#and will be doing this while i do chores amongst my apartment

[onyxonline]

With how poor Dogday misses Angel so bad whenever they’re apart for too long, do they ever share a bed for some reassuring cuddles after a long day?

“More like I let him lay on my lap while I catch up to my latest shows, it’s a nice exchange. And I don’t even need to worry about chores because the other critters took it amongst themselves to keep the house clean while I’m away at work”

[yoddhasblog]

One thing that makes me rage about ACOTAR every single day is that there is no mention at all about who did the household chores when Feyre was hunting.

It's canon that Feyre doesn't know how to cook. She doesn't do household work. She would spend the day in the forest hunting, which of course is a great thing in itself for a child( she was fourteen I think when she started hunting) but who took care of the house(hut).

Something tells me it wasn't Papa Archeron or Elain. In the first few chapters of Thorns and Roses Nesta had chopped wood twice(I think, it's been a while since I read the book). I'm assuming as there isn't much info about this that Nesta was the one to do all household work. There's cooking, cleaning, laundry, chopping wood, mending clothes, doing repairs around the house if required, groceries, and about a hundred other little tasks that keep a house running smoothly. Feyre didn't do it, Papa Archeron didn't do it, I can bet my life Elain didn't do it. Did magic faeries come to their house at night to do all this.

I don't understand where the narrative that Nesta was a spoiled and lazy girl who sat on her ass and didn't do anything came from. You know, my father had always told my sister and i, that whatever conflict we have between us, we should resolve it amongst ourselves. If you let a bunch of strangers know about the weaklinks in your relationships they will break you both apart. Of course, he tells us this due to our snake-ish relatives but honestly, when I had read about the relationship between the sisters, I wanted to scream at the book to not let the IC exploit their issues for personal gain. Which they did. That's exactly what Rhysand has been doing since he met the sisters.

[nicksolemnlyswears]

DATING HAN LUE HEADCANONS

pairing: han lue x reader

word count: ~2k

warnings: 18+, no smut perse but mentions of it, language, not much really, this is pretty tame

a/n: hello there! it's been a while since i've written for this lovely man but i recently found this on my notes and figured it's a good time to finish it. this was a request i got a while ago, it was by an anon so anon if you see this, i got you!!

the request only asked for dating headcanons so there's not much plot in here unlike the waitress one.

i feel really bad cause i got my han girlies on my inbox asking for more han content and i've been jumping from fandom to fandom. i just need the last movie to come out to fuel the love i have for han.

enjoy <3

Han is a man who prefers long term relationships. Amongst a life full of chaos he relishes on those relationships he can lean back and find calm and comfort, someone he can rely on.

Doesn’t mean Han's not into hook ups though. Whenever he’s single he’ll have his fair share of one nights stands. At the end of the day he's a man with needs, especially since he loves putting his life on the line.

Han he keeps people in boxes: friends, off limits, hookups, and relationship material. Of course there’s also that box with bright red letters that spell TOXIC. Most people in that box are one night stands that thought they stood a chance after a hookup and became a little unhinged.

Whenever Han finds that person that is relationship material he doesn’t let them go. He’ll pursue them in his cool and nonchalant way. He’ll compliment them so smoothly they won’t notice until much later.

Han will invite you out to do random stuff, wording it as 'errands' and it’s only in the middle of it that you realize it’s a date. Lunch followed by a scenic walk in a park in Tokyo and then dessert? Definitely a date. It’s perfect because it takes those first date jitters out of the way.

You fall in love with him way too quickly and Han knows when you do. It's your own fault because once you realize you're head over heels you become this mumbling, blushing mess.

It was a smooth transition from friends to dating to being in a relationship and it's all because of Han. He's great at reading people and it helped him ease your nerves and figure out how you were feeling with every outing.

With entering a new relationship there's a period of getting to know the other person. Han is an open book, he doesn't see the point of hiding anything with the girl that might be his future. You either accept him as he is now or you don't and that's the end. He has nothing to hide although he tiptoes around his late teens.

When Han tells you of his life as a fugitive you don't believe him. You laugh in his face. Like, “Yeah, sure. You pulled off a heist in Brazil and stole from the richest mafia man with your posey of misfits. Hilarious.” Han shrugs and moves on.

You could've googled it but you don't. You just think Han had a rough upbringing he doesn’t like to talk about. Which is partly true but not the case. It comes to bite you in the ass afterwards.

Moving on, Han is not a fan of pecks on the lips. If it’s not a kiss that lasts more than 5 seconds don’t fucking bother. He’s an all or nothing kinda man, you know?

I mean it’s not like Han will fight you if you do but it's visible how he's left wanting more. You’ve learned your lesson the hard way. You’re in a rush and to say goodbye you quickly peck him on the lips and then Han will pull you back in and plant a good kiss in, successfully making you even more late.

That being said Han adores kisses on the forehead or temple or back of the head. Han will randomly walk up to you while you do chores around the apartment and press a kiss to the back your head with his hands on your hips. Then he’ll walk off like nothing happened, leaving you all ☺️☺️.

Dating Han includes spending nightfall in each others arms. Resting in the increasingly comfortable sofa and raking your fingers through his hair, coaxing him to stay in.

"Do you have to go out, Hannie?" You whisper, scratching on his scalp making him shudder.

"I told them I'd be there." Han's response is muffled as he gets more comfortable, his face pressed against your breasts.

"But do you have to?" You insist as your other hand goes to scratch his back.

"I guess I can stay in and see them tomorrow night," Han sighs as he relaxes even more against you. He's far too comfortable and this cuddling will soon evolve into something much more exciting by the way you're hanging on to him.

For a time there Han pauses his life for you. He stops going to the races and ignores the calls of the Toretto crew to nurture your growing relationship.

By pausing Han completely ignores that other part of his life leading the Toretto gang to come to Tokyo. It’s not like Han meant to ignore them he was just enjoying his time with you so much that he didn’t realize how much time had gone. We’ll get into that later.

Han is not one to argue a lot. If you’re annoyed at him for one reason or another he’ll take it and try to distract you. Whether it’s by calling you a sweet nickname or holding you or kissing you.

But if it’s about something that puts you at risk Han will put his foot down. You went out with your friends late at night and walked home alone? Unacceptable. Do you know how many sickos are out there? That's when real arguments form because you can be so stubborn and independent. You can handle yourself. Han trusts you fully, it's the outside world he doesn't trust.

If you prioritize your job instead of your well being? Nope. Han will have to step in. Hell you don’t have to work if you don’t want to. He has enough money for the two of you. The idea of being taken care of like that is so tempting but you do like having your own life and money.

Sleepy, morning ‘I love you’s.’ That’s when he says those three words the most. You typically wake up before him so you’ll play with his hair and trace your fingertips on his back to softly wake him up.

It's mid morning and you've just woken up. You turn in bed to find Han sleeping on his stomach, his long hair covering his eyes and tickling his cheeks.

You brush the hair away from Han's face, tracing your fingertips over his face to softly wake him. You'd typically let him sleep in more but you had plans for the day and he insisted in driving you around.

He starts to stir and softly groans. Your hands go to his naked back, because he loves when you do that. "Good morning, handsome."

"Morning," he says, opening his eyes and looking at you. His voice deeper and rougher than normal. He clears his throat and pull you to him, kissing your head and muttering an, "I love you."

"I love you, more," you say, kissing his chest before wiggling out of his arms, "Time to get up, you promised me to take me to brunch before going to the grocery store."

Han will absolutely let you drive his precious car. Whenever you want to for as long as you want to. Doesn’t matter if you scratch it or pop a tire. He can fix his car no problem. As long as you're safe he's all in for it.

Will silently get off on you driving fast and changing the gears of the car expertly. At that moment Han is a spectator and you're the show. He understands all the other girls he's either been with or hooked up with and how they got turned on at him driving.

Driving a fast car is sexy.

Han is the kinkiest yet softest lover ever. He will try anything at least once but is not into the harsher parts of BDSM. Spanking and bondage is okay he sees the appeal and he likes it but not the crazy parts of it. Han's favorite position is when you ride him. Not reverse cowgirl though because he likes seeing your face and your chest bouncing. He loves your expressions and hearing the curses that slip from your lips.

Han is a slut for long, messy make out sessions. The one's that start slow and then build up. His tongue in your mouth or his in yours he doesn't have a preference. Your hands in his hair, pulling on it. Wandering hands but not going anywhere. The ones where when he pulls away there's a string of saliva between you two.

I'm sorry but Han is a handsy man. In public he'll hold back so he'll keep a hand on your hips or waist, an arm around your shoulder is more common though. If he's being cheeky he'll grab your ass in public. In private though? Oh, hands always on you. Hand on your ass, hand on your tit, on your thigh, always a hand on you.

Han loves to buy you clothes and lingerie. He takes note on what clothes you like and will buy you a bunch of those but will also buy you clothes he would go crazy seeing you wear. He will demand you model them for him.

Clothes like a little black dress, four or five inch, expensive, high heels, lacy lingerie sets. You will model them but then you'll end up in his bed, clothes still on.

Han is quiet in public but in private, with you? That man loves to yap, especially when you get him to talk about things he's extremely passionate about. It's hard to get him to shut up.

Han won't succumb to his friends teasing him about the fact that his whipped, or a simp, oor any nonsense like that. He has you and he loves you. There's nothing to be ashamed of.

The day Domenic Toretto knocks on your shared home is the day you're thrown for a spin.

Han is right behind you greeting one of his closest friends. He introduces you two happily, urging Dom to come in and take a seat.

You stay right besides Han in the couch across from the big man. You've heard a lot about Dom and it's all been great things. You're just shocked at the surprise visit.

They make small talk until Dom says, "We need your help, Han."

"Anything, Dom."

When Dom leaves you're too quiet. Han approaches you, giving you a look, "What's wrong?"

"What's wrong? This man just came here to ask for your help in a secret mission to take down this dangerous mercenary. How do you think I feel?" You exclaim overwhelmed at what was discussed.

"You sound very surprised. I told you about Brazil and my past," Han cocks his head curiously.

"I didn't think it was real, Hannie!" You yell, "I thought you had a rough upbringing and this was your way to joke and cover it up."

"I'm sorry," Han apologizes, pressing his forehead against yours.

"Are you really doing this?" You ask, scared of what might happen now.

"I have to. They need my help," Han responds, cupping your face in his hands. There are tears in your eyes, afraid of the new reality. Gone are the days of ignorant bliss.

"What about me?" The question was heavy and loaded. You only asked one question but there were hundreds in disguise.

"I'll be back in no time. You will stay here and stay safe, alright?"

Han left early the next morning. He woke you up with a hand on your cheek and another in your back. Han gave you a long, sweet kiss and whispered 'I love you.'

You were left at home with all this new information, your computer to google Brazil, and time.

ta-daaaa. i hope you guys enjoyed this. i know it's not a lot but i feel like i would be repeating myself since dating han headcanons is very much like the waitress headcanons, except without a plot.

i'm trying to get back into writing for han it's just a little hard since i feel like all my fictional crushes are pulling me apart, begging for my attention. my love for han is always there it's just not string enough to make me sit and write a lot. it's why i need this movie to come out asap.

you guys have been so patient so thank you for that. in any case i hope you like or enjoy some of my other work while i try and bring back han <3

[writing-makes-me-human]

Hi if your still taking requests the can I ask for an aged up story about reader x neteyam or Reader x Ao’nung fic where they are in a secret relationship and an altercation happens between their families and during it or after it is revealed that the reader is pregnant (no smut if ur uncomfortable with it) thus revealing their relationship. Plz hurt comfort is my genre as of late.

The reader is a Sully kid if it’s reader x Ao’nung and if it’s x Neteyam then she is Ronal and Tonowari child.

Of course, you ask for it and you must have it! I love this idea! I hope you like it and maybe I'll do a part two where we continue with the dinner?? We shall see if people enjoy it! (Also I did not take the Sully kid into consideration so I'm sorry if that shows)

I named it: Secret Families

Ps: Thank you for your support!

┍━━━━━»•» 🌺 «•«━┑

Pairing: Aonung x reader

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: This is my second post of the week so we shall see you next week. Thank you all for your support. I'm setting up tag lists for the x reader series now so if you want to be part of my avatar x reader tag list, reach out, don't be scared! <3

Ronal was a suspicious woman; not much went under her radar for very long, and her children knew that, yet they still did everything they could to keep their little secrets under wraps.

Aonung was no different, well apart from the fact that the nature of his secret would have had more severe repercussions than any profound dark secret his sister was harboring.

To the clan, you and Aonung were the worst enemies since a young age. They all thought that Aonung had  matured dramatically over the years to prepare himself for the role of Olo'eyktan. Still, they thought he still hadn't managed to put out the petty fire you ignited in him whenever you walked past with your usual saunter, making him want to roll his eyes so hard they fell out of his head.

But in private, far beyond the gaze of curious eyes, you two were mates before the great mother in an immortal bond with one another.

The only people who knew about your relationship were yourselves, and while a few amongst your friends had suspicions that you two had feelings for each other, none of them knew how deep the feelings went.

One afternoon after you finished all your required chores for Ronal, who was training you to be a healer, she invited you to dinner the following evening. You nervously agreed while trying not to register any red flags to her attention as you quickly excused yourself so you could get home to your pod before nightfall.

As you wandered back to your quarters, your mind returned to an anxiety that had popped up a few weeks ago, slowly turning from an obsessed overthought to a life-changing reality.

You were pregnant.

You had been a few weeks late on your cycle, so when Ronal left to give her mate his lunch, you quickly ran a test, and it came back with all the signs for positive.

As soon as the herbal mixture had turned a soft blue which confirmed your doubts, a million questions raced through your mind, and now that you had time alone, you dug back into the pile with fresh eyes.

How would you tell Aonung? He had never mentioned wanting kids, as you were both so young. He hadn't even become chief yet, so you highly doubted he wanted to settle down and start a family just yet. He would surely take the news badly.

Would you keep it? You were still at a stage where you knew a few herbal concoctions that would abort the embryo from your system, and you could do so without telling anyone. It would be like it never happened.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you crashed into a solid chest, you stumbled back a bit, but two hands gripped your forearms to steady you.

You looked up, and as if he had heard your thoughts and come running to speak with you, Aonung was there with his usual smirk. He restrained himself to only give you in private.

"What's the rush, servant girl?" He asked while using the affectionate nickname he had given to you years ago from the job that required you to spend a lot of time running after his mother without questioning her.

Usually, you would have smirked at him and spat out an insult, but instead, you could feel the anxiety clog your throat, and you stuck your thumb between your teeth, nervously nibbling on it to stop the gasps of air you knew you would let out without the block.

His comedic attitude dropped, and he immediately dropped his height a little to try and look into your eyes.

"Hey, hey, hey, what's wrong?" His voice was quiet and soft as his eyes darted around to make sure nobody was around so he could quickly pull you to his chest.

You didn't know the tears had formed in your eyes until Aonung noticed them slipping down your cheeks and pulled you into his cradle arms to silence you like a small child.

"You know my mother doesn't mean anything she says when she's angry!" His only logical conclusion as to why you could be crying on your way back from work was that it must have been his mother's temper.

Ronal had a tendency to slip up and call you some variation of 'incompetent' as she had done in the past to previous students.

"It's not that", you huffed as you hopelessly wiped one side of your face with your hand to try and rub away the tears.

"I have to talk to you about something", you whispered, still unable to believe what was currently growing in your womb. You pulled back from Aonung and watched as his face fell a bit.

Immediately his mind spiraled to think of the worst possibilities that could have happened. Had you been attacked? Were you sick? Had someone been hurt? Did someone find out about you two and not take it well?

As you saw him flicker from each of your eyes with a hurricane of unanswered questions brewing in his mind, you simply nodded toward your pod at the end of the pathway and led him to speak privately.

He ran after you and quickly unrolled the sail above your door so he could speak without fear of being overheard and having to deal with the emotional crisis of another person.

He watched you pace a hole in the floor for a few seconds, and then you turned sharply and pointed to the floor.

"I think it's best if you sit down", you could feel the air thicken as he resentfully took a seat on one knee while he leaned on the other.

The climate was humid and you could almost feel your mate's brain churning to keep up with his theories.

He was staring at you with his lisp pursed in confusion as you felt more tears form as you started pacing in front of him again.

You were terrified. Starting a family was a huge deal, and it took a lot of commitment, and you knew that with Aonung, you could raise a family together, but that was a fantasy you had toyed around with. Aonung would think it was too soon; you just knew it.

'He is your mate, and he will understand' your mind replayed the statement a few times when you felt like you were about to be crushed by a tsunami of doubt and indecision.

"Ma woman, you are scaring me. What is it?" His voice was soft, but you could tell by the way his hands were clenching into fists on his knee that he was worried for you.

"Aonung", you turned to him once more, letting the tears fall because you knew if you brushed them away, they would just be replaced by new ones. You wrung your hands out in each other, trying to find an outlet for your frustration.

"Promise me you won't be mad, we can talk about this, and we have plenty of options", you held out your hands in front of you to reimburse your statement with a miserable attempt at showing a strong front.

Aonung struck forward like a snake and grabbed your hands before returning to his previous posture. You felt his finger rub a circle over the back of your hand then his warm lips pressed themselves against your knuckles for a moment to let you gather yourself.

"I promise. Now tell me what happened. Has someone done something to you?" His protective flare couldn't help but be shown as your hands trembled in his.

You wanted to laugh at the awkward joke you could have made about the fact it was him who had done something to you, but you knew it was your brain trying to distract from the fear of letting the words spill into your real life because once you said these words you couldn't take them back.

"No, nothing like that…" You looked into his eyes, and everything felt so perfect at that moment, with you two basking in each other's company.

You thought back to the early days of your relationship and the nights you had spent together rendezvoused, visiting places you shouldn't have while cracking jokes. Aonung's eyes widened as you took deep breaths. Your daydreams then drifted to your daily shared glances behind people back's that had been filled with so much adoration. You couldn't stand to see that jeopardized.

"Your mother invited me to dinner tomorrow night", you felt the words claw out of your throat in battle with your mind that begged you to tell the truth but you weren't strong enough to tell him the news.

"Well, that's okay. She always does that to her students; why are you crying?" He was now utterly confused about why the dinner invite had caused such a visceral emotional outburst.

Your lips parted in bemusement as you tried to concoct a plausible reason as to why you would be so distressed.

"It was just a hard day", you slipped your hands from his grip, up his forearms, and slid onto your knees so he could hold you as you took deep breaths to get your bearings.

He pets your hair and gently shushes you while rocking back and forth. You clenched onto him and allowed yourself to be selfish for the moment, and you let his comfort about your decision to keep the secret from him wash over you.

You knew he wasn't convinced that what you said was a complete truth but he didn't push you any further on the matter, and you were very thankful for that.

You knew you would have to tell him eventually. Hiding a pregnancy could only go on for so long, but you decided you would give yourself a week to at least get yourself to a mental place where you could say the words aloud without having a fear of Aonung's rejection claw its way out.

Now all you had left to prepare your head for was dinner at Ronal and Tonowari's pod tomorrow.

The next day flew by all too quickly. The whole time, you felt Ronal's eyes on you as you rushed every chore that had to be done in her presence for fear you would crack or, worse, she would somehow sense your new medical condition.

You worked as quickly as possible, and when Ronal could find nothing left for you to do, she sent you home early and ordered you to prepare for the meal she would be hosting later that evening. So, you rushed home with the thoughts of your womb and the offering for your hosts that needed to be perfected, consuming your mind.

You brushed your hair and clipped on your finest bracelets and your most firm-fitting necklace, but nothing seemed to be able to be just right, and all you could think about was Aonung.

He had to be the first to know, it would only be fair, but you couldn't tell him, and you needed to speak with someone about it because this secret was eating you from the inside out.

"Hey", Aonung's voice made you jump, and you turned on the balls of your feet to see it was your mate, armed with his spear in hand, still damp from his hunting trip.

"What are you doing here!" You hissed as you pressed your hand against your heart, begging it to calm down.

Everything had you on edge; his presence only made your soul cry out with humiliation. He knew you were lying to him about something, yet he still tried to be there for you.

"Relax, everyone's gone home for dinner. I wanted to come to talk to you about something", he stepped further into your pod and closed the flap again, making sure you saw his eye-roll that teased your anxiety about being caught.

Your heart was beating so fast that it could have powered a storm, but you nodded with a nervous nip at your lip and allowed him to step closer to you.

Aonung's presence was consuming and sent a wave of peace over you as his touch gently caressed your face with one hand while the other slowly came to your waist and brushed against your stomach on its way to rest on your hip, which made your gaze turn white for a second as the fear swaddled you tightly.

He knew! He had to have found out from his mother. Of course, she would have known; she is Tsahik! She would have taken one look at your body and asked her son if you were mated with anybody, and Aonung would have fit two and two together.

"I want to tell my parent's about us tonight, after dinner", He slid his head into the side of your neck and kissed it softly. His sweet care for you, that often could have drowned you, was now suffocating.

"Okay", you managed to whimper out. He must know. Was it a fluke brush of his hand?

This was something he wanted, and you would do it. Maybe if you started out small with an announcement of your relationship, another announcement of a child wouldn't take such a toll on you.

"What is wrong? If you do not want to tell them, we can wait," he pulled back from you, his hands dropping to his sides. Your strange act confused him, you were always so outspoken, and he wondered why you had suddenly become so meek.

He knew something was misplaced in your relationship, and he would have left you to stew in your thoughts if it wasn't for the fact that you were starting to worry him with the way your body was handling the stress.

You had been skittish all yesterday evening, and he was worried. You seemed so pale and sickly. His mother had come up to him this afternoon and asked if he could go lightly with the playful teasing at dinner tonight as you were looking fragile, and it confined his doubts that something was grievously wrong.

"No, It's not that, I just can't tell you", you whispered, turning away from him to busy yourself with picking out a hairpiece to curl into your hair.

"You can tell me anything, ma y/n. I am your mate, and we are one", he pushed himself in front of you and grabbed your hands, so you were forced to look him in the eye.

He desperately tried to hold eye contact with you, but you shook your head and withdrew your hands from him, turning again to walk to the other side of the room.

He sighed as he felt his own fears envelop him.

"If there is somebody else… I won't keep you from him", he felt his ears flattened, and his chest heaved with panic that you might turn and accept the comment as truth, but you did no such thing.

You turned with a chuckle as you sniffed to stop the snot dribbling down your face, your arms crossed themselves tightly around your chest, and it broke his heart to see you with such a dreaded shocked look on your face.

"I am pregnant", you slammed your eyes shut, eyes only opening after a few seconds when the silence became unbearable. If they tried, the words couldn't have felt more doomed coming out of your mouth.

Aonung's jaw dropped, his eyes widened, and his ears waved back and forth as he tried to figure out if you were telling the truth. Your tears couldn't have been fake, so you must have been, but why were you so upset with this blessing?

"You-You are with my child?" It was the first time you had ever heard the warrior stutter in your years of knowing him, and you worried that it was a bad omen.

You nodded grievously before your left hand detangled from its hug and flew to your mouth, covering the orifice to stifle a sob. Aonung was unhappy, and this was your worst nightmare coming to fruition.

Aonung's shocked eyes morphed to joy as he closed the gap with a single step, one hand immediately closing around your cheek to bring his forehead to yours. At the same time, the other pressed to your side, his most extended finger storing your belly button to stroke the child-growing within you.

The shame of the predicament was killing you, but the immovable emotion boiling in your stomach was stilled as Aonung's joyous guffaw hit your cheek.

You looked up at him, wondering how he could be laughing at a time like this, but then he shocked you. Aonung pressed a peck to your head and then another and another. He peppered your face with kisses, moving across your head, cheeks, and jaw before he tossed himself down to your floor on his knees and placed a single kiss on your belly, letting his hands encase your stomach.

You were ecstatically shocked, you had been expecting to be sat down, to be asked what the plan was to empty the embryo from your womb, but he was acting even more loving than ever, if that was even possible.

"For how long? Is it healthy? Why are you so upset? Is something wrong with it", his gentle touch increased as he gazed into your stomach, feeling the worry bubble up.

"No, everything is fine, ma Aonung. I was just worried". You quickly dried your tears now, wiping your nose on the back of your wrist and your eyes with your palms.

"Worried about what?" He pressed further, his forehead creasing as he stood again to return to your height.

"I was not sure you were ready," you mumbled, returning to the familiar grounds of fear as the idea that Aonung would be away with his duties as chief in training too much to have a family right now.

"It is a big responsibility," he agreed with you, nodding, but his arms slipped around your waist, and you dug into him, letting his hold tell you that he was about to continue positively.

"But we have been blessed. Imagine how many babies Eywa will bless us with if you are pregnant now!" His eyes lit up as he realized that this quick pregnancy must be a sign of good fertility and, therefore, more children would surely be on the way before you were both old.

You laughed. The scratchiness on your crying caused it to itch, but you were so pleased. It was like someone had just taken the weight of the world off your shoulder now that you had someone to confide this secret with.

"We have never talked about children", you nervously pointed out as you slipped your hands around his slim-cut waist, fiddling with the string that kept his loincloth tied on his hip.

"Well, how many do you want?" Aonung grinned at your touch, and smugness was coming over him as he started the foundation of the plans for his new family.

"I have no idea. How many do you want?" You shook your head with a sharp exhale. Children were a lot of work, and both parents had to be prepared to put in equal work to raise and preen over them. They would all be loved, but it would take work.

"As many as you will give me!" His smile stretched from ear to ear. His tail thumped against his calf eagerly as the idea of a family between you two emerged.

"Hm, three?" You asked hesitantly. It was the number of children Ronal and Tonowari had, so maybe that was a sound system to model the base of your ideal family size on.

"Four is better, more even", Aonung shook his head, disregarding the number with a serious face. You adored how cute he looked as he discussed your future children, and it made you playful as you stood in your hut, plotting away while Ronal was probably cursing you for being late.

"Well, five is a lucky number", you suggested, an eager peek in your tone as you pushed the invisible barrier between you two that kept you both from laying your true thoughts on the table.

"But then someone will be left out. Best to make it six", Aonung's eyes lit up with tease as he hopefully glanced at your face, trying to gauge your temperature as the number increased, but you were in your element.

"Six? You want six children?" You were slightly disbelieving at the idea of six children running around your cramped pod.

"Actually, I have always liked the number ten", that you laughed at. Ten? He must have been crazy.

"Ten? You had better become the best hunter in all of Pandora if you expect me to birth ten children", the thought of your poor body was enough to send your head spinning. Still, the idea of you sitting around a small fire with a large horde of children running around with a much older Aonung kissing your face was enough to make you blush.

"Five girls and five boys, that is good, no?" He had clearly been thinking about this behind closed doors, and it was enough to cure you of any doubts forever that this man wasn't ready.

"Are you starting an army?" You joked around with a laugh, and Aonung was on cloud nine. He felt everything click back into place as you recovered your former happiness with an added glow; Eywa, Aonung questioned how he didn't see you were pregnant sooner.

Aonung sighed and rolled his eyes at your words, using his humor to keep you amused as the conversation about your future panned out before you two.

"You want to have less?" He queried, feeling out exactly how many babies you wanted your mate putting in you. He wanted a large family, as large as you could bless and Eywa could condone.

"Hm, it's best not to say. Eywa will either give me far too many or far too few if I say", it was an old wife tail your mother had told you years ago, and even though it wasn't rested in any science as Eywa took no sides, the power of the jinx held your silence.

"You know, if we were to have ten--" Aonung brought up the number again, making you laugh merrily as a hot warmth spread across your belly.

"Aonung!" You interrupted him with a shy, embarrassed outcry as the picture of a vast family filled your mind.

"I am just saying, if it were ten, you would barely have any chores. They would do them all for you!" Aonung raised his hands in defense, slyly grinning as he thought of the acts it would require to populate his dream-sized family.

"You are trying to grow an army!" Your jaw fell slack in mock shock as you slapped an arm to his chest, giggling as he quickly snatched your wrist before it could retract.

"No, if I were, then I would have stuck with thirteen", He brought your hand to his mouth and pressed it against his face to encourage you to hold his cheek, which you did agreeably.

"Hm, well, you'll have to prove yourself with this one first; you have to convince me", your words were half joking, but Aonung's eyes fell down your figure towards your stomach with a contemplative smile.

"You will see, I will be the best father, and you will want to have all my babies", his words made you blush further, but a deeper part of you lit up with desire.

Everything had gone well. The only part hindering your happy ending was sitting far across the village in her own pod with her arms crossed, cursing her son and her student's tardiness. Unsure if it was connected.

-Avatar Taglist-

@bxnnybtchwriting @philipyarnellasoul @strnqer

[slvt4em1lyprenti2s]

Captain Bishop

Originally posted on my Wattpad @MayaBishop_is_myWife

Relationship: Maya Bishop x fem!reader Fluff

Word count: 2.6k

Y/N POV:  I feel my nerves going wild as I walk through the doors of Station 19. I used to work at Station 10 but, I got offered a position here for what reason i'm still unsure but, who says no to a job at the 19? I am really excited because I've heard so many stories about these guys and they're basically famous in the firefighter world.

I look around for a second before seeing someone walking my way.  Andy - "Hey can I help you?" she said with a warm smile.  Y/N - "Yeah, un I'm your transfer from Station 10." Andy - "Oh yeah y/l/n (your last name) right?" Y/N - "Yeah that's me." Andy - "Okay great, uhm I'll go get Captain Bishop to give you the run down." Y/N - "Okay thank you." Andy - "Oh, I'm Andrea Herrera by the way, but call me Andy."  She extended her hand for me to shake and I took it. Y/N - "Okay Andy." She gave me a smile and turned towards a door that I assume leads to the Captain's office, considering it had 'Captain Bishop' plastered across the front I would think I'm right, and she knocked on the door opened it and said Andy - "Hey Bishop the new girl's here"  Maya - "Send her in."

I walk in and sitting behind the desk is probably the most gorgeous woman I have ever seen, and I've seen many in my time. Her piercing blue eyes stared at me her beautiful blonde hair slicked back into a ponytail and a smile on her lips, wow. I sit down on one of the chairs on the opposite side of the desk and wait for her to say something. She speaks up as soon as I sit down. Maya - "Hey, so I'm Captain Maya Bishop, I don't really care if you call me Maya, or Bishop or Captain, like I really don't care but there are a few ground rules here so.." She explains all the rules about the Station like not taking other people things, or food out of the fridge for that matter, or when you're on Aid Car you don't go on calls no matter how big, you stay on your task, and most of all don't be rude or cruel to the others. She told me they're like family and family have each others back which I though was really sweet. Maya - "So now that that's over and done with, let's give you a tour of the place."

She began to lead me round the Station, showed me the locker area, changing rooms, inventory rooms, bedroom type things and so on.

The last place of the list was the beanery because that's when I'd meet everyone. We walked in while the team were eating their breakfast and chatting amongst themselves. Maya - "And this is the beanery the best place in the Station in my opinion."  The crew chuckled and murmured in agreement with her before realising she was giving me a tour. Jack - "Oh hey, you're the transfer from 10 aren't you?" Y/N - "Yeah I am, I'm y/n y/l/n by the way." Jack - "Jack Gibson." Vic - "Victoria Hughes, but everyone calls me vic." Travis - "Travis Montgomery." Dean - "Dean Miller." Andy - "I already told you my name so don't expect another introduction." Everyone laughed at her antics and then invited me and Maya to sit down.

The first minute was awkward but after the ice broke a bit it felt like we'd all been friends our entire lives. I sat next to Maya and to say I was a little nervous would be a massive understatement. I mean, who wouldn't be nervous, she's literally perfect but, she's my captain, she's Captain Bishop and I can't have feeling like that towards my Captain so I just tried to push those thoughts to the back of my mind while we were talking with everyone which surprisingly worked.

Time skip

By this point we were all just doing mind numbing chores like checking the hoses and stocking the rigs when the klaxon rang out.  Klaxon - "Aid Car 19 respond, Apartment fire Maine Street" We all rushed to get our gear on and got in the trucks. Andy was driving, I was in the back and Maya was in the front with Andy. Me and Maya had to stick together today because I'm new and she's the Captain or something like that. I didn't really understand I mean it's not like I'm a rookie I just transferred but whatever, I get to spend the entire shift with Maya, I'm not complaining. Andy slows down and comes to a stop outside a 5 story apartment building with a raging fire on the 3rd floor that was ripping its way through the building. Maya - "Okay people listen up! Herrera, Gibson go get the hoses set up and ready for use, Montgomery, Miller, Hughes start evac in the building get everyone out of there!"  She was so hot when giving orders. Oh my god. I've got to stop thinking like that.  Maya - "y/l/n, you're with me. We're doing a sweep of the building, look for structural damage that could cause harm or poses a threat to our team or possible vics inside and close any and every fire door in that place to help get this beast under control you got it?" Y/N - "Got it Captain." Maya - "Good, okay come on people let's roll."  She yelled that last part out to everyone.

We put on our masks and hooked up our oxygen tanks and set off into the building, the first floor was completely untouched by the fire and only a very small amount of smoke was coming through the vents and a lot of people were already waiting there for evacuation. The same can't be said for the second floor though. The fire had already ripped through the walls and smoke was heavy. It was really fast spreading too, we were dealing with a big one.

As we are making our way through I hear a creaking noise and head to check it out, the fire has spread to the support beams, the building is officially extremely unstable. I radio in my findings and tell Maya. Maya - "Okay, damn. We're gunna have to work a lot quicker than what we though. I've swept the whole of my side are you done?"  Y/N - "Yep, no vics and fire doors are closed." Maya - "Okay good, we're heading up onto the floor that the fire started on so please be careful while we're up there okay?" Y/N - "I will be, same goes for you okay?" Maya - "Yeah don't worry your pretty little head about me." I chuckled and followed behind her as we walked to the stairwell. She had an unfamiliar softness in her tone when she told me to be careful, it wasn't the kind of careful you'd say to anyone or in like a 'you're my friend so I care about you' way, I don't know it was just different. But, I need to put that aside because we have bigger problems right now.

As soon as we open the door to the 3rd floor a wave of heat washes over us, making the pair of us step back a bit.  Maya - "Wow, you got your fire extinguisher?"  Y/N - "Yep, you got yours?" Maya - "Yeah, don't be shy to use it okay? This is a big one and I don't  want you getting injured." Y/N - "Same goes for you Maya, don't try to be a hero, put yourself first."  She smiled before walking in and telling me to take the right side and she'll take the left. 

It had been about 20 minutes since we parted ways and I had just shut the last door and finished my sweep. I looked around and there was no sign of Maya anywhere.  Over radio -  Y/N - "Captain you there?" ~ static Y/N - "Captain Bishop?" ~ static Y/N - "Maya, I need an update." ~ static

Shit. I quickly switch channels and say I'm not getting a response from Maya so I'm going to look for her.  Over radio -  Jack - "Do not go in there alone, wait for backup. That's an order from your lieutenant y/l/n." Y/N - "Gibson! I need to go in it's been over 20 minutes since we split off to sweep so who knows how long she's been down," I say in anger, "I'm going on whether you like it or not." Jack - "Hey! Y/l/n don't you da-"

I switched back to the channel me and Maya were using and tried radioing her again. Still no response. I begin to trace her steps looking at hallways with closed fire doors, which she's obviously not down because she'd close the doors as she comes out so she doesn't block herself in, and finally I see one that's completely open all the way down apart from one, right at the end of the corridor.

As I make my way down I hear that dreaded beep. It was Maya's PASS device. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. I quietly mumble to myself as I pick up the pace and follow the sound.

I come to a room and see a collapsed, actually I don't even know what that is but Maya's under it so right now it doesn't matter what it is. I manoeuvre around it and pull up one side that snaps off and i throw it in the other direction. I pull up piece after piece until I finally see her red hard hat sticking out. I don't exactly know what came over me, probably adrenaline but after seeing that I placed my hands under that slab and lift it off her in one big motion. 

I immediately crouch down and check her pulse, stable and strong. Good. As I'm doing this a piece of wall collapses right next to us. So that's what it was. Because of this Maya begins to stir as I try to give her my oxygen mask. Maya - "What happened- hey no no no, you need that." Y/N - "and? so do you, you were crushed by a wall." As I said this another massive flame went up opposite us. Maya - "Y/n listen to me, leave me here, get out now." Y/N - "No way, I'm not leaving you behind, nothing you can say will make me change my mind." Maya - "Y/n pleas-" I cut her off before she can say anything else by licking her up bridal style and I begin walking out of the building. At that point back up had arrived and we're just arriving on the 3rd floor as I was carrying Maya out.  Jack - "I told you not to go in alone!" Y/N - "Yeah well, when your Captain's PASS device is going off and she's being crushed by a wall in a burning building, there isn't really any time to wait for back up Gibson." He sighs and agrees as we walk out. Andy and Jack had handed off the hoses to Vic and Travis and Dean was helping patch people up so, they finished our sweep while I carried Maya out the building. 

As soon as we got outside I took her mask of so she could breath and then took off my own. I walked over to the rig and set her down on a stretcher. She had slipped unconscious again at this point. I put the oxygen mask over her and checked her vitals.  Dean - "Hey, what happened? I heard some commotion on the radio." Y/N - "A wall collapsed on her so I had to get her out but so far from what I can tell from the work up she has no crush injury's and her vitals are stable so she would be just fine." Dean - "That's good, and thank you for saving her y/n. Means a lot and, is a very good first impression." I chuckle and say no problem. My attention is them drawn back to the stunning blonde woman i front of me as she begins to stir.  Maya - "Hey, what happened? Am I okay? I mean I'm not in any pain so I assume I'm okay." Y/N - "Yeah surprisingly you're completely fine, you must be the chosen one or something because when most people have a wall collapse on them they sustain some form of crush injury's but you? None." Maya - "It's because I'm just so awesome and intimidating that the wall was too scared to hurt me." Y/N - "Oh really?" Maya - "Yeah, mhm." I started giggling at her antics "What? You don't think I'm intimidating?" Y/N - "Well... I mean, a smile like yours doesn't exactly scream 'I'm scary be afraid of me!' to be completely honest with you."  Maya - "What's that supposed to mean? You think I've got a nice smile? Because if so then I think your smile is stunning just for the record" Y/N - "I think you've got a beautiful smile. I think you're beautiful."  Her cheeks turned a light shade of pink with this comment and she looked down. Maya - "Thanks, oh and thanks for saving my life as well." Y/N - "All in a days work." Maya - "Oh my god that is so corny!" I laugh at her comment and her smile just widens at me. Maya - "What can I do to repay you?" Y/N - "Now you sound corny, but in all honesty, you don't have to give me anything. It's not like I was just gunna leave you." Maya - "I know what I can do." Y/N - "Oh yeah, and what's that gunna be?" I ask teasingly. She grabs my hand and gets off the stretcher and drags me into the rig. Maya - "Come closer." I take a step closer to her and her other and finds it's way to my hips while the other still clutches my hand. She's a few center meters taller than me so I have to look up at her, her shining blue eyes that are usually so hard to read are now filled with love and care. I blush and look down. She brings a finger to my chin and makes me look up at her. Maya - "Hey, don't look away. Then I won't get to see your pretty face and, I won't get to give you your payment." Y/N - "Which is?" I ask completely clueless as to what's about to happen. She takes one look at me and her eyes flick down to my lips before she leans in. I was shocked at first and didn't respond but after snapping back to reality I kissed her back. Our mouths glided against  each other as if we'd done it a million times before. Her soft lips felt like heaven on mine. She ran her tongue across my bottom lip asking for access with I happily granted. My hand made its way up into her hair as her hand that was on my hips gravitated towards my waist. I pulled away to catch my breath. Y/N - "You know that was probably the best payment ever." Maya - "Really? Well you'll love the next part back at my house tonight, and tomorrow night at Joe's when I take you out." Y/N - "Oh really?" Maya - "Yep, so what do you say?" She seemed nervous. I made the Maya Bishop nervous? Wow. Y/N - "I would love to, especially the first part." She laughed and gave me a peck on the lips and let go of me. Maya - "I'll see you after the shift then." I said bye and watched her leave to go help patch up some vics.

How had I gotten so lucky?

[that-darn-clown]

hello bestie, tis i: Back On My Bullshit

so. Sammy in the Rewrite. Charlie's twin brother, Henry's son.

listen. Henry sucked as a father canonically (at least in the books; if it extended to the game universe, we were never told so directly), but i think it would've been better if Henry was a good father, to contrast William, but was still flawed in his own ways, especially after Charlie dies (but still, for the most part, a good dad). his flaw? he goes really soft on his kids (in part because he doesn't want to end up like his Own biological father, who Sucked), and also spoils them. he gives them whatever they want. he's a bit of a pushover, even with his own kids. it's mostly, in that way, that Anna balanced him out; she was generally stricter, but still a nice woman.

Charlie and Sammy? really close. Sammy was almost always with her or close behind. if he wasn't with her, he generally knew where she was.

then Charlie dies. and it feels like his world is falling apart. his sister's dead and he's the one who found her body. left discarded in the alley amongst the garbage. like she was garbage.

so of course, Sammy's shock and grief eventually fades into anger. he wants to know who did this, and why. when Sammy's angry, you know he's angry. it's part of the reason why Henry avoided telling him for a while what he discovered. he knew that the second Sammy found out it was William? Afton would be a dead man walking. and Henry's got his own ideas on how to handle this so that no one goes to prison. not him, and not his son.

so yeah. Henry's more internally angry, while Sammy is more externally angry. Sammy wants justice, and preferably to murder someone by the time this is over.

anyway, that is all :]

Ough, I always love when you are back on your bullshit

Henry being a pushover dad makes me think of Jodi from stardew valley, she has a line where she says something to the effect of "I think I go to easy on the kids, they've never had to do any chores." That feels like how henry would be, sweet but ultimately not very effective parenting lol.

As for Sammy oooooo my beloved. Maybe. Maybe one day he punches a hole in the wall. Henry is surprised!! I mean he knew his son had anger issues, but this? This is way over the line. He has no idea what to feel, now that Charlie, the peacemaker, is gone. He has to be the peacemaker. But he's never done that before. So maybe he gets terrifyingly close to lashing out, to telling Sammy off. And that's when Sammy learns that henry is Internalizing all of his anger. Ough I love them. I love a comparison of Internalized and externalized nger.

Anyways. I love you and your writing <333

[expectodragons]

Bitter Water || Chapter 6

✦ Summary: Guided only by a thin paper trail and a promising job offer, Catherine Hart returns to the school of her youth. Taking on the mantle of Beasts professor, the young witch must find a balance between her lessons and her continued search of the Highlands. Especially when under the watchful eye of the Potion Master. ✦ Pairing: Aesop Sharp x Female MC ✦ Word Count: 15,500 ✦ Rating: Mature, 18+ only - minors do not interact. ✦ Tags / Warnings: Age difference, colleagues-to friends-to-lovers, dual POV, language, mild injuries, slow burn. ✦ Story Playlist: Listen here ✦ Read on: AO3 || Tumblr (continue below)

The merriment of the holiday season had faded like warm breath on a window pane and all that remained was the bitter sting of January’s fury. It doused the valley in snow drifts higher than one’s knee. Pointed icicles threatened to plunge down upon anyone who dared walk under an archway or a line of barren trees – frozen in the silence like toy soldiers amongst the desolate winter landscape.

While Catherine found herself eternally grateful for her late Christmas gift from the potions professor, even the furious heat from the warming charm in her new gloves did little to battle off the wretched chill of the stinging wind.

She hurried through her morning chores each day – finding comfort at the Fire Crab’s enclosure more often than not, though she certainly didn’t dare to stand too close. As though she needed another third-degree burn marring her skin.

Most days the courtyard remained empty apart from the students coming to and from her class. Sometimes, she would spot the bright robes of the quidditch teams as they made their way across the snow-packed path to the pitch. In a world washed out by white and gray, the blur of color was a welcomed sight.

As she fed or groomed the Unicorns and Kneazles, she would sometimes find herself lost in the practice runs and mock games of the teams.

On one particular morning, before the sun had even fully risen, Catherine was out braving the cold. Wrapped up in the warmest clothes she could manage, her eyes alone peeking out from the soft fabric of her scarf. The last of the Mooncalves were out in their paddock, prancing through the snow when she approached with their breakfast.

She checked over all sixteen of the furry big-eyed creatures. Nora’s bandages would need changing by afternoon from the looks of it. And Harold would require another bout of supplements lest he fall ill again.

“Yeah, go on then,” she says softly, patting the head of June – the newest member of the cluster.

They disappear off into their covered enclosure – likely refusing to come out until their lunches are brought about.

With a flick of her wand, the large woven feed sack floats out from the shed and levitates across the yard to the unicorn’s paddock, where five usually stoic creatures were just beginning to rise from their slumber.

“Come on, come on. Before I catch my death, thank you.”

Sometimes, she missed the temperate weather of the lower continents. As much as she had complained of the overbearing direct sunlight during her time in the Golden Coast and Cairo, she would give just about anything for a warm ray of natural light these days.

As she begins portioning out their specially mixed feed into the long wooden troughs, she hears a distant shout from the neighboring quidditch pitch.

“Come on, Parson!”

The Gryffindor team had been out practicing before even Catherine roused to tend to the beasts. She had watched the whirl of red robes ducking in and around the stadium’s towers with a belated interest. They stood a decent chance at the Cup this year if their training was anything to go by. That was, until…

“Watch out!”

She barely has time to lift her head up when a noticeable thump crashes into the top of the classroom’s wards and bounces off into the canopy of trees before slamming down onto the forest floor.

The young professor slashes the warding in an instant and takes off towards the small figure crumpled near the bottom of a towering Scots Pine.

With her scarf now tugged down to her neck, she asks in a harsh breath, “Are you alright?”

The girl tries to roll to her side but lets out a rather pathetic moan.

“Okay, easy now.”

She takes a quick visual assessment of her positioning – nothing twisted, nothing noticeably broken – before she eases out the girl’s legs. Now fully on her back, the young player lets out a long breath, her hands resting on her chest as she stares up at the empty canopy above her.

“I’m fine… I think. Just… wind knocked out of me.”

Catherine pulls up onto her knee, staring down at the student.

“No wonder, flying like you just did.”

The girl’s eyes roam across to her, a thin smile on her face, “New broom.”

With a nod, she extends her hand out to the prone player.

“Think you can stand?”

Another jerk of her head and then Catherine’s hauling her up onto her feet. She casts a wary eye upon her, almost expecting a sudden injury to emerge. After a moment, the girl reaches down to grab hold of her forgotten broomstick – a flush creeping across her cheeks that the young professor assumes isn’t from the sharp sting of the wind.

“I… I better get back.”

“As long as you think you can manage.”

She mounts the broom, looking momentarily hesitant before she gives herself a reassuring nod and kicks off.

Catherine watches her go – swaying back and forth through the trees before she dips down over the crumbling castle wall toward the pitch. With a shake of her head, she walks back over to the paddocks and finishes up her rounds.

It just so happens that she’s walking back to the castle at the same time the Gryffindor team is trudging along – likely heading back in an attempt to grab breakfast before classes were due to start.

“The hell are we gonna do?”

A blonde-haired player lingers back alongside a stout boy who strides forward with an air of confidence.

“She just needs more training – one on one.”

“Fat lot of good that’ll do. Are you sure we can’t convince Miles to –”

“That’s a null and void conversation. Don’t even bother.”

Her eyes travel through the group – counting them all off – before she realizes one sole player is missing from the troop. She glances back at the pitch and spots a tiny blur of red still circling the stadium.

As the team heads inside, Catherine pauses near the frozen fountain.

It’s a split-second decision that has her wandering through the snow drifts away from the warmth of the castle.

Standing in the middle of the field, she watches the young girl fly lap after lap – her eyes never straying far from a small glittering winged ball of gold. Only once she’s able to nab hold of it, does she even look down to see the bundled-up witch in the center of the pitch. She swoops down just a foot away from the professor.

“So, you’re the new seeker then.”

The girl’s fingers tighten around her broom’s handle as she gives a quick nod.

“Teller, well, his Mum and Dad weren’t too happy with his last grading report before Christmas and they had Professor Weasley kick him off the team. And no one wanted to try and take on the position – he’s been on for the last five years now, you know. And, well…”

“And here you are?” Catherine surmises.

She nods again.

The young witch stares down at the third-year – spotting a familiar look in her nervous features. A soft smile graces her face as she beckons the girl forward – the two beginning to walk back to the castle together.

“You know… I was Gryffindor’s seeker in my seventh year. Never even played the game before they had me doing laps at try-outs.”

She can feel the sudden gaze at her side, “Really?”

“Mhmm. Plenty of talented players, people who knew every bit of trivia about the game – all the tactics and high-profile people on the National Leagues. Felt like I was a Porlock in a sea of Graphorns.”

Catherine glances down, spotting the curious look on the girl’s face.

“What… what did you do?”

Staring forward, toward the approaching castle doors, she replies, “I put my heart into it. Studied everything I could between classes, and started following the big teams in the papers each week. And practiced. Every free moment I could spare.”

A contemplative look befalls the young student’s features. A frizzled brow and a scrunched nose.

“I don’t know if that’d work for me.”

“Why not?”

With a steadying breath, she finally says, “I know all the moves. I follow the Harpies and the Tornadoes every play. It’s just… when I get out there with the rest of my team, I just…”

Her expression grows distant and a brief moment of understanding crosses Catherine’s mind. At last, they climb the steps to the Bell Tower. But before she can push the door open, the professor pauses.

“You know, as a fellow Gryffindor and an ex-player, I would have every right to offer my… wisdom, should your captain welcome it?”

A smile, slow at first but soon stretched wide in awe, greets her.

“Would you?”

She smiles down at the girl in return.

“I’m sure something can be arranged. Miss…?”

“Parson. Laura Parson, professor.”

Aesop peers up from the cauldrons currently resting under a stasis charm in a secluded corner of the classroom at the sound of a gentle rapping of knuckles against the door. He finds himself fighting to contain a smile as the young woman crosses the room, beaming back at him in return.

Though classes had resumed on the fifth, he had scarcely seen the Beasts professor since her arrival back from her winter holiday in France. There had been passing words in the staff lounge, of course. A curt greeting when they happened to cross paths in the tapestry corridor. But a full conversation had been waiting in the wings ever since that last chaperoning trip to Hogsmeade together in December.

“Hello again, properly,” she smiles as she crosses the flagstones.

He watches as stray snowflakes fall from her hat and the shoulders of her cape, toppling to the floor as they leave a melted trail of droplets all the way from the door to where he stands.

“It has been some time,” he admits in his gruff tone of voice.

“Well, hopefully, what I have here will more than make up for that!”

His eyes flicker down to the bright white of her smile as she licks her chapped lips and unceremoniously deposits her leather bag on his desk. Aesop folds his arms across his chest, peering down at the pouch as she begins to pull two small containers out.

“My fifth-years just sorted these this afternoon. Don’t worry – the Gryffindors collected them while my Ravenclaws handled the actual grinding.”

He doesn’t even attempt to smother his smirk as she easily pokes fun at her own House. Grabbing hold of one of the jars, he holds it up to the candlelight and examines its contents with an assessing dark eye. The Unicorn horn was a fine white powder with barely a blemish to be found within the granules.

“It was quite lucky, actually,” she continues on, unprompted. “I noticed the beginnings of shedding Saturday evening and sure enough, this morning I had three unicorns rubbing against the fencing trying to rid themselves of their own horns. Two weeks early, at that! I just hope the other two hold on long enough for my other fifth-years to get a chance at it as well.”

Sharp gives a hum of acknowledgment as he sets the container down, “My compliments to your teaching skills, Hart.”

That makes the young witch quirk her brow as a roguish smile graces her pale features.

“Oh?”

“Clearly you’ve instructed your students well. Perhaps better than even my own attempts…” he trails off, considering the state of some of his older students under his tutelage and their inability to properly slice, dice, and grind ingredients after several years of instruction.

“Ah, that. Well, I merely explained that part of their grade for this quarter was dependent on how well their potions professor found the quality of their ingredients. That might have done the trick.”

He feels his own brows rise at that.

“I mean,” she begins twisting her fingers together as her blue eyes leave his face to gaze down at the floor.

“Creature handling is usually thought of in such limited terms, but there are so many different aspects to it that I think some of my students forget. Like harvesting byproducts for potions, or rehabilitative work, even healing situations – there’s a whole branch of veterinary work out there. It’s not just all – ”

She flaps her hands out for a moment, trying to tie together her next words as if they were an invisible item just out of reach, “– pet the Puffeskein, play with the Kneazles, and earn an Outstanding. You know what I mean?”

A half-smile graces his lips, “I believe so.”

She stares up at him then with this… unreadable expression on her face. It makes him feel both put on the spot by it and equally lost in the warmth of its intensity.

And then she smooths her hands over her trousers and says, “And on that note, I do actually need to go groom some Kneazles right now.”

Collecting her bag and resettling her powder-blue hat upon her head, Aesop watches as she prepares to leave and he finds some inner part of himself reaching out – a phantom hand trying to grab hold of the invisible strings that lay between them like dust in the sunlight. They had not shared a common space and been able to fill it with familiar conversation in so many weeks that he was reluctant to see her walk out the classroom door just yet.

Just like Mirabel, Abraham, and Dinah, he found himself drawn to her presence and welcomed the warm interactions they shared together. He could not say that for many other members of the faculty. There was just something about her that made him seek out her candor. Finding a smidgen of pride bubbling up in his chest whenever he managed to pull a genuine laugh from her lips.

“I never did thank you.”

That makes her pause mid-step as she slowly twirls back around, her face struck with an air of curiosity.

“For your gift,” he clarifies.

A rather amusing blush crosses her cheeks as she looks toward the adjacent brewing station before she meets his eyes once again.

“I know it probably seemed a bit out of place from what you usually get, or what I assume you usually get.”

He smiles down at her, resting his hands behind his back, “All the more reason I enjoyed it as much as I did.”

A swell of pride swoops through his chest at the smile she bestows upon him. And he finds himself falling down a path of rambling thoughts before he can even blink back to awareness at his surroundings.

“I assure you, Hart, it was a welcome change from the stacks of brewing books and paperweights that are typically sent my way over the holiday. I must admit, I found myself looking through the portraits well past the midnight hour that evening.”

Slowly, she lowers herself onto a stool – swiping her blue pointed hat from her head, her eyes never leaving his – as if in a trance.

“Which was your favorite, if I may ask?”

Aesop ponders this for a moment as he joins her at the empty station – this was their shared free period at the end of the day, there was little more to do now besides grading papers – with his right foot resting on the spindle of the stool and his left foot placed on the ground beside the corner of the station.

In his mind, he can see many of the images from the book in near clarity. A few notable favorites, some less so. But finally, he settles on an answer.

“A Bar at the Folies-Bergère by Manet.”

And then he blinks and he finds himself focusing in on the lazy smile on the woman’s face as she stares up at him with another unreadable thing flickering around in her crystalline blue eyes.

Clearing his throat, he asks, “Out of curiosity, do you have any opinions on the art movement?”

She straightens up, resting her hands on the table as she leans forward with this ringing air of excitement, “Yes, absolutely! While I’m partial to Monet’s Water Lily Pond, I actually favor more of Van Gogh’s work.”

“Really?” he asks, leaning forward as well – drawn in by her enthusiasm.

“Yes, his Starry Night –”

Aesop gives a playful groan, rolling his eyes for the full effect.

“Why does that not surprise me, Hart?”

Her brows pinch together, clearly taken aback, “What?”

“A typical museum-goer could point to a handful of classical renderings. The Mona Lisa, or Girl with a Pearl Earring, or… Liberty Leading the Peoplefor example, and claim it to be their favorite simply by having such a limited range of exposure to the arts.”

She bites the corner of her lip and gives a little roll of her shoulders that makes it seem as though she’s preparing for a battle on an artistic plane. He finds himself even more intrigued.

“Okay, Sharp,” she begins, leveling him with a steely gaze.

“I was about to say my favorite Van Gogh is Starry Night Over the Rhone, even though it’s typically overlooked by the more famous Starry Night painting. I find the subdued colors more appealing, for a start. And his work with the lighting is impeccable: the way he has the stars reflect off the water. And the texture! It practically jumps off the painting to the point where I feel like I could actually touch the waves as they were truly there on the canvas.”

Slowly, a curved smirk rises from his lips as he folds his hands together into a fist on the countertop.

“All right, that’s a marginally reasonable answer. But you can’t deny the fact that Van Gogh wasn’t actually an Impressionist painter.”

With an audible groan, she rakes a hand through her ice-blonde tresses, “At the beginning of his career he was! Almost every Impressionist moved onto the Post-Impressionism movement beside Monet.”

“And if I might say,” she jabs her finger on the table for emphasis. “Impressionism in itself uses color as a way to represent landscape and how light affects it. Post-Impressionism just uses color to convey emotions. You can’t tell me that Over the Rhone is a post-impressionist landscape.”

“And yet, as a whole, it is Monet who is frequently accredited with the first movement. While Van Gogh is solely recognized in the post-movement,” he surmises.

“Actually,” she interrupts. “Manet is the sole founder of the movement. Does Le Déjeuner sur l'herb ring any bells?”

Aesop finds himself momentarily stunned by the graceful way the French title falls from her lips before he grins – pressing forward with another retort. He hadn’t enjoyed a conversation this much in ages.

“Which further shows your inability to accept the fact that your precious painter is not in fact a part of the Impressionism movement itself. Merely inspired by the true artists in Paris. Was it not Van Gogh himself who admitted he was completely unaware of the style until he visited the city in 1886?”

“Well, yes, but –“

“And while one could argue that an artist’s style is capable of changing over time, perhaps it can be said that Van Gogh was never a member of the original movement, merely a user of the muted Dutch palette of the time.”

Hart shakes her head in disbelief, muttering to the table’s surface, Merlin give me strength, before she fixes her gaze on Aesop and starts back up.

“Well, one could say, that Monet became stagnant in his process of painting hazy pastel landscapes while the rest of the artists in the original Impressionism movement moved on with the times and adapted their styles accordingly. Which isn’t to say I don’t enjoy some of Monet’s work, because I do – but the point I’m trying to make is –”

A flicker of fight dies from his lips as he finds his curiosity piqued.

“And which paintings would those be?”

He watches as she exhales through her nose, the frightening height of her argument brought back down to a respectable level for polite conversation – though he almost immediately misses the blaze of determination in her eyes.

“Woman with a Parasol and Bordighera.”

With a quirk of his lip, Aesop adds in an easy, soft sort of tone, “I find myself partial to Van Gogh’s Almond Blossoms and Café Terrace at Night.”

They both stare at each other for a breathless moment before Hart tips over with her wide smile and ringing laugh – one that Aesop finds himself quick to replicate with his own low chuckle.

“So,” she wipes a stray tear from the corner of her eye, her face still flushed with laughter. “What I believe we’re both agreeing to is the fact that we’re capable of enjoying many artists despite their reported in or out status within the Impressionism movement?”

Shaking his head, unable to hide his smile, he says, “I believe so.”

He looks at her then, truly looks at her. At the near-permanent smile on her face, the flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes, and something else. Something he can’t quite put a name to – there, in the depth of her expression when she blinks and looks up at him – her closed smile growing impossibly wider.

“So…” she breathes out, giving a little shake to her head as an errant curl falls across her cheek. “Is your stance firmly settled on just Impressionism, or do you have varying opinions on other eras?”

Aesop bares his teeth in a wolfish grin, “I find Impressionism to be one of my least favorite movements, in all actuality.”

Her eyes bulge and a frown begins to form on her unblemished face.

“Not to say that I don’t enjoy it, obviously,” he makes quick to explain. “But out of several centuries worth of painting, I can hardly claim it to be my absolute favorite, now, can I?”

“Okay then,” she crosses her right leg over her left knee, leaning back to fold her arms over her chest. “Let’s hear it then. Where do your loyalties lie?”

“Baroque has its merits, of course.”

She scoffs, “If you’re interested in a darkened palette and exaggerated movement, I suppose.”

“You find fault with it?” he raises his brow, sensing another well-placed debate brewing in the downturn of her lips.

“Obviously.”

Aesop smirks, folding his own arms across his chest as he stares at her.

“Then, by all means, enlighten me. What era do you find more appealing?”

She seems to mull it over for a moment, as her tongue peeks out to wet her lips before she finally settles on: “Rococo.”

He chuckles, “You’ll argue against the merits of Monet but you find Rococo-style works to be just fine?”

With a shrug of her shoulders, she says, “I prefer the palette, for one. And the more natural movement. Baroque-era styling just feels so… dramatic; heavy. Whereas Rococo brings a more, I don’t know… easy-going sort of feeling. I suppose you’d also be so bold as to say that Classicism holds a special place for you as well?”

“Nat as much, but there are some portraits that I find… welcoming on the eyes.”

Hart gives a little nod, “And your thoughts on the Renaissance era?”

At that, he snorts, “Over-rated.”

“Oh, thank Godric,” she sighs, placing a hand over her heart as if she had expected him to tell her the worst sort of news. “You’re still capable of some common sense, that’s truly a relief to hear.”

Raising a lone brow, he dryly says, “I’m pleased to find that I’ve met your high standards.”

She lets out a short laugh, shaking her head as she says, “Hush. I was just afraid you would sit there and spew some snobbish nonsense to me about how that style is far superior to any other in the entire history of the world of art.”

“Decidedly not.”

She offers him a small smile then, flicking her gaze from his face to her hands on the countertop of the brewing station.

“So… if that’s not a favorite of yours, then what exactly would you say is?”

Aesop stares up at the curved stone arches of the classroom ceiling, pondering the question for just a moment, before he replies.

“Romanticism.”

Catherine blinks; once, then twice. Her mouth forms a curious little o shape before she presses her lips together and asks, “Really?”

“Is that somehow surprising?” he wonders, uncrossing his arms as he stares down at her – trying to place the pieces of the puzzle that was her expression.

“Well, I thought perhaps you would say something more… I don’t know, obscure? Like Tonalism or something of that nature. But, Romanticism, genuinely?”

He hums in return, finding his gaze lost in the dumbfounded look upon the woman’s face.

“Wha– uhm, what artists do you favor?”

“Well,” he lingers on this for a moment before finding the answers rather easily. “Friedrich, J.M.W. Turner, Eugène Delacroix – of course –”

“Of course,” she murmurs along.

He nods, “And, perhaps… John Constable.”

“Oh, his stuff is quite good,” she agrees.

“Indeed.”

They sit there for a moment in the draping silence of the conversation before several thoughts cross through Aesop’s mind. The first of which, he is quick to voice.

“You never said.”

At the lift of her eyebrows, he reiterates.

“Your favorite style.”

“Oh.”

Hart looks away, twisting her fingers together once again. He finds a desire to uncover the reason for the strange response. Leaning forward, offering a warm expression, he teases.

“Come now, Hart. Afraid I’ll tear apart your answer as you did mine?”

She looks up, eyes bright and alert, “No, of course not. It’s just… well, it’s not a common answer.”

He gives a little hum, “Consider me intrigued then.”

Readjusting herself on the stool, he can feel the light brush of the toe of her boot against his left knee – nothing hard, or discomforting. But a gentle press as she bounces her foot in thought.

“Have you ever heard of Ukiyo-e?”

Perhaps he had been expectant of too common an answer, some strange little movement of the American or Eastern European variety. But he has to shake his head in response, “I’m afraid I have not.

“It’s a, uhm, Japanese art style. Usually in the form of printed woodblocks. Two summers back, I was trekking through Imperial Japan, and I happened upon a village in the mountains. This muggle sutler had these blocks displayed out across a cloth sheet on the ground and I was just immediately entranced by them. The color, Aesop. It just pops off the wood. The lines were so crisp, I don’t even know how to properly describe it to you.”

She shakes her head then, giving a little laugh that seemed to stem from some sort of place of embarrassment, though for what reason he’s not sure.

“I actually have one on display, down in my room. It’s a copy, obviously.”

Aesop leans forward, steepling his index fingers together.

“How did your interest in the arts come about?”

Hart lets out a low breath, leaning back on the stool once again. Her gaze grows distant for but a moment before the electric blue of her irises meets his eyes.

“Traveling, in all honesty. Certainly didn’t have the time or funds to go to a museum when I was younger. And obviously being here at the school changed those prospects for me quite a bit as well.”

She absently chews on her lower lip, teleported back to the memories of her youth. And for a moment, Aesop is reminded of the clear and undeniable fact that the girl who was once his student is in fact a fine young woman now. He would have never imagined, nearly a decade back, that he would be sitting here with the new fifth-year having an in-depth conversation about art, of all topics.

“When I was assigned to an encampment in France, at the beginning of my tenure with the Ministry, they placed me with a man – Edmund Hughes.”

Aesop found the name familiar, but he couldn’t quite place it to any particular face in his mind.

“Anyway, we kept busy most of the days we were there. At the time, we were tracking down this aggressive Bretagne Vouivre Dragon that was encroaching far too close to a muggle town. Well, one night, we were stuck dealing with negotiators from the French Ministry who felt they were better equipped to handle the situation, even though the Department had requested our assistance with the matter in the first place. Uh, sorry. Anyway…”

She waves her hand as if to clear the memory from the air.

“Hughes knew we were stuck with our thumbs in our pockets, as it were, for likely the next week or so while bureaucratic dealings went on. Just up and decided – after downing a lovely French port of wine, of course – that we should enjoy the evening on our own terms. He rounded up our little team and we apparated to Place Cachée. Led us straight down to the Louvre.”

Hart gives another little bubble of laughter, “I had never stepped foot in a museum before that night.”

Aesop feels his own heart clench at the admission. Admittedly, his own upbringing had brought about many opportunities – perhaps a few that he hadn’t been completely grateful for at the time. Not necessarily a silver spoon sort of life, but well-off in many senses of the term.

A no-nonsense governess had given him his first introduction to the world of art at the tender age of five. He was well-versed in all the classical wizarding artists: Monsieur DeBlanc, Cetus Barringer, Andorra van Kemp. It was only thanks to his own natural pursuit of knowledge that he became acquainted with the greats of the Muggle world.

While wizards and witches had the astounding ability to create life-like moving portraits, the muggle world was restricted: forced to make a painting capture a single moment, a multitude of emotions. Aesop almost considered that feat more awe-inspiring than that of their wizarding counterparts.

“Have you been to many others since then?” He wonders, his tone softened by his musings.

“A few, if I’m given the chance,” she admits with the crack of a proper smile.

“Over your travels, have you ever found your way to the National Gallery in Trafalgar Square?”

“I’m afraid I have not,” Hart sighs in admittance.

Aesop gives a half-curved smile in return, “You should go: if you find the time to do so. I find it to be an appealing institution dedicated to the arts.”

“Perhaps I should,” she gazes up at him under the flutter of her fair-colored eyelashes.

It was not unusual to find the Beasts and Potions professors walking together for dinner in the Great Hall most nights. In fact, it was a very common occurrence, one that the general populace rarely – if ever – took note of. In the same way, Professors Ronen and Weasley could be seen making the journey together during the lunch period. Or, in the opposite case of Professor Onai and Shah, who avoided each other like a severe case of Dragon Pox.

No, it could be said that the sight of Sharp and Hart walking into the Hall together right after the food graced the tables was nothing to pay much attention to.

But tonight, Catherine noted, several curious eyes followed their path as they breezed past the outer section of the Slytherin table. She only noticed it given the fact that she had looked away from Aesop to laugh in another chastising tone.

Their conversation from that afternoon had continued, nearly non-stop, well into the evening hour. When the final period bell had sounded for the day, they had both made attempts to resume their duties and go their separate ways. Until she made a follow-up comment to something he had said earlier in their little debate, and then they were both drawn back to the brewing station – tucked into yet another conversation.

And it hadn’t let up.

They were well past the point of reasonable small talk or friendly collegial conversation. But neither one of them seemed particularly interested in bringing an end to it. And so, it continued on, all the way to the Great Hall several hours after it had first begun.

“I find quite the inspiration from Delacroix’s printing techniques.”

She snorts, “You would.”

Sharp shoots her an amused look with another hitched eyebrow as they make it to the table, “Meaning…?”

Catherine presses past him as she finds her seat. Aesop pushes in her chair for her after she sits down before he moves to the vacant spot to her left. She stares after him for only a second more.

“Meaning…” she begins, portioning out bits of roasted garlic potatoes and rosemary-scented asparagus onto her plate. “That I find it fitting that you would see greatness in a French printmaker’s work.”

She can feel his curious expression gazing into the side of her face, though she thoroughly ignores it. There’s a bitter-sounding scoff of disbelief. She thinks she can even see the shake of his head – the billowing of his chestnut-colored hair.

“Is that all?”

Finally affording him a look, she continues, “An outdated technique is where you find your muse. You have an interest in older art movements, it’s truly not all that surprising.”

Aesop snorts, “I’m not sure I would consider it to be outdated if one could still find it in use within nearly every newspaper currently in circulation.”

She faces him then, “Printmaking, in itself, is not an outdated technique, Sharp. If it was, I most likely wouldn’t be calling Ukiyo-e a current favorite art movement. But as it is, that is a form of relief printing. Whereas what you’re referring to with Delacroix’s portfolio is lithography – a far older version of printmaking that is far less frequently in use than you’d like to believe it to be.”

With a huff of self-determined breath, she looks at her companion. There she finds the darkness of his eyes staring back at her, though there’s a warmth radiating from them that leaves her feeling less than discontent.

“And the reason you find printmaking – sorry, lithography, so foul is –”

“What I mean to say is,” she sighs, placing her spoon down and leaning towards him, “It’s rather silly that a Frenchman had taken up printmaking techniques when the near entirety of the artists in his country were devoted to oil painting at the time. Now, sketches I could understand. But where was he hoping to advance the realm of lithography?”

Aesop’s lips curve into a slight smirk, giving another shake of his head, and then he picks up his own cutlery once again, “I merely said I found inspiration in those particular works, Hart. Certainly, you can’t find fault in every statement I make.”

At that, she grins.

“I most certainly can, and will, if you keep making such ridiculous statements.”

There’s a lapse in conversation, but it lasts perhaps two bites worth of food more before it continues right back up again.

Her gaze rarely strays from the man next to her, if only for a moment to look away with a laugh spilling from her lips or to give another wry shake of her head. But, she is at least aware of the instant the noise in the hall begins to fade as the students lift themselves from the benches and begin to head toward the corridor once again.

“I believe,” she leans over to say with another tired smile. “That this is a conversation we’ll need to continue another day.”

Sharp seems to agree as he stands up and offers her a hand of help – one which she takes with a grateful look.

“Professor,” he bows his head, his eyes trailing back up to her face – focusing on her own eyes for just a second more – before he takes his leave of her, heading down the stairs and making his way out of the Great Hall.

Catherine watches him go for a moment more before she redirects her attention to the remaining faculty members. A memory of her ongoing lists of things to accomplish before the weekend jolts to the forefront of her mind when she spots Aragon pressing past Satyavati.

“Oh! Headmaster? Could I have a word, sir?”

The older man’s face lights up with curiosity.

It wasn’t a particularly common occurrence for Catherine to seek out candor with the Headmaster, if ever.

“Something I can do for you, Hart?”

Even though she was nearing thirty, standing before any sort of authority figure, like Aragon, still made her body awash with nerves. As if she was about to be on the questioning of a lifetime for some accused thing she had no part in.

“I was wondering, sir, if there were any particular rules in place that would keep an outside source – say… a professor – from assisting one of the Quidditch teams.”

That inquiry clearly takes him back, but it’s a smile that graces his face as he seems to ponder over the question.

“Well…” he drawls. “To the best of my knowledge, there aren’t any rules that keep a non-player from offering assistance to a team. So long as nothing is being done to give an unfair advantage in the form of, say… self-braking brooms or charmed uniform pieces that enable higher aerodynamics, for example. Or, obviously, the use of illegal substances such as Felix Felicis. No, I should think there would be nothing that would keep a professor from offering their help.”

He pauses for a second, giving her a bitten-down look of amusement.

“Any particular reason you asked?”

Catherine can barely contain the smile that wants to shine on her face, but she makes a valiant effort at it.

“Perhaps… sir.”

An appearance of understanding falls across his face and he gives a short nod, “Of course, of course. Send my regards to Mr. Spinnet, yes?”

He then gives her a gentle pat on the shoulder before he departs.

Schooling her features into something resembling a normal expression, she heads down to her quarts with a slight skip to her step. She had a letter to write.

Catherine rouses even earlier that following Friday, keen to finish her work in the classroom before her meeting time with Arthur Spinnet was set to take place. Bundled up in two pairs of trousers and a heavy woolen sweater, she collects her gloves and a warm hat before she ascends the stairs to the courtyard with her broom in tow.

Just as she’s finishing up her rounds with the Porlocks, she hears the familiar warble of voices across the grounds. Grabbing hold of her broom, she wanders over to the Pitch.

Spinnet already has the team working through a series of exercises up above the field when she arrives, while the young man stands contemplatively still in the center of the stadium.

“Merlin’s balls, Bell! My gran can fly smoother than that!” he calls out to a lanky-looking boy sailing by.

With a smile, she approaches the ambitious fifth-year.

“Mr. Spinnet.”

His eyes drop back down to the ground and he quickly uncrosses his arms, extending out a hand, “Professor! Thank you for meeting with me.”

She had shared a series of three notes with the Gryffindor boy over the past week. The first expressing her willingness to aid in any form of advice or training. The second was an agreement for a day that would best suit both parties. Catherine didn’t have a first period to teach today and she was already planning on taking the free hour to massage her sore muscles after whatever hell she went through at this early morning practice.

Taking on a vigil beside the boy, she watches the team up above. Their flying was fine, by all appearances. The two chasers and two beaters flew together in near synchronicity. It was the lone, small-statured player at the rear that seemed most out of place from the rest of them.

“I stand by what I said in my first correspondence, Mr. Spinnet,” she says, keeping her eyes trained on the players overhead. “It’s not just your new Seeker who needs a spot of extra help.”

He snorts, crossing his arms once again.

“I’ll believe it when I see it, Professor. No offense, of course. But this team has been a solid front for the last three years.”

“Complacency in that idea is what is causing your stagnation, Captain. Take my word for the next two hours and we’ll see how everything plays out, as agreed upon. Yes?”

With a jerky nod, the boy shoves his fingers into his mouth and lets out a sharp whistle – alerting the players to make their descent. Once the group of six students lands and takes up a half-circle formation around her, Spinnet gives a vague the floor is yours gesture and backs up to join his team.

“Good morning,” she smiles. “I’m sure your esteemed Captain has informed you all as to why I’m here today. I come offering only advice and wish to impart a bit of time-earned wisdom upon you all. I think we can all agree, we want to see Gryffindor take the Cup this year.”

“Yeah!” two boyish voices holler at once, followed by several nods of enthusiastic agreement.

“All right then,” Catherine claps her hands together, pocketing her broom in the crook of her right elbow. “Let’s see how well you know one another’s positions, yeah?”

Several confused looks are spared her way as she assigns each player a new position. Spinnet, for his part, takes it all in stride – following upon the terms of her agreement to do this little training session with them today.

“You’re a good team – I’ve seen you practice these past few months. But a player who��s only capable of doing their position to perfection isn’t a team player. You need to know the moves of your fellow players. Anticipate how your next action affects them.”

Throwing a beater’s bat to Georgina Wilkes, one of the three chasers, she pairs her off with Cassius Diggory – one of the actual team beaters. Melinda Mason takes on the role of Keeper for Theodore Bell. While Laura Parson switches places with the team captain.

When she tosses the Quaffle into play, the ensuing match is chaotic – to say the least.

While the chasers merely have to score against a single Keeper and have no real outside interference, their technique is severely underpar. But this wasn’t an attempt to watch them fully succeed at another position, Catherine wanted to press home the point that every role on the team mattered. That they needed to work together in harmony if they stood any chance at winning.

Wilkes sends the bludger directly at Bell’s head, while Oscar Clark fumbles the Quaffle and watches it fall for several feet before Parson soars after it.

She lets them go on like this for several minutes – scoring only one singular goal in the process – before she calls them back down to the field.

“Well, that was entirely pointless,” Clark whispers to Bell.

“Was it?” she asks just as dryly.

When she’s met with a mixture of sheepish and questioning looks, she rests back on the handle of her broom.

“Mr. Clark, I would hope you would gain an appreciation for the skill it takes your Chasers to garner to successfully handle a Quaffle. Perhaps, instead of begrudging newcomers to your team, you could take a moment to offer wisdom.”

Referring to the conversation she had been privy to last week when he had been bemoaning his frustrations over the new Seeker to Spinnet, seems to make the boy blanch.

“A well-oiled team knows the intricacy of every team member’s position. If your strongest player is incapable of filling in for another, then what is the point of proclaiming you are the best team in the school?”

Giving them a purposeful look, floating to every player, she continues, “Yes, you succeeded in past years. You had wonderful victories. Don’t let that keep you tethered to mediocrity. I have watched the other teams practice – they all move in cohesion. While I can offer you tips and plays, I can not turn you into a perfect machine. That’ll be up to you to manage. But for now…”

Her eyes roam across the team until they land on Laura Parson.

“I think I agreed to teach your new seeker a move that no one else at this school knows.”

The girl’s expression immediately brightens under the glow of the morning sunrise.

After a beat, she asks, “How many of you follow the international teams?”

Bell slowly raises his hand, “Sure. I went to Sydney to watch the World Cup last year with my Da.”

A few similar nods follow his statement. Catherine gives a knowing smile.

“And outside of the largest sporting event in the game’s history?”

Silence meets her in return and she grins.

“Well, it looks like this might just be a new play for you all. Has anyone here heard of the name Josef Wronski before?”

She spends the next hour introducing Parson to the Polish tactic. It was only introduced into the world of the sport seven or so years back and hadn’t truly taken off in many places outside of its country of origin. Catherine had managed to catch a game when she was passing through the country on her way into the German Empire back in 1897.

It’s a different sort of freedom when she’s flying around the pitch with the team. While her flight times with the Hippogriffs last semester had been a liberating experience, with the wind whipping against her frozen cheeks today, she felt a determined thrill ringing throughout her body. An old sensation buried after graduation. Maybe she could convince Matilda to start up a faculty league.

“That’s it, Laura!” she shouts behind her as the girl gains speed on her. “As far as you can go, come on!”

It was a matter of zigging and zagging across the pitch before taking a sharp dive down to the field – almost to the point of crashing – before you managed to pull your broom up at the last possible second. The intention was to have your opponent crash or become so distracted that they didn’t notice the true location of the snitch.

Parson had been doing beautifully in replicating her moves and as she glanced back at Spinnet, the team captain seemed equally impressed down on the ground.

After touching back down beside him, she instructed the chasers on an old tactic that had worked for her team a decade ago. Apparently, it was one that Spinnet said had fallen out of use over the years and might just prove to be a game-changer against the other houses.

In the end, there’s a group of sweaty, exhausted, but completely exhilarated students who wave their thanks to her as they trudge back through the snow to the castle. Both Parson and Spinnet offer her another few words of gratitude, and the captain gently hints at having another possible training session in the future.

“We’ll see,” is all she says in return – beaming at the feeling of tired muscles and aching bones now plaguing her body. It wasn’t every day the twenty-eight-year-old powered through a full morning of training, after all.

With how many paces she was putting her broom through these past few days, Catherine found herself in Hogsmeade on a blustery Saturday afternoon to purchase a new set of flying gloves. While her Christmas present from Aesop had been a true treat for the winter weather, their grip wasn’t quite what she needed for early morning training sessions with the Gryffindor team. The frost had a nasty way of clinging to the handle of her broom before the sunlight managed to melt away the ice crystals.

The wizarding village was rather emptied out for a Saturday, though she placed the blame on the dismal weather entirely.

While the Christmas season had brought the joy of shopping for friends and loved ones which enticed several people to go out and peruse the local wares, January had no such draw.

In fact, most people would prefer to stay at home near the fire if given the choice.

And she would have too if it wasn’t for the need of new gloves and a particular desire to converse with the tavern boy at the Hog’s Head again.

Though, unfortunately, Aberforth had no amount of news to share with her. A sad fact that was piling up in her private life as well. There had been nothing from any of her contacts and she was trying to place it further from her mind – devoting her attention to classes, Quidditch training sessions, and art debates (of all things).

But the fact was, Catherine was desperate for a new lead in her case. Every new smuggled shipment could be her ticket. But almost all of the major operations on the northern coast of the country had ceased shipping – finding new, hidden, locations most likely to resume their trade.

Which did not bode well for her mission.

“Oh! Professor Hart, are you headed up to the Three Broomsticks as well?”

She whips around at the call of her name over the windy street. There, near Ollivander’s doorstep, stands Mirabel all bundled up in a thick cloak and a knitted pastel scarf. Her nose is as red as a rose petal as she offers up a stiff arm in a sort of wave.

“I wasn’t planning to, no. But I couldn’t say no to a warm Butterbeer right about now,” she smiles as she crosses the street to meet the other woman.

“Honestly, I was thinking just the same,” her words form a billowing stream of frozen breath.

With a nod, she finds her arm looped through the herbology professor’s who quickly leads them both up the road to the tavern in question.

The instant rush of heat once they step through the doors feels strong enough to melt the frost that clings to their outer clothes and hair. With an almost visible sigh of relief, the two women look toward one another before eyeing the vacant table near the roaring fireplace. If ever there was a place to thaw out in front of, it would be there.

For a weekend afternoon, the inn is surprisingly empty. Another thing she’ll blame the weather for. But with ripe pickings and fast service in return, Catherine can’t find much of a reason to complain.

“Helga’s heart,” Mirabel sighs after taking a sip of her steaming drink. “I feel as if I haven’t seen you since last month. Are you usually this terribly busy?”

Catherine gives a laugh as she wipes a bit of frothy foam from her upper lip. She didn’t want the news that she was assisting the Gryffindor team in their training sessions to become common knowledge. So, instead, she comes up with another easy answer.

“No, I’m afraid the Mooncalves have kept me rather busy as of late. I don’t know how they manage to injure themselves so frequently, and yet, here I am every day bandaging up one and forcing a healing draught down another.”

“So, is that why we never see you for breakfast?”

The blonde witch gives a slight shake of her head, resting her elbows upon the wooden tabletop, “That’s all thanks to my morning chores. Even if I have a first-period class, I’m still responsible for getting the creatures sorted out first thing.”

Mirabel gives a warm chuckle, “You sound so similar to myself when I first started on. I’m not sure even Matilda could pull me from the Greenhouses before or after any of my classes. There was always something to be dealt with before my students arrived.”

“I suppose plants and beasts are almost one and the same with the sense that they require a constant form of care.”

The other witch gives a soft hum of agreement.

For a short while, as they work through their mugs of Butterbeer, the two women converse on all matters of topics. From Mirabel’s current fascination with foreign tea blends to Catherine’s assessment of Mr. Macnair and how she believes the boy will surely fail her class.

Tucked into the warm corner of the tavern, the heat radiating off of the crackling fire, the Beasts professor feels truly at ease. Even when Professors Kearney, Weasley, and Kogawa walk in. With a wave of her hand, the three women join their comfy spot in the corner of the room.

“It’s rather brisk out there today, isn’t it?” Matilda comments, rubbing her arms as a sudden chill sends her body into a shiver.

“A good sort of cold though. Good for the lungs,” Kogawa smirks, resting her arm across the back of Catherine’s chair.

“So,” Roslin beams. “What are we gossiping about then?”

Catherine gives a roll of her eyes, though her sense of amusement does not fade, “We were just trying to figure out which of our students will be repeating a year and which will fail out entirely.”

Kogawa snorts, slamming her glass down, “If we’re placing galleons on it, I’d put them all on Mr. Collins. That boy still can’t hold an ounce of control over his broomstick. It’s been almost three years’ worth of remedial classes.”

Matilda, ever the mediator, gives a courteous thin-lipped smile, “Let’s save the betting for the next quidditch game, shall we?”

“Fine then,” the flying instructor sulks, crossing her arms over her chest. “But don’t be surprised when that boy’s held back for another round of third year.”

“Oh, that boy,” Mirabel sighs – rubbing a tired hand over her forehead. “I want so badly for him to take on my help. I’ve offered afternoon sessions and everything. He’s got a thumb as black as they come, I’m afraid. Even the Tentaculas shy away from him. Please tell me he fairs better in your class, Matilda.”

The older witch gives a sigh, followed by the slightest shrug of her shoulders.

“That bad?” Catherine muses, lifting her second mug of Butterbeer to her lips.

“Well,” the Deputy Headmistress smooths out her robes for a moment as if pondering the question with great consideration. “He’s not currently at a Troll if that’s what you mean. He… oh, I really shouldn’t say this, but… he’s quite on the edge of it, as it were.”

Roslin then gives a soft cough, which causes four sets of eyes to peer over at her.

“It’s just, well, if we’re referring to Benjamin Collins, I have him every Thursday as part of the choir. He has a real talent there – quite a natural actually.”

“Hmmm,” Chiyo hums. “Maybe all he needs is a recommendation to the Academy of Dramatic Arts?”

“Not the W.A.D.A, surely?” The Deputy Head says, fully aghast.

“Why not? If he can’t fly, and he can’t care for a plant, and he’s barely passing Transfiguration –”

“Poor sod,” the Beasts professor sighs with a shake of her head as she lifts her mug to her lips once again.

Matilda’s hazel eyes seek her out, almost imploring, “You don’t have him in any of your classes, Catherine?”

“No,” she snorts. “I get the likes of Adrian Macnair – ”

The mention of the seventh-year Slytherin’s name brings about a few curious reactions: pointed disgust, a compassionate grimace, and shock – which certainly said more than words could manage.

“– and Nereus Bulstrode.”

That name also pulls a similar reaction from her colleagues.

Even though she’d been teaching for barely even five months at this point, Catherine was all too aware of the fact that those particular boys were just barely scraping by in her class. No thanks to their own prideful egos that gave them a disturbing boost of assuredness that they knew more on the subject matter than the actual creature expert.

Their behavior had become so abhorrent that she found the need to split them up during the practical lessons. Usually with one sent to muck out a pen and the other sent to handle the feed.

Some people were considered naturals in the field of beasts. Others were more interested in the academic aspects of the class. Those two, however, she couldn’t quite pin down. And that thought kept her frequently on her toes whenever they were around.

Even with students like Mr. Kettleburn, she knew her animals were in safe hands. With Macnair and Bulstrode though… well, that was still to be fully determined.

“Oh, such awful boys,” Roslin frowns, downing a shot of whiskey with not so much as even a grimace.

“Talented,” Weasley placates. “But with wasted whims, perhaps.”

“Trouble’s more like it,” Chiyo mutters.

Catherine nods, tapping her glass against the flying instructor’s, “Here, here.”

“Now, now,” Matilda chides lightly. “It is our role as educators to guide them down a higher path. Not just forsake them to the wolves.”

“Wolves would be a merciful fate,” Chiyo snorts into her ear, causing Catherine to cover her mouth with her hand to avoid openly laughing.

“Matilda,” the music professor laments in a drawn-out whine, her accent coming out in longer grasps as she finishes off a third shot. “Ye can’t exactly fault us in our beliefs when someone like Abraham even finds nothing of promise to say about ‘em.”

“If it came from Aesop, perhaps it’d be more understandable,” Mirabel chimes in.

The young witch feels her brows rise as she quickly butts in, “Why’s that?”

From across the table, the redhead meets her gaze with a rather curious quirk on her lips, “Well, Aesop never speaks too highly of any particular student – even within his own house. It takes a true talent to get him to sing any sort of praise.”

“A certain Hero of Hogwarts, you might say,” Matilda grins none-too-subtly as she sips from her glass.

“Now that I find serious doubt with –” she starts to say.

“Oh no, it’s quite true. It must have been after the well…” Mirabel blinks, clears her throat, and changes her angle of approach. “After your fifth year. I think all of our opinions of you changed quite a bit, Catherine.”

At that, she stares down into the bottom of her mug where a thin layer of amber-colored drink resides.

Her silence must settle a little too heavily over the group because Matilda is quick to clear her throat, “So, what are the going bets for next week’s game? I want to know who’ll be going up against me this round.”

She drowns out the debate over the two teams – Gryffindor and Slytherin, quite the infamous match-up if ever there was one.

Instead, she shuffles the glass between her hands. Letting the warm drops of condensation slip between her fingers as she contemplates the earlier conversation. The title had followed her up until graduation, even trailing a little further on to her job at the Ministry. In fact, it had been some time since she had last heard the name being directed her way.

The name, that silly godawful name that the Prophet had coined twelve years back, had taunted her. She certainly hadn’t felt much like a hero in the aftermath of the repository battle.

Catherine raises her near-empty mug in agreeance when Matilda claims Gryffindor will be victorious, but otherwise keeps to her thoughts for the remainder of the meet-up.

So much has changed since then. Perhaps too much.

From a factory girl to a witch overnight. Destined to fight a war she didn’t know she was signing up for. Taking on a goblin rebellion at fifteen. Was it any wonder her professors looked at her differently after Fig’s memorial? They had been truly oblivious to her… extracurricular activities at the time.

Maybe they just thought she held promise – discovering magic so late on in life and having to work incredibly harder than her peers to catch up to five years worth of studies.

But no. She had just been fooling them all. Taking classes by day, a few supplementary lessons here and there to catch her up to speed, and then there she was taking down poacher encampments and goblin mining facilities by nightfall.

Was that the act of a hero or an act of reckless insanity?

Even after all this time, she’s still not entirely sure.

“We really must do this again,” Mirabel smiles as the five women finally push up from their seats, grabbing hold of their cloaks.

Matilda nods, “This was quite fun, really. Just us girls.”

Catherine hums in agreement as she wraps her blue cloak back around her shoulders. Pulling her chestnut-colored gloves from within her pocket as she braces herself for the bitter wind outside of the tavern’s sanctuary.

The swoop of wind catches her breath as the tip of her broom handle slams into the ground, rocketing her forward into a somersault that leaves her head aching and her bottom even worse off.

“Professor!” someone screams from behind her.

With a quick shake of her head, she brushes her tangled curls from her eyes and peers up at the triumphant smile of the young third-year floating just a few feet above her.

“You pull that off tomorrow, and you’ll be sure to win,” she smiles.

It takes a moment, pushing up onto her left foot before she manages to fully stand upright once again. Oh, there were certain to be bruises come morning.

“Are you all right?” Melinda Mason questions with a clear voice of concern.

Catherine supposes it would be rather unfortunate to be the cause of injury for one of your professors. But she turns and gives the girl a warm smile.

“I promise that I’m quite well, Ms. Mason. I have sustained far more grievous injuries in my time than a flying fumble.”

As Parson dismounts, holding the snitch in her tight grasp, the Beasts professor surveys the team with a pleased eye and a nod of approval.

“I think you’re all more than prepared for the game. But, if I may offer a final parting piece of advice?”

Spinnet nods quick and sure. The young captain had, admittedly, surprised her. She had expected a certain cockiness, perhaps similar to her own team captain back in her seventh year. But this boy was destined for something great in the future, she was sure of it.

“Never underestimate the power of deception.”

When she’s met with a sea of confused looks, she elaborates.

“If you come into the Hall acting like you’re the kings of the game, they’ll double down even harder to get you knocked out of the match. But, if perhaps, a rumor was to be placed around the school… your dismay at the prospects of your new player, or the state of your team without your old seeker? Then their guard will be lowered and you’ll have the higher ground when it comes to the actual game. They won’t know what hit them.”

Sly smirks and secretive glances finalize her words into a proper plan. To be fair, her advice had been intended to bolster the team, but it would also give her and Matilda a bit of advantage with the betting that was to take place in the faculty stands tomorrow.

But the Gryffindor players certainly didn’t need to know that fact.

Her advice clearly met the landed mark she had hoped it would, as when she appears in the Great Hall the following morning for breakfast – passing by the Slytherin table – she notes that the green team is looking particularly smug as they sit together. While the Gryffindor team is dispersed across the length of their table, looking thoroughly annoyed with one another.

Catherine knew it was an act, despite what the rest of the populace would believe.

She had watched the way that they had bonded these past few weeks during their training sessions. Parson had been accepted as part of the team and their synchronicity was almost unparalleled.

“Ah, Hart. What a rarity.”

Offering a smirk toward the potions professor, she takes her seat beside him.

“It would be a shame if I was ever fully predictable.”

She can feel his turned gaze upon the side of her face as she fills up her bowl with porridge and syrup. His black coffee steams in a mug beside her left hand, the aroma of roasted beans filling her senses.

“Would it be right to assume you’ll be attending the match today, or would that be too predictable?” he muses in a rich, gravelly tone of voice.

“No, in this case, it would be completely predictable. And rightfully so. I intend to watch the dismal expression that will crest your face when Gryffindor wins.”

His warm chortle feels like wading through honey.

“Oh, quite the optimist today, aren’t you?”

She hums in return, savoring another spoonful of her warm meal.

“Is it wrong to have pride in one’s house?”

“Maybe not. But if you have any intention of keeping your money purse full, perhaps you’ll avoid the betting pool this time around.”

Catherine lets her gaze fall upon his dark eyes for a moment, as she sighs, “Meaning…?”

Aesop scooches his dish forward, the plate nearly cleared of his breakfast, “Well, if you must know, word travels rather quickly through the castle; even in the dungeons. Though perhaps you don’t hear it all the way out there in your paddocks.”

She blinks, curious to see where this will go.

“The prevailing rumor seems to be that your team has had quite the trouble filling their seeker position after the holidays. In fact, I don’t even think they’re speaking to the poor girl,” at that, he points his chin toward the Gryffindor table where Laura Parson is sitting, dutifully, alone – pushing her eggs around her plate.

Playing the part exceptionally well, actually.

Catherine snorts, returning to her meal, “I never placed much faith in rumors, Sharp.”

“Yes,” he murmurs. “Of that, we’re quite in agreement.”

Their conversation takes a momentary lapse as the sound of owls hooting in the rafters takes their focus. The great birds swoop down over the tables, depositing mail and packages. A large gray owl drops a rolled-up Prophet onto Aesop’s empty plate. Nothing arrives for Catherine, much to her dismay.

She had been hoping today would be the day she would get another tip-off.

Pulling the twine free, she watches as the potions professor unfurls the newspaper. On the front page, a rather large moving image captures her attention – making her lean across the table, shoving her head beside his shoulder, to peer at the article.

SON OF MERLIN KILLER CAPTURED

There, on the front page, the repeating image of the distressed-looking man with his hands tied behind his back with shimmering strings of magic screams on the front steps of a dark shopfront. Beside him stands two stoic-looking Aurors in their work robes and the very familiar face of one of her dearest friends.

“That’s Natty!”

Sharp seems to scrutinize the image for a second more before he looks across the staff table.

“Mudiwa, you might wish to seek out your own copy of the Daily Prophet.”

The seer smiles, waving her hand in dismissal, “Bah, I already know all about that.”

“Of course,” Catherine groans – the woman probably knew about it weeks before it even happened.

“Natsai sent me a letter last night. She wished to keep me from happening upon it myself in the morning edition.”

Oh, well, that was slightly surprising.

“Shall we be expecting the wedding invitations soon then?” the young witch calls out to her.

Mudiwa merely offers her a knowing smile as she resumes drinking her tea.

Aesop offers her a bemused look before the two of them begin to read the article together. He at least has the courtesy to angle it to the right so she can see it without straining too far out of her seat.

“A man has been arrested in Knockturn Alley in connection to a series of killings that have plagued the Great London area for the past year, authorities announced in an interview with the press late Friday evening.

Robert Dryer, 38, was arrested overnight while “out celebrating,” said lead investigator Natsai Onai in an interview with the Daily Prophet with Minister for MagicVenusia Crickerly and Head Auror Simon Hendrick. He was discovered outside of The Golden Thestral pub in an inebriated state where he was heard, by passersby, saying he was going to “carve up every [redacted slur] witch this side of the Channel.”

Dryer is facing several charges in regard to the 47 bodies that have been discovered in the city baring what investigators called his “signature” – a series of dark runes that Dryer burned into all of his victims. The last victim, a Miss Eugenia Drood, 25, was found near the banks of the River Thames, which required the assistance of Obliviators after the local Muggle police force happened upon her branded body.

Aurors confirmed that he is the sole suspect at this time.

During the interview, Investigator Onai revealed that Dryer has lived in London for nearly six years. He has a criminal record, though Aurors did not reveal the details of his past crimes.

According to trustworthy sources, Dryer holds criminal convictions in both Scotland and England for charges such as: performing magic in front of Muggles, improper use of Horklumps, drunkenness in a public venue, and destruction of private property.

Minister Crickerly said that the public will now be able to move on without fear and that public safety is her number one concern after obtaining office.

“Let it be known, to the people of Great Britain, your world is safer now than it was yesterday. When the wizards and witches in our community work together with our law enforcement agencies, anything can be accomplished. The scrum of society will be cleaned off our streets and people will know peace once again.”

Dryer will be facing trial at a later date while he is held in Ministry custody. Head Auror Hendrick said that the Wizengamot is working to determine the charges against him.

Officials are still unsure of the extent of his intentions behind the killings but said his patterns were consistent.”

“Godric’s heart,” Catherine sighs in disbelief as she watches Natty’s stern, but clearly pleased, expression as she watches the other Aurors lug Dryer down the steps, over and over again.

“I’ll be surprised if he’s not sent for the Kiss itself after his trial.”

“Or,” Catherine nods. “If you don’t see one of the victims’ family members trying to enact justice beforehand.”

Aesop gives a sullen hum of agreement, folding the paper in two.

“What horrid business,” she finally settles on, pushing the paper as far away from herself as she can manage.

“But, he’s in custody now. At least tonight the people of London can rest easy.”

“And perhaps receive some justice in a few months’ time,” she adds.

Sharp gives a nod, “Indeed.”

Looking out over the hall once again, Catherine notices the empty seats dispersed across the tables as more and more students head out into the corridor.

“The match should be starting within the hour,” Sharp comments dryly, offering her a pointed look.

The change in conversation washes over her like a cleaning charm, pulling with it the awful images that the article had created in her mind.

Allowing a teasing smile to befall her lips, she looks over at him, “Well then… shall we?”

Sharp stands before she can even scoot her chair back, pulling it away from the table for her as he offers up yet another hand of assistance.

On the way out to the pitch, wrapped in a warm cloak and a fur-lined coat, respectfully, they pass by several students on their way to the stadium. With painted red and gold or silver and green faces, carrying felt flags, and large hand-made banners. She can hear cheers for both teams from large groups of teenagers.

“We are the Lions!”

“Mighty, mighty Lions!”

“We’ll kick your arse in!”

“Better flying Lions!”

“They really could do better than that,” she teases, looking over in Sharp’s direction to gauge his reaction.

The potions professor shakes his head, calling out over the large pack of students, “That’ll be twenty points, Mr. Bartlett, for the use of foul language!”

The boy in question flushes a brilliant shade of red as his friends all tug him in, ragging on him like he’s a triumphant gladiator in the ring and Sharp is nothing more than a maniacal Roman emperor.

“Twenty points, really?” Catherine gently pushes against his right arm. “Are you just trying to start a feud before we even get there?”

Sharp scoffs, glancing down at her, “I don’t recall hearing any Slytherins shouting profanities at the top of their lungs, Hart.”

No, they were more than likely setting up dungbombs in the Gryffindor stands before the match began. Or perhaps enchanting a cloud of rain to follow around certain students. Gryffindors, for their part, were loud and brash when it came to their gloating. Slytherins were far more subdued and tactful about their approach.

The path to the pitch is slick with ice. The recent snowfall masked the dangers, though many students were wise enough to press through the drifts along the sides of the path instead.

Catherine was barely that lucky, as she felt her boot glide across the frozen ground with absolutely no traction. Her heel lifted up and nearly sent her tumbling backward if not for Sharp’s quick hand flying out to catch her arm.

She stares at the blanket of gray sky above her as snowflakes begin to settle across the grounds. Her chest heaves with the exhilaration of almost falling when she looks over at her savior.

He chuckles as he pulls her upright, “Careful.”

She blinks once, twice at him before the embarrassment clouding her vision simmers.

“I do endeavor to be, Sharp.”

“Of course,” he smirks, offering his arm to her once again.

She lets her gloved fingers grip the fabric of his gray coat sleeve before they begin forward. The journey is slow-paced. Not just in thanks to the man’s noted injury, for once. But it doesn’t matter, as only a portion of the stadium is filled out when they arrive at the faculty’s section.

Together, they find a spot to sit in the center of the allotted seating, where a clear divide can be drawn once the other professors join them.

Rubbing her gloves together, Catherine pulls her cloak tight over her shoulders so it can drape across her knees which she presses together as the wind picks up over the valley. Beside her, Sharp radiates off a warm aura of heat that she finds herself leaning into.

They do not speak, as there is nothing further to stumble through. The silence is comfortable, as it usually is between them. And she can sense his gaze when he looks down at her over the bridge of his nose. She can feel the rumble in his body when he clears his throat, or the press of his foot against her own.

Slowly, one by one, familiar faces make their way up the stairs. With the majority of the staff choosing to sit beside Sharp, showing their clear favoritism in the betting pool this time around.

Next to Catherine, Matilda, Mirabel, and Mudiwa find a spot to sit. Maybe it would be more apparent where the outcome of the game was set to lie when the noted seer chose your team. But alas, she watches as the rest of the staff fills up the left side of the wooden benches.

“All right, all right,” Roland beams as he stands on the lowest level of the stands. “Let’s hear the bets, people!”

The blonde witch watches as her colleagues quickly place their easy bets for the match.

“Put me down for 10 galleons, Sterling,” Crestwell grins, leaning back on the bench as he nudges Waterford.

“And eight for me, please.”

Sharp glances down at her, “You still have time to switch sides, Hart.”

She fixes him with a sturdy glare before she calls out, “Forty galleons on Gryffindor!”

“Forty?” Sterling exclaims, furiously writing it down on his pad of paper. “Willing to risk it all today, are you?”

Catherine settles back on her seat with a knowing look at the stadium. She can feel Aesop’s warm breath on her left shoulder as he stares down at her with a scrutinizing eye.

“What do you know?”

With the most innocent of expressions, she looks up at the potions professor.

“Me? Why, nothing more than house pride, Professor.”

Sharp lets out a huff of breath, biting his tongue as he looks away, “That remains to be seen.”

“Mark me down for twenty galleons, Roland, if you would please,” Matilda says in a rush of excitement, looping her arm through the Beasts professor’s.

Perhaps Aragon had let his Deputy Head in on Catherine’s plans to assist the Gryffindor team after all. And what could a true lionheart like Matilda Weasley do if not place down a heavy amount of money on her house’s team?

Mirabel, noticing this, quickly adds twenty-five galleons to the pot and offers a cheeky wink at them both.

The other faculty members, sitting firmly on the Slytherin side of the staff tower, fix the three women with equal looks of bewilderment and – in Sharp’s case especially – suspicion. But Catherine merely holds onto Matilda’s arm as the student announcer settles into place.

“Welcome to the first match of the new year: Slytherin versus Gryffindor!”

Cheers of enthusiastic team pride ring out through the stadium and she can’t help but smile as the wind picks up – sending her blonde locks billowing backward – as fat snowflakes rain down on the pitch.

The dark green robes of the Slytherin team fly out first, in a perfect arrow formation as they glide past their house members down in the lower stands. Beside her, she can barely make out the predictions being laid out by the male professors, though Sharp remains oddly silent. With his arms fixed across his chest, he flexes his fingers as he watches the students slow to an easy glide in the center of the pitch.

What starts out as a dull throb of noise turns into raucous shouts as Gryffindor soars out onto the field in a surprisingly synchronized V-formation with Spinnet leading the charge.

They fly directly over the heads of the Slytherin team – earning more cries of excitement – before they turn into a left-flanked spiral, breezing past the Slytherins in the stands. They turn their heads away in a clear sign of disinterest as they zoom towards the opposite side of the stands where the noise level is at its highest.

Red and gold banners blur together as the student section cries out.

Catherine can’t help but clap in delight, sharing an equally excited look with Matilda who gives a quick shout of encouragement toward the team.

As Kogawa flies out into the center of the pitch – her light-colored robes barely visible against the beginning of a true blizzard – Sharp leans toward her. Lowering his mouth close to her ear so that his words can be heard over the noise.

“What did you do?”

She glances over at him with another doe-eyed blink, “Why, whatever could you mean by that?”

“Mhmm,” he murmurs, eyes trailing back to the start of the match.

The young witch beams when he pulls back, unable to contain her joy.

“And it’s an immediate fight for the Quaffle as Captain Cygnus Black secures the ball! Ooh, that’s quite a hit by Macnair – Gryffindor better watch their backs this match. The Slytherin team will not be holding back this time.”

Catherine can feel her breath catch in her throat as Black soars past, nearing the goalposts. But as the storm picks up, Bell swoops down and kicks the Quaffle away before it can make it through the hoop.

“Yes! Come on!”

“Spinnet’s in possession of the Quaffle now. Can the Gryffindor captain keep a better hold of it than Black? Here come Mason and Wilkes, forming a blockade on either side of their captain. Will Slytherin be able to break it down?”

Warrington and Macnair team up, smacking one of the bludgers at the trio of chasers, but Cassius Diggory flies up at the last moment and sends it right back at the two Slytherin beaters.

“Gryffindor scores! That’s ten points on the board!”

Matilda lets out a whoop of pure thrill at the announcement. Catherine can’t even look away to spy on her fellow colleagues’ faces as the three Gryffindor chasers begin tossing the ball back and forth between each other.

“Tabitha Walsh is on a collision course with Spinnet, and she – yes! She has the Quaffle. Quite the nasty concussion for the Gryffindor captain.”

A line of Slytherins careens down across the lower half of the pitch, avoiding the Gryffindors who were soaring much higher above them. But as they approach the goals, they’re slowly picked off one by one as Wilkes kicks Cygnus Black directly in the stomach – sending the poor boy spiraling into a freefall – with the Quaffle back in her safe grasp.

“And that’s another ten points!”

Blasts of ice and freshly fallen snow are tossed up into wide arcs across the stands as the players fly past – desperate to maintain a hold of the ball for more than a minute. Catherine’s cloak is coated in a thin layer of snow and flakes dangle from her eyelashes as she blinks furiously to see through the blinding white blizzard.

“Yes!” Aesop gives a sharp call, followed by thunderous claps as Slytherin makes their first goal of the game.

She glances over at him, at his newly decorated snow-white beard and hair. The flakes cling to the fur of his coat, though he doesn’t seem to mind as he squints to see through the storm.

“Third-year seeker Laura Parson has spotted the snitch!”

Catherine freezes in her spot as she watches the blur of red robes soar across the stadium at lightning speeds, with the trailing of green not too far behind her. And then, to the gasps of shock from the stadium, she takes an immediate nosedive next to the Slytherin’s central goalpost.

Swirling around the metal pole, she drops to dangerous heights with the Slytherin seeker immediately on her tail.

With a giant whoosh of snow flying up on either side of her, Parson pulls up at the last possible second. Even having a moment to spare as she looks behind her, just in time to see the other seeker slam into the ice-covered ground.

“Marcus Vance is out! And, what’s this? Has Parson lost sight of the snitch?”

An immediate grin of victory crosses Catherine’s face when she realizes that the young seeker had just played the entire stadium, as she leisurely glides past, offering a wave to the Beasts professor in the faculty stands.

“What on Earth –” Matilda begins, staring at her with wide brown eyes.

“That was the Wronski Feint.”

“Oh! How clever!”

“Yes,” Sharp sneers to her left, fixing her with a pointed dark gaze. “Very clever.”

Before she can form a proper retort, the announcer calls out yet another goal for the Gryffindor team.

“That was a close call for Parson! Macnair is not happy that their seeker’s been fooled.”

With bated breath, Catherine watches the back and forth as the two green-robed beaters send bludger after bludger at the Gryffindor team. Determined to strike one of them out of the match entirely. After Parson’s little play, the other team holds absolutely no punches back as the game becomes increasingly bloody.

By Gryffindor’s seventh goal, Spinnet is sporting a blooming purple bruise over his right eye and Wilkes has a massive seeping cut across her cheek. Bell gives a roar as he slams the Quaffle right back into play, repelling yet another attack from the Slytherins.

Warrington goes after the Keeper then, zooming past the rest of the players as he sends the next bludger directly at Bell. It slams into the boy’s helmet, tossing him back into the goal and he nearly slips off his broom.

Dangling by a single hand, Cygnus Black manages to throw the ball through the right-hand post before the Keeper manages to straddle his broom once again – a clear face of annoyance on his features as he claps his hands together, ready for another assault.

“That was a little too close for comfort,” Matilda worries her hands together, watching with a concerned gaze as Spinnet soars past Berle and Walsh – knocking the Quaffle from her hands.

“That’s eighty to twenty! It’s anyone's game now with the snitch still in play. Though how anyone can see it out there in all this mess is a mystery to this announcer!”

Catherine couldn’t agree more as the sky opens up with another torrential downpour of thick snowflakes that nearly whites out the entire pitch. Her body shivers against the bitter sting of the prevailing wind – even under the canopy of the tower. She holds onto Matilda’s arm even tighter as Mason goes careening past – having been hit with a bludger straight to the back.

The girl slams into a neighboring tower, ripping through the outer fabric, before falling several stories down to the ground. Her unconscious form topples out onto the snow-covered pitch. Both her and Matilda stand up then, peering over the edge of the stands with gasps of worry.

“Gryffindor’s now one chaser down, but Spinnet isn’t calling for a substitute! He’s barreling toward Black now with clear intent! Yes, ooh, that’s quite the hit! Another ten points!”

Blainey, down on the ground, bundled up in a thick red coat, levitates the seventh-year girl off the pitch on a stretcher as the match continues on above them.

“Kogawa has called on a foul on Macnair! That’s five points from Slytherin and the Quaffle is back in Wilkes’ possession!”

Blasting through one another, the chasers battle for the ball. The duo of Black and Berle manage to toss Slytherin ahead two more goals, while Diggory and Clark send an onslaught of bludgers at the opposing chasers. Their keeper, Rosier, ducks out of the way to avoid a particularly powerful swing, giving Spinnet another shot at the goal.

“Vance has spotted the snitch!”

Her gaze flies across the pitch just in time to catch the Slytherin seeker soaring after the tiny ball that even her own eyes can’t quite see through the whipping winds of the snowstorm.

Like a shot of lightning, Parson takes off after the boy.

“Come on, come on,” she mutters under her breath, standing up to watch as they travel across the pitch – circling the blue and bronze flag of one of the Ravenclaw towers.

Shoved together, side by side, the two seekers zoom past – sending up an arc of frigid cold winter air. Catherine cranes her neck to follow their path. Up and over the Slytherin goal posts, down into a near nosedive in the center of the pitch. Parson leans forward, her arm extended out.

“Warrington has sent a bludger at the seekers! Did he intend to knock out his own teammate? And there goes Black, soaring after them both – what on Merlin’s magic does he plan to do?”

Vance kicks at Parson’s broom, sending the girl off course for just a minute before she manages to righten herself back. Behind them both, Cygnus Black is flying at breakneck speeds to catch up to the pair.

Pulling her hands together to her lips, Catherine mutters a silent prayer.

Black slams his foot into Parson’s broom, giving her side a shove as well.

“In a never-before-seen move, Captain Cygnus Black has doubled up with the Slytherin seeker to nab the snitch!”

Beside her, Aesop and the rest of the faculty stand, watching as the Gryffindor team throws the Quaffle to the ground and zooms down in an immediate dive formation after the two players in green.

Vance jerks his broom to the left, before making a near 180° turn. Shouts of anger and determination can be heard from the cheers of the student section as Spinnet throws himself off of his broom and tackles Black in midair. Kogawa’s whistle blows, but no one on the pitch pays any heed to it. Diggory slams his bat into Vance’s broom, just as the rest of the Slytherin team joins the fray.

“Fucking hell,” Sharp swears from beside her and it shocks Catherine so much to hear the potions professor properly cuss that she swivels her head around to stare at the man.

He shakes his head in disbelief as Macnair sends a bludger at Wilkes' head, with the poor girl barely being able to twist her broom out of the way, just for the vicious ball to slam into his own teammate’s right arm. Tabitha Walsh gives a howl of pain as she loses grip on the handle of her broom – falling to the pitch as the madness of the other players plays out over the top of her.

Kogawa charges down to the mess – trying to grab hold of arms to pull the students off one another, but she gets kicked back much to the absolutely outraged look on her face.

And, on the other side of the pitch…

“Vance and Parson are in a sprint to the snitch! Not that the rest of their teams have noticed!”

No, in the chaos of the other players trying to bludgeon one another to death, only Spinnet had managed to look up for a second – before Warrington slammed his fist into the captain’s head – to notice the two seekers.

“Yes, yes!” she cries, watching as the two robes of red and green blur together across the spray of blinding white snow.

But Vance slams into Parson’s side and the girl’s grip on her broom slips and she tumbles off the side, over a hundred feet in the air.

Catherine grips Aesop’s arm, slamming a hand over her mouth.

Laura feebly flings her arm out, kicking her legs as she tries to regain control over the broom, but Vance twists to the side – pressing into her once again, and then the seeker falls.

Matilda lets out a cry and Mirabel gasps as they watch the girl, with one hand still on her broom, fall for several feet.

The stadium grows silent as she careens to the ground just before she manages to righten the handle and twist her body in such a way that she straddles the broom once again.

Followed by many cheers from the Gryffindor stands, Catherine finally feels like she can let out a single breath of relief.

Parson flies down, managing to surpass Vance who is still several feet above her, reaching her hand out just in time to nab something from the air!

“After her almost death plummet, Parson has caught the snitch! Gryffindor wins, 270 points to Slytherin’s 65!”

Matilda immediately grabs her arm, pulling her off of Sharp, as she hugs the younger professor with nothing short of pure happiness.

Across the stadium, cheers of joy ring out. With the announcement, the scuffle on the pitch finally comes to an end with the majority of the players looking far worse than a normal game would cause. Kogawa has both Spinnet and Black by the arms, tugging them down to the ground before unceremoniously dragging them off the pitch with cries of discomfort.

But Catherine can’t stop smiling as Parson does a quick lap around the pitch, holding the snitch up like a trophy. When she comes past the staff’s tower, she does a little bow to the Beasts professor – which Catherine gives right back to her in return.

“So, you’re to thank for their sudden abilities,” Sharp muses in a thin voice as he peers down at her.

“Well, as far as the official rule book goes, there’s currently nothing in place to stop a professor from aiding a team. Didn’t you know?” she gives him a wink before she turns back around to Matilda to give a little squeal of delight.

In the end, Sterling dismally hands the three women forty-seven galleons, each. She finds it a little bit funny that Sharp gives her a bemused smirk as she pockets her winnings, but he says nothing further to her.

Together, Catherine and Matilda walk arm-in-arm back to the castle, following the roaring cheers from the crowd of Gryffindor students who swarm the victorious and bloody team.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

[xenforce]

Prologue Edit! Centennial Bellum - LOZ Fanfic

Hiya! I just wanted to drop in and say I made a small edit to the prologue of my zelda fic. you can read this short extract below or read it on my wattpad or Archive of Our Own

I will update you whenever I make big-enough edits.

It's mostly just little refinements here and there (I'm constantly going back and critiquing my own work LOL). Please enjoy!

––

There is a legend that the people speak of – a legend passed down through countless generations. It tells of a girl and boy who were destined to meet in order to continue a cycle – a cycle that intertwined their very souls to stand beside each other in the face of war, chaos, and bloodshed. Founded on their bond since the beginning of time, this cycle would unchangingly write their fates to bring them together in a timeless battle. While fantasies and fairytales have their happy endings, this legend is many things but that. It tells of a kingdom that lost their princess and hero at the fault of a king whose greed was unmatched. The legend of a princess whose love for her hero was forbidden. The legend of a devastating war that raged on for one hundred years because the hero was simply not there. 

The Legend of Zelda, The One-Hundred-Year War.

Our legend begins in the peaceful kingdom of Hyrule where our two main characters have yet to meet...

The sun was glistening down heavenly on the peaceful market of Hyrule Castle. People all around bustled merrily as they went about their daily business, selling their wares, doing morning chores, or shopping. The young children of Castle Town were joyfully playing with the small dogs and cats running around the town.

Castle Town was a peaceful marketplace where citizens of Hyrule would come from all over the country to buy and sell. Hyrule Castle was a proud grand structure that overlooked the city. The proud town sat right outside it, hence earning the name, 'Castle Town'. The residents of the town were businessmen of all trades – blacksmiths, physicians, bakers, potion-brewers... Entertainment was never short in town. Bowling alleys, puppet shows, folkish music, and frequent festivals made the advanced settlement a place of luxury. Food and drink stalls speckled the streets, steaming with hot aromas, beaming with fresh produce of all colours, enticing both residents and visitors to buy and taste beyond what their bodies required.

Perfectly stiff guards from the castle were stationed at the gateway of the town and scattered through the midst of it, ensuring the peace remained. Apart from a few rebels and bandits from outside of town occasionally kicking up a brief uproar, the Hylians had enjoyed peace for generations. Many of them knew nothing of war, only hearing of such horrors in stories and history lessons.  

The merry sound of the civilians chattering and shuffling decked the streets. But life was not so kind to everyone in Castle Town. Amongst them, one wretched hungry teenaged boy was walking by the food bazaars tentatively peering around to see if he were being noticed. He wore a plain off-white shirt that appeared tattered and worn out, accompanied with a brown belt, trousers and short ankle boots. A black hood hid his face giving him a mysterious facade...

Continue reading here

[littleboxcat]

Peter Finds Egon's Very personal Journal

Peter hated cleaning. He felt that when one reaches a certain level of success, they should not be relegated to doing menial house chores. As a child He hated the afterhours clean-up he was forced to do when the carnival had closed for the night. Sticky table tops, puke covered snapped together flooring, popcorn and other food refuse, all of those things made Peter shudder. But he did so love the Carnie life.

Of course, this was not the carnival. This was Ghostbuster HQ and It was Peters turn to do chores. When he lived alone, he had invented a system. His apartment had three states of being: Normal, Messy and Uh-oh It’s time to clean-o-clock. A few items here and there and out of place, maybe a light to medium layer of dust or crumbs on the counters and the floor was considered downright neat. What human lived in a spotless household? A psychopath that’s who peter thought. Messy was when the piles of items out of their natural places outnumbered the items where they belonged. This still did not bother Peter; He knew where everything was. If he left his shirt on the floor near the bathroom door, he knew it was there. The piles of items found their new homes strewn about. It felt the most like home when the place was messy. Uh-oh it’s time to clean-o-clock only came up when he was expecting guests. Special guests. Peter loved his homely feeling apartment, but he loved getting it in more.

Egon had not done his share of the chores the day before and like a petulant child, Peter was agitated at the fact that Spengler consistently got a pass. Why do I have to do it when he does not, he thought as he slapped the wet mop on the hardwood with a thwacking sound; before shuffling the handle back and forth. I’m Gonna tell-em about himself later, Pete Schemed.

The mop handle bumped against the lab door. It creaked open. He half expected to see the scientist hard at work, soldering tools in hand, safety googles on, but he remembered Janine had taken Egon out for a lunch date, which Egon insisted was not a date. Winston had invited Ray to a cookout at his family home. Zeddemore’s family really liked Ray. They decidedly did not like Peter. It was fine with Peter, He had the whole day to read comics, watch TV and relax, something the Men hadn’t had the chance to do in a while as business was most times chaotic. Slimer was around, somewhere lazing or eating them out of house and home; maybe both.

Peter entered the lab. “Oh Eggie, I’m gonna touch your stuff!” Peter said to the crowd of no one. “Better come stop me before I break something.” He continued mockingly as he halfheartedly mopped around Egon’s desk. The Mop hit a stack of books that lay teetering at the edge of the desktop. They fell to the floor. A small leather bound book that was hidden amongst the pile flopped open. Shit, peter swore to himself. Sometimes, actually most times Egon could tell when someone had trifled through his belongings. Peter wasn’t quite sure how, but he did.

There on the pages written in what could be considered doctorly hand writing; half chicken-scratch half spindly lines of text, something caught Peters eyes.

Date: June 17th

Time: 11:47pm

My physiology is behaving interestingly this evening.

-difficulty focusing

-Jittery

-Engorged Phallus

-Slight elevated body temp: 99˚    

-Flushed skin

-Mind preoccupied with thoughts of copulation.

-Perchance with Janine?

- Possible need for penile stimulation?

Eck… Peter thought, why does everything sound so gross when stated scientifically out of Egon’s mouth. As grossed out as Peter was, his need to find out more about his friends sex life was greater. Egon had not ever spoken to them about anything of a sexual nature. Actually, this was untrue. He had, in college, discussed his adolescent observations about teen mating rituals and STIs. But this conversation wasn’t specifically about Egon; Of course he also told Peter that women were interested in his Epididymis. Nobody wants to know about Egon’s spermy ducts, Peter mused as he continued reading. Pete made himself comfortable on the beat-up ratty cushioned couch in the lab, half forgetting what he was supposed to be doing. Purposefully forgetting.

Date: June 22nd

Time: 2:20am

Had the familiar dream again.

-Pulsating Engorgement

-Very uncomfortable.

-Sensitive to the touch

-Boxers moist with approx. 3-4 ml pre-ejac--

Peter Stopped; Slammed the book shut; Shuddered and grimaced. He frowned making a very Robert DeNiro face, then opened the leather journal and soldiered on.

-An attempt was made to ignore

- Pillow placed between thighs

- light stimulation using soft surface, favorable.

- Manual stimulation. Very reactive.

-overwhelming need for release.

Note to self: DO NOT DO THIS AGAIN IN THE BUNKROOM. Mess is difficult to clean from sheets and clothes whilst others sleep.

“UGH NO! EGON NO! We… We were in the room when you did that!”

Peter screeched loudly. As if one or maybe all of them had never jacked it while the others slept. Hell, Peter did it twice before. Too lazy to go into the bathroom to rub one out, he lay there listening to the snoring sounds of the others for fear they might awaken and notice. But this was different. This was Egon. Dr. Egon Spengler. Physicist, Parapsychologist. The Brains of the outfit. Jerking it in the bunkroom. Peter was repulsed but also intrigued. Curiosity got the better of Peter.

Notes: I will write more of Egon's Journal. Hope it enjoyable. If you share my writing please give me some credit. Thank you.

[catscratching]

I posted 339 times in 2022

That's 332 more posts than 2021!

56 posts created (17%)

283 posts reblogged (83%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@gray-morality

@lilbittymonster

@nerdberd

@lettersnorth

@kuro8529

I tagged 320 of my posts in 2022

Only 6% of my posts had no tags

#fakhri man'tik - 67 posts

#seda ballard - 61 posts

#queued - 26 posts

#seda - 21 posts

#fakhri - 15 posts

#ooc - 12 posts

#♥ - 10 posts

#wondroustailsofffixv - 10 posts

#reference - 9 posts

#rp - 9 posts

Longest Tag: 119 characters

#but all the books set in a particular universe have it - even amongst characters that have no reason to share the trait

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Pets

Wondrous Tails of FFXIV

2022.05.03

Arak sighed as the sounds from the main part of the apartment died off into soft murmurs and rustling linens, burrowing down into the cozy nest he’d made for himself in the laundry basket.  It was about damned time.

He was pretty pleased with himself, all things considered – his Person had been a difficult case, and while he had no regrets about taking Fakhri on as a project, it had been more challenging than he had first expected.

The Viera had seemed determined to drive himself into an early grave, and the little Companion had had his work cut out for him; herding his chosen Person onto a path that didn’t dead-end without being noticed was challenging even for the best of them.  That Arak had ended up in the body of a small rodent… well.  He chose to see the assignment as a statement of confidence in his abilities.

Finding the little miqo’te had been a stroke of luck.  He’d kept an eye out for potential acquaintances for his charge – Fakhri’s tendency to be a loner wasn’t, in Arak’s opinion, terribly good for him, and his attempts to help his Person find a someone to bring him back to life hadn't been successful.  When Seda had wandered in, the little rat had sensed there was something different about her; something special.  She ended up being perfect.

And now, after all the setbacks, after missteps on both sides, old fears faced… his whiskers arched with satisfaction as he heard the soft whispers from the other room.

“I love ya girl.”   A low humm and more rustling.

“I love you too.”

And then there was nothing but deep, even breathing, and Arak joined his little family in sleep.

@wondroustailsofffxiv, @gray-morality

9 notes - Posted May 3, 2022

#4

Domestic habits / Love Languages

Wondrous Tails of FFXIV

2022.05.13

Fakhri had stepped out, taking Arak with him, and Seda exhaled heavily, relieved to have the flat to herself for a few hours.  He had been incredibly accommodating, and she had done her best to be a good flatmate, but it was a small apartment, and she was practically living in his armpit.

She was careful – so careful – to try and avoid her housekeeping habits and preferences from coming across as criticism or a negative statement against his own lifestyle.  But the fact remained… in such a small space, clutter quickly became overwhelming, and she had always preferred cozy organization.

More than that, acts of service were one of her strongest love languages.  Tending to their shared chores, cooking, cleaning and tidying made her feel as though she was doing something tangible to show Fakhri how much he meant to her. 

Mama would laugh, she thought to herself with a smile as she put fresh sheets on the bed.  Bocquet probably will, when I tell them.  Between them, she and Bocquet had managed her mother since she was a toddler; Silana had been warm and loving, but absent-minded; her thoughts were always on something more important than meals or housekeeping.  Fakhri wasn’t buried in research all the time, but he had other things tugging at his attention – as much as she tried to be a restful, emotional presence at home, there was still another person in his space he had to shield against, when before he could relax entirely.  All the same, living with him had, in so many ways, felt like home in a way she didn’t know how to express.

By the time her partner returned, she was curled up with a book, the flat’s windows open to catch the scent of petrichor as an early spring storm passed over.  Rejuvenated and refreshed, she got up to prepare their evening meal; a new Hannish recipe he had mentioned casually a few weeks previous.

Sometimes love was hard.  But sometimes… it was as easy as clean sheets and a homecooked meal.

@wondroustailsofffxiv @gray-morality

10 notes - Posted May 13, 2022

#3

Discovery

Wondrous Tails of FFXIV

2022.05.24

It was one of those evenings.

Fakhri had stepped out to lighten the pockets of some pompous ass with more money than manners, and Seda had not been needed.   They had found that they worked well as a team; she used cosmetics and clothing to subtly alter her appearance while he used glamour.  One distracted the target while the other got whatever it was they came for.

But the intended tactic tonight had called for just one player – and the rumor mill suggested that their mark had a short fuse.  Fakhri was the better player, and he could, if it came to it, step out of sight, change his glamour, and walk away.  Seda was much more vulnerable.

So she found herself at loose ends, wandering the flat and wondering how things were going.   Arak was shadowing Fakhri (something she approved of), so she didn’t even have the distraction of talking to their fuzzy companion to distract her.

“Bloody hell,”  She muttered to herself.  “He’s always managed fine without me.  Settle down, Ballard.”

He had… but he had also found himself stripped naked and beaten in an alley before, too. 

Finally, she decided to spend the time doing something productive, and took the dagger from its hiding place.   She had been doing the forms for a few weeks now, and it past time she started using the blade again; she needed to acclimate herself to the weight and balance of the weapon.

It was still challenging, even as slow and measured as she was going.  Her muscles trembled with the effort of holding each position, and sweat began to trickle between her breasts and down her back.  When her knees threatened to collapse beneath her, she put the blade away and began to do some yoga stretches to cool down, breathing deeply and evenly as her body protested.   She was straining to hold Downward Dog a little bit longer when her arms gave out, dumping her unceremoniously onto her face.

She lay collapsed onto the carpet, huffing to herself that she had let herself get so unfit… when something caught her eye under the sofa.   Frowning, she wriggled closer and reached out to draw a plain wood box out of its hiding place.  It wasn’t large enough to hold another set of Oracle cards, and while the wood was smoothly finished and the box well made, there was nothing that leapt out at her to suggest its purpose or contents.

Curiosity prickled.  Normally, she did her best to avoid snooping.  Their flat was perfect for one person – for two… it was decidedly ‘cozy.’   Living so close to one another, they both went to a good bit of effort to be courteous – and while it had had some unexpected consequences (Seda suspected that they both had erred on the side of excessive caution with regards to physical intimacy, and if they had been less polite about it… ahh well.  Water under the bridge), generally she felt like it helped maintain cordial relations between them.

But this wasn’t anywhere she’d consider personal or private.  They each had their own shelf in the wardrobe; he had a place in the bathroom where he kept personal items.  So she didn’t hesitate long before wriggling into a cross-legged, seated position and flipping the brass latches open.

She didn’t really have a preconceived notion of what she might find inside; Fakhri was a man of varied interests, and while he lived a very minimalist life (something she understood and approved of), he still took pains to take care of his belongings, and bought quality items when possible.

So it took her a few moments to parse what she was seeing, nestled into a velvet cushion.   It was beautifully carved; the artisan had taken pains to shape the curves to take advantage of the wood’s natural grain, making an object of great aesthetic beauty as well as function.  

“Why would he have a dil—“  She broke off, noting the swooping, curved handle; something all responsible people wanted for this particular type of toy.   “Oh. OH.”  

She was torn between the desire to close the box and shove it back into its hiding place, and to examine the massager a bit more closely.   It felt… uncomfortable, as if she had caught him pleasuring himself and was watching without his knowledge or consent.  (She would, she admitted, happily watch if he knew she was there, and enjoy seeing how long she could last before… er. ‘helping’.) 

At the same time, this was an aspect of his sexuality she had been hesitant to ask about; it was awkward enough, knowing that he had had perfunctory experience with women before, that she had been the first he had developed feelings for.    She still had difficulty silencing the fear that he would one day decide that the experiment was over, and that he still craved a male partner. 

On the other hand… She lifted the plug out of its cushion, running her thumb over the smooth wood and hefting it on her palm, feeling its weight and trying to imagine its use.  The mental image evoked was enough to make her flush, her skin prickling with heat as her imagination gleefully suggested some of the ways the toy could be used by a partner.  It would substitute for the anatomy she lacked quite well, if he wanted to include her in its use.    

She needed to know more.  Tucking it gently back into its box, she got to her feet and reached for her linkpearl.

“Seeeda,”  A feminine voice purred.  “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I need some advice,”  She settled into the sofa, the box in her lap.  “About toys for men.”

“Oho?”  Rustling came across the link, a man’s voice murmuring in the background, Cat’s voice a bit muffled as she answered.  “Personal, darling.  You don’t want to hear this anyway.”

More indistinct sounds, then Catrienne’s voice returned, clear and brisk.  “Alright.  There's only one kind of toy you'd call me about; tell me everything.”

By the time Fakhri returned, flush with the success of his evening, the box was safe in its hiding spot, and Seda had received both an education, as well as the name of a very skilled leatherworker.   She just needed to decide how to broach the subject.

@wondroustailsofffxiv @gray-morality

10 notes - Posted May 24, 2022

#2

Caught in the Rain

Wondrous Tails of FFXIV

2022.06.06

[ Thus begins the first of my final prompts; I have enjoyed this challenge so very much, and welcome all the new followers I've gained. I hope you all enjoy reading of Seda and Fakhri's adventures as much as we do writing them. ♥ ]

Footsteps sounded on the path along the river, barely audible over the muted rush of the water below.  Bocquet sat on the rough bench they had painstakingly chiseled from the surrounding stone, leaning back against an exposed root, face turned up toward an overcast sky.

They had come more frequently, after Seda and Fakhri’s visit; the resolve to go to Thavnair had faded, in the face of the challenges of daily life.  The conversation with Arak felt like a dream – why would a forest spirit waste its time speaking to them? – and the often-fragile grip they had on reality began to slip.  It was easier to sit here, with Silana's cairn, and watch the water, letting their thoughts trickle away like the leaves that fell on the surface.

Opening their eyes, Bocquet regarded the newcomer, then turned back toward the river, voice dry.  “I thought I smelled something foul, and there you are.”

A tall elezen with the sun-bronzed skin of a Wildwood smiled, his eyes shadowed behind a pair of wire-framed spectacles.  “Prickly as ever, I see.  Sometimes I wonder why I bother.”  

Their exchange had the ease of habitual banter, and he sat beside the still figure holding vigil, settling back on the bench with every indication he intended to join the androgynous Bocquet in their reflections.

“I do too,” Bocquet murmured after several minutes of silence.

“Pardon?”  The forest was never truly quiet; birds sang, insects hummed, the rising wind danced through the trees, creating a rustling sound not unlike the whisper of a woman’s ballgown. 

“Wonder why you bother.”  Bocquet hadn’t moved, but there was an air of expectation now, of waiting.

Anisai was quiet in his turn, shifting his backside slightly to ease the ache of sitting on the rough stone, giving the question due consideration.  Finally, he said in a low voice, “I loved her too.”

It wasn’t what Bocquet had expected; their eyes snapped open as they turned to their companion.  “You never said anything.”

“What was there to say?  You had made your choice,” Anisai shrugged, his voice still soft.  He had come to grips with it years ago.  “It would not have changed anything; I would have loved you both, and forever been on the outside looking in.  It was better for all three of us that I stepped away.”

Bocquet blew out a breath, reeling from this revelation.  “But why are you here now?  I’m not— Ani, I don’t want to hurt you, but I don’t think there will ever be anyone – “

“I’m not here to try and seduce you,” Anisai snorted.  He then sighed, and tentatively leaned back against a different root, trying to get comfortable.  “Word gets around, Q.  You have grown more and more reclusive, and people talk.”

“If this is about what happened with Sedani,” Bocquet straightened, visibly bristling.  “I will not apologize or let them brush it off as grief.  That boy is damned lucky I didn’t skin him alive.”

“Peace, peace!”  Ani raised both hands in a placating gesture, his brows drawing together.  The incident in question had happened two decades ago; that it was still fresh in Bocquet’s mind was troubling.   “When was the last time you came into the city?  Rolfe and Ysabel said they never see you either.”

Thunder rumbled overhead, the air changing, becoming electrified.  Anisai had the uncomfortable sensation of an impending storm of an entirely different sort; Bocquet had been powerful when they were young, eschewing their gifts and letting them wither.  Would they reach for those abilities now, to avoid uncomfortable truths?

Bocquet looked away, unable to bear the weight of their companion’s eyes.  It had not been that long, surely, since they were at the Hawthorne’s.   Before the children visited, yes, but… Hm.  And Gridania itself?  The last time had been… their shoulders tightened as they realized they couldn’t remember.   Food was easy enough to come by in the Shroud, and their needs were simple; Rolfe Hawthorne had always been willing to trade fresh meat for whatever Bocquet couldn’t provide themselves, and…

Nophica’s tears, it had been a long time, hadn’t it?  Anisai’s hair, like their own, was tinged with grey; and the lines on his face had deepened.  How long had it been since they had seen their old friend?  Had they even wondered at his absence?   Shame burned like acid in their belly.  No – they hadn’t.  They had thought he stayed away because… Because my ego wanted to believe he couldn’t bear to see me happy with another.  And once she was gone…

“I stopped at the house,” Anisai said quietly. 

The thunder above them growled again, the first droplets of rain beginning to patter down the foliage.

Bocquet’s shoulders drew up, like a turtle trying to pull into a shell.  They hadn’t cleaned since Seda and her Fakhri had left.  Why bother?  Their needs were few, their life… 

“You had no right,” They growled, defensive.  “Invading my home.”

“I care about you, jackass, and it doesn’t take a mind-healer to know you’re not in a good place.”  He took a deep breath, raking his fingers through his hair. 

“How is Seda?  Someone said she came through a few weeks back.”

Bocquet made a soft sound, deep in their throat.  How to explain that their girl no longer needed them?  That she had a good partnership, that Bocquet had noticed her grow restless toward the end of her visit, seen that the little cottage in the woods was too small for the brilliant fire that had been born there.

She would be fine; her man would care for her, and the spirit rat would guide her. They felt they should be happy - proud, even - that she had overcome so much to find happiness. But all they felt was empty and alone. So... incredibly alone.

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10 notes - Posted June 6, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Shower / Grooming

Wondrous Tails of FFXIV

2022.05.30

[Warning - Nudity]

Every Miqo’te had their own preferences in terms of personal grooming.  Some loved water and sought it out at every opportunity, others eschewed it as much as possible, fastidious about their tails and preferring to avoid getting them wet.

Seda fell somewhere in the middle.  She washed daily – one could not live in a hot, humid climate like Radz-at-Han without it; but she didn’t do the full body, scrub from ear-to-tail-to-toes but once a week, generally speaking. 

A normal day’s wash was a careful shower – rinsing her hair by flipping it forward over her head, washing her body, and then sponging the suds away.  Her tail stayed more or less dry, to be brushed out – and if she was going to be doing something particularly dirty, wrapped in a linen cloth.

As they grow more comfortable with one another, more often she’ll stretch out on the sofa or the bed and let Fakhri brush her hair or tail.  When she was young, her mother would brush her hair and tail each night before bed, and as an adult, she didn’t have anyone she felt comfortable allowing to have such an intimate connection.  Until now.

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13 notes - Posted May 30, 2022

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[ravagedarkness]

Spider-Man: Home Rebuilt, Chapter 9: Something Brewing

I hate to admit it, but if felt good to give Spider-Man a break for the day. I still listened to the scanners, but Shadowcat and Frictor were very active and held things down. It was a pretty good feeling, knowing there were others willing to help out in this city – ones I could work with without there having to be an Avengers level threat to deal with. So, with that in mind, after my nap, I did different things around my apartment. I did some quick chores such as throwing out the trash and cleaning up around the place. I took time to iron the clothes I decided to wear for the interview and put together my portfolio. After that, I went over my notes and exercises for class. With the exception of me sewing the holes and tears in my suit, I didn’t do anything Spider-Man related.

Monday rolled around. Nothing too unusual happened. I went to class then I went to Peter Pan to see MJ and Ned. Betty, Kitty, and Craig swung by not too long after. The latter two knew they didn’t need to be there, but they stopped by anyway just to check out the spot. As we all sat at the counter, talking amongst ourselves about different things from Craig’s new haircut to the upcoming dance, I thought to myself that this was the first time in a long while that I enjoyed a Monday.

The next morning, I woke up to my phone vibrating. Groaning, I sat up before I reached over for and grabbed the device. After unplugging it from the charger, I checked the name on the screen.

Craig Pierre, Jr.

I raised my eyebrows before I accepted the call and put the phone to my ear.

“Hello?” I said.

“Yo!” Craig greeted. “Did I wake you?”

“...Yeah.” I cleared by throat after I realized how raspy it sounded.

“My bad, man. I would have called you a little later, but Scott wants you to swing by ASAP. He wanted to discuss our little group project and get you up to speed on what everyone else been working on.”

It took me a good ten seconds for me to realize he was talking in code. “…I’ll bring my notebook.”

Thirty minutes later, I was at their apartment. After Craig opened the door for me and greeted me, I took a moment to take off my shoes. I was then ushered towards the kitchen table, where Scott and Kitty were already seated. There was a large spread of breakfast food – waffles, eggs, bacon, sausage, toast, fruit, a carton of orange juice on ice, and more. It was the kind of breakfast spread you’d see in movies featuring the typical nuclear family.

It always boggled my mind whenever the father would be on his way to work, and he’d just grab an apple.

“Grab some food,” Scott said as I took a seat at the table.

I nodded as I picked up my plate and used my fork to gather a bit of everything on my plate. After that, Craig said a quick prayer and everyone began to eat.

“Thanks for the food,” I said to them.

“You’re welcome,” Scott said. “I figured it’d be best to discuss things over food, especially this early in the morning.”

“And especially with what we gathered,” Kitty added.

“Is it something major?” I asked, looking at them in worry.

“Something major is brewing from what we can tell,” Scott replied. He set down his fork and leaned back in his seat. “I was able to see my friend with the dart that hit you. After some analysis, he found that the contents within the dart were a rather dangerous cocktail of chemicals – basically, it was mixture of active ingredients found in pesticides and chemicals used in animal sedation. While I’m sorry you got hit by it, it was better you than a civilian or even Craig and Kitty.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

“Because they’d most likely be dead if they were hit.”

“…Oh…”

“To that end, I don’t think the aim was to kill you,” Scott concluded. He then looked towards Craig.

“Yeah, funny thing happened after I got my hair cut in Harlem,” Craig began. “I talked to a few people. One of them told me to follow The Stock Market. I thought homie was just brushing me off. But I watched the markets on Monday. Turns out, there was a lot of stock in Hammer Industries being bought. And from what I can gather from Twitter, there’s a rumor of there being a huge announcement coming soon.”

“You think they’re connected to what happened on Saturday?” I inquired.

“It may be a stretch, but the dude I got this info from is usually solid, so I’m going to say yes.” Craig then scoffed. “It doesn’t explain everything, but it would explain what Kitty told us last night.”

“Yeah, about that,” Kitty chimed in. “I couldn’t find a police report. Apparently, all of the men were let go without consequence. I was able to hack the NYPD database. From what I can gather, these men were let go due to the robbery being a government exercise.”

I quickly stood up. “I’m sorry, what?!”

“That was my same reaction, standing and all,” Craig commented. I looked at him briefly, then back at Kitty.

“Yeah, a lot of the NYPD weren’t too thrilled,” Kitty continued. She took a sip of her orange juice. “But as it is, I’m going to ask that you keep your head even more on a swivel when you go out on patrol. I know we will.”

I sat down, scoffing as I shook my head. “Spider-Man can’t catch a break,” I deadpanned.

“On a lighter note, you and Ned doing anything on Saturday?” Craig asked.

“I got nothing. But I don’t know about Ned. Why?”

“I was wondering if y’all are free to go outfit shopping… for the Valentine’s Day dance.”

Kitty quickly looked at Craig. “You’re going?!” she exclaimed.

“…Yes. DJ Veras apparently got hired to do the dance. And since I’m her runner, that means I gotta be there, too. So… if I’m going to go, I best dress the part, right?” He didn’t sound the least bit excited. Kitty, for her part, couldn’t hold her excitement. So, she stood up, phased through the table, and wrapped Craig in a huge hug.

“I’m so excited!” Kitty exclaimed as she rocked Craig back and forth. “I can actually go now!”

Craig grimaced. “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He looked up at Kitty. “You could have gone without me.”

“So you can stay home with Scott while y’all talk about the single life? I can’t let you suffer that alone.”

“…First of all, I’m still here,” Scott reminded her, causing her to let go of Craig and give him a sheepish look. “Second of all – and I mean this respectfully – your dating life has been just as dry as ours.” Craig visibly cringed. I drew my lips into my mouth.

Kitty took in a breath and nodded. “…I walked right into that one.”

“Face first,” Craig added.

“Oh shut up!”

We continued to eat breakfast. After we were done, I left with Scott to school. The day proceeded as normal. I swung by Peter Pan, I hung out for a bit with MJ and Ned then went home. I spent some time studying and chatting with the other American Idiots before I went on patrol. I even ran into Shadowcat and Frictor before we helped put an end to a gas station robbery. All in all, it was nothing out of the ordinary.

And then Wednesday came around.

Wednesday morning, I was in the Daily Bugle’s building. I was dressed in my interview clothes – a simple black and white suit with a red and blue tie. I was seated outside of J. Jonah Jameson’s office, waiting patiently. I had my portfolio with me, along with my camera, which I kept in its carrying bag. Both of them were in the seat to my left. I knew he was having a heated discussion with somebody. It took me all of my willpower not to listen. I wasn’t an eavesdropper. But enhanced senses made it hard not to take everything in. I could even hear someone in the office take a sip of some kind of liquid.

“Coffee?”

Speaking of liquid.

I looked up to see Betty, who held out a cup of coffee for me. I nodded as I took the cup. I then moved the camera bag and the portfolio off of the seat next to me so she could sit.

“Thanks,” I said graciously.

“Anytime,” Betty replied as she sat next to me. “I’m sorry it’s taking a while. Jonah is in there with Robbie.”

“Robbie?”

“Officially, he’s the editor-in-chief here at The Daily Bugle.” She then leaned towards me and whispered. “But between you and me, I believe his main job is keeping J. Jonah Jameson from going too far off the deep end – a morality chain of sorts, as a certain website would call it.”

“Heh, if what I saw so far is Jonah in check then I’d hate to see him off his leash, so to speak.” I took a sip of the coffee. I tried hard not to grimace, but apparently not hard enough for Betty not to notice. She chuckled. “Sorry. It’s… not my usual brew.”

“No need to apologize. It’s drugstore coffee. It’ll keep you awake, but that’s about all it has going for it.” She then smirked. “Of course, it probably doesn’t help that it’s me serving you and not your favorite barista.”

I face felt warm. I looked down at the cup of coffee for a moment. I then looked at Betty. “Do you think MJ likes me?” It was an earnest question. I legitimately wanted to know if MJ still had any semblance of feelings towards me she had before the spell. I wasn’t quite sure she did. Or maybe I was just too unconfident to really see for myself. But I was on Step Three of my list, and I needed to make sure that going to Step Four would be worth it.

Spider-Man, ladies and gentlemen – brave enough to take on bank robbers, gangs, and extraterrestrial beings, but too much of a loser to have confidence in his ability to read a girl’s feelings. Isn’t duality fun?

Betty scoffed. “Like you as a friend, or a potential significant other?” she asked. “Either way, that would be a yes.” She looked forward at the door to Jameson’s office. “She doesn’t let a lot of people get close. And when she does, it’s usually because a person makes quite the effort. But you? You’re different. She only knew you over a few weeks, but you have her attention. She talks quite a bit about you at school, and she curbed a lot of guys trying to ask her out to the dance since she asked you out to it. Plus, she doesn’t smile much around people she only sees as an acquaintance, let alone go and check to see if they’re okay because they got the feeling something was up with them.” She looked back at me. “You like her, don’t you?”

“I do,” I admitted. Well, I can’t say admitted. I didn’t just like MJ. I loved her to death, and I’d love her until my dying days, I was sure.

“Show her a good time at the dance,” Betty suggested. “…And… maybe just hang out with her without the rest of us American Idiots.”

“…Maybe I– ”

I didn’t get a chance to finish my statement. The door to Jonah’s office suddenly opened. Angrily waltzing out of the office was a black man with salt and pepper hair. He looked none too pleased as Jonah walked after him.

“I’m telling you, Robbie, this is going to bring great things to both The Daily Bugle and this city!” Jonah yelled. The man who I assumed to be Robbie stopped in his tracks and quickly turned towards Jonah, pointing a finger at him.

“No, this whole thing will blow up in our faces!” Robbie yelled back. “And when it does, I’ll have to help you pick up the pieces, as per usual! Just do me a favor and keep me out of this bullshit until then!” Robbie turned and was about ready to walk away until his eyes and landed on me and Betty. “Betty, who is he? And is he here for an appointment with me?”

“This is Peter Parker,” Betty said. I stood up and brought my hand out for him to shake. “He’s here to interview for the photographer job.”

“Pleased to meet you, sir,” I greeted.

Robbie took my hand and gave it a shake. “Just Robbie will do,” he replied. He let go of my hand. “Do yourself a favor and go home before you end up a regular part of this circus like I am.”

“Hey!” Jonah exclaimed. Robbie ignored him as he addressed Betty.

“I’m taking the rest of the day off. Any assignment from me that you get done, just leave it on my desk.”

“Yes sir,” Betty replied.

Robbie nodded before he walked towards the elevator. “I’m sick of this shit!” he muttered underneath his breath, though, with my hearing, it was clear as day.

The room remained quiet for a bit as Jonah took in a deep breath to calm himself. He then suddenly looked at me. “You, you’re a photographer?” he demanded.

“Yes sir,” I replied. “Would you like to see my portfolio?”

“I don’t have time for that. I got places to be and things to prepare for. So here’s the deal. Hammer Industries is holding a press conference tonight at The Downtown Conference Center at eight o’clock. I want you there at six. I’ll pay you 24 bucks an hour in straight cash. You take good enough pictures, and I’ll hire you on as part of the staff here. Deal?”

I was given pause. Hammer Industries was having a press conference. I remembered the talk I had with Scott, Kitty, and Craig on Monday morning. Could this be the answer to who or what could have been targeting me? Well, there was only one way to find out.

“…Y-yes.” I cleared my throat. “Yes sir.”

“Good. Betty, make sure his credentials are set for tonight.”

“Will do,” Betty replied. Jonah nodded before he walked away. After he was gone, she turned towards Peter. “You didn’t have anything planned for tonight, did you?”

“Just studying,” I said. “But I stay up pretty late anyway, so I can delay it by a few hours.”

“Okay. Well, come with me.”

About thirty minutes later, I stepped out of the building. I had my press badge in my camera bag. I checked my watch, making sure I had time to get to school early. I did. After that, I pulled out my cellphone dialed Scott’s number. After a few rings, he picked up.

“Hello Pete,” Scott greeted.

“Hey Scott,” I replied. “…Um… I need to talk to you.”

“Is everything okay? You’re not feeling any complications, are you?”

“No. I just had some new information for my part of the group project and I wanted to know if I can run it by you.”

“…I see. Where are you now?”

“I’m outside where The Daily Bugle is located.”

“Stay there. I’ll pick you up.”

[pastxlscorp]

Bully! Mitsuya Fanfic (pt.1)

Chapter I: Inception

✿ Word Count: 2.1k

✿ Pairing: Takashi Mitsuya x reader

✿ Topics covered: (Eventual) Enemies to lovers trope, Y/N POV, tsundere-Mitsuya, bully! Mitsuya, fem. reader, minor manga spoilers, Bully! Mitsuya headcanons from last post

He lifted his large palm, coated in silver and black rings to match his attire. He was wearing a black mock turtleneck that matched his jet black hair. In his youth, he had lilac-colored hair that was either in a buzz-cut or grown out to a mullet. Now, he sported his black hair in his college-years. He was studying to become a fashion designer, a dream he had since his youth after his love blossomed for sewing. It had begun as a chore in order to keep his sisters satisfied and happy, saving money from buying toys by simply creating them himself. As he practiced it more and more, he began to realize how intricate fabrics were. How beautiful colors could come together and form the prettiest structures and designs -- how even the ugliest colors would look elegant if you paired them properly with the right colors, or carefully took apart the threads to create something new. You on the other hand were not studying to become a fashion designer, but rather a photographer. In your youth, you were a free-lancer in art and a quiet overachiever. You had many different career options open to you, but nothing really opened you up in the way art did. You participated in many different types of art, you loved painting, sewing, embroidery, name it, you’ve probably dabbled in it. One day, your class was introduced to your photography unit and all the puzzle pieces fell into the designated places, the pieces being lost and untouched for years. Nothing brought you more joy than snapping someone’s photo on the street to surprise them with the way the sunlight beautifully encapsulated their figure. Nothing brought you more joy than taking an eerily aesthetic photo of the rain pouring on the people below your building as a lady frolocked in the rain below, eager to rejoice in mother nature’s beauty.

Truthfully, your relationship had not started out the way it was now. With his palm ever so elegantly shoving you to the floor, your photographs spilling out of your portfolio as you hit the cold tile floor, protecting your chest by landing on your elbow and knee. Snickers, chuckles, giggles-- they all filled the hallway after seeing you collapse. Only a select few actually took pity on you, including one of his loyal followers, Hakkai Shiba. Mitsuya was usually followed around by two close-friends, Yasuda-san and Hakkai. Yasuda-san was also a fashion major, while Hakkai was planning to become a model. Mitsuya was very well respected amongst the campus for many different reasons. Firstly, he was gifted with the intellect of sewing intrigue designs that made everyone sigh in awe. Secondly, pretty-privilege. You hated to admit it but Mitsuya was a very attractive-looking man, his hair was always fluffed to the right extent, he was well-dressed, and leading into the third reason, he was smart. Despite being a part of the Tokyo Manji Gang, otherwise known as Toman, as one of the second division captains, he was able to manage schoolwork as an overachiever and was known for his intellect. Not to mention, keeping his division in check along with his two younger sisters AND the sewing club that he managed at his school? It was no wonder he was seen as the perfect boyfriend, he had all of his together. This was the reason why his disregard of you was seen as acceptable, everyone assumed you must have done something wrong for him to treat you this way, right?

Incorrect assumption. You have never done anything wrong to Mitsuya-- in fact… you don’t really remember doing anything to him, period. You both met by chance in his home-economics club, which he decided to suggest to the college board upon seeing there was not a club that actively encouraged sewing. At the time, most participants on campus were graphic designers, artists, not really looking to take the fashion industry by storm as Mitsuya was. However, he was able to persuade the board and even got petition signatures to seal it all off. He was the president of the club and upon seeing the posters taped in the hallways, you instantly took the opportunity to get any extracurricular activities on your transcript. He welcomed you into the club but it wasn’t like you got that much of his attention-- after all, the club filled up quickly with Mitsuya’s admirers. Although, shortly before he began his cruel treatment and behavior towards you, it actually seemed like you two were becoming friends. He would begin to check on you a little more frequently than the rest, tapping your shoulder with a warm smile, asking you how your project was going. You would show him your small projects, nothing too big as it had nothing to do with your major, but projects that you enjoyed and had fun doing nonetheless. He seemed most amused by the sweater you created for your dog by letting out a soft chuckle. In return, he showed you the sweaters he made for his sisters, who were now teenagers. It became a routine for him to walk over to you after checking up on everyone else and talk until club hours were over. He’d find anything to talk about and it made your heart swell with how he actually took the time out of his day to make sure you didn’t feel alone. You were sure he had picked up on how you lacked friends in his club, he was clearly trying to make you feel welcome and you couldn’t help but begin to admire him even more than you once had.

One day, however, it suddenly changed. His demeanor was suddenly cold and unwelcoming to you. You noticed when you walked into his club as you normally did, taking your seat. He did not visit you within the 10 minutes it usually took him to check upon everyone else. It took much, much longer, so you simply assumed everyone needed more help than usual. However, when he came over to your table, his words startled you so much that you pricked yourself with your needle, rushing your eyes to meet his own at his sudden harshness.

┃ “Looks like someone isn’t paying attention.”

The venom in his words made your cheeks flush with a tint of red, noticing some of the club members staring at you, also in surprise of his harsh tone. You open your mouth, quickly questioning his behavior, all of your words coming out panicked, in fear you’ve done something wrong-- something to disappoint, or upset him.

┃ “What do you mean, Pres? My projects have never been an issue before.”

┃ “Nicknames are a privilege. Call me by my proper title.” He snapped, your peers widening their eyes, for he never required anyone to call him by his last name.

┃ “...President Mitsuya, I apologize. However, you can’t just--”

┃ “Look around,” he motions his arm towards the surrounding students working at their tables, sewing much larger projects and others measuring their models for their designs. Your right eyebrow began to raise in confusion, he had never minded your small projects. Yet, here he was, embarrassing, no-- humiliating you in front of your peers about how minuscule your projects were in comparison.

┃ “Your peers all have their mind set on a big project or several larger projects. Yet, here you are with your small little trinkets. They’re working hard, and you’re doing the bare minimum to have your work completed for this club.”

Tears began to prick your eyes, questioning what his true motive was here. Surely, the projects weren’t the issue. This… this was too strong of a switch-up. Something had triggered this outburst of his, but you weren’t sure what. He was always stressed, all the time actually-- had he perhaps overwhelmed himself and he was taking it out on you?

┃ “(Y/N).” Your name so violently came out of his mouth, as if it had just crashed on cement. It wasn’t the silky and softer voice you were accustomed to hearing when speaking with him. “Get your head out of the clouds. Are you listening?”

┃ “Sir… I mean, President Mitsuya, with all due respect, you seem to be… unfairly targeting me. Some of these students are creating something as simple as a sweater for their friends, why is something for my dog any different?”

The rest of the club began planning your funeral. While never seeing him this upset on school grounds, they have heard about how foul he could get with his division members. Questioning him was bound to make him explode. They all froze, eyes drifting to Mitsuya for an incoming scolding.

┃ With a harsh grab, his fingers glide under your chin as he lifts it up to meet his face directly. “'You questioning me?”

┃ “N-no sir! I mean no disrespect, I just-”

┃ “You’ll be staying after club hours.”

┃ “B-but sir I have-”

┃ “I was NOT asking.” He half-shouts, dropping your chin from his harsh grip as he makes it back to the front of the classroom where he continues to work on his own projects. Your fellow club members pitied you at first, but after seeing how harsh he got later on with you as the bullying continued, they assumed this was the result of an external conflict.

You don’t remember what he told you after club hours. He was yelling something about how you were stupid, a dumbass, and well, you get the rest. Cruel words were thrown at you as if the day before he wasn’t so fondly helping you with the sweater for your dog-- helping you perfect the stitch of his name. Any time you questioned him or flat-out denied his accusations and heinous words, he would yank your chain and pull you so you were right in front of him as he stared down at you. It was enough to scare you out of ever providing a rebuttal, and you soon learned that as the bullying continued.

Now, here you are, on the floor, calmly collecting your portfolio photographs, not even phased by his now-normal harassment. Usually, a shove would be enough to appease him, but today it seemed like one of those days where he wanted more. He walked over to your kneeling figure as you collected your portfolio, your head turned away from him to avoid giving him any form of satisfaction.

┃ “What do you say after you bump into someone?”

┃ “I didn’t bump into you, dickhead.”

With a swift motion, he forcefully grabbed your chin and forced you to look at him, his lavender eyes piercing straight through you. He was clearly unsatisfied with your response.

┃ “What do you say after you bump into someone, skank?”

Every time you questioned him or talked back, you knew it simply made him angrier. You quickly learned that him acting out was his way of earning your attention, but for whatever reason it was, you couldn’t figure out why. What you did learn, however, from your many other incidents with him, is that he would praise you when you were obedient. Eager to get this over with and save yourself any more humiliation, you replied:

┃ “I’m sorry.”

┃ “I’m sorry…?”

┃ With a sigh, you continue, “I’m sorry, President Mitsuya.”

He smirks, now satisfied with your answer. He taps your cheek with his right index finger and replies:

┃ “Good girl.”

You swipe your face away from his grasp and continue collecting your photographs, along with your notebooks and planner that had slipped out. Mitsuya scoffs as you once more retract your attention away from him and walks away with Yasuda-sun snickering. Hakkai, however, stays behind and examines you for a few brief moments. He walks over to you and begins helping you organize your bookbag. You look up and smile-- despite his silence, his eyes offered every form of apology he could give you. You had learned Hakkai was afraid to speak up to Mitsuya because he was his best friend and was afraid any talkback from him would only result in a deeper hatred for you. You didn’t mind, however, you just appreciated how Hakkai kept you grounded. He helped you remember you didn’t do anything wrong, this was Mitsuya’s doing and his alone. Hakkai was always well-dressed as well, you noticed. He was wearing an incredibly long trench coat with beautiful shades of baby blue, ocean blues and a bright orange that made everything pop. It covered a black mock turtleneck that seemed to be matching the one Mitsuya was wearing and in fact, Hakkai also seemed to have an earring on one ear, similar to Mitsuya. It appeared that he deeply respected Mitsuya, his outfit seemed to be heavily inspired by his own. With everything settled in your bookbag once more, he offered you a pat on the head with a smile as you nodded and thanked him before running off to your first class of the day.

✿ a.n. // I finished this chapter while finishing my AP Psychology hw. I had started writing it and then idk why but I was re-reading the manga and went “wait, now what if we have Hakkai and Yasuda-san…” and ta-da, take my 2.1k words of pure a$$. If this chapter does well, I’ll be sure to upload it on my ao3, too. special tags for @the2ndl and @bren-heron because they both really wanted a fic out of this concept. I hope you enjoy loves <3

[kieraelieson]

In which Virgil has taken lessons on how to demand affection: Part Five, Logan.

Virgil Roman Patton Remus Janus

Logan had been aware of the ‘Demanding Affection Lessons’. Patton had consulted him before even suggesting them to Virgil, and Logan had agreed that they might be useful. Though to be honest, he’d thought at the time that the ultimate result of the lessons would be a closer relationship between Virgil and Patton, and perhaps Virgil would become more vocal about his needs and wants.

He hadn’t expected the nervous request that day in the kitchen. It had caught him off guard, and he’d asked Virgil to repeat himself, even though he had heard it the first time. He could hardly believe Virgil was requesting affection from him, and though he did indeed feel affectionately towards Virgil, his attempt to fulfill the request had been, even in his own eyes, paltry.

But even more he hadn’t expected the way that Virgil’s requests for affection would spread amongst the other sides. Roman, Patton, even Remus had come up to ask for affection.

As he always did when confronted with something he hadn’t anticipated, he began collecting data. Even before Remus, but especially now that he had joined, Logan could confirm that the effect of the requests for affection was nothing but positive. General moods had improved, relationships between them all had been significantly strengthened, collaborative efforts to tackle problems had increased massively, and perhaps most important, Thomas was happier.

It was a logical move for Logan to also request affection from the other sides. The benefits were clear.

However.

He did not want to subject himself to five hugs. And that would also likely not have the same benefits. He would need to ask for things he wanted. He was just concerned that if he did so, he would be rejected. His requests would take more time than a simple hug. The other sides were busy themselves, and didn’t want to take time out of their days to do him favors.

But he could see from his data the benefits that were possible. The possible improvements to Thomas’s life. Even the potential improvements to his own. How could he squander all of that by not asking?

— — —

Patton was the safest first option. Not only because he was most likely to say yes, but also because he frequently cooked.

“Patton?” Logan said, beginning to understand more Virgil’s hesitance in asking.

“Yeah?” Patton said, looking up from his craft with a smile.

Logan held out a paper on which he’d listed approximate measurements and times. “I… would like to request… for you to make me a toast with Crofters. To me i-it would be affection.” Despite his previous rehearsing in the mirror, he still didn’t manage to make it through the request without stumbling.

Patton looked at the paper curiously. “Oh. Oh, I get it! Of course I will, Lo!”

Relief swept over him more powerfully than Logan had anticipated, and he needed to sit down. “Thank you, Patton.”

Patton gave him one of those soft looks, like he did when he wanted to hug someone, but he didn’t hug Logan, just stood up, looking again at the paper. “I’ll be right back!”

That toast Patton returned with seemed like the best one Logan had ever eaten.

— — —

With a grown confidence, Logan knocked on Roman’s door.

“Come in!”

Logan entered and held out a paper to Roman. “I have a request.”

Roman frowned at the paper a minute. “Chores?”

“Not exactly,” Logan said, knowing he’d tailored this request exactly to Roman. He pulled out his flash card to be sure of the correct term. “Those are indeed chores that need doing, but my request if for you to ‘gamify’ them. It would be as a favor to me, as… as affection.”

Roman’s head cocked to the side, and he silently mouthed ‘affection?’. Similarly to Patton, the meaning seemed to hit him all at once. “Oh! Oh, well yeah. I can definitely do that. I can’t promise that my games will work, Thomas might still leave the things undone, but I can definitely make games for the chores.”

Logan smiled, something fizzy feeling welling up in his chest. “Thank you, Roman.”

Roman grinned. “Anytime, Specs.”

— — —

With Virgil, he could text. It was relieving, not to have to ask in person.

Logan: I have a favor to ask

Virgil: ?

Logan: Have you heard the term ‘body doubling’?

Virgil: yeah, I’ve come across it once or twice

Logan: Would you be willing to come into my room and engage in your own activities while I do my work? It would be received as a form of affection.

Virgil: pfft, you all are such copycats. But yeah, totally, I’ll be over in a minute.

Sure enough, there was a soft knock at the door a few minutes later, and Virgil came in with two cups of tea. “Pat said we need to be hydrated.”

Logan smiled and nodded.

Virgil set one of the cups on Logan’s desk, and then slid down the wall with his own just beyond the desk, setting the cup on the floor next to him and pulling out his phone.

Despite Virgil being the embodiment of anxiety, it felt like a peace settled over the room.

Logan: Thank you.

Virgil: no prob 💜

— — —

Remus would be… interesting to ask. But Logan wanted to ask him before he asked Janus. For one reason, if things went poorly, he had one side left with whom he expected them to go well. For another, Remus was easier to find. Janus’s job required a lot of hiding away and working in the deeper parts of Thomas’s mind, and while he could often be found in his room, it was by no means a guarantee.

Almost the moment he walked into the downstairs living room he heard a snort.

“What, Mr. No-Feelings came for hugs too?”

“No actually, I have a request for a different type of affection.”

Remus popped up from behind the couch, streaked with a… substance. “Oh?”

“There are a few subjects in which I am interested, apart from my role as Thomas’s Logic and Curiosity. I wanted to ask if you would be willing to help mold the imagination in such a way that I can pursue those interests.”

Remus shrugged. “I mean, I probably won’t make it exactly accurate, but I’m game for helping you out. Why’d you ask me though? Why not Goody-Two-Shoes upstairs?”

Logan smiled slightly. “I believe some of the subjects would be of interest to you as well.” He held out a paper to Remus.

Remus’s expression went from curious, to intrigued, to nearly gleeful. “Oh hell yeah! Come on, Nerdy Wolverine! We’re doing this Now!”

— — —

It was his third attempt. Logan knocked on the door to Janus’s room.

Rather than saying ‘come in’, Janus opened the door, looking rather haggard.

Logan blinked. If he’d intended to ask anything else, he would have immediately regretted his request.

“Yes?” Janus said, leaning against the doorframe.

“I had come to ask… You are well known to be skilled at self-care, I had wanted to join you. It would be received as affection, and, perhaps it might be good for you at the moment as well.”

Janus gave him a half-hearted glare. “I’m fine.” His face smoothed out. “But yes, that would be nice.”

Logan helped set up, glad for the both of them to be able to relax in a hot bath and have a few hours of rest and pampering.

“If you ever want,” Logan offered. “I would be open to returning favors and affection.”

Janus just hummed noncommittally. “I appreciate the offer.”

— — —

He was going to have to be blunt. And clear.

He rose up in the bedroom. “Thomas, I have something to ask you.”

Thomas startled. “Ah! Logan! Geez, you could give me a little warning.”

“Apologies,” Logan said, feeling slightly deflated. “But I do have something to ask.”

“Yeah, of course,” Thomas said, pushing himself up to a sitting position. “What’s up?”

Logan offered a paper to Thomas. “I am continuing the requests for affection, however affection towards me would look different than it would towards others sides. I would greatly appreciate it if you would choose one of these healthy habits and commit to pursuing it, put it on a schedule and act on it regularly.”

Thomas studied the list.

“Additionally, Roman has created games associated with each of these, to make it easier to remember and complete.”

“Wow, Logan, this is really well thought out,” Thomas said, still looking at the paper. “I mean, I’d definitely need your help to stick with it, but sure, I’ll pick one of these.”

A broad smile invaded Logan’s face. “Of course I will be helping.”

[invisibleraven]

“ did you do the laundry? “ “ yes, now where’s my kiss? “ + Peterpatterlina

Julie ran her fingers through her hair for what felt like the millionth time as her eyes scanned the text before her. Finals were thoroughly kicking her ass, and all she wanted was for them to be done.

The problem was that she had exams, and performance reviews, and a recital in both piano and dance to get through on top of living her life. She shuddered to think about the mess that was her apartment, having absolutely no time to keep on top of chores while knee deep in studying, practising, and reviewing.

Hell, Julie barely had time to think, let alone worry about the mountain of coffee mugs cluttering up her sink.

Only, when she got home, the sink was empty, the dishwasher running, and the counters wiped down. Reggie was humming as he stood at the stove, frying up some eggs and greeted her with a grin. "Hey darlin', hope breakfast for supper is okay, we don't have much. I'll get to the groceries when I can."

Julie slumped her head against his shoulder, groaning in gratitude. "You're the best Reg, seriously."

"Anything for you Julie, you know that."

Julie pressed up on her tiptoes, laying a small kiss to his cheek, grateful for helpful roommates. But her racing mind didn't notice his radioactive blush as her kiss, instead focusing on how she now had time to go over his history notes while Reggie cooked.

She did however, notice that after she passed out on top of her notes after supper that Reggie carried her to bed and tucked her in. And how when she got up the fridge was fully stocked, with Reggie nowhere in sight. Oh well, she'd thank him later. And she did, that evening, pressing another kiss to his cheek before she raced off to dance practice, Luke smirking from his spot on the couch at Reggie's blush. And Julie's echoing blush at how much she wished she could have given him a proper one, but had no time for anything but the practice she was already running late for.

The next day, Julie came home, frantic to find her sweater. It was getting cold out, and she could not afford to get sick. She was sure she had left it on her bed, amongst a pile of clothes that really needed a wash, another thing she hadn't had time for.

Only her bed was free of clothes, and Luke was coming into the apartment with a basket of folded clothes, her sweater right at the top.

"D-did you do laundry?" Julie asked.

"Yes, now where's my kiss?" Luke asked, patting his cheek with a finger. Julie shook her head but popped up on her toes to give him a peck, squeaking when he turned his face last second to capture her lips. Luke was grinning, a slight flush to his face when he pulled back. "Go knock 'em dead boss."

Julie sputtered, but when she caught sight of the time, grabbed her sweater and booted it out the door. The way that the kiss made her feel would have to wait, she had too much on her plate to worry about her increasing feelings for her roommates.

Finally, exams were over, Julie had fulfilled every obligation she had, had kicked some serious ass, and was honestly ready to collapse in a heap on the couch. But first... well she had some boys to talk to. And maybe kiss some more in thanks for all they had done over the past few weeks to keep her going and sane. She just wasn't sure how to do so without breaking someone's heart, because she also wasn't sure whose kiss she was longing for more.

Only when she got home, Luke and Reggie were exchanging a few kisses of their own, and Julie stopped, entranced by the sigh. Reggie's face was aflame when he noticed her, pulling away from Luke. "Hey Julie. Plenty of room for you here too, if you want."

Oh.

Oh.

Well that solved one problem she supposed, plopping down in between them, and pulled Reggie in by his necklace to finally give him the kiss she'd been longing for, then turning to do the same to Luke. "Thanks for all you guys have done while I was in finals hell," she whispered.

"I-is that all this is? A thank you?" Luke asked, his voice unusually timid.

Julie shook her head. "No, but you guys taking care of me like that brought everything to the front, I just didn't have time to deal with how I felt. Now I do, and I would love to spend my summer break finding out how we can work together."

"Sounds good to me," Reggie replied, bringing her in for a soft and sweet kiss. "But first, you must be exhausted. How about you have a nap and tonight we can have our first date on the couch with a movie?"

"Sounds heavenly," Julie groaned, stretching out her sore limbs. "You two wanna nap with me?"

Luke grinned and nodded, pulling the three of them towards his bed, which was the biggest, and soon they fell into a comfortable slumber. And Julie discovered the joy of waking her brand new boyfriends up with kisses, though it did end up with their date being postponed a little in favour of making out. But Julie didn't mind, because she was certain that they had all the time in the world.

[blackcherrykiss]

BLOOD BOUNDARIES - Enhypen OT7 Fanfic (ch.1)

[CH.2 ] next chapter

genre: vampire au, romance, drama, mystery, thriller

note: written inspired by enhypen's storyline, given-taken lyrics & teasers. please keep in mind all members are apart of this fanfic and the main theme is mystery/drama! 

*note: pronouns she/her is used just in the beginning for the reader/whoever you imagine in this situation.

I

Wispy grass cuts at her ankles like shards of glass as she gravitated toward the endless forest. She had grown curious after desperate and painful cries could be heard from the forest during the deadly hours of the night. These cries had been going on for days if not weeks, keeping her wide awake at night. She now stood just a few feet away from the thin line between sun-glazed grass and a gravely dim forest. It was as if the shadowed forest was calling her name until a cold hand wrenched at her wrist.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Jungwon quickly stopped Y/N from getting any closer to the darkness that radiated from the unknown.

"Why does it matter? And let go of my wrist it hurts!" She raised her voice while trying to haul her arm out of his painfully tight grip.

"It's against the rules!" Jungwon urged.

It was true, the adults and caregivers at the boarding school had always mentioned that the forest was forbidden for many unanswered reasons. But breaking the rules wasn't something that would cause Jungwon to act like this.

"As if you haven't broken any rules before," Y/N's eyes almost rolled to the back of her head when she said that. "It wasn't like I was actually going to go anyways..." Her tone lowered, letting go of any curiosity beyond the boundary to avoid a further argument with him.

"Sorry... I was just... Worried." He muttered with a wave of relief in his shaky voice. His tense shoulders had finally lowered as he exhaled with a long breath.

"Worried?" Y/N says with a clear question mark in her voice, "So you hear it too at night... Don't you?"

"Hear what at night?" Y/N could hear the very lie slip right through his tongue.

"The cries in the woods late at night. Don't act like you don't hear it Yang Jungwon."

He froze, his body growing stiffer and tenser at the sound of his full name being said.

"Look, I don't know... Let's just head back... Our curfew isn't long and you know that." He shook his head and pulled her by the wrist, this time without as much force.

II

Jungwon was just another one of your friends. If anything, the two of you weren't that close. But these days, your friendship had actually begun to deepen with him. You were both oddly similar and clicked faster than most people. And with his calm and mature personality, talking with him was never a chore.

However, seeing him so worked up and hostile over "breaking rules" was so unusual. The vivid memory only seemed to linger in the back of your mind along the walk back.

"Jungwon are you hiding something from me?" You trailed behind, ensuring your heels pedalled in harmony up the concrete steps.

"I'm not hiding anything." He sighed with a clear rise of frustration in his bleak tone.

The sound of his sharp sigh intimidated you, creating a deafening silence throughout the rest of the journey back. The loud sound of nothingness only came to an end once you had crossed paths with a familiar face.

"Oh, Yang Jungwon! I was waiting for you." A scarlet haired boy hollered.

You knew the red-head. It was no other than Lee Heeseung but it wasn't like he knew your face or your name. You were always kind of a nobody to people. Meanwhile, Heeseung was part of a collection of boys who happen to be the hottest topic amongst the female dorm. Who doesn't know them?

"Who's this?" Heeseung sneaked in a smile that exposed his pearly teeth after you connected eyes with him.

"You should get going Y/N... I'll explain another time." Jungwon shook his head, trying to end any further conversation between you and Heeseung.

"You're friends with him?" You whispered, completely ignoring what he had just said. Your eyes could just not believe they were seeing Lee Heeseung so up close. You couldn't help it, he was so pretty for no reason. You stare in awe only to trip up the last step of the staircase, scraping your hand horribly against the pavement in an attempt to catch yourself. Your face began to bubble with embarrassment, a slow but hot burn boiling at your cheeks. Perhaps your falling made it quite obvious you were distracted by the look of Heeseung as he was quick to react.

"Are you alright?" Heeseung came closer from behind Jungwon, making you dizzy with the feeling of hallucination. You were so convinced he was a hologram.

"It's only bleeding a bit. I'll be fi..." You couldn't finish your sentence now that you were utterly lost in his eyes. He crouched down beside you with eyes that glittered like the first snow. You were pathetically falling for him at that moment, breathless.

"Are you sure?" He took your hand with a feathery touch, bringing himself dangerously close to exam it. He knew exactly what he was doing as his scent lured you deep into his entrance. "Your hand doesn't look alright." Heeseung hummed as your hand oozed with crimson blood when he applied pressure near the wound. The sight of the excessive amount of bright red liquid streaming down to your forearm causing you to wince.

There was something about seeing others bleed that didn't affect you as much as seeing your own. It was as if the wound hurt a thousand times more now that you could visibly see the blood coming out of you.

"I have bandaids in my d-dorm. I think I have tissues in my bag a-actually.." You said a little more light-headed as more blood streamed down the side of your palm. Heeseung's clutch on your flesh only seemed to turn his knuckles white when you said that.

"Is that so?" Heeseung brought your wrist close to his lips to the point where you could feel the steam of his breath hit your flesh. Before you question him further he began licking from where the blood had rolled down, up until the tip of his tongue met the fresh wound. You were at a loss of words as Jungwon yanked you as far away as possible from Heeseung.

Your head went into a blur as Jungwon spun you around with quick steps. You weren't sure what was happening or where he was even dragging you but whatever just happened, had left a weird taste in your mouth.

"Slow down Jungwon... I'm getting really light-headed." You said while clenching onto your forehead but he didn't seem to stop. "Jungwon what's the matter with you?!" You shouted, causing him to finally stop in his tracks.

You caught your breath and kept losing balance trying to stand still. Your head was spinning and you started to feel sick to your stomach.

"I didn't mean for your introduction with Heeseung to be like that... God, this is so messed up? I'll take you to the nurse, don't worry about this all... Shit, I'm so sorry..." He began rambling as he shook his head.

"No... No, it's alright just drop me off to the girl's dorm I'll be fine. I just don't know what's going on. That was just kind of weird... Right? I'm not crazy right?" You just couldn't believe Heeseung had just licked your hand, your blood. It was so alarming and strange.

"Just stay away from him. Please."

_____

 I know the first chapter was super lame but I swear the other chapters get more interesting. Every detail I include in this book is important to make a mental note of. only going to update on here if people find this interesting :)

[CH.2 ] next chapter

[petri808]

Tbh idk why I thought of this but I’m just happy to write something lol. Its been a chore to get words out since mid-October. This is inspired by another story I’m working on.

@bkdkweek day 1

It was the first time Momo Yaoyorozu lived on her own. Before this apartment she’d shared one with a roommate, and before that a sorority dorm. But being raised the way she had, it was only polite in her opinion to get to know her closest neighbors, and what better way than with a small housewarming party. Just a few people, tea and appetizers to get to know each other.

The floor she lived on had five other apartments, 3 with single occupants and 2 with couples. Two tenants were not available to attend but the others all agreed to come, including her next door neighbors— Katsuki and Izuku Bakugou. A married gay couple she first met the day she��d moved in. Izuku was sweet and Katsuki was cold, but both were extremely helpful, even pitching in to carry a few of the heaviest boxes.

When Momo heard a knock on her door, she opened it to find her guests starting arrive. First a single female named Jirou who lived at the end of the hall. Next an older unmarried couple, Shoto Aizawa and Hizashi Hamada along with their adopted daughter Eri. And lastly the Bakugou’s. The small group of strangers gathered in the living room, making small talk amongst themselves as Momo the diligent hostess served them all tea and finger foods, while light music played in the background.

Everything was going well and soon enough had settled into a nice little afternoon. Though Katsuki and Shoto mostly sat quietly surveying the room, Jirou and Hizashi found they had music in common, Eri was ecstatic to meet new people, and Momo and Izuku got into a conversation about the tea she served.

Momo took Izuku to the kitchen and opened up one of the pantry’s. “My father’s business deals in teas and other imported products, and my mother loved trying all kinds of teas. I grew up with it, so I guess you could say I’ve become a bit of a connoisseur.”

“Wow!” Izuku’s eyes light up at the wide array. “I had no idea there were so many different kinds!”

She chuckled then pulled a couple of tin boxes down. “Most don’t.” Holding up one, “There are sweeter types,” then the second, “floral types,” Momo next pointed to another, “slightly bitter ones.” After placing the two tins back on the shelf. “Some are light or dark, different colors or textures, different uses and brew methods.”

“Uses?” Izuku questioned.

Momo nodded her head. “Darker teas like,” she pointed to a box, “this English black is good for mornings to help wake you up whereas this,” she pulled out another tin, “chamomile is useful for relaxing. I served a fruitier tea today since it’s a little livelier of a flavor.”

“The one you served us tastes really good. Where do you buy it from?”

“Oh, you like it that much?” She grabbed the box from the cabinet, “here, consider it a gift.”

Izuku’s eyes flashed. “Really? No, I should pay you for—”

“Please, I insist,” she smiled. “It makes me happy to know you like it.”

“Aww, thank you!” Izuku cradled it his chest as if he’d just won an expensive prize. He then motioned for his husband to come to the kitchen.

“Look, Kacchan!” Izuku showed Katsuki the box of tea. “Momo gave me a box and showed me all these different kinds!” He gestured at the cabinet. “Did you know there’s so many?”

“I know green and black,” Katsuki answered simply. “Since when do you like tea so much?” He questioned his husband.

“Well, if I’d known there were all these options maybe I would’ve tried more.” Izuku grumbled back. “Can we buy more to try too?”

“Whatever, as long as you gonna drink it all.”

Izuku whined and got right into Katsuki’s space, pressing close to his chest while giving a puppy dog expression. “You have to try them with me Kacchan…”

Katsuki sighed, a complete sap for his husbands wiles. “Fine, you little brat.”

That caused Izuku to giggle and give his husband a quick peck on the lips. “Love you, Kacchan.” He knew the man could never tell him no.

“Love you too, brat.”

“Awww, you two are so cute!” Momo broke the tender moment. “I could write down a few options to start you off before you leave today.”

“Oh, please don’t egg him on,” Katsuki grumped though with no bite to his tone causing Momo to giggle.

With Izuku still leaning on his husband’s side, he too smiled at the trio’s precious moment. “I think it’s gonna be awesome being neighbors. We should hang out sometimes.”

Katsuki wrapped his arm around his husband’s waist. “Izu loves doing movie nights. Maybe when you’re free you can join us sometimes.”

The offer surprised Momo. “Oh… but, I don’t want to intrude.”

“Pfft, I wouldn’t offer if it was a problem,” Katsuki stated matter of fact. “Just anything to make Izu happy,” he mumbled with a slight flush to his cheeks, “and he loves talking to people.”

“Awww!”

Momo couldn’t hold back the giggles and Izuku squeezed his husband tight.

“Kacchan’s the best hubby!”

“Yeah, yeah, and don’t you forget it!”