrassin' huh?”

“I don't think it's embarrassing at all,” you reply in earnest, “He shouldn't be ashamed to partake in things that make him happy.”

It seems that all too soon, the Bonhomous's towering masts come into view over the roofs of the mushroom houses, drawing the discussion to an end once Junior catches sight of the ship.

“I thought you said it wasn't a pirate ship!?” he demands, pointing an accusing claw down the length of the docks and glaring up at you as if you've somehow betrayed him.

You almost let out an undignified snort, reeling it in just in time before it escapes. For a child, you suppose that a galleon and a pirate ship aren't leagues apart, after all.

“Technically, I said that we aren't pirates,” you correct him gently, gesturing to yourself, “I never said that we didn't sail here on a pirate ship.”

The way his face lights up makes your guilt at calling the noble Bonhomous a mere 'pirate ship' worth it. Such a term hardly encapsulates her splendour.

As you near the ship herself, you cast your gaze to the land beside her and immediately feel your stomach clench when you spy the group of sailors standing dockside by the gangplank, accompanied by their Captain, whose wild hand gestures imply that she's either sending search parties off in different directions to look for their wayward monarch, or she's telling her crew where to bury the pieces of you she's about to tear off. Even from here, you can see that some of the men are paler in the face than usual, evidence that she'd given them a verbal lashing for letting you slip away unnoticed.

You're not especially keen to lead Junior into air that's undoubtedly been turned blue by now, so you cup a hand around your mouth and call, “Captain! Over here!”

The speed at which her head snaps in your direction is frightening and almost dislodges her hat from atop her head. Even dozens of yards away, you can make out her expression fight to settle between unmitigated fury and palpable relief.

Yet there's dangerous rigidity in her jaw as she begins to stalk in your direction, slow and calculated like a predator.

Subconsciously on your part, you draw to a halt and take a subtle, sideways step in front of Junior, who offers up a sound of confusion from the back of his throat, but otherwise remains silent behind your guarding stance, staring up at you in surprise.

“You!” the Captain hollers, lowering her head, wolflike, whereas you raise your chin to meet her glare, undeterred – not because she doesn't scare you, which she absolutely does despite your station - but because you know that your premature disembarking was justified and you're prepared to argue the point.

She slithers to a stop only when the toes of her boots are scant inches away from colliding with yours, glaring down her nose at you and bristling like an alley cat.

For a moment, her jaw remains clenched tighter than a vice as the air around you grows thick with her exasperation until she finally pries her teeth apart to speak. But before she can utter a single word, you beat her to the punch.

“Captain Skip, I'd like to introduce you to someone.”

She hardly even seems to register your words, too incensed in her broiling concern.

“If I may speak freely, ma'am,” she hisses dangerously, “You are as slippery as an eel. I turn my back not five seconds and you're gone!”

“Captain-” you try again.

“Without an escort! You're askin' for trouble, you are! What if somebody nabbed you!? I told you not to leave the ship!”

One corner of your mouth quivers. “If you recall, Captain,” you say coolly, “You asked me not to go near the gangplank. I can assure you, I stayed well clear of it when I left the ship.”

As expected, her cheeks instantly puff out as she only just manages to trap some unpleasant words behind her tongue. Hot air gushes from the fire in her lungs up into her mouth, swirling behind her clenched teeth where it stays for a few more seconds before she releases it all in a noisy sigh that blasts your hair away from your face.

“Semantics...” she grinds out, raising a hand to massage at the bridge of her nose, eyes pressed firmly shut, “Of course... I knew - I knew I should've-...”

Juxtaposed against her fiery outburst, the Captain suddenly trails off and goes still, her eyes drifting down to peer at your side at a glacial pace.

“... Ma'am...?”

“Captain?” you return lightly.

“... Been makin' friends, have you?” She jerks her chin down at the pudgy snout that's poking out from behind your leg.

Plastering on a winning smile, you twist yourself sideways to reveal Junior, who is busy glaring up at the Captain with a mixture of suspicion and awe gleaming in his eyes.

She shoots you a frosty glare and shakes her head. “Why am I not surprised...?”

Junior flinches when your hand comes down delicately on his shoulder, but he stands his ground, flicking his eyes between you and the other human as you fall into introductions.

“Bowser Junior, I'd like you to meet the venerable Captain Skip - the finest captain I've ever sailed with.”

“I'm the only captain you've ever sailed with,” she grunts, rolling her gaze heavenwards.

Flashing her a wink, you add, “And here's hoping you'll be the last.”

“At the rate you're going Ma'am, I likely will be.”

Ignoring her jab at your longevity, you gesture politely down at your new acquaintance. “Captain, this fine young gentleman is Mr Bowser Junior.”

The boy's round chin juts proudly at the introduction whilst the Captain appraises him from beneath hooded eyelids.

“Huh, a Koopa, eh?” she observes, taking you by surprise, “Been a fair old while since I've seen one of your ilk, lad.”

“You're familiar with his species?” you ask.

Still regarding Junior, she hums pensively, “Mm, to a degree. Though never one this young. And we seldom cross paths with 'em on the water. Their kind have mastered travelling by air.”

“How remarkable!”

Your line of inquiry is cut short when a clawed hand curls into the garland of your dress and gives it a few, firm tugs. Blinking, you tip your head down to see Junior's hand clasping the fabric.

“Hey! When m'I gonna get to see the treasure!?” he all but whinges, reminding you that you're dealing with an impatient youngster who has been promised his pick from a boat-load of valuables.

Not only that, you muse, he's more than likely anxious to choose his father's birthday present and return home before the sun has fully risen into the sky.

“Oh, yes! Yes, of course,” you reply, catching an icy sideways glare from the Captain, “Junior here is in a bit of a predicament and I offered to help him out. Permission to come aboard, Captain?”

Behind you, Junior huffs disdainfully through his nostrils. “Why d'you need to ask for permission?”

The Captain is still subjecting you to her withering glare, but you expertly ignore it and reply, “Old maritime law, I think... And it's just good manners.”

He pulls a face at that, but doesn't otherwise react beyond sending the Captain an expectant look, one, flaming eyebrow raised high on his head.

Predictably, her stare remains immoveable and hard, boring into you like a mining drill. Child or no, you can't imagine she's happy to have a perfect stranger poking about on her ship. And yet after a long moment, she pushes out a weary sigh and tuts as her posture deflates. “Permission granted, Ma'am,” she offers thinly.

You give her a subtle nod of gratitude before turning to the koopa and sweeping an arm out towards the gangplank. “Well? After you.”

It's as if whatever restraints have been reining him in go slack.

Like a cannonball fired from its barrel, Junior hurtles off for the Bonhomous with a whoop, cackling loudly when he almost bowls over the sailors gathered on the dock.

The wooden platform buckles under his weight as he lumbers up and onto the ship's deck, swiftly disappearing from view.

“... Brazen little bugger, in't he?” The Captain spares you a slow blink when several yelps and shouts of alarm drift down to you from on board.

“He's certainly lively,” you return, “I think he might be growing on me.”

“Mmm, like a fungal infection.”

“Captain!” Your scolding tone is entirely ruined by a preceding laugh. Strutting past her to board the ship yourself, you clear your throat and say, “Actually, I have to say I'm impressed with your restraint. It looks like there are several, far less civil things you'd like to say to me.”

“Nothing your pretty, little ears would find polite,” she grumbles as she moves to follow you up the gangplank. Then comes the inevitable. “Ma'am, are you sure you've thought this through? We don't know this lad. And you're letting him into the trove?”

“It's the least I could do after scaring the poor boy off his bench.” Hopping down onto the deck, you traipse after the trail of overturned buckets and startled crew members until you come to the steps of the cargo hold.

Stuck fast to your side, the Captain sends you a quizzical glance, to which you add, “Long story... He told me he's been trying to find his father a birthday present, but so far he hasn't had much success. And I thought... Well...”

You wave a hand in the vague direction that Junior had disappeared.

“You thought you'd give him pick of the cache,” she finishes with a sigh, “You know, for a monarch, you're not nearly ruthless enough. You'll never be like your father.”

Your smile grows tenfold as you splay a hand across your chest, touched. “Why, Captain, I think that's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me.”

Some of the frost in her expression melts away under the warmth of your sunny grin and she shakes her head at you, doing a terrible job of hiding the fond twitch of her lips.

At the bottom of the steps, down in the belly of the ship, you're not at all surprised to find the Quartermaster standing with his hands fisted into his grey, thinning hair as he gapes at Junior, who appears to be getting quite familiar with the crates and boxes filled to bursting with valuables from your kingdom.

“C-Cap'n!” the man stammers when you both stop beside him, “He – he just! He just started-!”

“It's all right, Mr Cabot,” she interrupts reassuringly, clapping a strong hand down on his shoulder, “He's here by royal invite.”

His sweeping, silver eyebrows launch themselves up his forehead and he splutters something incomprehensible until you address him, coughing softly into your fist as you move to join the young Koopa just as he shoves his nose deep into a sack of rare opals. “Abe, I wonder if you'd be so kind as to fetch a selection of comics from my cabin?”

At once, the Quartermaster's mouth snaps shut and there's a shuffle of feet behind you, followed by a gruff, “A-Aye, Ma'am,” before Abe begins to make for the steps, leaving you with Junior and the Captain.

Turning your attention onto your guest, you call out, “Have a good look around. I hope there's at least something in here that'll suffice.”

Junior's head pops out of the sack and he flashes you an impish grin that shows off his prominent fang. “Uh, all of it?!” he exclaims, “In fact – what's to stop me from makin' off with everything on this ship?”

Leant up against a wooden pillar near the staircase, Captain Skip lifts the brim of her hat and levels a dangerous glare at him, whereas you simply laugh at the absurdity of his notion, seeing nothing before you but an exuberant child with an extraordinary imagination.

“Nothing, I suppose,” you reply amicably, “But I would be very sad if you did. Especially since you're the first friend I've made in this kingdom.”

Just like that, his childish grin falters, shrinking at the corners of his mouth until his smile is altogether lacklustre, eventually dropping off his face entirely. “Huh... Right...” he says, far too softly to suit the young Koopa you've been chatting with all morning.

Lowering the sackful of opals, he gazes down into its depths, his forehead crinkling with a frown as he fiddles idly with the sack's drawstring, tail tucked close around one leg.

The shift is certainly jarring, but just as you open your mouth to ask him if something is wrong, Abe's voice cuts across the dark hold, calling out to you from the entrance. “Here they are, Ma'am.”

You twist yourself about to greet him as he makes his way over to you and places a stack of your treasured novels neatly in your upturned palms, all the while keeping his wary eye trained on Junior.

“Thank you, Mr Cabot. That'll be all,” you hum.

“Ma'am.” He lifts a hand and tips his cap to you politely, though you note he doesn't offer the same platitude to your guest. Then, spinning about on his heel, he meets the Captain's eye, lowering his voice. “Ah, Cap'n... Might I have another word?”

None too subtly, he twists his head over one shoulder to shoot a glance at Junior, and if the young Koopa could see the look he's being subjected to – mistrustful and cold – you'd be inclined to reprimand Abe for his attitude towards your guest. But luckily for Cabot, Junior's eyes are still fixed on the inside of the sack, staring at its contents, but barely seeing them.

With a grunt, Captain Skip pushes herself from the beam, standing upright once more. She raises a circumspect brow, first at you to get your attention, then at Junior - a far more surreptitious method of conveying her own message to you.

Abe, with a mere look, had told you that he's extremely unhappy to have Junior on board. The Captain however, is asking a question in her glance. 'Will you be all right on your own?'

'He's just a boy,' you want to tell her. A boy who only wants to find his father the perfect birthday present. What you wouldn't give to have been able to do the same when you were his age. What you wouldn't give to have had a father you could be proud of too, one who didn't look upon a kind gesture as something to be scoffed at and dismissed... who didn't rebuff your 'childish' attempts at affection.

If you can help Junior find his Papa the perfect birthday present, then you damn well ought to.

“Go ahead, Captain,” you tell her, waving her off with a flick of your wrist, “Junior and I may be occupied down here for some time.”

She grumbles unintelligibly, fixes Junior with a final glare of warning, and then, with a swish of her coat tails, she sweeps away from you, following the Quartermaster up the stairs and out of the cargo hold.

Alone with Junior in the groaning underbelly of the ship, you find yourself clutching the stack of comic books a little more tightly against your chest.

You slowly grow aware of his gleaming eyes that shine out at you under the flickering light of the hold's lanterns. He's watching you closely, at least until you begin traipsing back over to him, flashing the young Koopa a smile, which prompts him to tear his gaze away from you and focus instead on the dusty, wooden floorboards creaking under his feet.

Gone is the levity you'd felt upon your approach to the Bonhomous.

“Junior?” you utter tentatively, wondering as to the cause of his inexplicable change in mood, “Is everything all right?”

The only response you garner lays in the furrow of his fiery brows as he continues to regard the floor with such a look of consternation, you'd think the ship herself had just insulted him.

It's actually unnerving, in a way. He seems older in the dark, more of a stranger than a potential friend.

Of course, as soon as the thought occurs to you, you ruthlessly strike it back into the recesses of your psyche, reminding yourself that he's a child, and you'll not be easily swayed by the suspicion of the Captain and her crew.

Chewing absently on your bottom lip for a second, you glance down at the comics in your hands, eyeing the one right at the top. From the cover, a gallant gentleman cocks his shining grin back at you, dressed in colourful armour and holding an almighty sword aloft in victory.

This one has always been among your favourites. An unreliable narrator, a protagonist turned antagonist, and a lonely monster who ends up saving the world in spite of how it treats him.

Brushing a fond thumb over its spine, you dart your eyes up to Junior for just a moment, taking note of his slouching shoulders and the confusion darkening his downturned face. Then, steeling your resolve, you work your clenched jaw loose and peel the comic from the top of the stack, presenting it to the Koopa and giving it a gentle shake to flutter the pages until he raises his head and blinks owlishly at the proffered gift.

“Here,” you coax, carefully pressing the copy into his chest so that his arms shoot up to catch it, “Consider this my gift to your father. You're still free to take something, I mean. I just... I have a feeling he might enjoy this one.”

Very slowly, Junior lowers his gaze from your face, dropping it to the comic book now clutched between his bruising fingers. “I don't get it,” he murmurs, his brows hanging so low that his eyes are half obscured as he glowers down at the cover.

“Oh? Well, it's quite a simple story, really,” you pipe up, reaching forwards to tap your fingertip on one of the little, illustrated characters, “This man here, he's a traveller from across the stars, and he finds this -”

You find your explanation interrupted as Junior suddenly shifts backwards with a brisk shake of his head, pulling himself away from you and blurting, “No! I mean... I don't get it. I don't get you!”

Bewildered, you find yourself helpless to reply beyond uttering a small, “What?”

“Why're you being so nice to me?”

Your mind judders to a halt. What a bizarre question, especially coming from a child. It's clear he means it to be an accusation, as if you're expected to be unkind. As if you're supposed to be, but you're defying his expectations at every turn.

Holding a palm helplessly towards the ceiling, you ask, “Is there a particular reason I shouldn't be nice to you? Isn't being nice just... part of making friends?”

Something flits rapidly across his expression, surprise in the blink of his wide eyes, confusion in the way his jaw unclenches and flops open and closed a few times before he manages to get his tongue to push out a hesitant question. “You said 'friends,' again?” he echoes softly, pulling a claw from the comic and hesitantly pointing at himself, “You... wanna be friends?”

Then, after a little pause... “With me?”

Why would he think otherwise? Building connections is the whole point of your visit, be those connections with the ruler of the kingdom, or a child you met by a fountain. “Of course I do,” you huff with a tinny laugh, resolute in your words.

It's gradual, but the pinch of his brows begins to ease and he adds, “But.. you're not a Koopa. I didn't think anyone who wasn't a Koopa would want-...”

The youngling trails off, lapsing into a meek silence that you're hesitant to break. But the bewilderment in his face compels you to speak up and quietly tell him, “Junior. I understand that you don't know me at all, really. But if there's one thing I'd like you to remember about me, it's that I would never choose a friend based on species. Nobody should.”

He remains quiet for some time, his eyes averted. But then, to your relief, you start to make out the tiny, hesitant smile that tries to worm its way across his face.

“So.. .so, if we're friends,” he starts slowly, as if he's attempting to make sense of something grand and unknowable, “Then could we... like... hang out together?”

Surprised, yet pleased that you haven't inadvertently driven a wedge between you and the Koopa, you nod. “Naturally.”

“And... you could read me comic books!”

“Sounds like fun,” comes your agreeable laugh.

“And we'd go on cool adventures together.” As he speaks, Junior grows more and more animated, staring off into the distance as if he's concocting an elaborate plan in his head.

Gradual as the sunrise, his jaw lifts into a hopeful grin and he stares up at you, standing on his toes. “And.. Would you wanna be friends with my Papa too?”

“I don't see why not,” you shrug.

At first, he seems a little skeptical, squinting up at you through narrowed eyelids, but when you only continue to hold his stare with unflinching sincerity, he finally blinks, drawing his head back and giving you a hum from the base of his throat, sounding pleased, of all things.

“My Papa's got all kinds treasure like these,” Junior murmurs softly as he gazes about at the cargo hold, eventually letting his eyes drift back over to you where they sharpen with sudden, alarming focus, “But I don't think he's ever had a real friend before. Not one as nice as you!”

Little flatterer, you smirk to yourself, raising a hand and covering your cheek with a palm. “Well, I don't know about-”

You aren't given the chance to finish your sentence.

Without a whiff of warning, Junior moves faster than you can blink, dropping down onto all-fours and sweeping his tail beneath your legs.

A bleat of alarm jumps from your throat as you topple over sideways and instinctively drop your armful of comic books, clenching your eyes shut as the ground rushes up to meet you. The impact however, is far more gentle than you'd expected. With a startled 'ooph!' your back hits a soft, warm appendage that snakes around you and effectively pins your arms to your sides. In seamless tandem, a second hand catches you under the knees and prevents your backside from colliding painfully with the floor boards.

“Wha-! Junior!” you yelp indignantly, shocked that a boy half your height has the strength to hold you aloft just enough that your kicking feet can't gain purchase on the ground. “What are you doing!?”

The Koopa's grin has returned full-force, wide and mischievous. Try as you might to struggle from his grasp, you're immensely disconcerted by Junior's unexpected show of strength. You can feel the muscles in his arms bulging underneath you as he hoists you higher into his hold, leaving the skirts of your dress to drag across the floor boards.

For the first time since you met the young Koopa, you feel your stomach twist itself nearly inside out when tendrils of cold, dawning horror begin to coil and writhe in your gut.

Perhaps he deserved the crew's suspicion after all...

He turns towards the hull and steps over your comic books that now lay scattered across the floor.

“Junior!” you raise your voice to something like a yelp, “This is absolutely unacceptable! Put me down at once!”

Dust rains on top of your heads and into your hair as heavy footsteps start to pound in the direction of the hold, igniting a hot spark of hope in your chest.

“Don't worry!” Junior chirps brightly, stepping right up to the ship's wooden wall, “I'm gonna take you home! Papa's real nice, once you get to know him. Me n'him'll take good care of you - you'll see!”

Your quivering heart lurches, the horror of the sudden development shifting across the scales and entering into the realm of terror.

He can't be serious! This is no longer a child playing pretend, this is a child who is evidently prepared to commit a serious offence to get what he wants.

Boots thunder down the steps behind you and you almost weep with relief when the familiar voice of your loyal Captain hollers, “Release her, boy! 'Fore I blast that shell right off your back!”

“Skip!?” you cry out, still trying to wrench your arms from his iron-clad grasp when you hear a sound that fills you simultaneously with equal parts fear and hope.

.. The cocking of the Captain's trusty pistol.

Junior hears it as well, instinctively rounding on the Captain and letting out a vicious snarl, allowing you to catch the briefest glimpse of Skip standing at the head of a group of sailors, her stance wide and her lips peeled back over her teeth of match Junior's warning growl with unparalleled ferocity.

The Koopa's eyes alight on the gun and he suddenly gasps, whipping about and curling himself over you, putting his sturdy shell between you and the weapon.

A burning heat ignites in his chest – you can feel it searing against your side, travelling up the Koopa's sternum and into his throat.

The crew are shouting at the top of their lungs.

Your eyes fling open wide and fix themselves upon the fiery glow emanating between Junior's fangs.

“Leave us alone!” he bellows, letting tendrils of red-hot flames spill from his maw.

Mouth agape, you cringe away from the heat, squeezing your eyes shut again as the fire grows bright enough to sear right through your eyelids.

Junior's jaws open wide and he aims his snout at the wall of the ship whilst a molten ball of fire builds at the back of his throat.

“NO!” the Captain cries hoarsely.

But the time to act has already passed her by, and she hasn't even realised it.

Anything else she might have wanted to shout is suddenly drowned out by a deafening explosion that rocks the ship on her moorings. Junior's entire body gives a sudden jolt as a boiling ball of fire erupts out of his mouth like a bullet fired from a gun, hitting the Bonhomous's hull with a resounding and devastating 'BOOM!'

Strong, solid oak is blasted from its fixtures. Nails fly in every direction like shrapnel, and a plume of smoke engulfs the cargo hold, wrenching the air from your lungs.

The sailors begin to cough and splutter, picking themselves up off the ground from where they'd tossed themselves behind barrels and crates for cover.

Dim sunlight pours into the ship and when you dare to pry your eyelids apart to look, your jaw drops open, leaving you gaping at an enormous, jagged hole that's been blown right out of the Bonhomous's side.

“.... Wh... What have you done?” you breathe, balling your hands into fists and dragging your eyes up to stare at the underside of Junior's yellow chin.

Ignoring the chaos and confusion of the crew at his back, the Koopa cocks a grin at the hole, satisfied with his work as he hops up into the gap, balancing on the splintered edge of a half-destroyed hull.

Urgency pushes you through the shock that stalls your systems and you find yourself struggling anew, choking out, “Junior, please, you don't have to do this!”

The boy's smile gives no indication that he's even heard you.

For a fleeting moment, he twists his head over a shoulder to peer back at the smoke.

There, silhouetted against he indigo haze, the Captain emerges like a vengeful phantom, striding towards you both with murderous fire burning in her dark, grey eyes. In one bloodied hand, she raises her pistol, the shining barrel glinting dangerously in the sunlight that filters through her ship's new cavity.

“Stop,” she croaks hoarsely, her throat burning from the smoke, “Or I'll put you down. Child or no.”

But Junior, although he may be young, is certainly no fool.

He knows a bluff when he sees one. He can all but smell the reluctance rolling off the Captain in waves.

She won't risk firing at him, not while you're being held so closely to his chest.

His mouth twitches and he flashes her a triumphant grin, revelling in the defeat that flickers momentarily behind her eyelids.

The Koopaling is wholly aware of his new friend fighting to get out of his all-encompassing grasp, but he's far stronger than his size suggests, and merely keeps his arms locked tight around your shoulders and legs like a pair of bear traps.

Though you might not be the most conventional birthday present, Junior can't deny that you were the best option on the whole ship, a rare gem hidden amongst the pearls and rubies and, yes, even the comic books. Taking a moment to lament the latter's loss, he leaps from the ship and lands heavily on the dock, taking care not to jostle you too greatly as he scampers between a pair of buildings, leaving the Bonhomous and her crew behind in the dust.

Jewels and riches are nice enough, but Junior isn't blind to the plight that's been afflicting his father for some time now - a plight that can't be fixed by shiny things, sadly.

As brave and strong as his Papa has been in the face of never-ending rebuttal from Princess Peach, Junior can tell that his almighty resolve has at last been chipped down to the bone.

Bowser has been... quieter lately. And every breath that heaves out of his massive lungs seems more and more like an affected sigh.

Junior had overheard Kamek speaking to the King only a few short nights ago, when the youngling was expected to be sound asleep in bed, not sneaking into the kitchens for a midnight snack.

“I think this loneliness is heavier than even your mighty shoulders can bear, my King, “the old Magikoopa had bravely pointed out, though what he might have said before that is unknown to Junior.

Naturally, Bowser had promptly lost his temper and roared Kamek from the throne room. But the seed of suspicion had already been planted in Junior's brain.

His Papa... lonely?

He supposes if anyone would be able to tell, it would be their brainy advisor, Kamek.

As Junior bounds away from the Toads' Capital with a new friend tucked safely in his arms, he allows himself a moment to feel triumphant in his capture.

You may not be a princess, like Peach, but his Papa is still sure to like you. He's often watched the King get tongue-tied around ladies in dresses.

You're afraid now, yes, struggling fruitlessly against him and demanding that he let you go, but he's sure you'll change your tune once you see how well his Papa will treat you.

Friends of the Koopa Troop are friends for life, and you've already said you wanted to be friends with he and the King.

Junior's stubby tail waggles back and forth as he dashes through the outskirts of town, heading for the mushroom forest where he's stashed his clown car.

All he has to do now is get back before his Papa wakes up to find him missing...

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

To say that the Bowser Castle is in a state of disarray would be the understatement of the century.

If one were to look at it from outside the towering, stone walls, one might assume that the trembling spires and quivering parapets are afflicted by a localised earthquake.

But on the inside, vulnerable to the wrath of their King, the Koopas on duty find themselves wishing they only had an earthquake to deal with.

“WHERE IS HE!?”

Kamek's thick, round glasses rattle on the edge of his beak as he plasters himself to the door of Junior's bedroom, helpless to do anything other than play silent witness to the young Koopa's father – King Bowser himself – tearing open the boy's closet and sticking his immense bulk into the dark, cramped space, bellowing, “JUNIOR!?” at the top of his lungs.

If Kamek didn't know the king as well as he does, he'd mistake this behaviour for outrage and aggression. But as it is, he's spent too long as Bowser's advisor to be fooled.

Suffice it to say, Junior's inexplicable absence has worried the living daylights out of his father. It's just a shame that the king's worry is almost an exact mimic of his anger, and so often the two are lumped together by his critics.

And yet, for all the ferocity with which Bowser appears to be ripping his son's bedroom asunder in his mad search, it doesn't escape Kamek's notice that not a single thing inside has actually sustained any damage.

With a snarl of frustration, Bowser wrenches his nose from the closet and lumbers across the room to his son's bed, pinching the soft blankets and covers between his claws and peeling them back as if Junior might have managed to sneak back into the room when his father's back was turned.

Every attempt to calm the worked-up king down has thus far been met with belligerence and aggravated growls. Still, Kamek Koopa is nothing if not persistent.

“Sire, please, remember your blood pressure,” he calls chidingly, “I'm sure the young master will turn up soon!”

Bowser's tremendous jaws snap together with the force of a thunderclap and he shoots Kamek a molten glare. “Junior ALWAYS wakes me up on my birthday!” he seethes, his powerful fists compressing a pillow until it threatens to explode and spray feathers all over the room, “Not only did he not wake me this morning, now, I can't find him ANYWHERE!”

The last word is bellowed loudly enough to be heard from the deepest dungeon to the tallest spire.

Kamek's eyes squeeze shut behind his glasses, wincing in discomfort until his ears stop ringing and the quivering chandelier overhead falls still.

“Sire,” he sighs, pushing his spectacles further up on his beak, “The boy is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. You raised him, after all! Besides, he has his communicator with him, no? He'll call if he runs into any trouble.”

All at once, Bowser peels his lips back and lets out a low, guttural rumble that spills from his chest, dropping the pillow and instead snatching something up from the corner of Junior's bed. “Oh really,” he utters dangerously, holding a small, rectangular object between his thumb and forefinger and raising it into the air for the Magikoopa to see, “Then tell me, Kamek, how Junior is supposed to contact me when he left his communicator UNDER HIS PILLOW!?”

“... Ah...” Kamek is starting to get the sense that his King's threadbare patience is reaching its end. It's unusual for the boy to go anywhere without his communicator, but it's possible that he simply forgot it.

He's just about to concede and suggest that they send a troop out to search for Junior, if only to keep the King from spiralling into an all-out tantrum when all of a sudden, from somewhere beyond the bedroom door, the rapid approach of footsteps catches their attention, followed by a familiar voice calling out, “PAPA!”

'Oh thank goodness,' Kamek sighs to himself.

At once, Bowser's colossal frame sags like a balloon losing air, leaving him immeasurably smaller somehow, without all that agitation swelling his chest.

“Junior!” he shouts back, trying very hard to sound stern, but incapable of hiding every ounce of his relief.

Kamek only just manages to shuffle away from the doors before they suddenly burst open so violently that their brass knobs smash into the walls and their hinges give an almighty squeal, and there behind them stands the previously mislaid Bowser Junior, sporting a grin so wide that his cheeks are doubled in size.

“PAPA!” he cries again, barrelling towards Bowser like a tiny, green and yellow torpedo. Immediately, the King thumps down onto one knee, though whether from instinct or habit, Kamek is hard-pressed to say.

A pair of tremendous arms spread open to catch Junior mid-leap, sweeping the boy up into his father's grasp and all but crushing him against a broad, scaly chest.

“Happy birthday!” The Koopaling's shout is muffled by the thick wall of of flesh he's being squashed into.

Kamek politely averts his gaze to the floor of Junior's room, falling into the familiar routine of visually categorising all the things he'll need to clean up off the boy's messy floor, giving the pair of them a moment to themselves as father and son.

Hunched over his child, Bowser permits himself just a few seconds to let an intoxicating relief roll over his shoulders and cool the fire raging in his belly.

“Son,” he rumbles, peeling Junior off his chest and holding the Koopaling up in front of his snout, drawing his brows together until they almost meet in the centre of his forehead. “Where have you been!?”

Junior at least has the decency to cower slightly into his shell, peeking out at his father with a hesitant grin pulling on the edges of his mouth. “I'm sorry. But you won't believe what I-!”

“You didn't wake me up!” Bowser simply bulldozes over his son's explanation, puffing out a stream of smoke through his flaring nostrils, “You always wake me up! And then I come in here, and I find you gone!”

“I-I know, but I had to-”

“You didn't even leave a note! You left your communicator! I've been tearing this castle apart trying to find you! What if something happened!?”

Uncomfortable with being the focus his father's unwavering glare, Junior begins to wriggle, embarrassed. “M'sorry, Papa,” he mutters, “I was just tryin' to find you the perfect birthday present...”

Slowly, something in Bowser's fearsome expression turns soft – Well... as soft as a ruthless, oversized Koopa's expression can turn.

For all that Bowser is as gruff and ornery as a dragon with a headache, when it comes to Junior, he's a total pushover.

The King grumbles something quietly under his breath and he pulls a face, squinting sharply at his son for several, gruelling moments before at last, his maw twists up into a grin.

“The perfect present... Haha!” A low chuckle rolls out of his throat, deep and resonant like faraway brontide, “Tryn'a impress your old man, eh? Well, guess I can't stay mad at you for bein' thoughtful.”

He gently lowers the Koopaling to the floor and ruffles his hair with one, meaty paw. Junior makes an indignant noise of complaint at the back of his throat and ducks out from under his father's palm, reaching up to fix his tousled ponytail.

“Yeah, yeah. Quit bein' embarrassin' and come see what I got you!” he huffs, snagging one of Bowser's immense fingers and tugging him urgently towards the bedroom door, “C'mon, c'mon!”

The King's heavy footsteps plod steadily down the long corridor in the wake of his son, who continues to try and drag the colossal Koopa along faster. Exhaling warmly through his nostrils, Bowser allows himself to be lead to the throne room doors, whereupon Junior finally lets go of his hand and bounds towards them, calling over his shoulder, “She's in here!”

It takes Bowser a moment to register what his son had said, but once he does, his smile wavers and he blunders, “Wait. She?!”

The boy disregards his father in favour of grabbing the doorknobs and wrenching them open, scampering inside. As soon as the towering doors swing aside, Bowser's sensitive nose is hit with a gentle aroma, far lighter and fresher than the musty, old throne room.

'Perfume?' he muses, incredulous.

And then, he raises his head, tearing his eyes off Junior and fixing his gaze upon a gaggle of Koopa Troopa guards who have gathered together in a circle at the centre of the room, their spears raised and trained on the same target.

'What in the world did Junior bring home this time?'

“OW! Hey! Would you mind watching where you point those spears?” a voice cries out sharply, unfamiliar to Bowser's well-trained ears, “This dress took my seamstress months to make! If you tear it, she'll tan my sorry hide!”

Beyond curious now, Bowser raises his snout higher into the air to peer over the Koopas as he stomps towards them with enough force to shake the guards in their boots.

“Hey!” Junior barks, “I told you guys not to hurt her!”

His father, meanwhile, has lost what little he has of patience. Swinging his meaty fist out, he grabs the shoulder of the closest guard and shoves him aside with a curt grunt, at last revealing what they'd been obscuring from sight.

The King blinks once, then twice, and then suddenly, his mighty heart skips a couple of beats and his jaw promptly drops.

------

The moment you feel the heat of a warm, wet breath sliding over the nape of your neck, you freeze, your mouth stuck halfway open in the middle of demanding that these guards tell you where in the world you are.

There's a presence behind you, a shadow utterly dwarfing your own that's been cast by overhead chandeliers.

You don't whirl around right away, somehow sensing that you're in the company of someone much, much bigger than you, stronger than you, and you'd rather avoid provoking it with any unexpected movements.

The Koopas around you have lifted their eyes to stare agog at a spot right above your head, slowly lowering their weapons as they begin edging backwards. Though whether that's out of deference or terror, you have no idea.

In spite of your own fear, you attempt to remain poised as you continue to turn until you gradually come face to face with a massive expanse of flaxen skin.

'That's a chest!' your brain helpfully supplies. 'Broad as a barn and twice as sturdy...' You swallow, reluctantly dragging your eyes up the length of that mammoth chest until your gaze inevitably comes to a stop on a gruesome face.

You're not quite fast enough to stop a gasp from slipping in between your parted lips.

Before you looms a veritable mountain of a creature – a Goliath in every sense of the word. Dragon-scale skin stretches taut over bulging muscles and just one of his limbs looks as though it would weigh the same as a full-grown man.

His head alone dwarfs yours. He boasts a robust and square jaw from which protrude the largest fangs you've ever seen outside of a prehistoric museum...

The spiked shell sitting on his back is equally as massive as its wearer, and heavy-bodied too. You don't doubt that bearing its weight for so long must have contributed to this giant's powerful physique.

In rather striking contrast to his body's colouration, a mane of thick, crimson hair sweeps back from the top of his skull, right between a pair of upturned horns that jut from either side of his head.

It's by that hair and the bushy, red brows that you draw a logical conclusion – This can only be Junior's father.

'This is Papa!?'

You're suddenly left feeling very helpless under his smouldering stare.

However, unbeknownst to you, Bowser's mind is running along a very similar track.

Of all the 'gifts' he'd been expecting his son to get him, the very last thing he would have guessed was to come face to face with a tiny, human woman.

His almighty heart gives a pulsing throb when you tip your head back and he sees your eyes for the first time, blinking up at him in what he'd like to imagine must be awe and wonder.

He can smell the subtle traces of your perfume lingering on your soft, delicate skin, tantalisingly sweet and decadent. Expensive too, he'd wager. The silk of your dress is exquisite and shines prettily in the light of the candelabras – a fine material typically only afforded by nobility. Within seconds, he deduces that wherever you've come from, it's a place of opulence and refinement.

You're certainly a pretty package, all wrapped up in finery... The perfect birthday present indeed...

Just like that, Bowser finds himself rendered very helpless, even jelly-limbed under your scrutiny.

“Isn't she pretty, Papa?” Junior pipes up, breaking the spell that had fallen over the King and the stranger in their midst.

Bowser blinks, and, realising that his lower jaw is hanging slack, he snaps it shut with a click of his fangs.

Right.. Right, yes. First impressions... Stars, he hasn't even waxed his shell today! Is his hair still sticking out at odd angles from where he'd slept on it?

Feeling oddly light in the chest, Bowser clears his throat – a resonant sound that makes you recoil a step – and he extends one colossal paw, deftly catching your dainty, little hand between his thumb and forefinger, and applying just the barest amount of pressure to keep you from reclaiming your appendage.

He expertly ignores how your expression screws up tightly with trepidation as he begins to lower his head, bending at his sizeable waist and swinging an arm backwards to rest on his shell in a perfectly controlled bow.

“Enchanté,” he rumbles smoothly, raising your hand to his mouth. You turn rigid in his grip, but he's quick to alleviate a modicum of your fear by giving your knuckles the gentlest brush of his rubbery lips, hardly pressing down enough to be felt. Never once does he break eye contact.

Your eyelids spring open wide in shock, staring hard at the gleaming fangs that protrude from his maw, all too mindful of the fact that they could bite your appendage clean off with just a sniff of effort.

“And to whom do I have the pleasure of speaking, hm?” His voice alone is powerful enough to thrum deeply inside your chest like a second heartbeat. It terrifies you, the unrestrained brawn that shifts below the surface of his scales.

He wants to know your name? The first question he asks, and it's to inquire after your name?

In hindsight, you suppose it isn't such an outlandish query after all.

More to the point though, how is such a brutish behemoth speaking so eloquently?

Almost at once, a stab of rancid shame demands a spot inside your chest. Who are you to assume how he should and shouldn't be able to speak?

Blinking absently, you flit your gaze from the colossal snout smiling in front of your face to the clawed thumb resting delicately against the back of your hand.

It hits you like a sack of bricks.

He's bowing to you.

'… Well,' you suppose, 'he may look the part of the Dragon who kidnapped the Princess, but his demeanour is that of a polished patrician... at least thus far.'

Throat bobbing as you swallow thickly, you dare to hope that he, unlike his son, can be reasoned with. Hell, for all you know, this is all just a big misunderstanding. He'll reprimand Junior for kidnapping you, and you'll be allowed to go on your merry way. If anything, he deserves the benefit of your doubt. Just once.

It takes a tremendous effort to gulp your heart back down into its proper place behind your ribs.

Clearing your throat, you almost tell him precisely who you are, status and all. But a tiny inkling of doubt stays your tongue.

Is it really so sensible to be telling him your regal status? Especially given that you're utterly alone here, a stranger in a strange land, treading unknown territory without any sort of phalanx...

“My name,” you start to croak, almost losing your nerve when his face lights up with a hopeful grin, “You may call me, Y/n...”

The breath he exhales over your face is slow and gentle, barely strong enough to disturb the hairs on your head.

“Y/n,” he murmurs, rolling the name off his tongue as if he were tasting a fine wine.

Hesitant, you give your captured hand a testing pull, and this time, he allows you to withdraw it and tuck it protectively against your chest as you back away from him. “A-and, you must be Junior's father,” you say falteringly, shooting the boy a withering look as you do.

In much the same manner as his son did when you asked for his name, Bowser swells with unabashed pride, pushing out his prodigious chest and pointing his nose at the ceiling. If you didn't know he was Junior's father before, you'd certainly be able to tell now.

“Name's Bowser!” he announces, flicking his gleaming, red eyes down to flash you, of all things, a wink, “King Bowser.”

And 'oh good lord,' you realise as your stomach bottoms out, 'Junior wasn't playing pretend at all.'

[kroosluvr]

my pipsona/pipsqueaksona ... notes under the cut

traveling artist that hitchhikes/freeloads off ships and trains and carriages etc to follow this weird compass she has that always points towards an odd direction

she appears really elegant, prim, stoic, but she's actually quite puppylike and gets really excited at a lot of things, namely art and adventure and exploration

NOTES ON HER CLOTHING UHH she wears a lot of darks to hide paint stains. the hat is mostly to keep the sun out. her hair is quite messy, tousled by the salt air, all that. also she always wears long skirts and sleeves.

spoiler alert, the compass actually... leads... to... captain gale galleon!!!111 ahaha. ahah

she doesn't know that though (i think he realizes it very quickly but doesn't say anything LMAOOO like why diminish her excitement towards the hunt am i right)

her pipsqueak form is like a lovebird or something LMAOOA as a bird she's very eeeepy and just lounges around captain's quarters snnzzing away i think.

[celestial--sapphic]

5th January, 1892

"I think that would be cheating, Pops. If I am honest.” Evelyn has to admit, giving a sideways look to her girlfriend who is half-stooping next to her in front of Professor Ronen's elaborate collection of butterflies. 

The Hufflepuff's gaze is focused specifically on one of the winged insects in the tallest glass chamber which sports a mix of vivid colours; rusted red hues on the main part of its delicate, paperthin wings, with black, soft daffodil yellow and an iridescent blue tingeing the edges with spots like blurred ink on wet parchment. Evelyn was never quite sure if the butterflies in question were still alive and enchanted to live inside the glass chambers indefinitely or if they are taxidermy charmed to flutter their wings at regular intervals through some exceptional reanimation spell. The Slytherin is equally never sure which version she prefers. 

"Cheating?" Poppy asks curiously, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear and tilting her head up slightly to look up at Evelyn from underneath those thick, long lashes that Evelyn never fails to find impossibly attractive. 

"Yes, well doesn't the book expect you to find them out and about in the real world?" Evelyn replies, gesturing absently in the direction of the butterflies and beyond.  

The book, in question, is a one of a set of three spotter guides she bought from Tomes and Scrolls for Poppy as a Christmas present; The Observer’s Guide to British Butterflies, The Observer’s Guide to British Flowers and Observer’s Guide to British Birds. The Hufflepuff absolutely loved them (nearly knocking Evelyn’s glass of mulled cider out of her hand when she pulled her into a hug after unwrapping them) and immediately got to work excitedly filling them in. It was less than three weeks since Christmas and she had already cheerfully ticked off a number of native Scottish birds and hardy flora that can survive the weather, like snowdrops and hellebores. However, given the unforgiving, biting winter weather in the Highlands Poppy had made limited (see: non-existent) progress on the butterflies edition, to her disappointment.   

Poppy hums. “I suppose you are right, it wouldn’t be completely honest. Truly, I would prefer to see the peacock butterfly in real life anyway. They must look so beautiful when they fly freely, imagine the colours…” She trails off, her gaze drifting back to the glass chambers and the regular beating of coloured wings. 

“I would hazard there are a fair few people who get frustrated with the rare ones and just end up going to the Natural History Museum to tick them off,” Evelyn muses, stepping closer into Poppy’s bubble of space, to look closer herself at the butterfly which had Poppy so enraptured. 

"The what?" 

“Natural History Museum.” Evelyn repeats, assuming Poppy hadn’t heard her. 

“The what, sorry?” Poppy asks again.  

“The Natural History Museum, in Kensington, in London?” 

Poppy turns her attention back to the taller girl and gives Evelyn a completely blank look and a small shake of her head.

“Is that… muggle?” The Hufflepuff asks curiously. Poppy having grown up completely in the wizarding world and Evelyn in the muggle world they had found plenty of things in the course of their relationship that one or the other didn’t know about. Poppy telling Evelyn she had never used the London Underground being one example that always springs to mind.    

“You've... you've never been to the Natural History Museum?" Evelyn couldn’t believe it. How had Poppy Sweeting not been to the Natural History Museum? Regardless if it was a muggle institution, she would have bet a Galleon the Hufflepuff's gran would have taken the her at some point, given their joint love of the natural world, magical and otherwise. 

Evelyn knew, at that moment, exactly what they were doing for Poppy’s 17th birthday next month.

[foursaints]

saints i was thinking about ludora as not just a blond/blonde ship but both of them also having super long, silky hair too and then i was giggling over how lucius would have like a one hundred step haircare routine, he’s brushing it every night before bed and then again in the morning, he carries a comb at all times just in case etc etc and then pandora like maybe, and that’s a big maybe, brushes her hair once a week? if she remembers? doesn’t use any fancy product except like regular shampoo & conditioner and the like and yet her hair is always still so soft and ethereal looking and lu is so so offended…. anyway i’ve been obsessing over lucius a little recently and ur posts about them have not been helping at all i love them

KARA WERE YOU THE ONE WHO CALLED HIM A PATHETIC CUNT-SERVING WORM?? i cannot stop thinking about that... scream.

you get it! there is something so hilarious about lucius being obsessed with Appearance and Pureblood Propriety and Tailors and 60-Galleon Hair Oil and Having A Massive Stick Up His Ass At All Times and then (maybe because of this) falling HARD for this dirty, half-haunted unearthly porcelain doll of a girl that looks like something left behind at the flea market. she's humming lullabies under her breath, picking twigs from the bird's-nest tangle of her hair, and he's watching this thinking... Oh. I'm in fucking trouble