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powdermelonkeg · 11 months

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On the ancient Hyrulean stone tablets

In Tears of the Kingdom, there's a sidequest you get relatively early called Messages from an Ancient Era, in which you are tasked with finding stone tablets hidden throughout Hyrule that contain Zonai-era first-hand accounts of the royal family. There are 13 in total to locate.

You yourself can't read them, and must take pictures of the tablets to take them to Wortsworth, a Zonai Survey Team historian who can read the ancient texts for you.

The problem with this is that he doesn't tell you what the tablets actually say; he reads their ancient Hyrulean as-is, then gives his own take. And it's a take which cuts out so much context from the original text.

Fortunately, I am a nerd.

Unnamed First Tablet

The ancient Hyrulean:

"Ones held y honore als hochmayde to kyng Rauru ond quen Sonia, thaerafter to his suster ond to princesse Zelda. "Her on thaes gret stan ond twelf mo withalle make y endite min time with the hyred roial. "So michte heore remembraunce preserven for the sake of him on whom oure hope raeste."

What Wortsworth tells you:

"It's short, but it's an introduction from a servant to Rauru and Sonia, the founding king and queen of Hyrule. "She also waited on the king's elder sister, Mineru, as well as someone named Zelda, and wrote of their daily lives in 13 tablets. "It couldn't be simpler! "I intend to more thoroughly research what this chamberlain hoped to convey in these ancient tablets."

The actual translation:

"Once held I honor as handmaid to king Rauru and queen Sonia, thereafter to his sister and to princess Zelda. "Here on this great stone and twelve more withall make I ending my time with the hired royal. "So might here remembrance preserve for the sake of him on whom our hope rests."

Account of a Celebration

The ancient Hyrulean:

"So swete the song of kyng Rauru, ond so grete the beaute of his susteres daunce, that wer min eies ond eres captif. "Ond so hende quen Sonias gasen on us alle, so felt y min herte als captif fallen. "Seruantes lyf, tho moche laboursum, han moche jolitee as welle. Longe be the lyf of the roial familie thaere y love so."

What Wortsworth tells you:

"This is an account of a party from those days. "It says King Rauru and his older sister sang and danced together while Queen Sonia looked on. "We think of royalty as austere and reserved, but these nobles amused themselves with song and dance. "But what a vivid recounting of a scene never before related in any history book… "The descriptions of their personalities and expressions make the ancient past feel alive again. "This stone tablet is a first-class find. Well done, dear chamberlain, in leaving behind this account for us. "I'm positively beside myself to think of how this story from the ancient past persevered so long to reach us today."

The actual translation:

"So sweet the song of king Rauru, and so great the beauty of his sister's dance, that were mine eyes and ears captive. "And so had queen Sonia's gaze on us all, so felt I mine heart also captive fallen. "Servant's life, though much laboursome, have much jollity as well. Long be the life of the royal family there I love so."

The Strong Queen and the Receptive King

The ancient Hyrulean:

"Sonia, quen to Hyrules kyng, bi birthe Hylian preesterresse, hirself yborn of londe, nat of skie aboven. "Speken she with open herte, eornest to alle, euen even to the Zonais kyng. "This kyng ythinke it gode aventure so to lerne of the londes folke. To sen his hed ybent to listenen is swich plesaunce."

What Wortsworth tells you:

"This one looks to be about Queen Sonia. It claims that Sonia was a priestess before marrying Rauru. "Despite his status as a Zonai, a people popularly thought to be gods, she would counsel him without any trepidation. "Moreover, Rauru heeded this counsel. "This account gives us firsthand knowledge of the nature of Queen Sonia and King Rauru's relationship. "Rauru found himself unexpectedly charmed by her strong will, and before long, they were married… "Er, that last bit isn't in the text. That's me speculating. "History rarely speaks of a person's character prior to being elevated to royalty. So I can't help but fantasize."

The actual translation:

"Sonia, queen to Hyrule's king, by birth Hylian priestess, herself born of land, not of sky above. "Speak she with open heart, earnest to all, even even[sic] to the Zonai's king. "This king thinks it a good adventure so to learn of the land's folk. To seen his head bent to listening is such pleasure."

The Harmonious Couple

The ancient Hyrulean:

"Oft wys Rauru, kyng of kene blade, weyve his werk real in faver of the hunte. "Ond oft queynt Sonia, quene of kene insight, seke out him and repaire this kyng to kyngly besynesse. "In hir sapience semes she divin, that she cunne him ever finde and for hes folly semes him the mor humain. "Ond the kyng? O, he laughe. Nat him hir equal for hir wit, he kunne. Ond the quen, she laughe to, als even she scolden."

What Wortsworth tells you:

"This is a tale of King Rauru. "Apparently, he would vacate his official business from time to time in order to go out hunting. "I had the impression he was a stricter, more serious king, but I guess he had a lighter side as well. "However, Queen Sonia was always a step ahead. She would put a stop to King Rauru's hunts and bring him back. "We rarely get a glimpse into the down-to-earth side of royalty in this way. It's an important find, to be sure."

The actual translation:

"Oft was Rauru, king of keen blade, leave his work real in favor of the hunt. "And oft quaint Sonia, queen of keen insight, seek out him and repair this king to kingly business. "In her sapience seems she divine, that she can him ever find and for his folly seems him the more human. "And the king? Oh, he laughs. Not him her equal for her wit, he knows. And the queen, she laughs too, as even she scolds."

A Pilgrimage of Light

The ancient Hyrulean:

"The kyng was late y-come this aven, so maked the quene to sharen tales of hir lond, of shirines al grene yglouen. "Of erli daies sinnes Hyrules funding have diverse monstres hir reaume biseged ond assaylled. "Uncesinge in striffe, thei broughte to despeir folkes lyfen. Kyng ond quen ysete thamselue to bringen scurge to ende. "With might of light ond pouere, driven abak ybeen, ond the roial couple made thes shirines to selen him awei. "Thes holi selen ben yclept Shirines of Light. "Gret kyng, grete quen, y thank ye. Ye foughte whan y wer maiden-child, that y kude pes toknouen."

What Wortsworth tells you:

"The subject here is the actions King Rauru and Queen Sonia undertook not long after Hyrule's founding. "With the kingdom established, they were worried for their people, so they set out to eradicate the monsters troubling them. "They created structures called Shrines of Light to seal the monsters away so that they could never be revived. "There's more here about light…and time too… The sense I get is that the two of them may have had supernatural powers. "Though it's part of ancient history, it's a feat those of us living today should still be grateful for. Truly an important discovery."

The actual translation:

"The king was late to come this evening, so made the queen to share tales of her land, of shrines all green glowing. "Of early days since Hyrule's founding have diverse monsters her realm besieged and assailed. "Unceasing in strife, they brought to despair folks' lives. King and queen set themselves to bringing scourge to end. "With might of light and power, driven aback they been, and the royal couple made these shrines to seal him away. "These holy seals been called Shrines of Light. "Great king, great queen, I thank you. You fought when you were maiden-child, that I could peace to know."

The Researcher Mineru

The ancient Hyrulean:

"Queynte Mineru, the kynges elder suster, falles so dep in hir bokes swich that she oft foryetes to eten. "In min wieried wei don y what much y con, but y fer haven that it ben litel avail. "Of late treteth she of 'constructes,' thinges did she make with her hondes as vessel for spirit whan bodi-lich failen. "So, seyde she, might she liven longe, in spiret yhused within this 'construct.' "Though Mineru ne semes to holden ani deceyte… Bi my feith, y kan nat als trouthe thes wordes bileven"

What Wortsworth tells you:

"Here, we learn a bit about Mineru. "It says that she neglected to eat or sleep while making something called a…construct? "It was part of her research into a means of returning to life as a spirit possessing a new body, should her original one die. "To you or I, this sounds less like history and more like some sort of ghost story. "But remember who we're dealing with. They may have had unfathomable powers that made such things possible. "The revelation that Mineru was a fellow researcher makes her feel like a kindred spirit to me, and yet… "The chamberlain who inscribed these tablets treats Mineru with such care and kindness that it warms my heart."

The actual translation:

"Quaint Mineru, the king's elder sister, falls so deep in her books such that she oft forgets to eat. "In my worried way do I what much I can, but I fear have that it be little avail. "Of late treats she of 'constructs,' things did she make with her hands as vessel for spirit when body lies fallen. "So, said she, might she live long, in spirit housed within this 'construct.' "Though Mineru nay seems to hold any deceit… By my faith, I can not also truth these words believe."

The Foreign Princess

The ancient Hyrulean:

"Ful fyn is the weder this morn, ond have y audience with theos princes seyd ben kin bi fer distaunt yeres to quene Sonia. "Bi gras has she been given a name most swete, of Zelda she ben yclept. "In certain folk stered suspecioun, for straunge wer hir garnementes ond sodein wer her aparaunce. "Yet wolde hir contenonce ond bering maked proof of hir right blod and bond to quene Sonia. "Als be Zelda to remainen for a wile with us, y wil mi-self als hochmayde offre ekein hir servis."

What Wortsworth tells you:

"This is another fascinating entry. "If my translation is correct, the Zelda described here is Sonia's distant relative. "According to this, she arrived in Hyrule unexpectedly from another kingdom. It seems she was a beautiful princess. "Her strange clothing perplexed the people of Hyrule, and many were suspicious of her at first. "But this Zelda had such an undeniable air of nobility that those who doubted she was of royal birth were soon silenced. "Note how clearly this conveys the writer's feelings regarding Zelda. "Once it was clear Zelda would be staying, she applied to be chamberlain to the princess. That suggests real admiration."

The actual translation:

"Full fine is the weather this morning, and have I audience with this princess said be kin by for distant years to queen Sonia. "By grace has she been given a name most sweet, of Zelda she been called. "In certain folk stirred suspicion, for strange were her garments and sudden were her appearance. "Yet would her countenance and bearing make proof of her right blood and bond to queen Sonia. "As be Zelda to remain for a while with us, I will myself as handmaid offer asking her service."

The Free-Spirited Zelda

The ancient Hyrulean:

"Princesse Zelda recent comes to sen Mineru, the kynges elder suster. I com eck, for hir to seruen. "Todai cam hit ipassen that Mineru sheued to Zelda construct althergrettest y hav ysen. "Zelda, she much desired on hit to riden, ond ne conne nat y seien coust hir stoppen. Though I dyde protesten. Loudli. "Neuer the lesse she made to sitten heighe upon the constructes sculdres ond to riden like an hors, al ful of grace. "Min lausion, so graunt alredy, dyde grouen al the mor."

What Wortsworth tells you:

"The subject here is Zelda and Mineru. "Zelda apparently visited Mineru often to assist with her research. "I have no idea what kind of thing this 'construct' that allowed people to ride on it was. "But Zelda rode it so well that our author the chamberlain was again impressed by her skill at everything she tried. "That's the long and short of it here. "But more than the narrative, what strikes me is the back and forth between the chamberlain and Zelda. "The chamberlain tried to warn Zelda of the danger, but Zelda pushed past her and rode the construct anyway. 'It's short but so evocative of both the level of technology found in this era and the character of their visitor Zelda. "The 'treasure' found in these stone tablets is the pearls of wisdom and nuggets of personality contained within."

The actual translation:

"Princess Zelda recent comes to see Mineru, the king's elder sister. I come with¹, for her to serve. "Today came it pass that Mineru showed to Zelda construct of the greatest I have seen. "Zelda, she much desired on it to ride, and nay could not I say cause her stop. Though I did protest. Loudly. "Never the less she made to sit high upon the construct's shoulders and to ride like a horse, all full of grace. "My laudation², so great already, did grow all the more."

The Latest Trend

The ancient Hyrulean:

"Facioun nou favereth garnementes adourned with muscheron patrons, ond fer ond wid beon thei wern. "This tast for mucheeron com of the casteles seamestre, who sogte to seuen clethes for princesse Zelda to plesen. "This facioun, Zelda telled to the seamestre, waere in hir treu hom wel loved. "In hir tim werd everichon patrons of bright hewes, in the shap of mucheron. "Anou our hende semestre set herte on thes patrons copien, which sele to mani happi persoune. "Y seche after som for min one but ne coude nat an on yfenden."

What Wortsworth tells you:

"Here we learn something about the fashion trends of that era. "The story's catalyst is their Zelda telling a tailor about the mushroom-patterned outfits becoming popular in her homeland. "Intrigued, the tailor fashioned some clothing in that vein, and it caught on in ancient Hyrule. "Do you know Cece from Hateno Village? Imagine the look on her face if she were to find out! "They say that trends go in cycles, but… I didn't expect mushroom patterns to have been in fashion so long ago! "One last thing about the chamberlain… "Her interest in fashion shows there was more to her than devoted service. She was just like anyone else in the kingdom."

The actual translation:

"Fashion now favors garments adorned with mushroom patterns, and far and wide be they worn. "This taste for mushroom come of the castle's seamstress, who sought to sew clothes for the princess Zelda to please. "This fashion, Zelda told to the seamstress, were in her true home well loved. "In her time were everywhere patterns of bright hues, in the shape of mushroom. "And now our head seamstress set heart on these patterns copied, which sell to many happy persons. "I seek after some for my own but nay could not a one find."

An Ancient Ghost Story

The ancient Hyrulean:

"Of late have y herd it told a straunge ladi walkes around the castel in derk of night. "She ond princesse Zelda semes als twinnes two, but this on nadda ne light in hir eien—mor als a ded thing than not. "When she is asked about thes walkes, princesse Zelda of that ben no-thing remembren. "What monstre, or spirit of derknesse, be this visioun? So afeard y am of min imagenninges that y con nat slepen."

What Wortsworth tells you:

"This one is an ancient ghost story. "My understanding of ancient Hyrulean isn't perfect, but I know a ghost story when I see one. "It's a firsthand account of a ghostly or maybe corpse-like woman who appeared each night looking just like their Zelda. "No matter the era, it seems, people can't resist sharing a good ghost story. "A bit like how there have been eyewitness accounts of our Princess Zelda in the newspaper, even though she's missing… "Could our Zelda be a ghost too? No…of course not."

The actual translation:

"Of late have I heard it told a strange lady walks around the castle in dark of night. "She and princess Zelda seem as twins two, but this one has no light in her eyes—more as a dead thing than not. "When she is asked about these walks, princess Zelda of that been nothing remembered. "What monster, or spirit of darkness, be this vision? So afraid I am of my imaginings that I cannot sleep."

For the Hero's Sake

The ancient Hyrulean:

"Sith hire founding has Hyrule swich hardshippe ysene, but that is onli smale moment of time. "Mineru, the kynges elder suster, seyes of this kyngdom that hit ne mot nat awaren aye be ycaccht, nat evenforth fer futur. "Princesse Zelda tells hire that this futur be wrat alredi, that a champioun bith from the skie comen. "Bitwene the two, thei imaked to finden a wei this champioun in that distaunt time to ohelpen. "Her min treuthe, sogte thei to up-reisen the Temple of Time, into the skie to warden hit onyenes ivil. "Al dyden so in fer distaunt dai, our kingdom mighte be safed. "In min herte y woot y helpen mot, ond y asked of Mineru, canst yow devyse the menes to upreisen in the skie thaes stane. "Min wordes iseie nat enow, but thei thaes memorie safen, of the roial familie, heigh in the skie for that future time."

What Wortsworth tells you:

"That one is all about the feats that Zelda performed for the sake of the hero. "The details are unclear, but essentially, the chamberlain trusted in Mineru and Zelda's predictions and wanted to help. "She put forth the suggestion to Mineru to build a mechanism that could make her stone tablets float in the sky. "Which I take it are the very tablets you found, Link? But it doesn't end there. "If my translation is correct, it suggests that their Zelda worked with Mineru to raise the Temple of Time into the sky! "The idea of the Temple of Time—a grand edifice built in that ancient era—being lifted to the skies to await a hero… "Although given the appearaance of the sky islands after the Upheaval, perhaps it's not so far-fetched as it seems. "What must it have been like for the chamberlain to live through such miraculous times?"

The actual translation:

"Since her founding has Hyrule such hardship seen, but that is only small moment of time. "Mineru, the king's elder sister, says of this kingdom that it nay may not aware it be caught, not even for the far future. "Princess Zelda tells her that this future be wrought already, that a champion be from the sky comes. "Between the two, they made to find a way this champion in that distant time to help. "Her my truth, sought they to up-risen the Temple of Time, into the sky to ward it against evil. "All done so in far distant day, our kingdom might be saved. "In my heart I want to help more, and I asked of Mineru, can you devise the means to uprisen in the sky these stones. "My words I see not now, but they these memories safe, of the royal family, high in the sky for that future time."

The Day the Land Rose

The ancient Hyrulean:

"Swich wondrous sight y hav bihelden that ne con hit nat justil be described. "The Temple of Time y sawe, ond al londe yheld it, reisen to the skie, both ferful ond majestatic. "As princesse Zelda itold mi, in fer distaunt future comes a champioun to that place, the hope that Hyrule safen. "For that champioun be hit that y thes grete stane inscriben. "The kynges elder suster, Mineru, sendes nou thes stane to the skie, that the champioun mought hem ireden."

What Wortsworth tells you:

"This is an eyewitness account of the day the Temple of Time floated into the sky. "It's a landmark discovery for the history of Hyrule. It may be one of the top 10 most important discoveries of all time! "Even among all the breathtaking displays of power we knew of from the era, to raise the land and its buildings into the sky… "That was a feat impressive even to those accustomed to wonders. You can tell as much from this account. "Zelda predicted that a hero would appear in the land they raised into the sky and that he would save Hyrule. "The chamberlain took this on faith and wanted to know how she could help. "So she inscribed these records on the stone tablets that Mineru sent into the sky. "Give me a moment. I need to view these accounts as a historian and not get so swept up in personal sentiments…"

The actual translation:

"Such wonderous sight I have beheld that nay can it not just be described. "The Temple of Time I saw, and all land held it, risen to the sky, both fearful and majestic. "As princess Zelda told me, in far distant future comes a champion to that place, the hope that Hyrule is safe. "For that champion be it that I these great stones inscribe. "The king's elder sister, Mineru, sends now these stones to the sky, that the champion might him read."

A Parting Resolve

The ancient Hyrulean:

"Rauru, Hyrules kyng. Sonia, hir quen. His elder suster, Mineru. Ond eek princesse Zelda. "Al whom y served, ond loved. Al whom thurghhon. Alon kerv y thes wordes upon this stan. "This stan, ond al thritene, serven als roial families recorde, min werk final, ful-wroht for al age. "Mani the mark made bi thes much biloved peples—som eth-sene, som unsene. "Whan y make remembraunce of hir markes, fele y flaume of hope, though ful small, within mi. "Hit be als though thes markes som graunt design describen. "I ne con nat met princesse Zelda hir lov for hir londe. What mor than, ask y, can y do for Hyrules peples. "Let min lyf lede mi fro hennes-forth an answere ful-worthi to this questioun."

What Wortsworth tells you:

"It seems this is the last of the records. "The royals whom the chamberlain served so faithfully were gone, one by one… "It's heartrending to read. Her pain comes across so clearly in her words. "What's less clear from these entries is the cause of all these partings… "Well, each new mystery is an opportunity to do more research. If I keep digging, someday I'll unravel it."

The actual translation:

"Rauru, Hyrule's king. Sonia, her queen. His elder sister, Mineru. And the princess Zelda. "All whom I served, and loved. All whom they're gone. Alone carve I these words upon this stone. "This stone, and all thirteen, serve as royal family's record, my work final, full-wrought for all ages. "Many the mark made by these much beloved peoples—some as seen, some unseen. "When I make remembrance of her marks, feel I a flame of hope, though full small, within me. "It be as though these mark some grand design described. "I nay can not meet princess Zelda her love for her land. What more than, ask I, can I do for Hyrule's peoples. "Let my life lead me for hence-forth an answer full-worthy to this question."

And that is all thirteen slabs translated.

¹ "Eck" has no apparent equivalent, but can be guessed to mean "with" from context.

² "Laudation" might not be correct; failing to translate "lausion" in English, I turned my switch to French mode, and the word that took its place was "admiration." "Laudation" was the closest related word with similar letters.

#loz #zelda #totk #totk spoilers #this is mostly because i got annoyed with all the conjecture wortsworth started talking about #he...very much misreads a few of these #and like. it doesn't technically take anything from the story NOT to know what's being said #but i think it adds so much more to know the chamberlain's personality #also a disclaimer: there may be translation errors #the chamberlain's writing is inconsistent (understandable; it looks as if she was struggling with literacy)#also she really thought everyone would forget that mineru was the king's sister huh #not once does she just bring up mineru without following it up with that fact #long post

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neil-gaiman · 1 year

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Hello Mr. Gaiman!

I just wanted to say that today we studied about your impact in comics' history, and it was quite odd. I mean, I've read your books and watched many derivatives of them in my life (and enjoyed them very very much), so I already knew you are a great author, but the idea of me being here, in this little, ancient university in the middle of Italy, studying your works... I don't know, the contraposition doesn't click in my brain. You are the fun person on Tumblr, why are you in my textbook?

Anyways, great job, the class was delighted to discover your works.

that's as strange for me as it is for you, I suspect.

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sanctus-ingenium · 5 months

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heya! I'm wondering, from where do you reference clothing for your art pieces? (Specifically for Inver!) I enjoy the outfits you draw your characters in

hii so for the fancier victorian-era outfits i used a whole bunch of sources but among them the metropolitan museum costume collection, this is a great online gallery of historical costume that you can search by era. you can also find illustrated fashion plates from the era to get a sense of how people styled the outfits, facial hair, accessories etc. here's one for hats i used. i also followed the twitter account WikiVictorian which.. due to new twitter policies you can't view accounts while not logged in, but it looks like they have a pinterest and also instagram?? anyway great resource, posted a lot of dresses, furniture, and historical recipes with sources & context.

(cut for length)

but those dresses and stuff are for the upper classes. For ordinary people i just googled what I knew every old lady wears: shawls

this is a galway shawl which is like. THE thing every single person wore back in the day and if you check out the wiki page it's a great reference for what patterns & dyes would have been used. from there you can find historical photos. i love photos like this which show a whole scene in context with people from multiple generations hanging out (yooo check out the Sparch in the background!!). now I know this isn't 1860s stuff, but the fact is that fashion doesn't move so fast for people like Clarion who live on a farm and have to make their simple clothing items last for a lifetime or more.

for the military outfits I mainly just googled 'military outfit 1860s' and iterated (groundbreaking). for things to be accurate i tried to pick reference illustrations drawn during the era.

i figure you might mean specifically the ancient Inver stuff so for them I used a lot of old illustrations and stuff from art history class in school. this era is more in the region of the 1500s. here is a kind of kitchy site which nonetheless has real-life examples of some of the clothing i drew. this painting is in my list of references (sorry for the stock image link but it's one of the nicest online reproductions of it) and you can see the guys on the right wearing the same léine that i've drawn Finbarr in. once you know the time period & what the various outfit components are called you can search them more easily. now the headdress i've drawn Finbarr wearing (Olivier wears it as well!) is in fact a real thing, it's the Petrie crown broken in half.

the crown is not of the same era as the other outfits because i'm not so interested in historical accuracy as much for these guys (booo).

for Olivier I searched for old French armour from the same historic era as Finbarr, I know less about the history of Brittany so kind of just copied what I saw with some small alterations (because he wears werewolf armour, which is not a thing irl).

#setting: inver #i know there's a website for renting costumes that goes around every so often on tumblr but i find them really lacking in menswear usually

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relaxxattack · 14 days

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you are so very homestuck knowledgeable. when you have the time and should inspiration strike, please tell all your headcanons about oliveblood trolls.

ooo what a great question! for this one i think first we'd need to break down current stereotypes about olivebloods. there's actually not much that we're given about them tbh

according to the homestuck wiki, which is based on info from both the comic and more dubiously canon things like friendsim and hiveswap, the olive caste's two singular traits seem to be "wild animal" and "romance liker". both of these, obviously, are traits pulled from our wonderful main girl nepeta, who was the singular representation of the olive caste for a long time; alongside her dancestors. which is quite cute, who doesn't love nepeta?

the thing is though that i am one of those nitpicky people who likes to say, "well, hey now, nepeta isn't actually representative of her caste at ALL." in fact, none of the beta trolls are. i honestly feel like it should be assumed that just like the beta kids, the beta trolls are weirdos, and not really the 'norm' in their society.

nepeta lives out in the wilderness very specifically away from society in a way that is remarked on as being unusual even for someone of her color; and she does not even understand what role her caste would have given her in normal society. and i mean... considering aradia tavros and sollux are LOWER than nepeta, it doesn't really make sense for them all to have nicer houses than her unless she's unusual in her situation.

^ nepeta is in fact NOT a good representation of olivebloods.

which means... no, i don't think all olive trolls are romance obsessed wilderness girls, actually, sorry, hiveswap friendsim, i have to shelve you from my alternia analysis for now.

luckily, there ARE other olivebloods in the series!

first of all, the other leijons. unfortunately, none of them are really "good" examples either. meulin is from an entirely different planet, and disciple is from an ancient history perhaps even less representative of "normal" life than nepeta is. all we really get from them is stuff we already knew from nepeta-- the wildness, the relationship interest. with an added fact that both meulins seem to be somewhat bookish.

and so who does that bring us to? the final canonical oliveblood.

that's right.

troll will smith.

troll will smith is canonically an oliveblood. not only that, but he's a famous actor, which means he is basically a "model" for society- for what it looks like once you "have it all made". i would imagine this goes even more for alternia, supposedly a very movie-geared society.

the two troll will smith features that canonically exist on alternia are Fresh Prince and Hitch. in both of these films, will smith plays a character that is self-made and clever, a regular guy who is just skilled. it should also be noted that while a "threshecutioner" is a job with a heavy blueblood populous, greenbloods can also be one, and it's common enough that a show about it wasn't cut by the alternian dictatorship.

so therefore, what traits can we pull that all of these olivebloods (and equius lol) display to us?

olive trolls are lower class, but they're capable of working up through their connections

likely due to this, olive trolls are often clever and self made. they're likely quick-witted and sharp

they're good at their jobs! most olive trolls that are seen in the comic are very good with their respective practices (be it drawing, writing, bookkeeping, or melee fighting)

it's possible that olive trolls have a good intuition, and are fairly in touch with their own instincts. this would explain why some of them seem to fare better in the wild or in fights, and also why they are stereotyped as having a natural inclination for relationships. i think this is also a good transition ground between the impressive physical psionics of the castes lower than olive, and the emotional/mental psionics of the highbloods above them.

so, there we go. these are my olive headcanons! they're not comfortably well off or anything, but they're not wild animals either-- they're hard workers and skilled at what they put their minds to. probably usually working a nine to five and doing their best in life hoping to move up with a good quadrant or promotion. at least, in my headcanon anyway- no need to take this as fact!

#homestuck #alternia #nepeta leijon #olive caste #olivebloods #hemospectrum #hsmeta #op #my meta

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zepskies · 1 year

Text

Never Say Goodbye - Part 3

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader

Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU] (Rated M for eventual scenes – 18+)

Word Count: 4,500 Warnings: Language, fluff.

Part 3: Contact

As it turned out, your life started to get better after you missed that shift at the coffee shop.

Oh, you still got fired. But the experience of nearly getting splattered on the pavement by an oncoming truck gave you some unexpected clarity about your life.

Mainly, you needed to stop wasting it. You were tired of jobs that would pay your bills but not bring you closer to your career. And frivolous thoughts of coffee shop boys and…the hope of running into your soulmate.

Maybe one day, you could dare to hope, but from now on, you wouldn’t let it rule your thoughts. You wouldn’t hope too hard either.

It could save you from the disappointment of never hearing anyone’s thoughts but your own.

So you decided to check the University of South Dakota’s career board for jobs, and you discovered an opening in the history department! A research assistant for one of your favorite professors, who was writing their dissertation on the strange, superstitious, and sometimes down-right disgusting social practices of the Ancient Greeks (including bottling up the sweat of their best athletes, because they thought their musky body oils contained magical properties).

Since you were already majoring in history, you were a shoe-in for the job. And working directly with your professor gave you a great resource for future classes.

Four years later, you had earned your bachelor’s degree in History. You even decided to further your education when you were able to get a scholarship for graduate school.

Now you were just one semester away from finishing your master’s. You still worked in the history department, but you had been able to upgrade—to Executive Secretary to the Dean of Ancient Studies.

It sounded fancy, but really, you were a glorified slave. Or at least, your boss seemed to think so.

“I need you to cancel my meeting at two,” said Dr. Birch. She breezed into your tiny office without knocking, startling you from where you were hunched over your laptop.

“Good morning!” came your reflexive greeting, though it was a bit too loud and sharp. You internally winced at yourself and relaxed your posture, like a bird unruffling its feathers. “Cancel your meeting with Dr. Wells?”

Dr. Wells was a nice man, and an important one. He was the Head Dean of the entire History department. Technically, he was above Dr. Birch. It wasn’t a good look to blow him off, but you weren’t about to say so.

“Yes, I have an important lunch, and I already know it’s going to go overtime. Gary will understand,” she replied. She was looking at her phone rather than at you. For all she cared, you were just a calendar with hands.

Dr. Helen Birch was a brilliant woman. She’d published no less than five books, had won awards for her peer-reviewed articles, and she had been your academic advisor all through graduate school.

She could also rival Meryl Streep for “bitchy-ass boss” in The Devil Wears Prada.

“I also need you to grade the final exams for one of my classes,” she said. “Greek Studies this time.”

You held back a sigh. Again? I’ll never finish my own finals at this rate.

But what you said was, “Sure, I can do that. And I’ll email Dr. Wells to reschedule.”

“Yes, make sure it’s not on Thursday,” she said, brushing a finger through her thin blonde hair. “I have to leave early to get my roots touched up before I go away this weekend.”

“That’s fun,” you chatted while you revised Dr. Birch’s calendar on your computer (and sent an apology email to Dr. Wells). “Where to?”

“Oh, I have this tedious conference in Chicago. But then my boyfriend is taking me skiing in Breckenridge.” She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I simply can’t wait. This semester has been a drain on my psyche, and just terrible for my migraines.”

With the email sent, you took a little breath and gathered some courage as you got up from your desk and gathered a handful of papers you had stapled together. It was a rough draft of your thesis, which was only a bit worse for wear (including a suspect coffee stain that you didn’t remember accidentally putting there).

“Actually, I was going to ask you if you got my email about my thesis. I just wanted to go over some of the feedback you gave me on the draft,” you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

Dr. Birch raised a brow. “What of it?”

“Well.” You showed her the front page, which was covered in red ink. “Mainly the part where you crossed out the first three pages and commented, ‘Missing the point.’”

She nodded. “Yes. I’m afraid I have nothing to add about that.”

Well, that didn’t exactly help you. The first three pages was your entire introduction to your thesis, “TV & Film: The Modern-Day Mythology of the Masses.”

You must’ve had a pitiful, lost look on your face, because Dr. Birch finally took pity on you. She sighed.

“You are a creative girl. I’ll give you that, but your degree is not in cinematography. You are a historian,” she said. “And while the ‘Well of Souls’ in Raiders of the Lost Ark may be based on a real historical place in Jerusalem, that does not mean Indiana Jones can, or should be described as a ‘religious experience.’”

My ten-year-old self would bed to differ, you wanted to retort, but you kept your mouth shut and lowered your eyes. Dr. Birch nodded to herself and was about to leave your office, until she stopped short and gave you her Amex card.

“Oh. And get me a coffee, would you, dear?”

The moment your day ended and you were able to get into your car, you let out a long sigh of relief. While you waited for your car to warm up, you massaged your hand, aching from grading papers for Dr. Birch’s class.

You rubbed your hands together, this time to warm them as the frigid air draining from the car still bit into your skin. A shudder tingled through your body, and not in a pleasant way. Honest to God, I hate the winter.

On reflex, you toyed with the silver ring on your right hand—your mom’s ring. It usually comforted you, but today, remembering her made your heart heavy. Because today was the anniversary.

You still remembered that snowy day when you were fourteen, could picture it so clearly, like a scene painted on glass.

With one last sigh, you fished out your phone to call your dad. It rang for a few seconds (it always took him an eternity to answer his phone, and it drove you crazy).

“Hello?”

“Hey, Dad,” you said.

“Hey. Just got off work?”

“Yeah, I’m headed back to Sioux Falls. Want to meet at home and go together, or do you just want to meet me at the cemetery?”

The other line was silent for a moment. Longer than you would’ve liked.

“You’re coming, right?” you pressed.

“Look, I’m gonna have to work late tonight,” Jack said. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“Really?” Your voice was terse. “It’s one day a year, Dad. You can’t even manage that?”

“I told you I’m working a case.” He sounded annoyed. You didn’t care.

You were pissed.

“Whatever,” you dismissed. But then, you realized you weren’t willing to let it go just yet. “You know, I just find it interesting. On her birthday, Christmas, today, somehow you just can’t be bothered to visit your wife.”

“Hey, drop it, all right?” your dad snapped back.

“Sure. It’s none of my business, I guess.”

“I don’t need your sarcasm either.”

You silently fumed, but you weren’t willing to hang up the phone first. You didn’t want to look petty, and apparently, neither did he. You both could be stubborn like that, sitting in a tense stretch of silence instead of just…

Instead of just, I don’t know what, you could admit, if only to yourself. Eventually, his voice reached your ears.

“I’ll go when I can,” he said.

“Fine.”

And you really did hang up this time.

What should’ve been an hour drive back into your hometown took almost two with the traffic.

Oh yeah, you still lived at home with your dad. It wasn’t ideal, especially with a long-ass commute every day. But unfortunately, being a full-time student with a part-time job didn’t give you the budget to have your own life.

At least you had your car—a dark blue Camaro your uncle had restored and gifted you for your twenty-first birthday. You didn’t talk to your Uncle Bobby as much as you would like. Between work and school and taking care of the house for you and your dad, you didn’t have much free time on your hands. You did see Bobby around town sometimes, and occasionally shared a beer with him when your demanding schedule allowed.

Your dad had never liked it, you hanging around your uncle. So you didn’t tell him.

That seemed to work out better for both of you.

In fact…

You reached for your phone again and found your uncle’s number.

“Stop badgering me, Rufus. I’m busy.”

Your lips curved into a grin. “Uncle Bobby?”

“Oh. Hi, darlin’. Sorry, thought you were some riff raff that keeps spammin’ me.”

“What did Rufus do now?” you asked.

“He knows,” Bobby said. The surly edge to his voice made you smile in amusement.

“What’re you doing later? Up for a beer?”

“Usually I’d take you up on that, but I’ve got some people coming in pretty soon.”

You scoffed. “You have people? What people?”

“You’re not the only number in my cell, you know,” he said dryly.

“What, you mean Rufus?” you teased.

“All right, now you’re just runnin’ up my minutes,” he said. “If you really want that beer, you’re welcome to swing by, if you want. I’ve got a stocked fridge full of cold ones.”

You laughed, then you considered his offer. Did you really want to go home and deal with your dad (whenever he bothered to come home)?

“Well, I’m going to the cemetery first, but I could maybe swing by after,” you replied.

“Right, that’s today, ain’t it?” Bobby said. “Give your mom my respects.”

A more genuine smile grew on your lips. “Thanks. Will do.”

You hung up with him just as you got to the cemetery. It was hard not to feel melancholy here, especially in the winter. All the graves were lightly dusted with snow, and it felt like the world came to a quiet stillness here.

You bundled up with your scarf and gloves as you braced yourself for the cold, stepping out of the car. On your way in, you heard the rumble of a car going by. It was loud enough to make you turn your head and see a flash of black speeding away.

You shook your head. People drive like maniacs nowadays.

You were about to continue on your way towards your mom’s grave, when you finally heard it.

Say goodbyeee…never say goodbye-y-aaayy. Holdin’ on we gotta try, holdin’ on to never sayyy goodbyeee.~

Someone was warbling a Bon Jovi song in your mind, and it certainly wasn’t you.

But you did come to a dead stop in your path. Your eyes widened as shock claimed your heart and your brain. Soon enough though, your heart warmed as you became aware of something new. It was like a low hum at first, reverberating inside your chest.

You and me and my old friends, hopin’ it would neeever end. Say goodbye—

The singing continued, but all you could focus on was the thrumming in your skull, the thread of connection you could sense and feel inexplicably. You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt warmth trickling down your cold cheeks. Sniffling, you wiped your tears with the back of your hand and smiled tremulously.

You were finally feeling your soulmate.

Which meant, he was close by…and with that realization came an important question:

What the hell do I do now?

They were in South Dakota again.

Dean knew coming back here was…potentially dangerous. He hadn’t heard his soulmate’s thoughts in four years, since the last time he was in this state.

Truth be told, he hadn’t wanted to come here. After the last hunt though, he could use some R&R at Bobby’s for a couple of days.

This time Dean had his brother with him, albeit the circumstances weren’t…great. Their dad was missing, and Sam had lost his girlfriend in the process of trying to find him.

Sometimes, Dean really regretted going to find his brother at Stanford. Part of him thought, if he hadn’t hooked Sam into coming with him to try and find John, maybe Jessica Moore would still be alive.

A more selfish part of him (one he wouldn’t name) was glad to have Sam with him. Dean was actually having fun hunting with him. And maybe, Dean was having to get to know him again too.

“You think Bobby will have any intel on Dad?” Sam asked from the passenger seat of the Impala. They were about five minutes away from Singer Salvage, the old man’s tow business (and his house).

“Doubt it,” Dean replied, changing the radio station once Bon Jovi turned to REO Speedwagon. He could get down with some pop rock from Jovi, but REO was pushing it.

“Then why are we here?�� Sam turned to him with a frown. “We just ganked a poltergeist in our old house and…we saw Mom. You think we should be wasting time right now?”

Dean’s lips pursed. Leaving their old house behind in Lawrence, Kansas was exactly why he needed a minute before jumping into the next case. As much as he wanted to find John, Dean just…he needed a minute to breathe.

Revisiting those old (painful) memories wasn’t easy for him. He wasn’t sure that Sam completely got that.

“Bobby’s got a stack of lore books to Kingdom Come. Who knows, he might have a way to help us find Dad,” he said.

Sam shot him an unimpressed look. “And if he doesn’t?”

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He got why Sam was so fired up. Really. The fact that the kid was having weird…premonition dreams about the near future was concerning. And he wanted to find the thing that killed Jess, that killed their mom, but this was clearly going to be a marathon. Not a sprint.

“In the meantime, we crack open a couple beers,” Dean said, “get one or two of free nights on actual beds, and then we’re on our way to the next gig. How’s that sound?”

Sam let out a sigh through his nose and faced the road ahead. They both knew he wasn’t happy. Dean couldn’t exactly blame him.

When they finally got to Bobby’s, the old man greeted them with a casual wave, beckoning them inside. He offered them the contents of his fridge—a few beers and a frozen lasagna defrosting in the fridge. Dean scoped it out while Sam dropped off his bag in the upstairs guest room.

“That for us?” Dean pointed to the lasagna with a grin. “Didn’t know we merited the red-carpet treatment.”

“’Cause it’s not just for you,” Bobby said dryly, then he hesitated. “...My niece might be swingin’ by later.”

Dean raised his brows in curiosity. “Didn’t know you had a niece.”

Or any family, for that matter. He knew the old man had a wife, once upon a time, but he assumed she’d passed away. No kids. Bobby had never talked about having an extended family. He didn’t have pictures on the walls, and the shelves only had books and locked boxes.

Bobby took a long sip of his beer after opening a bottle each for himself and Dean. He had one ready on the counter for Sam, who came into the kitchen looking tired. The kid hadn’t been sleeping well for the past few weeks, to say the least. Dean handed him the beer.

“I don’t see her much,” Bobby conceded.

“Why’s that?” Dean asked.

It took a moment for the other man to answer. Eventually, he was honest. “Well, she's grown. Going to school, got a job. But you could say I had a fallin’ out with her dad, a while back.”

“You have a brother?” Sam said.

“Brother-in-law,” Bobby corrected. He didn’t say anything more about it though. Sam and Dean shared a look that said they agreed: There’s something off there, but I’m not gonna pry.

“You still see her though?” Dean asked.

“Every now and then,” Bobby said, sipping at his beer again. “It’s a small town.”

That kind of pissed Dean off. Bobby was a good guy. He’d watched Sam and Dean a lot when they were kids, their dad on a hunt. He’d made sure they had decent food to eat, good movies to watch, and even played catch with Dean a time or two.

So what kind of assholes did Bobby have for family, that they couldn’t be bothered to check in on the old man every now and then? They must’ve been off living their lives, in their own little world. Must be nice.

Dean brought the bottle of Heineken to his lips, only to realize it was empty. Couldn’t have that, could we?

He went to the fridge and opened the cap, only to jump as the beer fizzed and leaked over his hands.

Damn it!

Bobby sighed. “And I just mopped the damn floor.”

“All right, Martha Stewart. Keep your slippers on,” Dean teased. “Sam, get me a paper towel.”

Bobby tried to get by him to get the mop, but beer was still dripping down Dean’s arm.

“Would you move to the sink, already?”

Sam finally cracked a small grin as Dean rolled his eyes. “Fine. Jesus. You’d think Miss America was comin’ into town.”

Damn it.

You heard him again. And this time, you could hear his voice, so you knew the thought belonged to a him. The voice was pleasantly deep, and annoyed. You actually felt his irritation and were able to recognize that the emotion didn’t belong to you.

Excitement bubbled in your throat, almost making it hard to breathe as you drove your car down the road. You had been too worked up to go see your mom, and technically you were supposed to head to your Uncle Bobby’s house, but this was too important.

You needed to figure out how to talk to him—your soulmate.

So you pulled over on the side of the road, and even turned the radio off. Okay, now what?

You didn’t know what you were supposed to do. They taught about this subject in school, sure, but that had been years ago! You’d spent the past six years filling your head with college and work and learning how to be an adult.

Okay, just breathe. You calmed down a bit with some deep breaths, and you closed your eyes. When you first heard your soulmate’s singing in your head, you remembered feeling warmth spread through your body, emanating from your chest. Then in your mind, you’d noticed a…a thread, of what could only be described as energy.

You felt it now. You could almost visualize it with your eyes closed. In your imagination, it was bright and beckoning. You focused on it, and it grew brighter, thrumming and soft.

You thought of what you wanted to say, and you tried it—sending your thoughts and your will through the connection.

Having a rough day?

Dean was still wiping beer off the floor in Bobby’s kitchen when he heard your voice ring through his mind.

Having a rough day?

His entire body tensed, and he paused with a ball of wet paper towel in his hand. Sam had taken the mop from Bobby and was about to finish off the floor, until he noticed Dean blanking.

“Dean?” he asked.

It shook Dean out of his shock, enough for him to look up at his brother. “Hmm?”

“What’s up? You were staring off into space.”

Dean feigned innocence. “Nothing.”

Sam’s brow rose, but he didn’t press the issue and went back to mopping. Dean took the opportunity to toss the wet paper towel in the garbage.

“I’m gonna hop in the shower,” he said, and made his swift exit to the bathroom upstairs, so quickly that he didn’t see Bobby watching Dean curiously from the living room.

“Don’t use up all the hot water!” Sam called after him.

Once again, Dean found himself locking the bathroom door and staring at himself in the mirror. His green eyes were conflicted as he tried to calm down. Maybe his heart was starting to beat a tick faster. Maybe a trickle of nervous sweat was making its way down his spine. Maybe he didn’t know what the hell to do.

His dad’s warning was still clear as a bell in his mind.

“Unless you’re prepared to hang up your gun, and stop hunting, don’t open that door.”

Dean knew why John had said it, and even agreed with him…at least, logically he did. His life was complicated, and insane, and bloody. How could he put someone else through what he went through? What he still went through every day? It wasn’t right.

But his chest was aching. He rubbed at it absently.

He could feel your worry again, he realized. You were anxious, probably waiting for him to respond. Dean could feel you. Having a rough day? you’d asked him.

So as usual, he made an impulsive choice.

You could say that, he carefully replied. He remembered the way your voice sounded, smooth and pleasant in his mind, and he couldn’t help smiling a little. But not for long, I’m thinkin’.

Your relief hit him in a slow, but powerful wave. It almost made him feel guilty for taking so long to answer.

Well, it’s not every day you hear someone else in your head. Maybe you’re going crazy.

She was teasing him. You were teasing him.

It brought an incredulous smile to Dean’s face. You’re one to talk. Maybe you’re just talkin’ to yourself right now.

Hmm. I don’t usually warble to Bon Jovi, but maybe you’re right.

A beat of surprise, another to remember what he and Sam had been listening to in the car earlier, and then embarrassment prickled at the back of his neck.

You heard that, huh? he asked wryly.

Maybe, you giggled. It was a cute sound, and it cut through some of his embarrassment. He wasn’t used to being put back a step by women. He was good at reading people’s body language, and usually it didn’t take him more than one look to figure out what a woman thought about him, and what they wanted to do with him.

So the fact that he couldn’t see you was a challenge. With that realization, a slow smile spread across his face. He was game for a challenge.

Well, I’m likin’ your voice so far, he said. Think I could get you to sing for me?

He felt you pause, a flutter of warmth through a tendril of shyness. I’ll leave the performing to you, Romeo.

Come on, it’s only fair.

Who said life is fair?

Dean sobered a bit at that. Ain’t that the truth.

Hmm, so you were having a rough day.

Make it a week, he said.

Yeah, I know the feeling…I wasn’t having a good day today either.

Dean sensed your melancholy and didn’t like the feeling. Well, now you’re talkin’ to me. So it should be smooth sailin’ from now on.

He could feel you brighten at that. It made warmth bloom once again inside his chest, especially because he sensed you were smiling—a bit shy, but genuine.

…What’s your name? he asked.

It took you a beat, but eventually you gave him your name. It wasn’t what he expected, but he liked it. Your name rolled through his thoughts, and he tested on his tongue.

What’s yours? you asked predictably. Somehow, Dean didn’t anticipate the follow-up.

Suddenly he realized exactly what he was doing: he was talking to you. (Something he’d told himself he wasn’t going to do.) Not to mention, he’d been locked in the bathroom for about ten minutes and hadn’t even showered yet. Pretty soon either Sam or Bobby was going to come knocking to see what the hell he was doing, so he might as well shower for real.

He answered you as he turned on the showerhead and started undressing. I’ll make a deal with you…if you can guess what I do for a living, I’ll come by and introduce myself in person.

Dean felt your shock, so he let you think as he stepped into the shower. Eventually you came back, annoyance coloring your emotions and your voice.

That’s stupid.

Dean smiled. Aw, come on. It’ll be fun.

For you!

Don’t you know, sometimes the best things in life come after some delayed gratification.

You paused for a moment, in which Dean didn’t know if you were in shock again, or just pissed. Maybe a combination of both.

Great, I got a comedian, you deadpanned. …You’re not a comedian, are you?

Sweetheart, I’m hilarious, Dean replied. But no. Good guess, though.

He sensed the equivalent of you rolling your eyes.

Just then, Sam knocked on the bathroom door.

“Hey, you better not use up all the hot water!”

“Twenty minutes of peace, Sammy. That’s all I ask,” Dean shot back. Sam made a sound of annoyance, but he went away, leaving Dean almost alone with his thoughts.

Look, I gotta go, he said regretfully. But I expect you to have some guesses cooked up by the time I get back from work.

You were still annoyed, but you begrudgingly agreed to his terms.

Fine. Just…don’t wander too far off. I can’t win the game if I can’t hear you.

Dean sensed your underlying worry, and your fear. You were afraid he was going to leave.

His heart softened. As a result, he ended up promising things he didn’t know if he meant.

Don’t worry. I’m not leaving town until you win, he said.

He felt your warm smile, along with your excitement.

Goodnight, sweetheart. We’ll talk soon.

Okay…goodnight.

He hung onto the feeling of your presence for a few seconds longer, before he let go of the connection. For now.

Dean caught himself smiling, but it quickly turned to a frown.

“Nobody should be waiting on men like us to come home bloody.”

When he once again remembered his dad’s warnings, that new warmth in his heart chilled, and it sunk like a stone. He leaned against the cool bathroom wall and pressed his forehead against the tile, while lukewarm water beat the side of his face and body.

Shit.

AN: Oh, Dean. What're we gonna do with you? lol

I hope you enjoyed Part 3! I promise they'll finally meet soon lol. What did you think of their first conversation?

To keep reading: Part 4

Series Masterlist

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Masterlist

738 notes · View notes

wastelandmoony · 1 year

Text

Things We Lost in the Fire

Characters: Sebastian Sallow x Reader/f!MC

Summary: Sebastian Sallow was many things: your dueling partner, former friend, object of your secret desire. But most of all, he was a pain in your ass.

Going practically M.I.A. since the Battle of the Repository, you hadn't spoken or seen him since the end of your fifth year. As a new school year begins, you'll need to come to terms with his overbearing presence around the castle...and his new relationship.

Warnings: language, allusions to smut, mild violence?

Word Count: 6K+ (oopsie)

A/N: This idiot has been living rent free in my brain for over a month. After finishing the game and being less than enthused by the culmination of his storyline, here we are.

Sebastian Sallow Playlist

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The Great Hall was buzzing with excitement; the electricity crackling through the air was palpable. September 1st was always an exhilarating day, but this year even more so. The promise of a new school year, a new start; the feeling was invigorating. After the events of last year everyone was in an elevated state of elation to be back amongst friends, nestled within the fortified stone walls of the castle that had become home to them all.

As you strode through the large oak doors, the empty seat amongst the faculty table shot a dagger straight through your heart. From the dais, Professor Hecat wore a small sympathetic smile, one reserved specifically for you. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you shook off the visions of Professor Fig, of the faces currently staring back at you fighting alongside underneath the castle. You weren’t unsure what sort of unseen force was propelling you forward, subconsciously managing to make it to the Hufflepuff table.

For being as tiny as she was, Poppy practically body slammed you onto the floor with the velocity of her hug. Though the two of you had kept in touch over the summer, you hadn’t seen her in person since last year.

You hadn’t seen anyone since leaving Hogwarts in June.

Last Spring had been a bit of a blur. After defeating Ranrok in the bowels of the castle, your body had shut down, completely going into autopilot as you navigated the remainder of 5th year. Classes had resumed like nothing had happened, but the whispers around the school eventually changed to shouts, and everyone became fully aware of how close they (and the rest of the Wizarding world) had come to complete destruction. Word quickly spread of your unique abilities, and how you were able to defeat one of the strongest uses of ancient magic known to history. The notoriety was overwhelming, and frankly uncomfortable. So much had been lost, and you didn’t have the strength to put on a happy face for all of the well-wishers and nosy students that pestered with questions in the halls.

Once the snow melted and the Scottish Highlands were beginning to bloom with color, a ceremony was held in the Great Hall, including a memorial for those lost. Headmaster Black requested you speak in honor of Professor Fig, but the thought made you violently ill. How do you sum up the life of a man that took you in when no one else would? Who taught you about the special powers that laid dormant inside your soul? The man who fought beside you until the very end?

Professor Weasley took over the task, understanding the desperate look in your eyes when you had asked. She had taken to watching over you in Fig’s absence, scheduling weekly tea times to check in on your wellbeing. She was the lifeline you needed, but frankly not the one you wanted.

Poppy stuck by your side for the remainder of the year, trying her best to keep your mind off the trauma of everything. But she wasn’t there when you were asleep; she couldn’t keep the nightmares away. The screams were the worst, echoing in your subconscious with no escape until you woke up violently thrashing. You heard Ranrok’s cold laughter; the crack of dark magic; the screams of your friends.

You heard Sebastian.

You heard Anne’s scream.

When you woke, a flash of blinding green light shot across your vision each time, one single phrase playing over and over: “I had to do it—“

The greed in Sebastian’s voice plagued you, long gone was your cheeky dueling partner from Crossed Wands, the one that confided his darkest secrets while exploring hidden rooms throughout the school. The two of you hadn’t spoken since the memorial ceremony, he had all but become a ghost. Occasionally you’d see him in the halls, walking with a dead-eyed stare that never seemed to land on you. Ominis kept you informed about Anne; she wasn’t speaking to Sebastian, going as far as to banish him from attending their uncles funeral altogether. According to his best friend, the news didn’t surprise him in the slightest, but the lack of communication with Anne was eating Sebastian alive.

You tried to forget about your former friend, the one that you had lost to the lure and power of dark magic. Regardless of his original intentions, Sebastian had strayed too far from the help he had set out to find. You weren’t innocent in this either, utilizing dark magic throughout the struggle to defeat Ranrok. The difference was, that you knew when and where to use it, Sebastian was drunk on the power.

Ominis kept in touch over the summer, writing occasionally to check-in and talk about your respective breaks and desire to be back at school. He never mentioned Sebastian in his letters, a deliberate choice and something that you were grateful for.

You hadn’t been excited to leave Hogwarts, with nothing and no one to go home to. Professor Fig was the only guardian figure you’d ever known, having been the one that retrieved you from the group home in London over a year ago. You refused to go back there, to the never-ending list of asinine rules and an overbearing matron hell-bent on keeping an oppressive eye on your every move, so in exchange for working at the Three Broomsticks you were able to rent a room for free from Sirona until September. She understood better than most what you had been through, and also knew that no one else would possibly rent to an underage witch with little to no means of supporting herself. When you weren’t picking up shifts in the pub, the massive amount of books you’d amassed kept your mind occupied. Even after cramming all year and having multiple professors offer extra assignments, you still felt behind. Any free time was spent pouring over ancient spell texts and potion recipes, eager to come back to school feeling confident in your abilities as a 6th year witch (and not as the hero you had been portrayed as by everyone else).

———

As you sat down with Poppy at the Hufflepuff table, you were greeted loudly by a few other housemates, their welcoming nature warming your heart. After the opening remarks from Headmaster Black and the sorting ceremony, the feast commenced with the entire hall erupting into the boisterous sounds of students laughing and reacquainting.

Taking a sip of pumpkin juice, you were suddenly startled by two cold hands covering your eyes.

“Guess who—“ a low voice sounded in your ear.

“Ominis!” You whipped your head around to see his sly grin as he sat beside you on the bench. Without hesitation, you embraced him, wrapping both arms around his thin shoulders, “I’ve missed you.��

You felt him smile against your shoulder, “Likewise—how was the rest of your summer?”

“Uneventful…thankfully,” you laughed, pulling back from him, “How about yours?”

Ominis shrugged, “Nothing grand, I did visit Anne a few weeks ago though.”

Your eyes widened, “Oh! How is she?”

“She’s doing well…at least, as well as can be expected…” he trailed off, and she knew it was because there was more to the story. His milky eyes traveled over in the direction of the Slytherin table briefly, hers following on instinct.

He came into sight almost immediately, you’d recognize those freckles anywhere. He was laughing at something, a true, jovial laugh that you hadn’t heard since Crossed Wands. Even from three tables over, you could pick it out of the crowd; the sound igniting the very blood in your veins. Sebastian’s eyes creased as the laughter died into a genuine smile; he looked good, he looked—happy. You watch as he leans over and places a kiss on the cheek of—wait.

“Imelda?!” You choked, forcing your mouth closed to avoid looking like a heartbroken sod. The fire that his laugh had set was now turning into a thick sludge in your gut, bubbling and seeping into the very essence of your being.

Ominis cringed, turning towards you with visible sympathy written on his pale face, “Yes, they began seeing each other over the summer. It’s been…rather insufferable if I’m honest.”

You shook your head, unwilling to believe the sight in front of you. Out of everyone at Hogwarts, he had to choose her? Imelda was insufferable on the best of days; brash, loud, and incredibly boastful, she was the antithesis of yourself—maybe that’s why Sebastian liked her.

“How…?” Your attention was pulled back to Ominis, brows furrowed as your lungs constricted.

He shrugged again and shook his head in disbelief, “After everything that happened, he became distant as you well know, he barely spoke to me even. Imelda, being a fellow Slytherin, is incredibly ambitious and when she sets her mind on something, there’s nothing that will stop her. She saw a lonely, lost boy in need of guidance and support, and she struck.”

The room was beginning to spin.

You’d be lying if you said the feelings you harbored for Sebastian didn’t exist. The two of you had been through unspeakable things together, leaning on each other through it all, until he decided to take a path you couldn’t follow. Even after everything, he was still your Sebastian, and the hope that one day he would come around stuck firmly in your heart. You loved him, more than just as a friend and dueling partner.

You were in love with Sebastian Sallow, you had been for a while.

Eventually, Ominis returned to his house table, promising to meet again the following morning for breakfast to compare timetables. You glanced over as he sat back down amongst his fellow Snakes, and were caught in the unwavering stare that Sebastian had set directly on you. Averting your eyes as a deep blush creeped up your cheeks, the thought of sinking through the flagstone floor seemed very appealing. That wasn’t an accidental glance, he was fixated on you; eyes boring into yours while he sat beside his girlfriend. The expression on his face was unreadable, something you’d ruminate on later.

The moment Professor Black dismissed the houses, you sprinted to your dorm, eager to be as far away from Sebastian Sallow as physically possible.

———

The timetable for this term wasn’t awful; you had been able to choose which classes to pursue in accordance with which career path you planned on taking after Hogwarts, swapping the least attractive (a.k.a. impossibly boring and rather useless) courses for more riveting subject matter. After witnessing the corruption and insolence displayed by Officer Singer and her colleagues last year, becoming a member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement was the only logical path for you. The overarching desire to create fundamental change department-wide, and actually be able to help citizens and prevent unspeakable tragedies, consumed you. Poppy had tried to convince you to pursue a career in the Department of Magical Creatures like her; something that did in fact greatly interest you, ultimately pacifying her by taking another year of Beasts classes. The one course you were looking forward to, Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts, was going to be a struggle.

It was the one class you shared with Sebastian.

Professor Hecat was a welcome sight, smiling at you as she walked towards the front of the classroom.

“Good morning everyone, and welcome to another year of Defense Against the Dark Arts! At this point in your academic journey, you should be well versed in most defensive spellwork, including protective shields and disarming maneuvers. Let’s do a little ‘welcome back’ warm-up, shall we?” Her eyes swept over the room, the majority of students returning eager expressions.

“I’ll split you all into pairs, line up on either side of the classroom and begin trying to disarm your partner,” Professor Hecat began to rattle off names, and the further she ran through the roster, the lower your stomach sank. Gaze falling to the floor as she called your last name, you knew exactly what was about to follow.

“—and Sallow. Have at it!” She motioned for the start of the duels.

You slowly pushed the chair back, refusing to even look in his general direction as you lined up against the wall.

It’s just a duel, you’ve done it a million times.

Picture him as just another foe.

Taking to the proper stance, you exhale slowly, trying to welcome in any semblance of calm. Finally looking up at your partner, his gaze was already glued to you. The vacant eyes that you saw last year were gone, replaced by the original brown, cozy warmth you had fallen in love with. It should’ve made you happy, the fact that he seemed to be doing better (at least on the outside), but all you felt was your heart sinking into your stomach. Sebastian raised his wand and narrowed his eyes, a look you knew all too well from fighting alongside him last year. He knew your exact style of dueling, he was your partner from the beginning, your right hand man; a fact that would only work to your detriment.

“Expelliarmus!” You flicked your wand towards him, a spark of exhilaration shooting up your arm.

“Protego,“ he growled, casting an immediate shield and blocking your test shot. The timber of his voice gave you goosebumps, it had been so long since you’d heard it. The two of you watched each other intensely, the air around you thick with everything unsaid.

“Stupefy—“ he shot back. You expertly dodged the stun and instantly cast another disarming spell. It hit Sebastian in the arm, wand leaping out of his hand, only to be quickly grabbed mid-air before it could be lost entirely.

“Shit…” you whispered under your breath, trying to think of another game plan.

He smirked as you repositioned yourself, “You’re rusty.”

You shot an angry look in his direction, shooting an even quicker levitation spell that he avoided with a shrug of his shoulder.

“Oh come on, I know you can do better than that,” he sent a stinging hex your way, something you both knew wasn’t allowed in Professor Hecat’s classroom.

“What’re you playing at?” You threw both hands out in disbelief, while Sebastian grinned. He was doing this on purpose, he wanted to get a rise out of you.

Sticking to Hecat’s dueling rules, you sent a quick succession of spells forward, mixing both disarming and stunning, knowing that Sebastian lacked the speed to block each one. To your surprise, he managed to avoid them (you briefly wondered who he’d been practicing with), casting a perfect protego shield and firing another fierce stupefy in your direction followed by one single bolt of confringo.

The heat of the blast burned as it shot past your head, making you gasp at the aggression. Snapping your head around, he had a shit eating grin on his smug face.

“What’s wrong? Hogwarts’ Golden Girl doesn’t want to fight back?”

“Fuck you, Sallow!” You spit, casting depulso and throwing him backwards into the wall.

As his body slammed into the stone, Professor Hecate yelling your name out.

“—DETENTION. MR. SALLOW, YOU AS WELL!”

As Sebastian sat against the wall, rubbing the back of his (now bruised) head, you quickly snatched your bag off the floor and stalked out of class early before saying something regretful.

———

Ominis had found out about the incident in Defense class later that same day, the entire school was talking about the former friends turned bitter enemies. He was less than amused by the outburst on both of your parts, chastising you for losing your ‘sense of decorum and grace at Sebastian’s childish antics’.

“You can’t let him get to you,” Ominis shook his head as he sat down with you and Poppy in the Great Hall for lunch.

Letting out an exasperating groan, you buried your head in your hands, “I know, I know. I’m not sure what came over me…”

Poppy and Ominis began to chat about their shared Charms class while you ate in silence, trying to keep your thoughts from reverting back to the tiny spark of mischief you saw in Sebastian’s eyes earlier, or how you wanted to trace every single freckle on his face—no. Stop it.

“—want to check out the newborn Kneazles that Professor Howin told me about after lunch?” Poppy chimed, looking at you eagerly over her sandwich.

It snapped you out of the daze, “Oh? Oh! Sorry, I can’t—quidditch try-outs are this afternoon.”

“You’re trying out for the team?” Poppy sat up straighter in excitement.

You nodded, taking another bite of food.

“Good for you,” Ominis nudged your arm gently, “from what I’ve heard, you’re a pretty exceptional flyer.”

Blushing, you pushed him back playfully with your elbow, “Thanks, I guess we’ll see how I fare on the quidditch pitch though.”

———

Later that day, you sat mid-air on your broom in the warm September breeze, inhaling the early scents of oncoming autumn. The trees of the Forbidden Forrest rustled just off the side of the pitch, a grouping of Jobberknolls cresting over the tops. All four houses were holding try-outs simultaneously, organizing short scrimmages of inter-house players both prospective and permanent. So far, you were one of the strongest contenders from any of them.

Except for one.

Imelda turned the pitch into her own personal showcase, making an extra effort to show off for anyone watching; anyone, including a specific Slytherin 6th year in the stands below. You had flown low over the spectators earlier in order to avoid an incoming bludger, noticing Ominis seated next to your former partner-in-crime. As you looped around, you caught Sebastian’s brown eyes fixed on you, muttering something to your mutual friend beside him.

Another Hufflepuff hopeful named Charlie thew the quaffle to you, signaling a turn to traverse through the other players and attempt to score. Weaving, diving, and dodging through the multitude of brooms, the bronze goalposts were within range; that’s when you saw a flash of green descend rapidly in front of you, blocking the path to victory. Imelda smirked, swaying as you attempted to maneuver around. She was fast and knew this game like the back of her hand, something you were already keenly aware of.

Suddenly she shot forward, kicking roughly with her boot to try and knock the quaffle out from under your arm. Making contact with your elbow, you wince at the pain, narrowing your eyes at her sinister grin. The sight of her kissing Sebastian in the Great Hall flashed before your eyes, mocking you.

Imelda pulled back and lined up to charge again. To the right, you saw a Hufflepuff beater square up with an incoming bludger. You whistled to get their attention, signaling with your eyes to help out. They smacked the bludger in your direction, and you quickly spun to hit it with the tail of your broom, redirecting it straight at Imelda. It made contact with her ribs, knocking her off the broom and sending her careening towards the ground.

Madam Kogawa shouted from the field below, “ARRESTO MOMENTUM!”

Upon seeing the interference, you rocketed towards the goal posts, tossing the quaffle through the ring effortlessly. As the Hufflepuff captain flew over to congratulate you, your eyes focused on Imelda being carted off to the hospital wing below, Sebastian following close behind.

———

On Friday night, you trudged to the Defense Against the Darks tower for detention. The thought of spending an entire night doing mindless tasks beside Sebastian made you want to vomit. All of this was his fault: the detention, the animosity, the…feelings. Everything could have been avoided if he wasn’t such an insufferable little twat.

Turning the corner, you saw him leaning outside of Professor Hecat’s door, arms crossed over his chest. Even alone he looks utterly smug and pretentious, though the words crossed your mind, your stomach (which had now suddenly taken on the form of a dozen angry billywigs) had a differing opinion. Upon hearing your footsteps, his eyes snap up, features softening slightly as you drew closer. Completely ignoring his presence (and absolutely stupid looking smirk), you breezed past through the open door. You heard him follow behind, shutting the heavy wooden door as Professor Hecat looked up from her desk.

“Good evening,” she said calmly, “as your punishment for using aggressive spells during a non-offensive lesson, you will each be writing an essay on how to best defend yourself against three types of beasts, each one without using a single attack spell.”

Sebastian groaned from the back of the room, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes at his typical dramatics.

Taking a seat close to Professor Hecat’s desk, you got to work outlining your main points. Dugbogs, Acromantulas, and Mongrels; three beasts you were (unfortunately) very familiar with. Luckily, your combat experience with numerous different magical creatures enabled the essay to practically write itself. Across the room, the sound of Sebastian tapping his quill against the desk was driving you insane. You shot him an angry look as he put his hands up, mouthing a snarky “what?” back at you.

Just ignore him, you thought, like Ominis said, he’s just trying to get a rise out of you.

Surprising absolutely no one, you finished your essay before Sebastian, rising gracefully from your desk and handing the roll of parchment to Professor Hecat with an apologetic smile.

“I’m sorry again, Professor. I promise I won’t lose my head again.”

She returned the smile, “You’re a brilliant witch, my dear, I expect great things from you. Don’t disappoint me.”

The hallways were deserted as you emerged from the classroom, curfew had passed a few hours ago so you would be in for a quiet walk back down to the dormitory. As you descended the main stairs, an insufferable voice came from behind, echoing through the vacant corridor.

“I expect great things from you, don’t disappoint me!”

Sebastian was sauntering down the staircase, a mocking grin on his face. You rolled your eyes and continued on, ignoring him just like you did Peeves.

The twin footsteps followed the corridor leading towards the bottom floor of the castle, Sebastian making an annoying point to whistle a jaunty tune the entire time that was grating on your nerves. The realization finally dawned on you that he had completely bypassed the staircase that led down to the Slytherin dungeons. Whipping around, he stopped short as to not walk directly into your body.

“Why are you following me?” You demanded, keeping your voice steady. The low lights of the torches lining the hallway flickered in his dark eyes, reminding you of the countless nights dueling down in the Undercroft together. The hanging braziers would always cast a halo effect onto his hair, looking almost angelic as he would reach out a hand to help you up after a particular strong blast. “Not bad—for a Hufflepuff,” he would chuckle, brushing the dirt from your hair. In those moments, it didn’t matter that Ominis was across the room listening, it didn’t matter that you weren’t any closer to curing Anne, it didn’t matter that the fate of the Wizarding world was weighing on your shoulders; it was just you, and him, two sides of the same Galleon, the rest just melted away.

He pushed past, cocking his head to the side as he approached the portrait leading to the kitchens.

“Promised Imelda I’d grab her something from the kitchens on my way back—they don’t serve dessert in the hospital wing, apparently…”

Mouth pressed into a tight line, you nod. The upwards inflection at the end of his statement gave you pause, it almost sounded…amused? The sight of the large barrels at the end of the hallway was a welcome sight, and you picked up the pace towards the common room entrance, desperate to get away from Sebastian and the aggressively thick tension. Tapping the second to last barrel, you stared at the wooden entrance as it slid open, allowing passage through. Before stepping over the threshold, you could’ve sworn the sound of your name was whispered quietly from down the hall; when you glanced back, the kitchen portrait was just snapping shut.

———

Avoiding Sebastian was becoming almost impossible; for as large as the castle was, it seemed like the two of you kept running into each other at every turn. Defense class was honestly the easiest place to avoid him, surprisingly; after the incident at the beginning of the year, Professor Hecat knew better than to pair you together. He sat close to the back every week, an opposing position to your front row seat. Outside of the classroom was an entirely different story. In the Great Hall, you would always be within eyeshot of him, and whenever Ominis would stop by your table to chat, you could feel his gaze on you from across the room.

“—I just don’t know how I’ll manage to keep up with it. I still have three essays for Magical Theory, Charms, and Arithmancy, how can I possibly find time to write another for History of Magic?” Ominis ran a hand down his pale face. Sixth year was giving everyone a run for their money; you had never seen Ominis this frazzled about school before. As he continued to whine, you glanced up from your lunch to see Sebastian sitting at the far table, staring directly at you with an expression that could only be describe as longing. Holding his eyes for the briefest of moments, his attention was quickly torn away by the arrival of Imelda, who flopped down on the bench rather dramatically. Her scowl was prominent, and you silently thought about what trivial occurrence had set her off this time. The contents of your lunch threatened to expel themselves as you watched Sebastian throw a protective arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to begin a vicious assault on her mouth. The call of your name snapped your attention from the gruesome display of affection.

“—are you even listening to me?” Ominis whined, face contorted with mild annoyance.

You hummed, the display you just witnessed seemingly burned into your eyes, “Yes, sorry, Ominis. I’m just…”

“Distracted?” His voice was laden with accusation as his eyes drifted over towards the Slytherin table. Your eyes refused to follow, knowing exactly what scene they’d be met with.

“Yes…there’s a lot on my mind between school, and quidditch, and—”

“—and our old friend, Mr. Sallow?” Ominis remained fixated on his house table, voice monotonous as if he were stating a well-known fact.

You choked audibly, eyes about to leave your skull as Ominis’ face remained stoic.

“He asked about you the other day, you know.”

The sentence knocked the wind out of you.

“…o-oh?” Your stumbling voice was a traitor, “and what did he want, exactly?”

“To know how you were.”

A volatile swirl of emotions happened simultaneously. As your heart did somersaults in your chest cavity at the thought of Sebastian giving even one iota of a damn about your wellbeing, the deep rooted hurt and anger from his actions began to courses through your veins like poison; threatening to consume the delicate fluttering between your ribs.

“…and what did you tell him?” The question came out as a barely audible whisper, the hurricane still raging inside of your body, each emotion vying for control.

Ominis slowly panned back to your pained expression, “I told him to ask you himself.”

———

Last winter was brutal, but this years was shaping up to be even worse. The castle grounds had been perpetually blanketed in heavy snow for almost two months straight, so much that you had frankly forgotten what grass looked like. On top of that, the wind whipped violently across the lawns and swirled around the courtyards, making it almost impossible to be outside between classes. The majority of the time you were comfortably resigned to lounging in the Hufflepuff Common Room, the warmth and coziness of the underground burrow breathing some much needed life back into your bones. You and Ominis had begun swapping books as entertainment; once the two of you had completed your respective novels, you’d switch them in-between classes or drop them off at breakfast. Sometimes Ominis would write little notes and stick them in the pages of chapters he found very interesting, so you began to copy the sentiment, making notes in the margins on lines that particularly moved you. Afterwards, deep discussions would be had in the Undercroft about each story, coming up with theories and breaking down each plot point. It had become a hobby you truly enjoyed, and it brought the both of you even closer together.

Ominis had been on a big muggle literature kick lately, opting for recommending ancient greek texts for this cycle of book-swapping. He dropped off a small, leather-bound copy of The Odyssey one morning at breakfast, raving on and on about how much he enjoyed it and being extremely anxious upon hearing your thoughts once finished. His excitement had you beaming, genuinely for once, a smile that made your cheeks hurt slightly. You hadn’t felt that since…well, since last year.

The anniversary of the Battle of the Repository was approaching, something that refused to leave the forefront of your mind. The book-swap with Ominis had been helping slightly, giving you at least a slight reprieve while reading about far away places and fantastic adventures, but you couldn’t stay stuck in the pages forever, and the reminders would always creep back quickly.

Double Potions that morning led into a free afternoon (thank Merlin, you could only take so much of Garreth Weasley in one day), meaning that the rest of the day could be spent curled up by the fire in your common room reading without distractions. The thought of the gentle heat warming your frozen body is what got you through the dreary hours-long dungeon class (the lack of feeling in your toes stealing most of your attention, allowing you to completely shut Garreth’s incessant talking out). At Professor Sharp’s grunt of dismissal, you practically flew from the dungeon, taking the steps two at a time back up to your warm, golden oasis.

The best couch was unoccupied as you walked through the wooden tunnel, tossing your bag onto the rug and flopping down amongst the floral embroidered cushions. You stretch your feet out towards the fire, feeling the blood begin to flow back to your soles and wiggling each toe inside your boots.

The spine of The Odyssey cracked as you pried it open, relishing in the feeling of the parchment on your fingertips. As you worked your way through, a small piece of parchment slid out from the back of the book, landing directly into your lap. A small note was scrawled onto the torn paper, and you instantly recognized Ominis’ posh handwriting (the way he flourished the last letter of each word was a dead giveaway).

Meet me in the Undercroft after curfew tonight.

Tonight? There’s no way you’d be able to finish this book by tonight, it was already almost—shit, it was almost dinner. Sighing, you began to tear through the pages, deciding to skip dinner entirely in lieu of attempting to finish by this evening. You’d just pop by the kitchens on the way to the Undercroft, Ominis was always welcoming of midnight snacks anyway.

The clock in the common room chimed at 10pm, signaling that curfew had officially begun. After a quick pit-stop in the kitchens (you grabbed Ominis and extra dessert hoping it would make him less annoyed that you hadn’t been able to finish his book that day), you snuck silently towards the Defense Tower.

The gate to the Undercroft groaned as you lifted it, stepping through and looking around the dim area for any signs of life.

“Ominis?” You call into the room, “I’m sorry—I really tried to finish but I ran out of—“

A shuffling in the corner caught your attention. Ominis never remembered to light the torches if he got there first, something you really needed to remind him of.

“Incendio,” you ignited one of the braziers by a nearby pillar, illuminating Sebastian’s face.

“What’re you doing here?” Your voice was accusatory as you gripped onto your book.

“Me?” His brows raised incredulously, “Need I remind you, this was my secret first. If anything, I should be asking why you’re here.”

Prick.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m supposed to be meeting Ominis.”

Sebastian hummed in acknowledgement, “I don’t think he’ll be making it.”

A pit of fear began to form in your gut, an unintentional mechanism put in place after everything that happened last year.

“What’re you talking about? Is he okay?!” Your voice began to raise as panic shot through every cell in your being.

He raised his hands in a calming manner, “He’s fine, last I saw he was heading up to bed.”

…What? Ominis knew you had a meeting tonight, he’s the one that bloody sent the invitation! You pulled out the torn piece of parchment from the pages of the book, examining the words again to see if maybe you had misread it.

Sebastian chuckled darkly from across the room, “Impressive, isn’t it? I think I’m getting rather good at imitation charms.”

Your eyes slowly raised to his smug face, “…you? You wrote this? Why—“

“I—wanted to talk to you,” his voice faltered slightly.

Your eyes widened, “Now you want to talk? It’s been months, Sebastian…”

The blood in your veins was beginning to heat up, all of the anger that had been building since last winter coming back to the surface.

He sighed, “How are you?”

The cackle that left your mouth was accidental, “How am I? Is that a joke? You’re joking, right?”

He sat stone-faced as you raised both eyebrows at him incredulously.

“You’re unbelievable…” you grumbled, turning towards the gate to leave.

“Wait!” He rushed forward grabbed your wrist. The touch sent electric shocks through your arm.

“Please—I—I’m sorry,” His voice was low, eyes pleading with you to stay, “I just, don’t know what to say.”

“An apology would be a fantastic place to start,” you retorted rather rudely, earning a sideways glance from him.

“I’m trying—”

“—No you’re not.”

“Well, maybe if you let me get a word in—“

“—go ahead then, tell me what you’re ‘trying’ to apologize for,” you crossed your arms over your chest.

Sebastian backed up slightly, “…Everything. I’m sorry for dragging you into this, I’m sorry you had to see me at my worst—“

“—at your worst? Sebastian, I lied for you, shit—I cast unforgivables for you. I convinced Ominis to keep everything a secret so you wouldn’t be sent to Azkaban. And what did you do? You disappeared—“

“—I know, I’m sorr—“

“No!” Your voice was growing louder as you felt the tears start forming again, “You don’t get it! We went through hell together, I fought beside you while you took advantage of me and my powers. You used me, Sebastian…you used me and threw me away when you saw nothing left to gain…”

“Is…is that really what you think?” He whispered, eyes full of a sad desperation that you couldn’t place.

You sniffle, avoiding his gaze altogether, “I needed you. After Ranrok…after losing Professor Fig…I was so alone. All I wanted was to see you, to talk to the one person I loved the most.”

You watched as Sebastian’s eyes glassed over.

“I couldn’t face you, not after everything you saw, everything that I put you through. That day in the Scriptorium, when I—“ His voice cracked, wet eyes glancing up at the ceiling,”—when I cast crucio on you, I thought I’d lost you. I had promised myself to never hurt you again after that night, and I…I failed. I failed myself, and most importantly, I failed you. I didn’t use you for your powers…I needed you beside me because you’re—you’re the only person besides Anne that I can’t live without.”

He drew closer, his soft freckles becoming more defined as he inched forward. Your breath hitched as he grabbed your wrist again softy, tracing down until his calloused fingers intertwined with yours. It was intoxicating.

“…I’ve missed you,” he whispered.

As you met his eyes, he closed the remaining space, crashing his lips to yours. All of the tension and emotions from the past year surged through your body, pushing against him as he wrapped an arm around your waist. Mouths moving in perfect tandem, he kissed you with a soft, longing passion that stole the breath from your lungs. He began to trail down your jawline, pressing delicate marks into your skin that threatened to burn you alive.

“What about Imelda?” You exhaled, his deft fingers gripping onto your backside as he wedged a knee between your legs.

You felt him smirk into your neck.

“…who?” He whispered into your ear before pushing you against the cold stone of the Undercroft, the devilish grin still evident as his lips found their home against yours.

#sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow fic #sebastian sallow imagine #sebastian sallow x mc #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy fanfic #hogwarts legacy fic #Sebastian Sallow angst #Sebastian Sallow fluff #Sebastian Sallow smut #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow fanfiction

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hockeynoses · 2 months

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Sick!Steve: A College AU, Part 2

Summary: A sequel to this fic. Steve is sick again. This time he's in class with Eddie, but they don't know each other yet. Eddie has the fetish and it's from his POV. This is set in the Spring semester, following the last fic which was in the Fall.

Warnings: Mess, contagion. 3.2k words.

Notes: I finally finished it! I started this last July and let it sit for far too long. It's one of my favorites that I've written in a while.

I imagine the professor to look like Jaime Cam/il from Schm/igadoon, but that's neither here nor there. The snippets of his lecture are directly taken from the Wikipedia entry on the Renaissance.

One tiny scene was inspired by this post by gemsden.

I hope you all enjoy! 💖

~*~

At five minutes to the hour, Eddie strolls into class as though he has all the time in the world. He’s learned from years of being punctually challenged that it’s easier to fly under the radar if you don’t appear rushed and frazzled when you make your entrance. There are only a few seats left in the large lecture hall, and they’re all up at the front. Reluctantly, he chooses one on the very end of the curved row, the seats in the hall forming a semi-circle that fan out like those ancient Greek theaters the professor had mentioned last week.

World History 101 – the most basic of basic history classes. Almost everyone here, Eddie included, is taking it as a required core class. But it isn’t the worst thing in the world; Eddie makes a game of it, searching for little tidbits he can add to his D&D games when he’s in need of inspiration.

The eye-candy isn’t half bad either. The professor, Mr. Smith, is actually pretty hot. Dark hair, a well-trimmed beard, glasses… Eddie can get on board. And halfway through his lecture, without fail, he’d take off his suit-jacket, loosen his tie, and roll up his sleeves, drawing the undivided attention of half the class. Aged to perfection, he can’t be more than in his early 40s, his hair just starting to get that salt and pepper color to it.

Unfortunately, he’s also known for being kind of a hardass. One of those guys with lots of chili peppers on RateMyProfessor, tempered by lots of comments about what a stickler he is for the rules.

The doors at the top of the hall open just as the professor is about to get started, and Eddie looks up.

Speaking of eye-candy, he thinks. It’s the guy that he’s had his eye on for half the semester. Hot-prof doesn’t hold a candle to this guy. Steve. The name floats through his mind and his heart gives a little kick.

He hasn’t managed to talk to him yet, or even figure out how to covertly snag a seat near him. This class is pretty much just lectures and tests, no group projects – which doesn’t offer a lot of openings for an introduction. Eddie only knows his first name because he’d heard Mr. Smith use it once or twice. He may be an asshole about the rules, but he does try to learn their names. As much as one can with a class of 100+ students.

Steve hurries down the steps to the first row of seats. The only open desk is in the dead center, about 10 feet away from Mr. Smith’s podium.

“Shit,” Steve says under his breath, looking embarrassed. Eddie’s glad he’s not in his shoes. Even though he’s in the front row himself, he’s somewhat hidden off to the side. The curvature of the row gives him a great view of Steve without it being obvious he’s looking at him.

The professor greets Steve with a firm nod as Steve sits and pulls his notebook out of his backpack, settling in. Eddie sees his nose scrunch up in a sniff. Probably just from the run over here to make it on time.

“Welcome, everyone,” Mr. Smith pulls up a PowerPoint on the screen behind him, “Today’s lesson is going to cover the Renaissance, which is a period in time ranging from the 1400s to the 1600s. The Renaissance was a cultural movement that profoundly affected European intellectual life in the early modern period.”

A sound crackles through the air, and Eddie’s eyes snap back to Steve. He’s got his face buried in a tissue, eyes closed, blowing his nose for all he’s worth. Heat sparks to life low in Eddie’s belly. Oh god…is he-?

Mr. Smith shoots Steve a look over his glasses, waiting for him to finish. Steve sighs and swipes at his nose, managing to find a dry section of the ruined tissue. When he notices the professor’s gaze, he looks sheepish and whispers, “Sorry.”

Steve hides the crumpled tissue away in a pocket of his backpack and then pulls out a fresh one from – Is that a fucking car pack of Kleenex? Eddie wonders. Leave it to pretty-boy Steve to go out and buy the perfect size tissue box to fit in his backpack. Eddie would’ve just brought a roll of toilet paper.

With a nose that beautiful, he deserves the best, he can’t stop himself from thinking. Then he chastises himself for being so gone on this guy. He focuses back on his own notes, or rather, the doodle he’s already started, and tries not to be too much of a creep.

Mr. Smith drones on for several minutes, punctuated every so often by Steve’s wet sniffles. Eddie can see him rubbing the bridge of his nose out of the corner of his eye. He wonders if the whole class can hear him – auditoriums are designed to carry sound, after all – or if Eddie’s just hyper-aware.

The sniffles turn ominous, and Steve reaches for a tissue just as his breath starts to hitch. He holds it at the ready, splayed over both hands, inches from his face.

“Ha... ehh…hih…hih’AEESSHH’IUE!” The sneeze bursts from him as he snaps forward and buries his face in the waiting tissue. The sound ricochets throughout the room and lightning pulses through Eddie’s veins, white-hot. Oh fuck.

“’Scuse be,” Steve mumbles, his eyes glazed over as he snuffles up the loosened congestion.

Jesus, he’s actually really sick, Eddie thinks, his own elation at the sight at war with the pity he feels for the guy.

Mr. Smith gives a small, put-upon sigh. “Where was I? Oh yes - The unique political structures of Italy during the Late Middle Ages have led some to theorize that its unusual social climate allowed the emergence of a rare cultural efflorescence.”

Now that Eddie knows for sure that Steve is sick, it’s a struggle to keep his eyes off him. He doesn’t want to miss a moment; his gaze darts across the room without his permission, tracking every movement of those busy hands, the fluttering eyes, the flaring nostrils.

As the minutes tick by, anticipation curls warm through Eddie’s gut. Steve is holding a Kleenex in his hand, wiping his nose with it as subtly as he can, forced to breathe through his mouth due to the congestion that has taken up permanent residence deep in his sinuses.

Eddie wonders how long he’s been sick. If these are brand new symptoms or if he’s been suffering for the better part of a week. He looks contagious as hell, red nose constantly dripping into the tissue that he presses to his septum. Eddie feels for the students who were unlucky enough to sit next to him, but he would also happily take their place.

His thoughts are interrupted by a hitch in Steve’s breath, no doubt building to something more obscene and uncontrolled than the first go-round.

“Ehh… Oh god, haa-… hih-EETSSHHOO! Ha’AEESHHah! Uhh…huh…ITTSCHHuh!” He groans, low and pained. “Oh bmy god. SNF. Sorry.” Eddie watches as Steve holds the destroyed tissue to his nose while fumbling in his bag for a fresh one. There’s no way that abused tissue contained all those haphazard sneezes. If the students next to him have to sit through an entire hour of that, they’re definitely screwed. Hell, Mr. Smith is probably screwed too, being directly in front of him, albeit several feet away.

“Are you quite finished?” Mr. Smith says primly.

“Ugh.” Steve gives a liquid sniffle and swipes under his nose with his bare hand. “I hobe so.”

Jesus Christ, Eddie is going to pop a semi in the middle of class. He slides his jacket off - it’s getting fucking hot in here anyway - and sets it over his lap.

The professor clears his throat and continues. “As I was saying, one theory is that the devastation in Florence caused by the Black Death, which hit Europe between 1348 and 1350, resulted in a shift in the world view of people in 14th century Italy.”

“Ha….HA’EHSSHHOO!” Steve’s whole body shakes with the strength of the sneeze, drenching his fistful of Kleenex. Oblivious to the teacher’s glare, Steve’s eyes flutter, his brows inching higher and higher with each sharp inhale, fighting against the prickling itch deep in his nose that’s begging for release.

“Italy was particularly badly hit by the plague,” Mr. Smith continues, pausing to direct a stern, pointed look at Steve. “And it has been speculated that the resulting familiarity with death caused thinkers to dwell more on their lives on Earth, rather than on spirituality and the afterlife.”

“Huh-ITTSSH’IEW!” The relentless barrage continues, Steve struggling helplessly against it. “uh…huh’GGKSSHH’IUE!”

Eddie stares, entranced. He can hear how wet they are, thick with mess that’s barely contained in the clump of increasingly soggy tissues Steve’s got a death grip on. Eddie gets another glimpse of Steve’s disobedient nose - pink, wet, and sore - as he pulls back from the tissues with a wobbly inhale, clearly not done. A flush darts up Eddie’s neck, his toes curling in his sneakers.

“It has also been argued that the Black Death prompted a new wave of piety, manifested in the sponsorship of religious works of art.” Mr. Smith soldiers on, agitation clear in his voice. “However, this does not fully explain why the Renaissance occurred specifically in Italy in the 14th centu-”

“Ahh…ihh…hih…HIH’EERRRSHH’IUE!” The last one tears through Steve in the middle of an attempt to grab a new batch of tissues. He curls into himself, unleashing the spraying sneeze across his lap and part of his desk. There’s a visible sheen on his cupid’s bow that he desperately swipes at with the back of his hand.

“Steve!” Mr. Smith says sharply. “I do not appreciate these interruptions!”

“I’b sigk, dude!” Steve argues, as if that isn’t obvious by the gurgling, cold-ridden noseblow that immediately follows. His features are a tired mix of annoyance and embarrassment.

“Please don’t call me dude, Steve.” Mr. Smith pins him with a flat look, clearly exasperated but unwilling to kick him out just yet. Steve glares at him.

“I’b sigk, professor – hih…ha’AESSHH’IEW!” The sneeze erupts from Steve, forceful and clearing. He puts much less effort into covering this one, holding the tissue inches away from his face and releasing a huge, spraying sneeze openly down onto it. Eddie can see the escaped stray droplets misting the air.

This motherfucker better not make me come in my pants, I swear to god, Eddie thinks as he adjusts himself, trying to find some kind of relief. He feels too hot in his own skin.

The students nearest Steve are leaning away from him in mounting horror, trapped without any open seats to flee to.

“If you’re feeling so poorly, why did you come to class today?” Mr. Smith radiates disapproval.

“Idt’s your attendance policy, bman.” Steve scrubs a finger back and forth under his raw nose. “I didn’t thigk it wa-aah…hah–Ha’ERRSHH’IUE!” The sneeze is only half-muffled against his fist, the rest scatters free into the air. “Ugh. Allowed.”

Mr. Smith’s mouth pulls into a frown. “Exceptions can be granted when there are legitimate… health reasons.” He eyes the growing pile of tissues on Steve’s desk with disgust, calculating the odds of how likely he is to catch his cold, no doubt increasing with every one of Steve’s careless, pathetic attempts at covering, with every slimy tissue added to the pile, cluttering up the desk, creating a foreboding minefield of germs.

Steve snorts up the clogged mess in his nose and clears his throat. He’s so congested that even his throat sounds thick with it. Pulling a tissue from his pack, he lays it across his cupped palms, ready, waiting.

“I didn’t thigk this would count. Idt’s just – heh – just a c-cold – Ha’GGSHT’CHUH!” His head snaps forward as he unleashes the sneeze vaguely downwards toward the tissue spread across his hands. Eddie can see the unrestrained spray of it swirling around in the several inches of open air between his agitated, rebellious nose and his hands.

He folds the splattered tissue up to release a crackling blow, so loud that Eddie thinks he must be doing it on purpose. When he’s done, Steve offers a pointed, “’Scuse mbe,” with a telling twist to his lips. Now apparently fully committed to his appearance as a plague rat, he breathes through his mouth, dabbing at his sore, chapped nose with the tattered remnants of the tissue. When he pulls it away, he has no shame – his red, glistening, contagious nose is on full display.

Oh, Eddie likes this one. A buzzy warmth fills him down to his toes, and he has to stop himself from shivering with it. His cock is rock-hard in his jeans. Has anyone ever died of blue balls? he wonders, shifting in his seat.

Rather than hiding it away in his backpack, Steve adds the sodden tissue to the pile on his desk like a challenge, trying to get a rise out of Mr. Smith. The brazen audacity of it is doing nothing to help the heat under Eddie’s skin.

“If you’re ill to the point of being a distraction in class, you should have emailed me, and I would have given my approval,” Mr. Smith says in a tense, clipped voice.

“I didn’t thigk I felt that ba-hah… bad – hih - odn the way over h-here,” he argues, quickly scrambling for a fresh tissue, “but I – huh… I cadn’t stob – ihh… s-sneeziihh… Ha-iih’ERRSSHH’IUE!” His brow furrows with the strength of it, shoulders curling in. He’s crumpled the tissue under his nose, anticipating the sheer amount of mess, which unfortunately leaves his mouth uncovered. The sneeze forces the breath from him in a violent gust that causes the used tissues on his desk to flutter and threaten to topple over the edge.

Eddie’s pulse jumps and he almost snaps his pencil in half, tapping his foot on the ground in an effort to not shake out of his skin with want. He tries not to openly stare as Steve pulls back the Kleenex from his face, having to pinch off the mess that still clings to him, wiping the spit from his lips with his other hand.

“Ugh, what a bmess.” Steve says, really playing it up. “Sorry. I’b trying to stob but they’re too strogg.”

“I can see that,” Mr. Smith grinds the words out between his teeth.

“I thigk I’b really contagious.” Steve presses the tissue to the underside of his tender, dripping nose. “I already godt all of mby roobmates sihh-sigk. Heh…Huh-HA’IIGGGHHH’SHOO! Ughhh. Trust mbe, you don’t want this…” He punctuates his warning with a truly miserable-sounding noseblow.

“I agree. We don’t need you getting the whole class sick.” Mr. Smith takes a few careful steps back, looking like he’d rather be running from the room entirely. “You can get the notes from one of your classmates.”

“Are you s-sure?” His nostrils flair and he cups a hand several inches from his face in a sluggish attempt to cover another impending outburst. “ihh – hih’iiiiGGHH’shue!” It scrapes from his throat, the last syllable drawn out into a pained exhale.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Mr. Smith says. Having reached the end of his rope, he points to the door. “Go. Before you infect us all with your pestilence.”

Satisfied, Steve gathers his things, touching them all with his germy hands in the process. The used tissues are scooped up and crammed into an open pocket in his backpack. The car-pack of tissues stays out. Clinging to it like a lifeline, Steve pulls two fresh ones from the cylinder.

“Thaggs, professor.” He quickly bunches the tissues to his face, his chest heaving with every hitch of his breath. “ahh… hiiiih… Hih’AAIIGH’shoo! SNF. I’ll see you next weegk.”

With that, he turns and makes his way up the stairs, pausing every few steps to shudder with a wrenching sneeze, barely contained in his damp fistful of Kleenex. Now that he’s not even trying to control them, it seems he’s completely at their mercy, pitching forward in several small fits, trying to cover as much ground as he can between them until he finally makes it to the door. Fumbling the clump of tissues into his pocket, he pulls at the door handle, finally making his escape into the hallway as an awkward hush settles over the rest of the class.

Mr. Smith attempts a joke and tries to refocus everyone’s attention. Eddie doesn’t hear any of it. His head feels all floaty and he’s trying not to come in his pants. That was insane. He blinks, trying to shake himself out of it.

By the time he’s managed to bring himself back to reality, Mr. Smith is making a show of marking off Steve’s excused absence. “Steve Harrington,” he announces as he notes it down, enunciating clearly as if to let the entire class know who’s to blame when half of them come down with this cold from hell.

Harrington. Something clicks in Eddie’s mind at that. Chrissy’s knowing smile flashes through the haze. A months-old memory washes over him in waves – she was telling him about some guy she made friends with in class… going on and on about him. About how one time he’d shown up for class sick as a dog, and how she wished Eddie could have been there - he’s just his type. She had wanted to introduce them.

At the time, Eddie’s interest had been piqued, how could it not? But this guy sounded like a Grade-A jock, and although he trusted Chrissy, Eddie dating a jock went against practically every facet of the Munson Doctrine. He had filed it directly under “Never Gonna Happen” in his brain, and they’d both forgotten about it, buried in finals, before heading off for winter break.

Since then, Chrissy might’ve mentioned her and Steve meeting up for coffee once or twice since they didn’t have a class together this semester, but her hopes of introducing them got lost in the throes of a busy Spring semester. If Eddie had known this was Chrissy’s Steve – a bit of a jock, sure, but still sweet and smart and with sneezes straight out of Eddie’s wildest fantasies – he sure as fuck would’ve made that introduction more of a priority.

Fuck. Now Eddie has to see if there’s still a shot. If Chrissy was going to introduce them, that means there’s a slim chance Steve might be into him, right? He’s going to text her as soon as class gets out and tell her he’s seen the light.

Eddie wonders if he could give Steve his notes from class. Didn’t the professor say something about that? Yeah, he’ll get his number from Chrissy, then bring him the notes… maybe some tea…

Shit, he’s got to get ahold of himself.

For once in his life, Eddie tries to take flawless notes. He’s only partially successful. It’s almost impossible to focus with replays of Steve’s little spectacle parading through his head. And if that wasn’t distracting enough, he can’t stop himself from imagining scenes from their future together like some kind of lovesick fool. He taps his pencil to the page, daring to hope.

He’ll start with notes and some tea.

#snzblr #snz fic #snzfic #snz fics #snzfics #cw: contagion #st/eve ha/rrington

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humansofnewyork · 8 months

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(5/54) “The meaning of our most important words I learned from my mother. 𝘙𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘪: Truth. I never heard her tell a lie. 𝘕𝘦𝘦𝘬𝘪: Goodness. I never heard her gossip. And 𝘔𝘦𝘩𝘳: Love. We were three brothers and five sisters, but she loved us all equally. There were no assigned places at our dinner table. Everyone got their desired portion. While we ate our father would encourage us to debate the events of the day. No topic was off limits: history, politics, even the existence of God. And everyone was encouraged to use their voice. One weekend my father drove us all to visit Ferdowsi’s tomb in the city of Tus. It’s a large tomb. It’s modeled after the tomb of Cyrus The Great. On its face is etched the first line of Shahnameh. The master verse. The cornerstone: ‘In the Name of the God of Soul and Wisdom.’ 𝘑𝘢𝘢𝘯 and 𝘒𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘥. Soul and Wisdom. The two things that all humans have. With the opening line Ferdowsi does away with all castes and classes. He does away with all religion. He gives everyone a direct connection to the creator. As a young boy I’d memorized hundreds of verses. One of my favorite stories in Shahnameh is when Rostam selects his horse. Rakhsh is the only horse in Iran that can carry Rostam’s weight. Rakhsh has the body of a mammoth. But he's wild, he foams at the mouth. Rostam has to fight to tame him. I was a shy child. But something happens when I read Shahnameh. There’s an epic cadence. The words demand to be spoken. It’s like touching a hot stove. I feel the heat, I feel the pressure. It’s like a sword pierces my body and I have to let it out: ‘𝘙𝘢𝘬𝘩𝘴𝘩 𝘳𝘰𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘙𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘮!’ The neighbors would come running to their balconies to watch. Every region in Iran has its own dialect, and I could switch between them. The language is ancient, so I didn’t know the meaning of every word. But I could feel the music. When I mispronounced a word, I knew. As if I’d played a wrong chord. I could almost tell what he wanted. I could almost hear the voice of Ferdowsi himself.”

معنای مهم‌ترین واژگان زبان‌مان را از مادرم آموختم، راستی، هرگز دروغی از او‌ نشنیدم. نیکی، هرگز غیبت نمی‌کرد و مهر و دوستی. ما سه برادر و پنج خواهر بودیم و مادر همه را به اندازه‌ی مساوی دوست داشت. برای هیچکس جایگاه ویژه‌ای بر سر سفره در نظر گرفته نمی‌شد. هر کسی به میل و اندازه‌ی خود از خوراک سهم می‌برد. هنگام خوردن پدر تشویق‌مان می‌کرد که درباره‌ی رویدادهای روز گفت‌وگو کنیم. هیچ موضوعی قدغن نبود: تاریخ، سیاست، حتا وجود خداوند. و همه تشویق می‌شدند که اندیشه‌های خود را بیان کنند. پدر ما را یک هفته به دیدن آرامگاه فردوسی در شهر توس برد. آرامگاهی بود بزرگ. بسان آرامگاه کوروش بزرگ طراحی شده است. نخستین بیت شاهنامه بر روی سنگ آرامگاه حک شده بود. شاه‌بیت است. پایه‌ و ستون اندیشه‌ و جهان‌بینی ایرانی‌ست: به نام خداوند جان و خرد. دو چیزی که همه‌ی مردمان از آن برخوردارند. در نخستین برگ شاهنامه، فردوسی همه‌ی طبقات اجتماعی را کنار می‌نهد. همه‌ی دین‌ها را کنار می‌نهد. فردوسی به مردمان پیوندی بی‌واسطه با خداوند می‌بخشد. او می‌گوید: هر آنچه در این کتاب است، برای همگان است. در کودکی سد‌ها بیت شاهنامه را به یاد سپرده بودم. از داستان‌های مورد علاقه‌ام در شاهنامه جایی‌ست که رستم اسبش، رخش را برمی‌گزیند. رخش تنها اسبی‌ست در ایران که می‌تواند رستم و جنگ افزار سنگینش را تاب بیاورد. رخش تنی بسان پیل دارد. سرکش است، رستم برای گرفتن و رام کردنش می‌بایست سخت بکوشد. من کودکی خجالتی بودم. ولی زمانی که شاهنامه را می‌خواندم، شور شگفت‌انگیزی مرا فرا می‌گرفت. شعرها آهنگی رزمی دارند. واژگان خواستار خوانش‌اند. همانند دست زدن به کوره‌ای گرم. گرما را حس می‌کنم، فشار را حس می‌کنم. همانند شمشیری که تنم را می‌شکافد و باید آن را فریاد بزنم: از این سو خُروشی برآورد رَخش / وزآن سوی اسب یل تاجبخش. همسایگان شتابان بر روی بام‌هاشان جمع می‌شدند تا شنونده‌ی فردوسی باشند. هر منطقه‌ای از ایران گویش و لهجه‌ی خود را دارد. من داستان‌های شاهنامه را به فارسی و گویش‌های محلی‌مان می‌خواندم. کتاب به زبان پارسی کهن سروده شده است‌، معنای همه‌ی واژگان را نمی‌دانستم ولی آهنگش را حس می‌کردم. اگر واژه‌ای را اشتباه می‌خواندم، درمی‌یافتم. چنانکه گویی نُت موسیقی را اشتباه زده‌ باشی. می‌توانستم به درستی بدانم که او چه می‌خواهد بگوید. گویی صدای دلآویز فردوسی را به جان می‌شنیدم

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bellysoupset · 1 month

Text

The New Guy

It was the first day of class and Vince felt like a toddler in kindergarten. Although he didn't actually remember going to kindergarten back in Italy, but his mom made a point of telling him he had wailed every time they dropped him off, so this was how Vince felt.

Except he wasn't the student today, he was the teacher.

He still wasn't fully back on his feet after such a hellish bout of flu and the emotional stress, but Vince felt steady enough he could at least fake it. Besides, he had wanted to be a teacher his whole life, so even if he felt like crying from the nerves, he was also incredibly excited.

This was his old school and it was weird, to say the least, to walk the halls as a teacher, not a student. Not much had changed - better flooring, a classroom had a smartboard instead of a white one, new teachers.

His old ones were still there, though, and Vince nearly jumped out of his skin upon entering the teacher's hall and having his name shouted, "Vincenzo! Oh look at you!" as if he was the chubby kid who grew up over summer. Which yeah, he sort of was.

The literature teacher was still the same woman, Ms. Lobdell. She had been already been an ancient faculty member back when he was at school and time had done her no favors, but she was sharp as a knife.

His old history teacher had retired, the spot Vince had occupied, and the biology and chemistry teacher, a horrible man whom Vin had hated back then, had also left the school.

He was told all this by Ms. Lobdell, who dragged him around by the arm despite the first class starting at 8 AM and it already being 7:55.

Finally Vince was released from the claws of that sweet wrinkly woman to his class of snotty 10 year old, whom he was already very partial to.

Because moving had been such a huge thing, from his relationship with Wendy and his friends, to quitting his solid job and getting an entirely new place, Vince had been more than a little insecure about the whole thing.

Suddenly it wasn't just "getting a new job", it was "getting a new life" and he felt a gigantic pressure for this to be as good as he had imagined it to be, otherwise... Otherwise he would have gone through all this trouble for nothing.

It was a relief so strong when teaching his first class ended up being everything he had imagined and more, that Vince was teary eyed by lunch break.

"So how was it?" Wendy asked, her voice breathless as she moved around. Vince checked his watch again, noticing his hands were shaking with how nervous he had been. 1:30 PM, she was probably leaving her hot yoga class to get dressed for her evening shifts.

"It was amazing," he confessed, smiling, keeping his voice low, "the kids were great, the teaching plan went smoothly... They keep calling me mister Monacelli, though, which is very weird... It was just great."

"I'm glad," Wendy answered and he could tell she was smiling and meant it, "what now?"

"Now I get my teenagers," Vince scratched at his cheeks, suddenly wishing he hadn't shaved in the morning. He felt too baby faced to handle the teens, doubting they'd respect him, "they're going to eat me alive."

"Yes, but not in the way you think," Wendy teased him, "you're going to be the class crush, just watch it."

He grinned, smoothing his shirt and looking around the empty classroom. Vince had been much too nervous to join the remaining staff in the cafeteria and had had lunch inside his classroom, like a loser. Just a veggie roll too, which normally wouldn't sustain him even for two hours, let alone the rest of the day.

"Now you're just egging me on," he rolled his eyes, "how's your day?"

"Great," Wendy huffed and her voice got distant as if she had left her phone in a surface, "I have far too much free time now that you're not around, so I'm gonna start taking classes."

"Classes on what?" he balled up the paper napkin and grabbed his tooth brushing kit, walking out of the classroom, holding the cellphone to his ear.

"Anything," Wendy sighed, "I just need to occupy myself a bit, it'll help."

"I think you should take interior design classes," he entered the bathroom, "you're always fiddling with things in the apartment."

"Uhm, maybe," she sighed and then he heard a noise and Wendy cursing, "a stupid pigeon just hit my window, I gotta go. Love you, break a leg, Mr. Pussy Magnet!"

"Love you as well, honey," Vince rolled his eyes, hanging up.

His first class after lunch actually went a lot smoother than Vince was expecting, but the second one... He had no idea where his students were.

After fifteen minutes of sitting there without a single soul appearing, Vince peeked at the hallway and frowned. He was half expecting the kids to be pranking him by sitting in the hallway, but nada. Not a single student.

He sighed, locking the classroom and walking back to the teacher's hall to see if anyone else would have an inkling of where his kids had disappeared to.

An older teacher, whom Vince remembered as the trigonometry teacher and who, thankfully, did not remember Vin, was leaning against the window, with his head poking out, smoking.

"Mr. Turella, hi," Vince smiled and the older man smiled back.

"You're the new teacher, right? History?"

"Yeah," Vince crossed the room to shake his hand and the man let out a huff.

"You're looking more like the P.E teacher, son," he teased lightly, "are you lost?"

"No, not really," Vince grimaced, "but I think I lost my kids? No one showed for my class..."

Mr. Turella let out a snort, carefully resting his cigarette on the windowsill and walking across the room to the big schedule that was plastered to the wall, "oh yeah," he shook his head, "Daniels stole your kids."

"Excuse me," Vince frowned, crossing the room so he could look at the schedule as well. Mr. Turella planted a wrinkled finger over the sophomore's schedule and dragged it down.

The class before Vince's was Chemistry, with Mr. Daniels.

"Uh... That's just great," Vince wrinkled his nose in distaste, "I don't suppose I should go over and tell him to release my kids?"

"Bad move for a rookie," Mr. Turella patted his arm, "just wait for them to show and you can chew out Daniels after class. Not that it's going to help much, it never did in my case."

"He does this a lot?" Vince scoffed and the other man nodded enthusiastically.

"Oh yeah, get used to it," the man sighed and walked back to the window, "take the win, it's a break in your schedule."

"It's time they're not learning the curriculum," Vince corrected, groaning as he imagine the headache this would be down the line, when he inevitably fell behind if he didn't have enough time to teach, "alright, thanks Mr. Turella."

"It's John," the man waved him off, continuing to smoke.

Vince returned to his classroom, chewing at his lip since it was still empty. He paced nervously, until his students finally showed, thirty minutes late and chatting loudly.

"We're having P.E now?" a boy asked, causing his friends to giggle and Vince to sigh. It was going to be a long evening.

Mr. Daniels fucking haunted him. His senior students, whom he was dreading already, were also late thanks to the biology classes. Unlike the previous kids, though, they walked in quietly and seemed very interested in Vince, if only because he was new and shiny.

"You cannot be serious-" a girl blurted out, when Vince announced he was holding them for ten more minutes, since they had arrived twenty past the time of class, "sir. You cannot be serious, Mr. Monacelli," she corrected herself quickly.

Vince raised his eyebrows, not the outburst, but at the correction. It was so weird to be treated like that.

"Well, I- Alright, today you can leave, but next time this happens I'll have to hold you until we're done. You can't fall behind so close to SATs," he sighed, gesturing to the whiteboard, "and remember homework."

"Yesssir," there was a chorus of voices, making him cringe. Sir, that didn't sit right.

"I'll see you Wednesday," Vince waved to the door and then sat down, waiting for the kids to leave. As soon as he was alone, he let out a groan and rubbed at his neck.

As Vince walked to the parking lot, he paused as he saw a man leaning heavily against the wall, just outside the view of the buses leaving.

The man had his back pressed to the wall and his hands on his knees, as if catching his breath after running a marathon.

Curiosity got the best of him and Vince stepped closer, wondering if this was a senior student who had been held back - he didn't look seventeen, for sure, but not old enough to be a parent either - and if so, why he hadn't been in his class just now.

"Hey," Vince said, realizing the guy was actually older than he expected as he stepped closer, "hey, you alright?"

The guy shook his head, lips pressed in a thin line, "not feeling too hot..." he let out a soft burp, unashamed, and grimaced, "you're the new guy, the new teacher."

"Uh- It's Vince..." Vince frowned, inspecting the other man. He was a blonde, with most of his hair pulled up in a man bun, showcasing an undercut. He was wearing a buttoned up shirt, but with short sleeves - which should be a crime, in Vin's opinion, - and he could see his left arm was completely tattooed.

Definitely not a teacher, Vince thought, crouching slightly. The guy wasn't short, but compared to Vin he was. He also looked incredibly, terribly familiar.

"I'm Max," the man grimaced and spread his feet apart, "I'm gonna hurl, you should step back."

So casual about the whole deal, as if it wasn't mortifying. Vince frowned even more, "are you waiting for your kid, Max? Can I get someone for you?"

"My kid?" Max let out a little chuckle, which quickly turned into a groan and he wrapped an arm around his stomach, "no, I'm fine. Lunch was just too heavy, the cafeteria food fucking sucks."

"You're a staff member?" Vince frowned, even more confused. He wanted to get a decent look at the man's face, but he was sort of bent over, with a couple hair strands falling in front.

"Bio-" Max cut himself off with a gag and groaned loudly. He panted, back heaving and a couple of belches bubbled up, low in volume, but terrible wet. He cleared his throat, but it morphed into a cough and then Vince jumped back as a splatter of puke hit the pavement, sinking in the gravel.

He made a face, reaching out and planting a hand on Max's shoulders, keeping him swaying, and looked around, hoping there was anyone better equipped to help.

"Fuck-" Max groaned, pressing his stomach with a hand and heaving again. An empty, painful and loud, heave, followed by another cough and more vomit, this time a much larger amount. He let out a little moan, hanging over the puddle with an arm wrapped around his middle and panting.

"Done...?" Vince grimaced and the man nodded, wiping his lips on the back of his hand and then making a face at it, wiping his hand on his jeans.

"Urgh, that was gross..." he straightened up, taking a steady breath and sidestepped the mess on the ground, "sorry. I didn't catch your name?"

"Vince," he repeated, studying the man's face. They were about the same age, now Vince realized, but Max looked younger. Blonde with brown eyes and a tanned complexion, he looked like a surfer who had gotten lost on his way to California, "I'm the new history teacher."

"I'm the biology and chemistry teacher," Max shook his hand, following Vince further into the parking lot and Vin nearly stopped on his tracks.

"You're Mr. Daniels?"

"Uhhh yeah man, the one and only," the guy opened a little smirk, looking amused, "you heard about me?"

"You're the prick who held my kids," Vince glared at him, "twice. Thirty minutes each."

"I had to wrap up the subject," Max shrugged, "and they were interested. You know how hard it is to get these gremlins interested in anything, no hard feelings."

Vince scoffed, rolling his eyes, "quit doing that then," he said, finally arriving at his bike, "...Are you sure you alright?"

"I'm fine," Max smiled, smoothing his shirt and undoing the top buttons, "see you around, Mr. Monacelli."

#mywriting #sickfic #vince monacelli #max daniels #stomachache #indigestion #hehehe finally

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lorrainmorgan · 3 months

Text

Serpents in Detention

🔞❤️‍🔥 NSFW // MDNI 🔞❤️‍🔥

Ominis x F!Reader

👉 Full pic on my PoiPiku 🐍❤️‍🔥💦

👉 This is not canon from ff Looking thru my 🐍 eyes but I really enjoyed it... muahaha 🙊

The Detention Chamber. Great. Just Great.

Thank you Ominis Gaunt… If it wasn't for your stupid silly flirtatious joke in Mr Ronen's class, we wouldn't be here…

Ominis was already there, wand in hand, “reading” a book, elegantly sitting on a comfortable chair, awaiting my arrival to join him.

"Ugh, you again" I greeted him.

Ominis turned the page of whatever book he was reading, It seemed to be titled: “A history of magic in ancient civilization”. He finally responded in a teasing tone of voice.

“If you have such a problem with me, then why don’t YOU leave?” I noticed he wanted to keep riling me up just as he did in class, he seemed to enjoy the banter between the two of us.

"Because I’m here stuck with you thanks to your chatter in class" I laughed blaming him while putting my things on an empty chair.

Ominis put his book down “You know… if you keep this behavior up, you’re going to start thinking I enjoy having detention with you.”

"Maybe you do"

Ominis smiled and laughed to himself, he seemed to be enjoying teasing me and seeing me flustered.

His voice was playfully sarcastic “Maybe, maybe not… you’ll just have to keep showing up here to find out, won’t you?”

"No thank you, I hate being locked up. I have Quidditch practice with Sallow in two hours"

The minutes passed and we were dying of boredom, talking about nonsense, remembering the time when Sebastian was so drunk he fought a scarecrow, until a question captured my blind wizard’s attention.

"You guide yourself around the castle with your wand, right? How does it feel?" I asked curiously.

He swallowed and seemed to be gathering the correct words to explain to me how it worked “It helps me to orient myself and know which way I am going. It has its own personality you could say… like a compass… it guides me. I can sense what the wand is perceiving, feeling…”

"You can sense it? That's incredible... and a little scary" I knew he used it to move around but didn't know those specific details.

“I don’t know about scary, it’s quite fascinating if you ask me..”

"Scary as in you can sense people? how people walk, how they move... everything they do… am I right?" My tone got more and more curious.

A naughty smile appeared on Ominis’s pale face when I asked him. “Yes, you could say that.”

I stood up and came closer to him. "If I take your wand from you- grabbing it gently away from his grasp- are you still being able to “sense” something? "

As I grabbed it away from him, he jolted forward in his chair a little bit. He blinked a couple of times, confused. “I don’t think that’s how it works… but to be honest I haven't tried it before”

"Let's play a game... shall we?" I said as I still held his wand carefully. "You tell me if you sense what I'm pointing at with your wand, if you're correct, I'll give you a treat. Deal?"

Ominis laughed at me, he found my request a bit amusingly odd. The thought of “seeing” without touching his wand intrigued him, he closed his eyes and signed deeply. Weak waves of red light began to emanate from his wand. Their connection was truly both a miracle and a mystery to me. L

I proceed to point at one of the books near us. "Well?"

Ominis raised an eyebrow and tilted his head slightly, this gesture seemed to indicate he was considering what to answer. He was almost smiling at the same time as a mischievous glint appeared in his eyes.

“Hmm… that is one of my history books, yes.”

"Correct" I lean forward and gave him a kiss in the corner of his mouth without warning him.

After a quick beat he blinked a couple of times and then spoke in a low voice that was nearly a whisper “You… I-I-I…”

"Next object” I said cutting him off pointing at a demiguise statue “Go"

“A demiguise statue.”

"What about now?" I asked while pointing at my hair.

Ominis’s lips curled into a playful smile and he almost purred his answer “Well, my guess is your hair, very soft indeed, almost silky-like. I would imagine that it would feel very nice to the touch, wouldn’t I be right?”

His words melted my last brain cell. "Correct". I answered as I deliberately sat on his lap and kissed him on the nose.

My legs embraced his hips and I could feel his bulkiness starting to grow under me. Grabbing my waist, he began gently pushing me down on him, making my body urgent to finally taste a little of the hardness growing on him. Showing off what I did to him. How I drove him incredibly mad.

I stared into his eyes. Those beautiful light blue eyes that seemed to gather an electric storm within them. I came closer to his cheek, counting the perfect constellation of moles with his wand out loud.

“One.. two… three… four… five” I whispered only mere inches away from his thin lips. His breath embraced my essence with a sign of desperation and urgency.

My hips began to move to the rhythm he imposed, slow and controlled movements. From my mouth escaped an almost inaudible moan of pleasure as my skirt began to come up little by little thanks to his needy hands.

“What do you sense now, Ominis?” I teased one last time before putting his wand between his hard cock and my soaked folds.

He grabbed his wand and casted “Nox”. The room fell into complete darkness. My eyes had not adjusted yet to the obscurity when his hands began to unbutton my shirt. His warm breath began to travel down my neck, leaving invisible red bite marks. With circular motions on his tongue he proceeded to tease my nipples. The only thing I could do was throw my head back and pray to the gods that this wasn't a dream. My fingers navigated his perfectly combed blonde hair, messing it a little.

Ominis went back up and found my lips. Finally. They crushed on his with hunger. We couldn't bear the thought of separating from each other, even to get some air. That’d had been such a waste of our precious time together.

I searched for his belt with trembling hands and undid it, zipping out his member in a second from his trousers, finally releasing him from its agony.

A sound of relief left his mouth and his chest finally relaxed. I couldn’t see anything at this point but my senses began to reach their peak of maximum sensitivity. Was this his plan all along? To take me down this path with him to experience how he feels?

Ominis’ hand reached his wand and put it in front of me. Now he was cheating. He could “see” me.

“Kneel.” He demanded.

I didn't even hesitate. As if he would have cast Imperio on me, I collapsed to the floor on my knees, not being able to break the gaze between his flickering wand that illuminated just slightly his beautiful silhouette.

He opened his legs and waited for me to find my way to his cock. It was warm, and the tip had already been “crying” for attention. He twitched when I put it between my lips, moisturizing it before I found his sweet spot right below his tip with my tongue. He wrapped his fingers on my hair and waited patiently for my next move.

I introduced his hard member in my mouth and started to bubble my head up and down. His hand followed my head’s rhythm the entire time, making sure my hair was not in the way.

His hips began to move from his seat, craving more deep than my throat could take. I could hear his shoe sole squeak from each thrust I gave with my mouth. His grip on his wand began to tighten as he lowered it at me from time to time, illuminating once more his face full of lust and pleasure, with eyes wide shut.

“Stand” He then commanded, breaking the ritual I was very immersed in.

I did. I was at his mercy. He was in control. I was merely a peon on his game that started as my own. Oh, how the tables had turned…

“Sit”

I sat on his lap again. His cock almost touching my belly button. He cupped my face with his hands and kissed me passionately, making me feel like I was drowning, caressing my back, my arms, my shoulders, like an old lover whom I haven't seen in years, like we’d been waiting to do this for ages.

He put his member in position, aligning it with my entrance. He pushed me down in a heartbeat, my fingernails holding on for dear life on his shoulders. I went to heaven and back as he thrusted in and out of me, intensifying each time. He put away his wand, grabbing my neck on one hand, and my hip on the other, dominating my movements as he pleased. My back was arched all the way from his touch, his cold and long fingers explored every inch of my body, leaving no place untouched.

“Beg”

“W-wha- What?”

“Beg me”. He then pulled out of me. I moaned at his sudden decision. My breath was caught in my throat at his sudden request. And so, I did as he pleased:

“Touch me, Ominis” It wasn't really a beg- but I couldn't find another way of letting him know how much I needed him. “Don’t do this to me, please”.. There it was…

“Do what to you, darlin’?” He mocked me by letting his cock touch my inner thighs. He then went back and devoured my breasts as I tried to pull him back in, unsuccessfully.

“Tell me…”

“Make me yours again… please?” That “please” went down so pitiful and full of lust I almost cried.

“One.. two… three… four… five” He whispered only mere inches away from my lips. This man was killing me. He abruptly inserted himself in me, again, without warning, pulling all the air that was left in my lungs.

“Mhmn…fuck, yess-sss” I heard him purred more than once.

I could've sworn the chair was breaking from our savage almost animal-like movements. Pulling, Pushing and moaning we got lost in our climax as we both reached our orgasms. He filled me up entirely, his body tensed every muscle in it. His grip started to loosen up little by little, leaving beautiful and possessive marks on my pale skin.

Still twitching, I wrapped my arms around his neck and signed in satisfaction. He traced once more my body, his domain, with his lips as we recovered our breaths.

Pulling me closer he embraced me in his arms in a warm hug. We stayed like that for a few moments, face to face. I was mesmerized by his eyes, those beautiful eyes. “How could nature be so cruel to you and yet make you so perfect?” I thought to myself.

“Let me gather your things, darlin” And with a small and delicate wand move, I was dressed. I couldn't speak nor think at that moment.

I sat next to him. speechless. “Lumos” he finally said.

As the light began to fill the room, I got a better look of him. His face and ears were bright red, lips swollen from all the kisses, curses and moans from moments ago. Sweaty yet incredibly adorable. He was just pure art.

“Are you alright?” He finally asked, concerned about my muteness.

“I think I’m gonna skip Quidditch practice today.”

“I think so too… Nox”

#ominis gaunt #ominis x reader #ominis gaunt fanfiction #ominis smut #ominis x mc #ominis gaunt fanart #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fanart #hogwarts legacy smut #hogwarts legacy x reader

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