student info: Junk, the student assistant librarian
The library is an odd place, and the librarians are an odd bunch. There’s the research librarian who hunts monsters; there’s the one who smells like fig newtons and seems to live and breathe books and only books, as if bound somehow to the library itself; there’s the… some guy, you think, who helps with reshelving (and “some guy” is not at all an accurate description of… whoever or whatever he is, but you don’t dare risk any other description) and, of course, the head librarian. The head librarian is called Irons, and her name suits her. Mrs. Irons is rarely seen, but when she does show up, everything- everything- falls silent. They say Mrs. Irons once shushed the Wild Hunt. You almost believe it. They say she learned the true name of one of the Gentry, and put him to work in the library as an unpaid intern. You don’t know about that, but you don’t look up when you hear some guy shuffling a book cart around the shelves.
And then there’s the student assistant librarian.
The student assistant librarian is exhausted and stressed all the time. Usually she says her name is Junk, but sometimes she gets confused and introduces herself as something else instead- not ever her true name, no, just whatever she happens to blurt out. She’s used to false names. She wears boots with iron hobnails and sweaters inside out and cargo pants with a hundred things in their pockets; her hair is usually uncombed but always smells of witch hazel. She’s tall, but she has the sort of permanent stoop you get from keeping your eyes on the ground all your life. She’s personable, but she doesn’t do well when conversations go off script. She never makes eye contact, and her dark eyes move oddly when she looks around- as though there are things in the room she wants to avoid seeing. She lies as often as she tells the truth, seemingly without reason. Her lies are always either entirely inconsequential or unconvincing to the point of absurdity, but she always delivers them with the same impossibly straight face.
The job is minimum-wage work study; you’re not sure how many hours they’re even allowed to give a student each week, but it seems like Junk is always in the library. There’s a dingy old microwave behind the circulation desk and a pile of clothes from the lost and found that could conceivably be a bed, if you’re an exhausted college student who doesn’t want to risk the trek back across campus at three in the morning. (Any time but three in the morning, freshmen quickly learn- you can be a night owl all you like, but three in the morning is not our time.)
The student assistant librarian, whose name is usually Junk, is on the brink of flunking all her classes and always behind on reshelving. This is understandable. She is a student and an assistant librarian, but the real task of the student assistant librarian has little to do with either of those things. The library is an odd place and it is full of odd things, things odder even than the librarians. It is the task of the student assistant librarian to provide protection between the library and the students. She wanders the shelves with silver studs in her ears, washers on a chain around her neck, salt in her boots, a hand-crank flashlight in her pocket, and a crumpled guide to the Dewey Decimal system in her hand. She recites a poem as she walks, not because it keeps her safe but just because it’s her favorite stim: feeling the rhymes and rhythms on her own tongue, finding the patterns, finding the sense. It helps keep her calm- and she needs to be calm when she walks the shelves.
She finds the students who have wandered into danger; she finds the danger that has wandered into the library. She sorts things out. She chews her lips bloody inside every time she goes into the deep shelves, but she sorts things out. She knows exactly how to deal with the Gentry, and exactly how to avoid dealing with them. She is not all-powerful, nor does she think of herself as particularly heroic, but she is smart and she is stubborn and when you are in her library you will be safe.
There’s a rumor that Junk was born with the Sight. You’re not sure if that’s true- you’re not sure if that’s possible- but when you look at her, this strange gangling girl who strides into the deep shelves every night for minimum wage and strides back out again with lost students at her side, this girl who knows every rule for every interaction with the Gentry, this girl that lies as easily as breathing and once accidentally introduced herself as Captain Kirk, this girl that you once saw crying into a cup of E-Z Mac behind the circulation desk… when you look at her, you think that if anyone was ever born with the Sight, it was probably Junk.
You do not envy her that.
She has a cat, officially registered with the school as a support animal for her autism. It is grey, a bit chubby, incredibly loving, dumb as a box of rocks and about as energetic, and all in all one of the most aggressively mundane animals you’ve ever seen. Perhaps that’s why the Gentry have never messed with it- or maybe that’s because Junk has always ensured that the cat is as protected as it is possible for any animal to be: an iron-buckled collar of brass bells, fur washed with witch hazel water she’s left in the moonlight, salt packets sewn into its support animal vest, no name given, and always at her side. It does not chase mice in the library. It does not chase anything at all, nor has it ever attempted to drink or eat from the offerings that students leave out. Maybe, upon reflection, it isn’t actually that dumb.
On the occasions she actually manages to make it to class, she usually falls asleep on her tiny desk within ten minutes. Even in small classes, most of her classmates don’t want to wake her. Student assistant librarian is not an easy job, and it is only decency to allow her rest where she can find it. Her grades suffer, but she will return to the library for her shift, and when you are in her library, you will be safe.
Junk doesn’t have a major. Even after two years, she’s still muddling through her gen eds. She doesn’t often talk about her family- at least, she doesn’t often tell the truth about them- but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love them. Sometimes, at Elsewhere, it’s best to keep the things you love secret. Her family, whoever they are, wherever they are, are proud that their daughter made it to university. They do not know about her job, or the duty that comes along with it. They especially do not know about her grades.
Finals week is hard on everyone, but it also means that the number of students in the library increases tenfold- and so does the number of other things. Finals week is the most dangerous time of year, more dangerous even than the ravages of Spring Break, and it is the duty of the student assistant librarian to provide protection between the library and the students. She stays up all night herding the desperate studiers out of the unsafe places; she takes her exams as quickly as she can (too quickly) and then races back to the library to fetch those who have gone missing in her absence. It is not uncommon to see Junk full-on sprinting down the campus sidewalks during finals week, lanky limbs akimbo, hair wild, cat peeking out of her backpack. As hard as she runs, though, she never cuts a corner from the safe pathways.
Not a single student has been Taken* from the library since she started work- an unprecedented record. She’s proud of that, even and especially on days when she’s too exhausted to put three sentences together, let alone write a timed essay. It seems unfair to give a job like this to a full-time student, and it is- but there is something about it that’s vital that the student assistant librarian must be both student and librarian. They must be a go-between. They must walk both worlds. They must provide protection.
(*She found a philosophy student halfway to the Barony once, miles past the marble palace in the reference section. He was lost and glamour-dazed, but not yet Taken, not all the way. She gave him half the sandwich she had in her pocket (the other half went back into the pocket, just in case) and led him back to the circulation desk in time for the end of night shift- the journey had been several days, she was certain, but time passed differently in the library. Two weeks later, the same philosophy student went missing from a party, and never reappeared. Junk couldn’t do anything about that; he wasn’t in her library. But no one gets taken from her library.)
Junk never asks for anything in return from the students she rescues from the deep shelves- it is her duty, after all, and duty means a bargain bigger, more binding, and more sacred than any trade between students. Still, it might be a good idea to help her with her classwork. After all, if she flunks out, the school is unlikely to get another student assistant librarian like this one.
((Hope this is alright! Wasn’t sure how to submit this but… Junk and Mrs. Irons are original characters of mine, sliding into Elsewhere University AU-wise. Anyone who wants to can find out more about them and their other lives (and talk to Junk!) at my blog @deweydeadcimal.))
I have a character who did not have much interaction with others during her childhood. Would this have any lasting effects on her?
Being around other
people is CRITICAL for a child’s development.
Okay. So I’m going to
talk about two levels of isolation here.
The first level is going
to be the Romanian Orphanage level of neglect.
The backstory is a bit
complicated, but the upshot is that Romania suddenly had a hell of a lot of
unwanted children, most of which had to be raised in institutional orphanages.
There were not enough caregivers for the amount of children they had to deal
So what ended up
happening is that babies were left in their cribs, 24/7, and fed and changed on
a strict schedule. The babies learned not to cry, because it didn’t make a
caregiver come running any faster. They didn’t have toys; all they could do is
stare at their hands or the ceiling.
That lack of stimulation
was found to have pretty significantly negative effects as the kids grew up. These
kids are often physically stunted – they’re not as big as they should be for
their age. Their brains are often actually physically smaller. They have lower
IQs. They struggle with language. They also have problems with attachment.
Things do start to get
better if the character is put into a foster home quickly, but they may still have emotional and psychological problems (there are some links below for further research).
Now. The other level of
isolation I’m going to talk about is, for lack of a better term, the horror
stories. These are children who were raised in extreme isolation by severely
abusive caretakers, if they had caretakers at all.
Most children who are
completely isolated or severely deprived of interaction have not learned, or
have extreme difficulties with, language.
They also have
difficulty with basic motor skills. There’s something in our brain called
“mirror neurons.” @scriptbrainscientist will be able to elaborate more, but
basically it boils down to “Monkey see, monkey do.” We learn how to do things
because we mimic the behaviors of people around us. If there’s no one around
the character, they won’t know how to do things. The character won’t know how
to put on clothes or tie their shoes. They won’t know how to use a fork or
knife. They may not even know how to
Even if the character does have some social interaction, if
they are mostly isolated, the level of interaction they get isn’t enough to
foster normal development.
Now. That’s not to say
that the character won’t ever be able to develop language and learn those
skills. This kind of thing is not seen often enough for psychologists to make
that kind of a conclusion. But every report we’ve seen so far says that feral
or isolated kids never reach the level of functioning of same-age peers.
The best-studied case of
a child being raised in isolation is that of a girl who was nicknamed “Genie.”
I’m putting the rest of this post under the jump because what was done to her is nothing short of horrific.
Would you mind telling me more about horseradish, mugwort and jasmine please?
Horseradish is a toxic irritant that contains allyl isothiocyanate, the same chemical compound found in mustard seed—those of you who know your history should already be freaking out that some people put this into an air diffuser.
It’s primarily used in insecticides and tear gas these days.
It has a median lethal dose (how much is needed to kill you) of 151 mg/kg and is therefore classed as lachrymator. That’s poisonous gas to you and me, the kind specifically used in World War One that made you go blind/burned through your skin and dissolved your lungs from the inside out.
Ironically it was traditionally used to treat coughs. Don’t do that.
While Mugwort the herb has been used safely for a very long time in medicine—particularly pertaining to menstrual health—it should only ever be administered under the recommendation of a qualified physician or herbalist and should always be talked over with your doctor first. It should never ever be used as an essential oil either orally or for therapeutic massage as it has a high level of oral and dermal toxicity.
I’ve seen Mugwort touted on this hellsite as a “chemical free abortion” (no I am not kidding, I wish to the gods I was) and while mugwort can and has been used to induce miscarriages, it’s also extremely important to know that it’s also a neurotoxin and can and will likely cause irreversible damage to the person using it, if not outright kill them depending on how they used it.
pennyroyal, another essential oil I’ve seen talked about on here as a way of having a “natural” abortion, which yes, it is an abortifacient due to its pulegone content, but it’s also so highly toxic that even using small amounts of the oil for massage purposes can cause liver and lung damage and gods forbid you drink any of it cause it is not a nice way to die.
Do not use in an oil diffuser, do not add into your water for “health benefits” do not pass go, go straight to hospital and hopefully not die.
By comparison to these other two, Jasmineis relatively harmless as it’s non toxic, and generally non irritating save for those with allergies, but I still like to tell my pregnant friends to use it/consume the tea with caution as it is an emmenagogue (stimulates uterine contractions and menstrual flow, the same way mugwort and pennyroyal do) and could potentially pose a risk to early pregnancies being miscarried. Just better to err a little side towards caution sometimes, especially when it’s so heavily marketed in pregnancy essential oil kits.
I hope that answers whatever you were wondering about them.
[lmaooooo so i stumbled across this blog two days ago and immediately fell in love. I may have accidentally contradicted established canon in here b/c i haven’t read everything and i really wanted to join in, so i really hope i’m doing this right.]
You think it was, perhaps, a bad idea to name yourself after your characters. You think it was, in fact, a bad idea to go to Elsewhere at all. It wasn’t even the university you wanted to go to; you had wanted somewhere close to home, where you could maybe visit on weekends and call up your mom whenever you managed to fail at doing adult things like laundry, as you knew would inevitably happen.
And yet…when you found Elsewhere University, it was in your state. It was not thirty minutes’ drive from home. And it was intriguing. You still probably wouldn’t have gone, would have chosen the college you’d been dead-set on for two years, would have slipped the net and been normal–
Except you saw one of Them. You saw a flash out of the corner of your eye, and you didn’t know the rules, so you spun to do a doubletake, and you saw it, saw Them.
You aren’t sure what happened after that–it gets a bit blurry–but the next thing you knew you were sitting at orientation, your things already in a dorm guarded by salt and an iron horseshoe.
You have been told you’re one of the lucky ones.
You major in animation. Or you had wanted to. The memories of your classes don’t stay in your mind all that well, but you manage to churn out the same A-to-B grades you had produced in high school. You aren’t sure how you’re doing it.
You try to follow the rules. You try to remember. You have seen the consequences. For once, instead of trying to stuff everything into your head and hoping your shit brain won’t forget something, you write them down in a notebook that never leaves your backpack.
This is probably a bad idea. It may even be a disastrous one, but if it is, you haven’t heard the rule that warns away from it, and you are scared enough as it is that you, with your autism, might miss a social cue or be unable to pick up an unspoken rule and end up offending the Gentry anyways.
You once read a tumblr post that said changlings were the explanation people came up with to explain kids with autism in the far distant past. Obviously, this is not completely true, because the Fair Folk are real and real changlings are too, but you take some measure of comfort in that post and pray your own autism will endear you to the Gentry instead of offending Them.
But the real problem is, you became an animator (or wanted to, at least) because you are a creator. You invent things, weave worlds, and when you came to Elsewhere University you came already carrying a large, elaborate tapestry of a world, filled with magic and a fey that had its own internal systems, thought out, explained in depth, and with the sketches and maps to go with it, formed over four, five years of loving care and writing and drawing.
You have your own magic, and your own fey, and they do not mesh well (they barely mesh at all) with that of Elsewhere. Nobody knows about this, and you have put your world to the side, because everything in you screams DANGER at having something like this around the Gentry. You keep all you have of it in your closet, and you salt the edges of the closet plus a circle around the bag you keep it in, then scatter iron nails inside the circle. That world is precious to you, and you will take no chances with it.
So it was probably a stupid idea to name yourself after one of the characters in it.
That isn’t even the only problem, or necessarily the true problem. The true problem is you put yourself into the characters you create, and this makes that name almost as dangerous as a True Name after you get used to it.
You didn’t realize this until you looked into the mirror, and your hair was several shades lighter than it should be. You were able to puzzle out the problem, fortunately, and in a spasm of panic you switched your alias to a different character before it got too far and you became your character.
Except, because you’re a moron, you switched it to a character just as close to you.
This carried on for a while, and your eyes got bluer, and then your skin got darker, and then you got taller, until finally, in desperation, you ran a name generator until you found something with no association to your characters, but still felt nice as a name. Not too nice, of course.
By then, though, you didn’t look much like yourself anymore. You curse your idiocy, but the only way you can think of getting your original appearance back is to use your real name, or else the name you used on the internet. You aren’t that stupid. And it’s nice, sometimes, the way you look now.
You really, really hope the name you generated doesn’t end up being a True Name for this other you.
You are learning the true dangers of being a writer, artist, creator, in Elsewhere University. You are far too close to your stories. And if you write yourself into them, you worry that story will become Truth.
The Gentry are like that, you’re fairly certain.
So you watch your words and make sure your characters don’t resemble anybody (or anything) too closely when you sketch them idly in class, and when you write, you do it inside a circle of salt. It isn’t exactly comfortable, but you need your words, your art, your stories.
So, I got a lot of really positive
feedback about my post about salt in witchcraft, so here’s another one just for
you about iron!
Iron, like salt, has been used for many
thousands of years as a potent tool in the practices of witchcraft. Iron is one
of the most abundant metals in our planet, and is also a really great metal for
making into tools. It’s tough, hard, ductile and with a high melting point that
makes it ideal for situations in which you might need a tool to work under
extremely hot conditions. It’s also one of only three ferromagnetic metals
(along with nickel and cobalt), making it an essential part of most magnets and
In astrophysics, iron is extremely
important in the life cycle of stars. Iron is one of the most atomically stable
substances in the universe, and it’s also unique because it’s the first element
in the periodic table to require more energy to MAKE it than it gives out from
atomic fusion. This is important, because when a star gets older and fuses
hydrogen to make helium, helium to make beryllium and all the rest, once it
starts fusing atoms to make iron, the star begins to die. So, iron is an
element that signals the death of stars, and any element that weighs MORE than
iron (atomically speaking) can only be made in supernovas - that is, the
explosion that takes place when a really BIG star dies.
In biology, iron is one of the most
important elements in mammalian, reptilian and avian blood, because it’s the
element that we use in the chemical haemoglobin. This is the chemical in our
blood cells that binds to oxygen and keeps us alive. Crustaceans like lobsters
don’t use iron - they use copper, and instead make haemocyanin, which makes
their blood blue! However, just like in stars, iron can mean death for humans
as well. If we overdose on iron, we suffer from iron heavy metal poisoning;
when we get crushed by a heavy object we can suffer a disease called traumatic
rhabdomyolysis or Crush Syndrome, caused by vast amounts of myoglobin (another iron-based
compound, found in muscles, which gives them extra oxygen to use) entering our kidneys and killing them, and as a
result killing us.
Iron in science is an element of life,
death, and of many points in between. But what about its uses in witchcraft?
Witchy Facts about Iron!
Iron is stable. Iron’s stability,
both atomically and magickally, makes it a fantastic magickal conductor, and
also means that magick doesn’t seem to affect iron very much. Enchantments on
iron are never as strong as on other metals, and even the best witches will
have difficulty making an enchantment or other spell anchor properly. However,
this has the advantage that iron doesn’t pick up negative magick from
background sources, and it’s extremely unlikely that there will be issues with
ritual or altar tools made from iron. Keeping your magickal supplies inside an
iron or steel box, or a box that’s been nailed together with iron nails, will
prevent them from leaking out and attracting spirits that might cause harm.
Iron is protective. Along with
silver and a few other little bits and bobs, negative spirits and fae folk
cannot touch iron lest it burn them and cause them pain. Additionally, negative
magicks targetted at someone wearing an iron pendant will be attracted into the
pendant and then dispelled. This makes it an ideal protective charm for
everyday carry or everyday wear. This is why horseshoes are considered
lucky - back in Medieval times, when protection
against negative spirits and magick was much more widely practiced, poor
families would often be unable to afford much iron. However, a horseshoe is
made of iron, and comes with holes already cast into it, which allow you to
nail one over your door easily, which keeps out harmful spirits, magick, and
fae, who might seek to hurt you or your family.
Iron is inconspicuous. Anyone can
carry an iron nail after all, and a little piece of iron wrought and twisted
into a small pendant is far from a traditional witch’s item. Those secret
witches who perhaps do not live with accepting families or within an accepting
community or country can find great solace in the use of iron as a protective
Iron is cheap. Iron nails, iron
rods and iron knifes are pretty easy to get hold of and relatively quite cheap.
They’re versatile and not especially likely to draw attention to you - after
all, nobody’s likely to question why someone has a couple of iron nails twisted
into a pendant, and if they do question it, why it’s just an artistic display!
And of course, easy to replace with $5 worth of string, iron and a hammer.
Iron is ancient. Iron is one of the
oldest protective charms out there, right up with salt and sage. It’s been used
for literally thousands of years to protect people against everything from
wolves to armies to poltergeists. That’s a pretty impressive history!
Iron is practical! The best
cookware I’ve ever used has always been my cast iron cookware set, which makes
better food than I’ve ever tasted, and it’s very easy to clean. It’s also
extremely hardwearing - I wholly expect to one day be able to pass on my cast
iron frying pan and wok to my grandchildren, and it was already been owned by
my mother and father before me. Iron knifes are sharper and cut cleaner than
almost anything except obsidian, and high-carbon steel (an alloy of iron and
carbon) is the best cutting edge known in bushcrafting circles, where all the
best knives are made from it
I hope this helps all you lovely witches and magick users out there!
‣ Summary: It’s the year of the Tri-Wizard Tournament, and as a Care for Magical Creatures student, you just have to sneak out to see the dragons.
‣ A/N: FUCK I got so into this omfg. It was only supposed to be 1000 words and we all see how that ended up^. Also credit goes to @asheathes for the name of Yoongi’s institute. Her Wizarding Schools Around the World series is flawless!
You huffed and scurried along the corridor towards the Great Hall, your breathing ragged. If you didn’t hurry, you were going to completely miss dinner, and tonight was the night that the other schools arrived: an arrival which you were dying to see. But of course, the staircases had to change right as you were coming down from the Ravenclaw tower, leaving you to the discretion of the portraits to try and find a new path down to the first floor. It had taken you nearly forty-five minutes.
When you arrived at the Great Hall, the feast was in full swing. Sighing with relief at the fact that Durmstrang and Beauxbatons hadn’t yet made their entrance, you carefully picked your way over to the Ravenclaw table.
“Y/N!” You heard a friendly voice call, and poked your head up. Your mouth was full of mashed potatoes - you’d been starving before you’d even left the Ravenclaw common room, and the trek down the stairs didn’t help your growling stomach – so all you could do was wave enthusiastically.
Coming towards you were your two best friends, both sporting their matching, brilliant red and gold ties. Try as you might, you couldn’t help feel a little bit of jealousy still, after all this time, that the two had both been placed into Gryffindor together. They were absolutely joined at the hip, both tall and incredibly beautiful. Walking towards you, they looked like models.
Which was why, the average, bookish Ravenclaw that you were, you couldn’t help but feel like the weird, third wheel of a friend. The three of you had shared a compartment on the Hogwarts Express your very first night, and even though you’d been separated by the sorting house, MaKenna and Maggie had stuck by you, and broken the rules countless times by coming and eating dinner with you at the Ravenclaw table.
“Hi, guys,” you said, after you’d gulped down the mouthful of potatoes. You’d put a bit too much in your mouth, and it felt like a stone in your stomach as it settled.
“What took you so long to come to dinner?” Maggie asked, grabbing a piece of bread and coating it with a small layer of butter. MaKenna sipped her pumpkin juice, waiting on your answer.
“The stairs changed,” you groaned. Noticing that the third and fourth members of your party weren’t around, you changed the topic. “Where’s Jungkook and Taehyung?”
“They had a late practice. Something about the Durmstrang team trying to play them while they’re here, so their practices have been even later,” MaKenna answered matter-of-factly. Jungkook and Taehyung, the legendary Gryffindor beaters, had been dating MaKenna and Maggie since their third years. It amazed you, how two pairs of best friends could start dating each other so coincidentally. But it had seemed like the two boys had fallen for your friends instantaneously, and there was no going back.
“I heard that Hufflepuff has been asking around about you. What’s his name? Jin…?” Maggie started, a smirk playing on her lips. Ever since the two of them had started dating someone, they’d endlessly been trying to set you up with someone. Honestly, you were perfectly happy being single and fifth-wheeling, something MaKenna and Maggie just couldn’t seem to grasp.
“His name is Jimin. And I tutored him in Potions once. There’s no reason for him to be asking about me,” you groaned. “I’ve just decided to be single for the rest-“
“Hi, love,” Maggie squealed suddenly, an arm coming around her waist. Taehyung pecked a sloppy kiss on her check, breaking off your sentence. And you’d never get to finish it, because just as Jungkook was sliding onto the bench on the other side of MaKenna, the candles suddenly dimmed, and a faint rhythmic thumping could be heard from outside the doors of the Great Hall.
“It’s Durmstrang,” Maggie whispered, as the Great Hall had suddenly become eerily quiet. With that, the doors burst open, and in walked a flood of boys in thick, heavy fur coats. Leading their way, a great staff thumping the floor, was their headmaster.
“Look! It’s Kai and Sehun!” Taehyung squealed, almost at a higher pitch than Maggie. He was gesturing to two boys, one wearing a think white coat, the other in black towards the head of the Durmstrang crowd.
“They’re Durmstrang’s beaters. People have compared them to the Weasley twins,” Jungkook hissed, both awe and a tinge of jealousy in his tone.
“And there’s Kris Wu!” MaKenna gasped, a hand going over her lips. You watched the boy she’d just pointed to, who you’d heard around the grapevine was the chosen Durmstrang contestant for the Tournament. He was lethal looking enough, with his shaved head and thick tribal tattoos wrapping around the base of his skull, along his neck, and disappearing under his coat’s neckline.
Beaxbatons came in shortly after, and more fawning was done around the tables as the girls produced a much more dainty and elegant entrance than that of the Durmstrang boys. Just as suddenly as they’d entered, the feast was over, and everyone was retiring to their common rooms. The next few weeks would be insane, you knew: morning classes and evening festivities for everyone. The professors were going light on everyone, but you still knew there would be work, and plenty of it, for you to do.
Once the staircase leading towards the Gryffindor common room came into view, Maggie took off with a loud cackle, Taehyung laughing and sprinting off after her in an extremely loud game of tag. Jungkook and MaKenna both waved to you, following their friends up to their rooms, hand in hand.
And then, you were alone. You suddenly realized how full and exhausted you felt, and the trek back up the stairs suddenly seemed very looming and tiring. You finally made it to the Ravenclaw tower, barely solving the riddle to let you into the common room. It was a particularly hard one tonight, probably due to the fact that there were so many new people wandering the halls.
The common room was insanely crowded, forcing you to push your way past the intense amount of students milling around. They were all trying to have a go at Namjoon, the Ravenclaw prefect and also the number one contestant to represent Hogwarts in the Tournament. He was perched in a fluffy arm chair by the fire, his best friend Jin to his right. A group of second year girls were fluffing their hair in the hopes of talking to him.
And then someone asked Namjoon about the dragons. You immediately froze, your ears perking up. You’d decided to major in Care for Magical Creatures last year, and even though you knew that there would be dragons at the tournament, you hadn’t given them another thought, until now.
“They’ve just arrived! I saw the fire balls as I was walking back from the Great Hall!” Someone shouted, and suddenly you had decided you weren’t as tired as you originally thought.
You slowly turned around, pushing your way back through the crowd and towards the back of the portrait leading towards the, now deserted, staircases. You weren’t exactly sure what you were doing, not until you had found your way out of the castle and into the courtyard. You could smell the flames in the air; dragons, you’d read, always brought with them the smell of heat and ash.
Luckily, a fireball was thrown into the air towards your right, giving you a general direction to walk in.
You knew this was against the rules, you knew that you could potentially be kicked out for sneaking a peak at the dragons, especially since you and Namjoon the potential Hogwarts star were in the same house, and you could always take back your information to him. You’d always been a rule follower, a meek student who paid attention in class and turned her homework in on time. Yet, these were dragons. Who knew if, even in your studies of magical creatures, you’d ever get the opportunity to see another one; dragons and their keepers were incredibly recluse, and thousands of witches and wizards went their whole life without seeing a single one. There were even petitions to remove the dragons from the Tri-Wizard Tournament, but traditions kept them apart of the main event, and kept the beasts and their handlers coming down from the mountains to participate.
You heard quite a bit of shouting when you arrived at the campsite. Tents for the trainers were set up far enough away from the dragon’s cages, and inside the iron bars were the incredible beasts, spitting flames every now and then. Occasionally, someone would shout in panic and the handlers would rush over to the cages, putting out fires and feeding the dragons to try and keep them calm. You could see now why they’d want to take the dragons out of the tournament: caging them and flying them over here must be extremely hard on both the dragons and their keepers.
Sitting off to the side, away from the other cages, was a lone cage. The darkness shaded the large figure inside, but you could tell something was moving in it. Keeping a watch out for the trainers, you sneaked your way towards it, coming to a stop a few feet away, where you could completely make out the form inside.
The dragon inside was smaller than the others, turning around quickly over and over. It prowled along the bars of the cage, it’s copper colored scales brushing the iron bars. Its folded wings were a deep red, and adorning its head were short, black horns. You peered at it curiously, and then it turned its black eyes to you, meeting your gaze straight on.
You gasped and took half a step back, not expecting the dragon to be so humanly conscious. You could see a bout of emotions swirling in its all knowing eyes. No class you took in Care for Magical Creatures had ever prepared you for this moment, when you’d look a dragon in the eyes, and he’d look back. “That’s a Peruvian Vipertooth,” a voice said from behind you. You almost shrieked, clamping your hands over your mouth just in time. “He’s the most venomous dragon in the world; that’s why we keep him away from the others. Just in case.”
You turned around, gazing at the trainer who had come up behind you. He was pale, his skin glowing in the moonlight. His deep ebony hair took on something of a blueish tint, and when he moved his head, you realized it was dyed a deep, midnight blue. But his eyes: even in the darkness you could see their blaze, just like the dragons. Maybe that was something that came with working with them: a knowing, passionate gaze in your eyes.
“You know you’re not supposed to be out here, right?” he asked, rubbing his hands together. They were filthy, covered completely by ash and soot; some was even smearing along his cheeks and forehead.
“I…I’m sorr… I just…” you stuttered, not able to get a single word out. He smirked devilishly, coming a few steps closer.
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone you snuck off here to see the dragons. They say that the contestants do it every tournament, although I didn’t expect the contestant for Hogwarts to be a tiny little Ravenclaw.”
“I’m not the contestant,” you snapped, snatching away your tie as he twirled the silver and blue material around in his fingers. “I’m pursuing a career in Care for Magical Creatures after my seventh year, and I was… I was just curious.”
“Pursuing a career, huh?” He chuckled, copying your tone. You realized just how pretentious you sounded, and your shoulders slumped ever so slightly. “You should run along, before I report you and have you kicked out for cheating.”
“Wait! I’m not cheating, I was just.. just curious. I’ve never seen a dragon before, you know? I’ve always been fascinated with them, and you guys, I just… please don’t turn me in?” You were groveling. Finally, the trainer in front of you smiled, and you realized for the first time how young he was. He couldn’t have been more than a year or two out school; barely older than yourself.
“What’s your name?” he asked gruffly.
“Y/N.” You almost stuttered over your own name, but tried to keep your cool. Getting kicked out of Hogwarts was probably the worst thing that could ever happen to you; you needed this guy to be on your side.
“Hmmm… well Y/N, maybe I could show you a few of the dragons, for a price.”
“What do you want?” you asked, your tone brightening. It looked as though you would be getting somewhere with him.
“What do you have to offer?” he asked, dark eyebrow raised. Your heart sank. He probably just wanted to sleep with you, and you couldn’t do that. Not even staying in Hogwarts was worth sleeping with this random stranger, no matter how beautiful he actually was, so he wouldn’t turn you in. You fumbled around in your pockets, coming up empty handed. Finally, you snatched the small silver band you wore on your index finger, the Ravenclaw raven engraved it, off and held it out.
“Here, this is all I have,” you stated, your palm flat and trembling. The trainer took the ring and examined it. Suddenly, he brought a piece of twine out of his pocket, cut it with a knife, and threading it through the ring before slipping it over is neck. The ring disappeared below his neckline.
“I guess the rumors about dragon trainers are true; we like shining things as much as the dragons,” he chuckled, and then turned a began to walk away. When he saw that you weren’t following him, he turned and narrowed his eyes. “Aren’t you coming?”
“Wait!” You snapped, catching up to him easily. “What’s your name?”
He chuckled again, and you realized how much more acttrative his smile made him; it was almost innocent. “I’m Yoongi. Now hurry up, or I’m going to turn you in just because you’re slow.”
You struggled to keep up with Yoongi’s fast pace; he was quite a bit taller than you, and his strides matched about two of yours. Finally, however, he came to a halt in front of a cage, a gleaming dragon curled up inside. Yoongi faced you, blocking your view of the cage. “This is the only one I’m showing you, and then you have to go back in to bed.”
You nodded eagerly. Yoongi chuckled at you, and then moved aside, letting you take in the beautiful dragon fully. The scales covering its body were the color of pearls, iridescent and creamy. When it cracked open one eye upon your gasp of awe, you noticed the pupil-less eye was multicolored, like a stain glass window.
“She’s an Antipodean Opaleye. She’s mine, or at least, she’s the dragon I train the most. I’ve got another, too – a Chinese Fireball – but I opted to not bring him. Boseog though, she’s a gentle giant.” He gestured towards his dragon, a loving smiling dancing on his lips. A few moment ago, it would have been hard to imagine the stony faced trainer smiling at something so lovingly, and yet here it was before your eyes.
“Her name is Boseog? What does that mean?” you asked, turning your attention back to the sleeping giant. Her scaled glittered in the moonlight.
“It’s Korean for jewel. I’m from Korea, I went to the South Korean Institute for the Art of Spellcraft. It’s not as esteemed as going to Hogwarts, though.”
“I’ve heard of that! You guys are one of the most technologically advanced wizarding schools in the world,” you said in awe. “What made you decide to train dragons?”
Yoongi chuckled at your reaction, but answered your question anyway. “We had a rogue dragon fly through from the Himalayas, searching for new territory. Poor thing was so far from home, and so lost. He dececrated a whole village. I was a first year back then, but the minute I saw him fly over me, I knew I’d never want to work with anything except dragons. So, after school, I went to Romania and trained under this old geezer, Charlie Weasley. He’s one of the best dragon trainers of all time, and he taught me everything I needed to know. And here I am. Boseog was the first dragon I ever trained.”
“She’s beautiful, Yoongi,” you whispered, your eyes never leaving the beast. A new sense of inspiration for magical creatures sparked inside of you; you never wanted to leave this lot and the dragons.
“Yeah, she is.” You turned your head, but Yoongi was already gaze at you. A flush went through his cheeks, and he quickly brushed his hands down his face, wiping more black soot along the way. “You should get back to your common room.”
“Oh… right,” you said, realizing it was much later than you’d planned to stay out. You had an early class tomorrow, and some unfinished homework. “Thank you, for everything. This was all really kind.”
“Hey, it’s not every day you get to show someone your dragon,” he smirked, and you laughed at his innuendo. “Goodnight, Y/N.”
“Goodnight, Yoongi,” you replied, turning to go. After a few paces, Yoongi called out to you.
“Maybe you’ll make it to Romania one of these days, and get your ring back.”
Suddenly, something in you snapped. You thought of Maggie and Taehyung, running up the stairs in a mad chase for each other. You thought about the way Jungkook always threading his fingers through MaKenna’s, just so. And you thought about how MaKenna and Maggie were always telling you to take a chance, make the first move. Branch out a little more, Y/N.
You turned sharply and sprinted back to Yoongi, throwing your arms around him. You smashed your lips to his, feeling him tense under you. Suddenly, after a moment, he relaxed into your kiss, pulling you close to him.
So there you were, under the stars, beside a dragon’s cage, kissing a complete stranger. He could have a wife and kids back in Romania; he could have murdered someone a week ago. But you were taking a chance, no matter how much soot and ash was staining your cheeks and clothes.
“Maybe I will,” you gasped after you pulled away, matching his smile with your own. You kissed him once more, feeling the subtle curve of his chap lips deliciously pressing to yours, before you turned away and made your way back to the castle.
Your uniform was filthy, but your lips tinged from Yoongi’s kisses. You ran your fingers along with slowly as you walked and grinning; he’d left your mouth tasting of fire and freedom.
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Description: ethereal; extremely delicate and light, in a way that seems not to be of this world. If there was a moment that Min Yoongi could beg to forget, it would be the moment he could feel pain from seeing such a pretty girl, like you, crying. It was a terribly beautiful concept, but he wished he hadn’t lived through it…
“That’s not going to work, Mark. You need to let the butter softens. I already took out one just now. We’ll use that,” he just nods, placing the butter back inside the fridge, and walks over to you, who is focusing on the recipe.
“I think that’s it. All the ingredients are ready,” he speaks, walking over to the cabinet to take the mixer and a big bowl. Both of you put on the aprons and wash your hands before starting.
Both of you are bored doing nothing in the apartment, until you came up with an idea to bake a cake. At first he is hesitant, but finally he gave in after you try to use aegyo at him. And let’s just say, you are not going to do aegyo ever again. It is embarrassing.
He mixes the butter and fine sugar as you are reading the recipe all over again.
“Try this. Good isn’t it?” He takes some of the mix on his index finger and asks you to try it. Eyes still on the book, you lick it clean from his finger, making his eyes widen.
“Yeah, it’s good,” you nod, still reading.
He freezes and quickly turns around to continue with the batter, trying to clean his thoughts. He is going to put it on a spoon, but you lick it directly from his finger. Damn, you never know how hot that is to him.
“Next, we need to put some flour and milk in it. Mix it well. Eggs, and some vanilla essence,” you think out loud and walk over to the oven to heat it up. You take a packet of flour on top of the counter and walks over to Mark. You slowly pour the milk and flour into the mixture, until it becomes a batter. You take the mixer from Mark’s hand and mix it well.
Without you noticing, Mark once never leave his eyes off you. He inspects every single part of you, your eyes, your nose, your lips, and down to your chest, and your hips. His mind is already undressing you, first your apron, then your white t-shirt, and then your sweatpants.
“Mark! Were you daydreaming?” You wave your hand in front of his face. He shakes his head softly, and try to think about something else other than you.
“Next are the eggs and vanilla essence, right?” He talks to himself and takes the ingredients on the marble counter top. He cracks the eggs into a small bowl and pours it into the batter as you mix it. Now, he stares at your hand, his mind going to places it should not be once again. He mentally want to slap himself right there. Just how the hell you turn him on so much?
“The vanilla essence, Mark,” you once again snap him from his daydream before he passes a small bottle to you.
“And..it’s done! Let’s get this inside the oven, and let it bake for 40 minutes,” you cheerfully say and pour the thick batter into a baking pan. As you put the pan inside the hot oven, your hand accidentally touch the hot iron inside the oven, causing you to scream in pain.
“What’s wrong?!” Mark runs to you, before he takes you to the sink. He closes the oven to let the cake bake and checks you at the sink, moaning and wincing while you put your finger under the cold running water.
And hearing that just flicks the switch inside him.
“Does it hurt anymore?” His voice turns low, that it catches you off guard.
“N-no. It d-doesn’t,” you stutter. Why is he being like this? You glance at him, only to see he is already towering over you, his eyes darken as he licks his moist lips.
“Good, because now, I want you,” he whispers in his deep voice to your left ear.
It’s done! Damn, I’m blushing like crazy while typing this out wth ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)