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shout out to petitfruitmarocains for the french help

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You'd think they'd have the decency to leave the common room.

But they don't, of course, which is why Celeste and Maxon all but fuck each other right there on that arm chair they share in front of all the Slytherin fifth, sixth, and seventh years in this Halloween party Pansy dragged me to.

I'd have been perfectly happy in my dorm, maybe studying for classes or reading up on textbooks or catching up on some much needed sleep. Maybe I would have come out here anyway to steal a bottle or two of nettle beer, drink a little in my room, maybe grab a joint and let the Alihosty sink in while I sink into my wonderful, soft silk sheets. No—instead, Pansy just had to make me come to a Halloween party. It's not even on Halloween, considering October ended on Thursday, and yet here I am, watching Celeste unbutton Carlier's stupid pirate blouse while he manhandles her arse.

In front of everyone.

Curling my lips in disgust, I turn my head away to where people dance, dressed up in rather minimal clothing.

Pansy all but shoved me into a costume.

No, she did shove me into a costume. I was asleep when she—with some inhuman strength I didn't know such a tiny, short girl could possess—hauled me out of bed, yanked my shirt over my head, crammed me into this silk, wine red button down I didn't even know I owned, and gave me a full fucking fright when all of a sudden, horns were growing out of my head.

"Don't worry, they should go away on their own by tomorrow morning," she said with a cheeky grin.

I managed to get a hold of my bearings and throw her out of my room—how did she even get in?—before she could yank my sweats down my legs.

So now I'm dressed in perhaps the most typical costume possible, a devil, sitting by the fireplace waiting for the clock to strike eleven so I can leave and Pansy can't give me shit for not staying long enough. I have Firewhiskey in one hand to take the occasional sip out of, though I might need to grab a whole bottle for myself what with the blatant coitus taking place just mere feet from me.

Somehow, even over the blaring music and the cheering and chattering of the students, I can pick up their voices.

"Pansy did well dressing you up, mon ange," Carlier purrs in that light French accent of his, his voice as haughty as ever. It's a wonder I haven't punched him yet.

My eyes shift to glance at them, though really I'm just drinking Celeste in. Pansy. I should've known she'd pull some shit like this. I shouldn't be at all surprised that if she's forced me to be some modern debauchery of a devil, she'd force Celeste into the getup of a lecherous angel. Her curls are pulled back, exposing the length of her neck, her slender shoulders. She wears a lacy, sheer, white corset, over which she wears white pants, tight on her arse and thighs, though they flare out a little below her knees. His hands are all over her, grabbing at her greedily and pulling her into him.

There's a halo charmed to stay afloat above her head, bobbing in the air as she sucks down Carlier's neck. Of course, she has wings—incredibly realistic ones, too, with soft feathers. They even flap occasionally.

Shaking my head, I get up quickly to walk across the common room with my drink in hand, glad to be anywhere but there, when I accidentally knock into a smaller figure.

"Oh!" Pandora gasps when she nearly falls over, though I'm quick to steady her with my hand on her hip. She glanced up at me, cheeks slightly flushed and green eyes bright, and gives me an apologetic smile. "Sor—"

"Don't be," I interrupt, forcing a charming smile to flags onto my face as my hand on her hip pulls her a few inches closer, "I wasn't paying attention to where I was going."

—

Forty-five minutes, maybe an hour later, I'm in my dorm walking towards my door. Pandora left about twenty minutes ago, but I stayed behind to take a break from all the noise and crowd out in the common room.

As soon as we were done, as soon as she was dressed and gone, I was hit with a wave of nausea. I'm not sure what it was. Maybe it was Pandora, but there was nothing new there. If anything, she's become more enjoyable company in bed, though when she's had a sip or two of Firewhiskey, she's a lot more obvious about her schoolgirl crush. Maybe it wasn't her. Maybe it was that it wasn't her, or maybe it was something else all together, but I needed to get in the shower and clean myself off.

Despite the intensity of the hot water, her lipstick marks haven't washed off. All that did was leave my skin a little pink. I'll have to ask Pansy how to get rid of the makeup.

Fuck. Pansy. It'll only be so long until she notices my absence and comes breaking down my door, so I choose to keep the wood intact by leaving now.

Swinging it open, I hear a short shriek that makes me freeze.

And then I quickly slip out into the hallway and close the door behind me to see Celeste standing right there, her arms up in front of her face slowly lowering. Her dark eyes are wide and riddled with shock, but it slowly melts away as her gaze turns on me.

My body tenses when I recognize her. Dressed in tight white getup, wings folded behind her back and halo a few inches above her hair, I'm so suddenly thrown back to that night in the Room of Requirements—that night she had to wake me up from my nightmare. I didn't realize I'd woken up, though, and I didn't realize that it wasn't real. I felt—I knew—that she was dead, the work of yet another cruel misdeed from my hands. I remember seeing her and wondering how she could be back, or what form she took upon death. I settled on deity, but still, it's ironic seeing her dressed like this. We haven't interacted much since. I suppose we both left the room with a mutual agreement to be done with it all for the rest of the week.

She won't bring it up, will she?

With a soft huff and a roll of her eyes, she lets her arms down and straightens her posture.

"Trying to give me a concussion, are you?" she snaps, hands moving to adjust her lacy top.

Thank you.

I lift an eyebrow at her, glancing at my door and then back at her. "Now, how was I supposed to know that you were standing right there? You need something?"

"No," she scoffs lightly, her eyes distracted as they wander around the hallway. "I was walking."

"Towards my room."

"Towards Maxon's, thank you."

Her halo bobs slightly when Celeste turns her chin up in that haughty, defiant way of hers.

Both my eyebrows rise at this, and I can't seem to control the way my lips twist into a small scowl. She's not looking at me still, her body language contradictory. She stands straight and proud, but her hands fidget and her eyes can't choose a particular subject to observe. She was going to Carlier's room. Of course. He's probably in there waiting for her to come so that they can...

I inhale sharply, and in that moment, I decide to stall her for as long as possible.

"An angel, Celeste?" my voice is soft, icy, mocking, and it prompts her to turn her head back to look up at me. I smirk lightly, seeing her gaze drop down to my lips.

Her plump lips then twist up into a tight smirk. "A devil, Malfoy? Could you be any less original?"

"You see the irony here, don't you?"

"Fuck off," she huffs, crossing her arms tightly over her corset, jaw clenching lightly. "I didn't choose to wear this, you know. Pansy practically manhandled me shoving me into it. She was so close to heading to the Restricted Section to find some illicit spell to have the wings grow right out of my back."

My lips twitch lightly. "She made actual horns grow out of my head."

Celeste's eyes widen slightly, and then they drag up to my hair. I reach up at the same time, pushing the damp locks out of the way to better reveal to two dark horns, about two inches in length, protruding right from my scalp. To my surprise, her eyebrows lift my slightly, and then she swallows thickly and glances away with a subtle clearing her throat.

"So she forced both of us," she mutters, leaning away slightly while her eyes find the door to the sixth year boys' dorm.

"Mm. Funny she should make one of the devil and the other an angel, isn't it?" I watch her closely, leaning back against my door and loosely crossing my arms.

"Yeah, I—oh, her bet," Celeste whispers under her breath, eyes widening. "I'm gonna kill h—"

"Bet?"

"Never mind."

"You said—"

"Those weren't a part of your costume an hour ago, Celeste interrupts me suddenly, and when I scan her face, I find her eyes brimming with something unreadable.

Dark and stony as ever, there's something else there too, something a touch like irritation. And then I follow her gaze to see it focused on my chest where the buttons of my shirt are undone. Where my skin, still tinged slightly pink, is revealed, as well as the lipstick stains that trail up to my neck. All the hot water and furious scrubbing did nothing more than smudge them slightly. My hand comes up instinctually to where Pandora sucked a hickey over my pulse, and then I lift my gaze back to Celeste to see her already looking into my eyes, plump lips set into a firm line and eyes ablaze.

"No, they're new additions," I say lightly, my pulse picking up as I smirk. "Like them?"

"Like them?" she reiterated with an incredulous scoff, jaw tightening as she peers back at my chest from over the length of her nose. Her dark eyes squint at me slightly, as if she can't see properly. "Please. They're so..."

I quirk an amused brow. "So what, angel?" my voice drops with sarcasm as I use the very nickname Carlier used on her earlier.

Her nose wrinkles. "Don't call me that."

Something hardens in my gut, and with my smirk falling and jaw clenching, I ask, "Why? Is it reserved only for your puppy Papillon?"

"No," Celeste gives me an odd look, her lips pursing and eyebrows twisting together, "I don't like it. I should tell him that—I hate it, actually. It's too sweet, like, cloyingly sweet, and personally, I don't think it suits me."

My lips twitch, and my muscles relax slightly. She's right. Mon ange doesn't suit her as much as diablesse.

"What about chérie?" the words slip out of my mouth before I can stop them, and Celeste's dark eyes, which had slipped back down to my chest, dart up to mine with a shocked gleam in them. Her plump lips part and shut softly, and she takes a small step back while her arms tighten. "Is that reserved for me?"

For a moment, the glaringly loud music from out in the common room fades away, and the only noises are the fast-paced thumping of my heart and the way Celeste's breaths grow just a touch heavier. She scans my face somewhat warily, opening her mouth and closing it without saying much at all over and over again, and then she looks back at my chest. Her eyes narrow on a particularly prominent lipstick mark, and her state of perplexity melts away quickly into brazen scorn.

"They don't look right," she says sharply, a look of distaste on her face while her fingers curl under her chin.

"Excuse me?" I say.

"They're just—The way they're placed—"

"What, you'd have them done differently?"

"Yes!" she says insistently, and then she stills.

We both watch each other closely for a few moments, and though the muffled thrum of the music has returned, my pulse only pounds harder. I'm stuck in my position leaning against the door, and I think if I try to move, I'll simply fall over. Her eyes hold me captive in the way they're so big, glowing with intensity, so malicious and perfect while they render me into nothing but a useless statue made of stone.

The air in the space between us, maybe two or three feet, is thick. I think, if I could move at all, it would take me a century to cross it and reach her, which is far too long for my taste.

"Yeah?" I manage to murmur.

Celeste fidgets slightly. "Yes," she exhales again, her fingers tracing the lace texture on her corset.

"What would you have done differently?" my voice sounds hollow, distant, maybe an echo rather than the actual thing.

Her eyebrows furrow, and then she opens her mouth to speak. I'm quick to stop her, though.

"Show me."

I can't read her immediate reaction. Her lips part, and her eyebrows rise, and her eyes shine with something imperceptible. I think for a moment, pulse rising, she'll scoff at me, ridicule me for suggesting such a thing, or she'll just say "no" and walk away. What I don't expect, however, is when she takes two short steps forward to close the space between us and reaches out with two tentative hands to grip my forearms from over the sleeves of my shirt.

I flinch slightly, feeling my arm sting where the fabric, despite being silk, chafes against sensitive skin, though she doesn't seem to notice as she eases my arms to uncross. I let them drop to my sides, wondering if she can hear how fast my heart beats as I watch her drink my chest in.

Her fingers are still loosely touching my forearms. They're not on my skin, but still I can't get over my shock. She can't really be touching me, touching me, willingly. She couldn't be.

And then she's pulling her wand out, and I quickly straighten up to reach for my own—

"Relax," there's a teasing hint of amusement in her voice as she keeps her eyes steady on a smudged lipstick stain on my chest. "I just need to start with a blank canvas..."

Slowly, I lower my hands. I slip them into my pockets and lean back against my door, watching as she gives her wand a short twirl. The lipstick disappears off my skin with a subtle tingling feeling that's fine just as quickly as it comes, and then—and then her hands, after pocketing her wand, are moving to my shirt to unbutton it a little more.

It takes all my effort not to curse right out loud as I watch her dark fingers undo them with agility, though they take their time. Her knuckles don't brush against my skin even once as she brings herself to the last button, pulling my shirt apart when it's undone. I manage to bring my eyes up to her face, though she still won't look at me. Her eyes are glowing, though, and I swear that's her pulse thumping in her throat so visibly.

There's no way this is happening.

My shirt hangs open and loose, and her hands drop. I watch her swallow thickly, and I copy her instinctually. And then her fingers are brushing her hair back, though it's tied up and not a single coiling lock is in her face. Could it be a nervous tick? Could she be nervous? I wonder if it's the bad kind of nervous. Or maybe it's the good kind. There is a good kind, right?

When her fingertips touch my skin, they sear me. I hiss softly, abdomen tightening, and pull away as best as I can with the door already behind me. She shouldn't be touching me like this.

Her fingers follow me, however, splaying out against my lower abdomen. I close my eyes, focusing not on the sting of the light pressure, but the way her cool skin soothes my irritated stomach. Her touch is tentative for a moment, hardly grazing me while her palms slide up until they reach my chest. And then the pressure increases as I sense her leaning up on her toes, leaning her weight into her hands.

When her plump lips press against the side of my throat, all the air in my lungs escapes me with a sharp exhale.

They linger there for a moment, and then they pull away to connect with my collarbone. Her hands are moving again, one sliding down to press against my abdomen, the other sliding up over my shoulder and to the back of my neck so that her fingers can tangle with my hair. She moves carefully, fingers curling around locks and pulling only gently. Her hand slides further up into my hair when she presses a kiss to my chest.

I open my eyes for a moment to look down at her in a slight haze, catching the dark plum colored stain on my skin, sharp in contrast to my skin, heavier and richer than the pink Pandora left behind before Celeste magicked it away.

She moves back up from my chest, and I let my eyes close again when her lips are on the hollow of my throat. I'm sure she can feel my pulse on her lips, and—

And she swipes her tongue ever so slightly against my skin before pressing another kiss right under my jaw.

I stifle a soft moan, though when her hand abruptly tightens in my hair and pulls my head back, there's nothing that can be done to stop the low groan that escapes my lips. Maybe I'm just imagining it, but I think I hear her respond with her own soft noise. Something between a moan and a whimper, and it makes me nearly collapse right down to the floor.

The tip of her nose drags gently against my skin, following the line of my jaw until the tip of her tongue teasingly traced the lobe of my ear. My hands dart out all on their own to grab her hips and steady myself. I pull her in closer, and both her hands are now in my hair pulling at it and massaging my scalp without much mercy. She presses a searing kiss right behind my ear, the tips of her feathery wings brushing against the backs of my palms.

"Celeste," I whisper hoarsely, her hands pulling my head to fall back against the door.

My hips move forward slightly while her lips meander back down to my neck, slowly sucking on my skin. I let my hands drop down to her arse, gripping it tightly and pulling her closer. She gasps softly when my fingers press into the muscle, nails scraping lightly against my scalp.

She's greedy. She traverses every reachable inch of me with cold, purposeful hands, tugging on my hair to coerce stifled groan after groan out of my mouth, squeezing my arms and shoulders, dipping her hands into my undone shirt to roam my torso, all while her lips suck and nip at my skin with an intense fervor.

I find myself being pulled into her mind like a magnet again, and it's not a memory or a feeling that bombards me, but one loud, screaming thought—

Fuck, he smells good.

And then right as her lips begin peppering down my jawline, nudging upwards slightly until the corner of her mouth brushes against the corner of mine, the door to the boys' hall slams open, allowing the loud music in.

It makes both of us jump, and Celeste quickly pulls away from me and stumbles backwards until her back hits the wall opposite my door. We both stare at each other, the look in her eyes matching the how stunned I feel. My pulse is racing as I'm frozen solid just staring at her, my skin still tingling where she touched me and my neck slightly sore from her bruises.

We both turn our heads to look at the door at the same time. I curse softly under my breath when I see Carlier standing there, though, luckily, he's leaning out the doorway talking to someone I can't see. I assume he didn't see anything, glancing back at Celeste to see her already looking at me. As soon as I do so, though, she snaps her gaze away.

Wait.

If Carlier's at the door, then he must have been in the common room this entire time. Which means that whatever reason Celeste had to visit his room, it wasn't to fool around with him.

Wincing softly, I manage to button half my shirt up before Carlier turns around, instantly freezing right there in the doorway when his eyes land on us.

I give him half a smirk and a shirt wave of my hand, leaning casually against my door.

"Maxon—"

"Alright, Celeste?"

"Yes, fine, I."

"As tu trouvé l'Alihosty [Did you find the Alihosty]?" he asks, eyes dropping down to the key dangling from Celeste's pocket.

My eyes switch to Celeste when the French slips out of his mouth. She looks nonchalant, resting her weight on one hip and looking at him with slightly lifted eyebrows. Her dark eyes dart to look at me for a moment, quickly flitting away when they see me already watching.

"Non, je n'est pas eu la chance de regarder encore [No, I haven't had a chance to look yet]."

I can feel Carlier's gaze on me, and I can feel it intensify when he sees me looking at her.

"Il te dérange n'est ce pas [He's bothering you, isn't he]?"

"Il n'est rien [He's nothing]," she snaps lightly, and I have to stifle a dry laugh at this while I continue staring at her with a clenched jaw, "oublie le [forget about him]."

"Pourquoi est ce que tu lui parle? Tu ne l'aime même pas. Tu le haïe, même si tu ne veut pas me dire pourquoi [Why do you talk to him? You don't even like him. You hate him, even if you won't tell me why]," the boy dressed as a pirate sighs with confusion, fire, and mild irritation as he approaches Celeste, a hand going to the small of her back while he flashes a wary glance at me.

"Ne t'en fait pas avec ça [Dont worry about it]," Celeste responds tiredly, her eyes flashing away from the both of us.

Carlier turns fully to look at me. His brown eyes make direct contact with mine, and while he tucks a long, wavy lock of hair behind his ear, he asks her, "Veut tu que je lui dise de te foutre la paix? J'en rêve depuis que je suis arrivé [Do you want me to tell him to fuck off? I've been dying to since day one]..."

I'm glad we feel the same about each other, I mutter internally, cracking him a sarcastic grin while digging my nails into my palms.

"J'ai besoin que tu fasse rien [I don't need you to do anything]," Celeste sighs softly, her hand coming up to rub his arm while she leans back against the wall. "Trouvons simplement l'Alihosty et partons [Let's just find the Alihosty and go]."

Carlier seems hesitant, brown eyes scanning me, but then a soft smile breaks his face as he murmurs, "Tout ce qui te rendra heureuse, mon bijou [Whatever makes you happy, my jewel]."

This time, I can't help it when I snort.

Both pairs of eyes snap to look at me. One is filled with a mild panic that quickly subsides to irritation and fatigue, they other is just annoyed and confused.

"Something funny, Malfoy?" his voice is cold.

Nothing, just how whipped she has you.

I shrug. "Your costume is a bit questionable, but not much else."

He looks like he wants to pummel me, but instead he slips on a cold smile and says, "Are you planning on standing there and eavesdropping on our conversation all night?"

My lips twitch up into a smirk. "It's common space, Carlier. You can't force me out. Besides," I add slyly, my eyes sliding over to look at Celeste to see her brows slightly furrowed and her eyes watching me cautiously, "it's not like I can understand what you're saying. I'm not sure I'd want to—I can't imagine conversations with you being any less dull in French."

Celeste's eyes widen, and maybe I'm imagining it, but I see her lips twitch upwards for a fraction of a second. She looks away, squeezing Carlier's arm with one hand and bringing her other hand up while she clears her throat.

She leans up on her toes from behind him to brush her lips against his ear, and my lips curl in disgust. "Leave it," she whispers softly, dark eyes sliding to lock with mine while she presses a kiss behind his ear, leaving a slight stain from her lipstick.

I give her a dry smirk, glancing at Carlier to see his eyes on my neck. It only takes me a moment to understand what he's staring at so intensely, so I turn my chin up a bit to give him a better angle to ogle at Celeste's lipstick marks, seeing the very girl roll her eyes at me. Carlier's jaw clenched as he scans all the marks, his tan skin flushing slightly with red, and he reaches behind him to loosely hold Celeste's wrist before turning to speak to her.

"Tu ne devrais pas lui parler. Tu est mieux que lui, et... je n'aime pas la façon qu'il te regarde [You shouldn't talk to him. You're better than him, and... I don't like the way he looks at you]."

I nearly straighten up at this—who is he to tell her what to do?

Celeste groans softly, her forehead dripping into his shoulder. "Let's go, Maxon," she says, squeezing his arm once. His eyes burn holes into mine, but he eventually softens and looks at her with a sickening, cloying fondness in his eyes.

"C'est bon, tu as raison. Peux importe, Pansy et moi on parlais, et on s'entend les deux pour dire que tu est beaucoup trop stressé récemment, donc ce soir on te fait boire [Fine, you're right. Anyway, Pansy and I were talking, and we both agree you've been too stressed lately, so we're getting some drinks in you tonight]."

Celeste snorts. "Comme c'est admirable [How considerate]."

"Here, give me the key, and I'll grab the Alihosty. You go back to the party," he says with a soft smile, holding his hand out for Celeste to drop the room key into.

Carlier then gives me one last wary look before turning on his heel to walk to his dorm. Celeste and I watch quietly, a tight smirk on my face, while he unlocks the door and disappears behind it, letting it shut quietly, before turning to look at each other.

Her eyes first land on the lipstick marks, and her fingers come up to touch her lips—which, surprisingly, are still covered properly with makeup—her chin tilting down slightly. She then clears her throat, dropping her hand and straightening up a little, and turn on her heel to walk towards the door.

"Wait," I call out when she's moved hardly a step or two.

Celeste pauses, standing still for a moment, and then she turns her head over her shoulder to look at me inquisitively.

"It doesn't suit you," I say, scanning her with sharp eyes.

Celeste's eyes narrow, and she turns to face me fully, hands at her hips. "Excuse me?"

"The costume. It doesn't suit you."

She glowers at me harshly, her arms loving to cross tightly over her corset while her jaw shifts. The irritation is clearly written on her face. "Thanks," she says flatly.

"It doesn't."

"I got that the first time," Celeste snaps, jaw tilting up and eyes squinting lightly. "What, don't have anything new to add? Maybe you'd like to tell me how it makes me look ten pounds heavier, or—"

I can't help the laugh that slips out my mouth, my hand instantly darting up to cover it while the rage intensifies in her eyes.

"I'm glad you find me funny," she spits bitterly, moving to turn again.

"No, wait, Celeste," I manage not to snicker, taking a step closer to her while she huffs and turns to look at me expectantly. My lips twitch with the effort it takes not to laugh, and then I quickly pull my wand out of pocket.

Celeste instinctually takes a step back. "What the hell?" she scowls, her hand going to her back pocket where I assume her wand must be. "First you tell me I look bad, and now—"

"I never said you look b—"

"—you're gonna Stupefy me or some shit?" she hisses sharply, lowering her voice and glancing at Carlier's door before adding darkly, "don't forget who managed to her you while she was half asleep."

I roll my shoulder at the memory, wincing as I recall the burning pain. "I haven't forgotten. The scar still hasn't gone, y'know."

"Good, so put your wand d—"

"Celeste, if you'd stop talking for once, you'd see that I'm not trying to hex you."

"Excuse m—?!"

With a smirk, I give my wand a little flourish, watching as the transfiguration magic unfolds right before my eyes.

"What are you—What—?" she gasps softly, taking another few steps back with her wand useless at her side, looking down at her body as the lace corset stains black. Her pants transfigured into a leather skirt, short and tight and akin to the clothes she typically wears, just as the feathers on her wings and her charmed halo turn darker than even her eyes. "You—"

"There," I say simply, pocketing my wand while my lips are unable to keep from breaking into a stupid grin. "Suits you much better."

And I'm not wrong—it does. Perhaps it's still an angel costume, complete with feathery wings that give a slight flap every once in a while and a glowing halo sitting inches above her head and follows her around, but it's no longer so deceivingly innocent. The black lace of her corset is tantalizing, just like her skirt is. If Celeste were ever an angel, she wouldn't wear white. I was tempted, I have to admit, to turn her halo into horns and maybe her wings into a tail, but I like the irony of it.

Celeste falters slightly, her dark eyes brimming with shock as she stares up at me while standing in front of the door. Maybe I'm imagining it, maybe the lighting is playing tricks on my eyes, but I swear her cheeks darken just a touch, whether that's even possible. Her hands smooth down her skirt, and she opens her mouth as id to say something, but nothing comes out. Instead, she traces her fingers over the lace of her corset and stands there looking shellshocked.

When I walk towards her at a lithe, casual pace, her eyebrows rise. I stop when we're just inches away, her back directly facing the door. And then when I lean in towards her ear, her breath hitches right in mine, and one of her hands comes up almost instinctively to rest gently on my abdomen from over my shirt. I hesitate for a moment, but then I pick a hand up to curl my fingers behind her ear as if to push hair away, even though it's all tied back.

"You're welcome," I offer, letting my lips brush against her skin. Celeste shivers, and I become suddenly so aware of how the skin on my neck aches from her bruises.

And then, before she can gather herself, I swing the door open and slip back out into the common room, deciding to treat myself to a Firewhiskey or two tonight.

—

VOTE!

how do u feel about this chapter, discuss pls

ahhhh!!! it's been so long since the last update. so! on this episode of KUPWC...

my last midterm was a project and it was a ten minute video, but it literally took two hours to upload so i ended up submitting it late and i'm still very annoyed about that.

also i had to pick up materials from school for the next semester and my bio engineering teacher gave us marshmallows. sadly, they're not for consumption, but a catapult we'll be constructing

anyway!! i've heard your requests, and next chapter will be a pansy, blaise, celeste, and draco smoking sesh!

what do you guys want to see more of in this book?

also, do you guys have any headcanons for any of the characters?

i know as the author any headcanons i make ARE canon (within the core universe, at least), but i headcanon that when pansy blaise and draco were little babies that had sleepovers, they'd have the cutest pajamas. draco's would have dinosaurs, pansy would have flowers (but they would turn into swords whenever she got angry and her magic got out of hand, which was often), and blaise had food (specifically fruits, because he's fruity, and more specifically bananas)

QOTD: what's ur favorite and least favorite emoji? mine are 😳 and 🤠 respectively