#for all those school years studying his plays in boring classrooms

[emotinalsupportturtle]

Blackadder vs Shakespeare

This is THE most satisfying 2 seconds of a comedy sketch

Thank you sincerely Blackadder Sir. Especially because that is the version you have to inevitably suffer through (very much against your will) when you are studying Hamlet

[yellowballoondogs]

My x-men teacher headcannons

Scott Summers

The kids have a dumb nickname for him that he only tolerates because he wants them to think he’s cool (none of them think that)

Now hear me out. He’s the drivers Ed teacher. (Yes this extends to the X-jet) I just think it fits him- I can’t even explain it

Every-time a student asks him to sponsor a club he just says yes. He ends up with a variety of random clubs to sponsor

Rouge

The kids are afraid of her at first but love her by the end

She teaches auto-mechanics and gym

She really wants to coach some kind of sports team but hasn’t had the time for it

Remy Lebeau

The kids love him. They trust him and think he’s cool. None of the adults do.

He teaches sex-Ed (canonically) but I think he’d also teach home ec. He loves cooking and spent the entire krakoa era househusbanding- he’d love it.

He really wants to run a cooking club but can’t get enough students to join

Kurt Wagner

In cannon most students think he’s creepy but it’s a school for mutants so fuck that. They love him in my heart. They just also think his jokes are stupid and he’s cringe.

He started out teaching German but got bored of it pretty quickly

I could’ve see him as a kinder garten teacher. He loves working with the little ones and they love him. He’s definitely one of those teachers who has a classroom theme every year that they overdecorate for.

If he’s not a kindergarten teacher he’d do theater. Man would go all out for a Shakespearean play,

He also runs a ton of extracurriculars- baseball (which he canonically loves), Bible study, and gymnastics. He really wants a sword fighting club but was rejected because it was too dangerous.

Colossus

He has a gaggle of kids that hang out in his room during lunch

He teaches art class (I’m fairly certain that’s already cannon)

He runs an art club and does the school musical every year, which he runs like the goddamn navy

Kitty pryde

Tries to stay hip with the kids and lets them call her by her first name.

She teaches any tech related class or club you could think of. Even if only one student is interested she will beg for it to be on the curriculum

I don’t think she’d actually enjoy being a teacher all that much. Maybe later on she’d go on to be a dean or social worker, and much later the headmistress.

She runs a robotics club that she’s been trying to bypass anti mutant laws to bring to state competitions every year. She also runs the Jewish student union

If you want me to do anyone else please just ask (:

[emmawithtwoms]

The history of magic classroom

@wolfstarmicrofic day 9, 988 words

The history of magic classroom has always been, in Sirius’ eyes (and all of Hogwarts’ really), the best place to take undisturbed naps. Professor Binn’s voice always acted as white noise for the tired students, and the extremely boring class was always taught in the early mornings, lulling all of the pupils, who still hadn’t managed to rub the sleep out of their eyes, back into the dream’s realms. 

Well, all of the students, except for one. 

Remus Lupin was, quite possibly, the only boy in all of Hogwarts to not only manage to stay awake during Binn’s lessons, but to actually enjoy them, taking notes and gladly sharing them with the rest of the class, also helping younger students revising and giving many free (and actually interesting) lessons for whoever was in need. Not even Lily Evans, classified swot, could bring herself to enjoy that class, but to Remus, it was one of the most interesting lesson in Hogwarts, managing to stay top of his class every year. 

That’s why that particular Tuesday morning was exceptionally grimm for poor Remus. You see, not only January’s full moon came on a Saturday night, not only it came the night of his anniversary with his incredible, stunning and fabulous boyfriend (his words, although Remus totally agreed), making him too weak to properly celebrate (with a date and very through snogging session, in his mind), but the moon was also a bad one, leaving him bedridden for the following couple of days, impeding him from participating to his favourite classroom. 

Therefore, the pout on his lips and his grumbling while alone in the infirmary were totally understandable, even if not shared by his friends. And that’s how Sirius found him at the end of the school day: reading a (very boring, in Sirius’ opinion) book about the goblin revolution that they were studying in class, with a very prominent crease on his eyebrows given by his frown (Sirius believed that the frown hadn’t left his brows sinvìce that morning, when mrs. Pomfrey forbid him to leave the infirmary). 

“Moonyyy, you know you shouldn’t frown, it will give you wrinkles.”

Sirius proceeded to smooth the wrinkles on his forehead with his thumb, followed by his lips. He clearly saw all of Remus’s tension leave his body, making him melt against his boyfriend’s affections. 

“Hey pads, how was the school day?”

Sirius took his hand and started playing with his fingers, as he often did when talking to him. 

“It was fine, I managed to charm Snivellus’ chair so that he got stuck to it during Charms, and Mulciber got detention for causing an explosion during potions, it was brilliant”

“And I guess you had nothing to with the sudden blowing of his cauldron”

“Actually, my dearest Moony, I did not, even if I wished it was my doing. No, I think this time it was Evans and the girls, getting revenge after hearing that prick bad mouthing some muggleborns. You know, those girl can actually be pretty scary, when they put their minds into it”

“Oh yeah, tell me about it, we just gotta be thankful that they decided to be our friends, otherwise we would be screwed.”

“And all thanks to you, my Moonage daydream, you charmed our way into their hearts, opening the door for us to sweep through and settle into their lives”

“Huh, seems like I’m quite the charmer then, is that what I did with you? ”

“Don’t be ridiculous, my bright Natural Satellite. Nope, you stole my heart right away and never gave it back, you little thief.”

“Well, lucky me, now I have the most precious treasure in the world in my hands, and I don’t really plan of giving it back”

At that he squeezed Sirius’ hand, looking at him and blushing, like the romantic sap he is. 

“Oh Moony, my Moony, all those books really taught how to enchant me with your words, did they?” 

Remus couldn’t answer, because he was swept in a kiss by Sirius, and well, let’s just say that when Sirius Black kisses and holds you like you’re the most important thing in the world, there is not much else that your brain can concentrate on, for Remus, it was just SirusSiriusSiriusSiriusSirius. 

But then Sirius suddenly broke the kiss, (quite rudely, if you ask Remus). 

“Oh, I almost forgot, I’m meant to give you something!”

And he started rustling in his bag, looking for said something 

“There!”

Sirius handed Remus a little pile of parchment, that was neatly stored in his bag

“What is this, love?”

And he started scanning them, ignoring the puddle that Sirius became hearing the pet name. 

“It’s just today’s note, I wouldn’t want my favourite swot to lose his precious class time”

And there, in Remus’ hand, neatly written with a perfect posh cursive, were the notes for the whole day, not only of the subjects that Sirius actually enjoyed, like Charms, but also of...

“You didn’t!!! You actually stayed awake during History of Magic to take notes for me???” 

The notes were neatly written, clearly taken with the only purpose to be gifted to Remus, seeing the amount of messages, hearts, “I love you”s, and doodles that Sirius left in the margins for him. 

Now, this might not seem like a big deal for many, but to Remus, the fact that Sirius not only stayed awake during a class that he hated, but actually put in the effort taking notes just to gift them to Remus, without even using them for himself, was the most heartwarming gift he could have gotten post moon. 

“Oh, you beautiful, beautiful man, how did I manage to deserve something so special like you?”

“It’s quite simple, my stunning Night Howler: you were trapped by my insanely good looks, my charm, my flashing grin, my amazing personality,  my ass…” 

“Sirius”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and kiss me”

And kiss him he did. 

[carrie-tate]

Okay okay, I see at least one person is interested in my new OC (which is almost like as the previous one lol... But they are definitely from different timelines I would say) so.

(forgive me Percy/Oliver or Percy/Penny or Percy/Audrey fans)

Please love and favor

Riley Ellis Chandler

Muggle-born witch (I haven't figured it out yet, but probably her parents are either office workers, or one of them is an elementary school teacher), Hufflepuff student (because I love Hufflepuff and probably all my characters will be from this house)

Speaking about her, she has a rather boring character, a stereotypical girlish nature, I would say. Feminine, polite, diligent. She needs reading glasses because she (like probably many Muggle-borns after learning about the world of magic) read a lot. And that's why she's well-read (Although she is reserved and does not try to answer all the questions in class, often doubting whether she remembers this or that fact correctly) and her eyesight is ruined, lol

She was a member of Flitwick's Toad Choir in her first and second years. She has a pet toad named Bean... She later realized that music was not her thing and became more interested in the main subjects like Charms and Transfiguration.

In her fourth year, she started a reading group within the confines of her house, reading extracurricular books to those who wanted to read and helping younger students with their homework. In fact, because of such efforts to try to support newcomers in the first and upper years, she received the Head Girl badge in her fifth year.

Despite getting good grades in her theoretical classes, she is terrible at anything that requires practice. That is, flying lessons, Divination (though she still likes the atmosphere of Astronomy Tower), or care of magical creatures are difficult for her.

She most likely did not participate in the events of Hogwarts' defense, but kept in touch with the students from her house whenever possible to know about their safety.

Maybe after Hogwarts, in the future, she tried to work in the Ministry of Magic. But I see her eventually becoming a Muggle Studies teacher at Hogwarts.

The few sketches I have with her and a little bit about her and Percy:

She entered in the same year as Percy Weasley, so they are about the same age (maybe Riley is a couple of months younger than him), But I see it this way: they met somewhere in their third year, perhaps accidentally paired up in a joint Gryffindor and Hufflepuff class.

But most likely their communication would become closer in the fifth year, since I see that Riley is also a prefect. (And I said that they are very similar to my previous hp oc, Tracey. But I will write about this at the end) So it's obvious that they would see each other more often simply because of their duties. Well, and somewhere by the end of the fifth year they would most likely have... Just gotten together, I think

Most likely, in the fifth year, Percy will appreciate Riley's activity with her reading club, and eventually this small company will be replenished with a couple of students from Gryffindor.

So you understand, I see them as a very calm couple of two responsible people. Where Percy has a lot of responsibility and is more often nervous (because he is trying to show authority), and Riley is more calm, who sometimes lets the students get away with minor misfires, trying to evaluate the situation not only from the point of view of the rules, but also from the point of view of personal opinions

I think it was Percy's initiative that their relationship was hidden at first (in the style of hiding in empty classrooms to just talk about the day, hold hands and be alone. That's innocent teenage romance... There's already a headcanon that despite Riley's short curly mullet, Percy would claim it could still be braided. And since he still has a little sister, he can do it. He probably finds stress relief in playing with his girlfriend's hair... Ahem), so that his brothers wouldn't find a reason to joke about them. I think it was also revealed in the end because of Ginny. Or Ron.

Of course, eventually this will also get back to the twins, and until graduation, Percy and Riley will be making sweet little remarks about their sugary couple. This irritates Percy, but Riley finds it funny.

Riley probably has a generally non-confrontational relationship with Percy's family (I'm sure the twins asked something along the lines of "why would such a cutie choose a stale cracker like you, Perce?") So I think the moment Percy distanced himself from his family, he distanced himself from her as well.

But after the war for Hogwarts, after everything they had experienced and rethought, they would have been able to gradually come together again. Percy would have tried to get her a job at the Ministry, but in the end it just... Didn't work out. Although I think he would support her in her professorial work, it seems that a long-distance relationship (due to the fact that Hogwarts professors, as I understand it, live on the school grounds the entire school year) suits them.

A compilation of headcanons about them that I discussed with @pockysfluffiez

Speaking of my previous OC Tracy Thorens. I think she's more of a Cursed Child years old than a Harry Potter years old, and maybe she could technically be related to Riley. (Perhaps she could have had a sibling, or cousin, who didn't have magical powers, took a new last name, started a family, and Thorens could have been... Riley's niece, or cousin niece)

[kumoriyami-xiuzhen]

Hakuoki SSL Hakuo Gakuen Story Vol 5. Okita Souji-hen Rainy After School

I found the tl of 薄桜鬼 遊戯録弐 秋の新選組大運動会！ so I'm planning on translating that next... but I don't know how much of it there is so I might do it in segments as I believe there are 5 "chapters". Maybe? I have an extremely vague recollection of how the story goes.

Anyway this story was originally published in 電撃GS杂志2014年7月号, and was the only one that didn't come with a new graphic.

Also sorry this is late... but I may have been watching Op.4, and I may have fallen asleep after doing so... 😅 and then I may have simply have had no motivation to rush translating.

Hakuoki SSL Hakuo Gakuen Story Vol 5. Okita Souji-hen Rainy After School

Translation by KumoriYami

It was in June.

A the first semester's exams approached at Hakuo Gakuen, the majority students rushed to prepare for their exams after their club activities. Among those clubs was the kendo club, which hadn't ended their activities any earlier, but continued its practice as scheduled. It was headed by the three people - second years Okita Sosuji, Saito Hajime, and Toudou Heisueke. The other second and first year students were all reluctant to accompany them for practice, but were studying during their breaks. As for why only the kendo club was doing this, Okita explained it as follows:

“Stopping club activities for the sake of dealing with exams, isn't that the same thing as being played around with by Hijikata-san, I super hate that.

"Because exams are meant to test your normal fortitude, isn't it strange to specifically study for these exams.

"Ah, it's a cool goal to be well-versed in literary and military arts. In that case, perhaps there will be female manager who will worry about us."

As soon as those words were spoken, Saito and Toudou had no choice but to accompay Okita for practice, until the midterm exams were about to begin. Eventually once the exam season started, all of the school's club activities were suspended, including the kendo club. A bored expression was on Oktia's face as he glanced around the empty dojo, lightly sighing as he walked to the door. This is a story that occurred right before the midterm exams began.

"Eh, it's raining..."

After changing his shoes at the door, Okita Souji, who was preparing to step out, stopped as he saw the raindrops falling from the gloomy skies. Because he didn't bring an umbrella, he had planned on picking up an umbrella that had been left behind in the umbrella rack by the door here and using it, however said umbrellas in the umbrella rack seemed to have remained unused for a long time, and were either covered in dust, or had its ribs snapped. Using such an umbrella on the way home would really upsetting, so he had no other option but to go home in the rain.

"If you catch a cold because of the rain and can't take the midterm exams, that would be an unavoidable casualty, right?"

As he was mumbling those words, eh was preparing to walk out into the rain.

"Um, Okita-senpai, where's your umbrella?"

Hearing someone call him, he turned around to see Yukimura Chizuru, who had just entered the school this year. standing there with a worried expression.

"Well, I didn't bring it. So I'll just be heading home in the rain."

"How can that be... you'll catch a cold. If you don't mind it, please use this umbrella."

Chizuru took out a collapsible umbrella from her bag and handed it to Souji.

"Thanks for your kindness, but what will you be doing if you lend me your umbrella?"

"I, uh, have... have a spare in the classroom..."

Seeing Chizuru glance around him, Souji gazed at her with a smile on his face.

"A spare umbrella... really?"

"Um.... that's really true..."

"Surely after you lent me your umbrella, you were intending to run over to the staff room and ask a teacher to let you borrow one of the dusty or broken umbrellas that were left by the door, right?"

"I... uh..."

Since he guessed what she was worrying about, Chizuru was speechless and lowered her head.

"I won't refuse if Chizuru-chan wants to lend your umrella anyway, if this results in Chizuru-chan needing to hold up one of those broken umbrellas and getting caught in the rain, I don't want to see that happening. That's why I don't want to borrow your umbrella."

“…………”

"But if Chizuru-chan wants to lend me her umbrella regardless, if you don't want me to get wet, the solution to this problem isn't impossible. How? Can you accept that!"

"Ye…. Yes, I'm willing to accept that!"

Hearing Souji's proposal, Chizuru lifted her head with eyes widened with happiness. "Obviously I didn't say what to do…." Souji bitterly laughed/forced a smile in his heart before taking Chizuru's collapsible umbrella and quickly opening it up.

"Then, we'll head home together."

"......Huh?"

"What's wrong? This is the only coordinated solution to the way we think."

"This, you mean to say..."

"Alright, let's go."

Without waiting for her response, Souji took Chizuru's hand and walked ou tthe door. Despite how the two walked as close to each other as possible so as to not get wet, Souji still leaned the umbrella as close to Chizuru as possible to prevent her from getting wet.

"Ah… Okita-senpai will get wet like that… I'll be fine."

Looking at Chizuru, who was pushing the handle of the umbrella into his direction while she spoke, Souji smiled happily.

"Hehe. If you don't want both of us to get wet, we have to move a bit closer."

After saying that, Okita tightly pressed their shoulders together, and Chizuru looked at him with a bewildered expression.

"Look, this way we won't get wet. Then let's go home."

Hearing what Souji said, Chizuru managed to squeeze a "yes" out of her mouth.

On their journey home, the heavy rain caused the temperature to drop, but where the two people touched was always warm.

【END】

That's the last of these stories. Still have more random SSL content lying around though...

[azuramarigold]

A story focused on a young Yuji already harboring Sukuna as a vessel and it's up to teenage sorcerers of Tokyo Jujutsu High School to go and help him! Involves a parental Kento Nanami and Gojo with his usual antics.

This chapter focuses more on Nanami's perspective

AO3 Link CH1 CH2

Chapter 3: Mission Start

Summary:

The students at Tokyo Jujutsu High School are given a mission involving saving a child who happens to be the Vessel of the "King of Curses", Ryomen Sukuna. The three students are shocked at this sudden mission, but one is forced to go on a head start. Kento Nanami really had no interest of being a Jujutsu Sorcerer anymore, especially after the death of his friend a year prior - yet here he was forced on a mission to save a demon child.

Notes:

Here we go! Nanami is on the mission to save our ray of sunshine!

“It seems we have an interesting mission we have to do.”

            Masamichi Yaga stood in front of a blackboard in a classroom that was located at Tokyo Jujutsu High School. He faced his small band of students that took few out of the many seats available in the classroom, and none of them were enthusiastic to say the least.

            Satoru Gojo sat in the back, his stark white hair standing out as it usually did. He was a third year, and he was showing no interest in what was going on, his black sunglasses shielding his bright blue eyes from all around him. Since his mission with the Star Plasma Vessel the year previously and his friend Suguru Geto turned into a Curse User, he had not been the same. His laid-back personality and joking demeanor still shined through every once in a while, but for the most part he rather stay silent and take the most dangerous missions that were offered.

            Sitting next to Gojo was a petite young woman with short brown hair and a beauty mole under her right eye - Shoko Ieiri. She had an unlit cigarette in her mouth as she usually did, waiting for class to be dismissed so she could go smoke it. She didn’t take many missions often, she rather go and study medicine and learn under other sorcerers that use their techniques to heal. Shoko knew her talents were for support and to help people stay alive during these dangerous missions. Like Gojo, she was a third year, and she was bored as well.

            The single second year sat by the window, staring out and not having any interest in what Yaga had to say as well - Kento Nanami. His blonde hair nearly glowed from the sunlight from sitting by the window, the right side being longer due to the style. His eyes were always small and narrow looking, the stoney gray blue looking as though he would rather be anywhere but there. He wasn’t supposed to be only second year. There was another student in his class… but he died horribly during a mission shortly after the Star Plasma Vessel incident and it was right before Geto became a Curse User.

            Yaga clicked his tongue. “I know you rather be out doing missions like Mei-Mei and Utahime, so how about you three pay attention!” he ordered as he slammed his fist behind him against the blackboard.

            All three students then snapped their attention to the front.

            “And what mission is it, Yaga?” Gojo asked in a bored tone while stretching his body onto his desk. “Because if it doesn’t involve me kicking someone’s ass, I really rather not deal with it…”

            Yaga then lifted a cell phone and flipped it open. “One of our Assistant Managers got a distress call from Kyoto,” he began. He pressed a button, and it played.

            “Hello…?” the Tokyo Assistant Manager’s voice, who they recognized as the newly graduated Kei Hino, asked through the phone.

            “Hey, it’s one of those managers!” an unknown voice shouted from a distance.

            “Just shoot her…” another unknown man sighed in annoyance. “It’s not like they can really fight anyways.”

            “Hey, Yuko, what’s going on!?” Kei shouted.

            “Right, boss!” the one first unknown man said.

            “After all, we’re just here for Sukuna’s Vessel…” the head man sighed again.

            BANG!

            “Y-Yuko…!? YUKO!”

            The message ended.

            Shoko’s mouth opened in disbelief and her cigarette fell onto her desk. “I-I’m sorry, did they say what I think they just said…!?” she nearly shouted.

            “Sukuna’s Vessel…?” Nanami then questioned his attention fully on the message. “As in… ‘The King of Curses’ Sukuna?”

            “The one that ate people in the Heian Era and was a super powerful Jujutsu sorcerer that when he died, he was a Curse and when the Curse died, he put his Cursed Energy into twenty fingers!?” Gojo then added with added hysterics for show.

            “That Sukuna!?” the three students said in unison.

            “No, the ‘Mary Poppins’ Sukuna,” Yaga deadpanned. “YES, THAT SUKUNA!” he then shouted with a combination of fury and annoyance.

            “Why isn’t Kyoto dealing with it…?” Nanami then asked, him barely showing any emotion.

            “They had a bout of Curses around them that they are dealing with at the moment, so we were asked to help,” Yaga explained. “Kei went and investigated after the phone call and took these pictures.” He passed the photos around.

            Shoko gasped in horror when she saw the woman in the variant Miko uniform. “Wait… this sorcerer… This is Minori Hitoe…!”

            “You’re familiar with her, Shoko?” Gojo asked curiously as he snatched the photo from her.

            “I was supposed to go study beneath her the other day, but she said we had to reschedule…” Shoko explained. “She has an amazing Cursed Technique that involves looking into the soul, but she also does Reversed Cursed Technique as well…”

            “It was probably a good thing she rescheduled,” Nanami told her. “Or we would be looking at a picture of your corpse right now.”

            “HEY!” Shoko shouted angrily, almost biting her cigarette in half that was in her mouth.

            The other photo was an elderly gentleman that they didn’t recognize. He had gray hair and sun marks all over his wrinkled face and a bullet hole in his chest. Against the wall was red from his blood.

            “So, who is this…?” Gojo asked when he looked at the photo.

            “His I.D. identified his as Wasuke Itadori,” Yaga replied. “The knife that was by him had residuals of Cursed Energy, and we can tell it was his.”

            “He was a Jujutsu Sorcerer…!?” Shoko gasped in shock.

            “Probably at one time,” Yaga guessed. “Itadori isn’t a familiar name though… ‘Wasuke’ however was a name of a student from Kyoto a few decades ago.”

            Nanami crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, ignoring the blonde fringe that was going into his face. “So… why was he with Hitoe then…?” he prodded.

            Yaga then pulled out a box and set it on his desk. “We think it has something to do with the vessel,” he revealed. “In Yuko’s car there was a child’s seat… we think Itadori went to the sister school with a young child, and we can confirm with this toy as it was in Minori’s arms.” He then pulled out a stuffed toy of a tiger… drenched in blood.

            “Oh… my god…” Shoko nearly gagged. “Is it… the kid’s blood or…?”

            “It’s Minori’s,” Yaga confirmed sadly but also with relief that it wasn’t a child’s life’s blood. “It seemed she died trying to protect the kid.”

            “And why was she trying to protect him…?” Nanami snorted apathetically. “If we do simple math - the old man is dead, Hitoe is dead… the kid is missing. Safe to say the kid is the vessel they were looking for, right?”

            Yaga frowned. “We can guess correctly that the child in question may be Sukuna’s vessel,” he said slowly. He then pulled out a wallet from the box, most likely belonging to the old man. Yaga pulled out a picture and showed it to his students. “From intel that we gathered, the boy’s name is Yuji Itadori - he’s five-years-old, currently in preschool.”

            “Aw, he’s a cutie!” Shoko cooed loudly. “Big brown eyes and pink hair…! And that big smile is making me feel like I should quit smoking!”

            Gojo snorted a laugh as he slammed a hand to his desk.

            “Shoko, you’re eighteen and a young beauty… you shouldn’t be smoking anyways…” Yaga deadpanned.

            Nanami just glared at the photo. “You don’t see the resemblance…?” he deadpanned. “From all the textbooks we’ve seen and read… you don’t see it…?”

            “See what, Kento…?” Gojo groaned, his laughter now gone. “He’s a preschooler, not Satan!”

            Nanami just glared at his senpai. “The kid looks like a younger version of Sukuna when he was still a human,” he pointed out. “You could draw the markings on him, and they could be twins.”

            “You’re just salty cause you’re not as cute,” Shoko teased. She then stuck her tongue out at him.

            Nanami felt the urge to slam his head to his desk. He wished Mei-Mei or Utahime were around as he felt they were the only two that could keep Gojo and Shoko from getting on his nerves.

            “Anyways, you three are gonna help locate the boy and bring him here,” Yaga then ordered.

            “Huh…!?” the three students shouted in unison.

            “Uh, no, count me out, Yaga!” Gojo nearly growled as he stood from his desk, the chair screeching across the floor. “I’m not doing babysitting duty again! Because we know how well the last time I dealt with a vessel mission was!” He spat those words full of venom, his glasses had shifted down, revealing his bright blue eyes burning like a blue flame.

            “Satoru…” Yaga tried to sympathize with his student, but the white-haired teen just left the room, slamming the door behind him. Before Yaga could address the other two, Shoko had got up from her desk and ran after her friend.

            All who was left was Kento Nanami, who was staring daggers at Yaga.

            “You can’t be serious,” Nanami huffed as he crossed his arms.

            “Kento, just begin the mission and I’ll send Shoko and Satoru your way as soon as possible,” Yaga almost begged. “You’re a very strong and capable sor-”

            “If I am, then why did Yu still get killed!?” Nanami snapped furiously. “If I was as strong as Gojo-Senpai or Geto-Senpai then Yu would still be here, damn it!”

            Yaga could only shake his head solemnly. “Kento, you cannot compare yourself to them,” he pointed out. “Your strengths are different than theirs. Last year you were still learning your technique and how it works, and so was Yu… you can’t blame yourself for his death. And I know he doesn’t blame you either.”

            “And how the hell would you know that he doesn’t blame me!?” Nanami bitterly shouted.

            Yaga gave a small smile. “Because I know Yu… and he knew you, Kento.” He then walked up to the young man and handed the photo of Yuji to him. “And right now, this kid needs our help, so go start the mission.”

            Nanami took the photo and stared at it for a moment. Shoko was correct that the boy had large, brown eyes and pink hair. However, the smile was the complete opposite of what he expected; he thought the smile would be sadistic like Sukuna’s, like all the illustrations show, but no, this smile was large and genuine as if he was told that he was allowed to have all the candy in the store for dinner.

            It… reminds me of Yu’s…

***

Nanami had gone back to his dorm and packed an overnight bag with an extra school uniform, socks, underwear, his hairbrush, toothbrush, and book to read on the train ride to Kyoto.

            He honestly didn’t want to do the mission at all. Ever since Yu was killed his interest in being a Jujutsu Sorcerer had dwindled completely. Why were children being sent out on the battlefield just to be slaughtered? At that point, he honestly couldn’t blame Geto-Senpai for doing what he had done.

            Nanami made sure his Cursed Tool was with him, a weapon of choice he preferred that was a machete wrapped in a white cloth with black spots. Gojo-Senpai kept teasing him saying it was a “Cow Butcher Knife”, but he just ignored him. To Nanami, it was the perfect tool when he executed his Cursed Technique, so he stuck with it; he made sure it was strapped against his back in its special holster he had designed.

            And good thing the metal is made of a special grade where it cannot be detected by metal detectors… and the Cursed Energy helps with that too.

            Nanami sighed as he left his dorm room and began his trot toward the entrance of the school. In the distance he could hear Yaga and Gojo-Senpai arguing with each other, Shoko getting in the middle of things as she normally did. He just groaned as he knew this would just delay things on the mission and he would just have to suck it up.

            No one was around to see him off, not that he was really expecting it. There was only Kei waiting for him with the car so he could be dropped off at the station so he could take the train to Kyoto. The car ride was silent, just what Nanami liked, and it was a good amount of silence for him to start his book he had brought.

            At the station he was able to get his ticket and board the train with no issues, his machete perfectly disguised and manipulated to look like a small instrument on his back instead of a weapon. The train ride was uneventful, there were some mothers with young children taking them shopping, a couple of children around the same age as the boy he was on the mission for.

            The night before Nanami looked more into Yuji Itadori and his grandfather. Apparently, Yuji was orphaned at nearly a year old, his home attacked by something, and his father was killed, and his mother’s body was found at a separate location, her head split open. With the boy without anyone else, his grandfather, Wasuke Itadori, took him in. In one of the police photos Nanami had found, he saw a grainy picture of Yaga, which surprised him.

            Why wouldn’t Yaga-Sensei mention that he was familiar with the Itadori family…?

            Nanami exited off the train when he arrived in Kyoto and began to head toward where the school was located. He didn’t have the assistance of an Assistant Manager since quite a few were killed in that raid that took the kid. He didn’t have a license, so he couldn’t rent a car, and he didn’t have enough money anyways as he didn’t take on missions like he used to and got paid for completion.

            Walking wasn’t too bad, the sun was out and wasn’t too warm, but it wasn’t too cold either. A perfect Spring Day anyone would say. He could see children and parents walking around along with animals running along their sides.

            And a few Grade 4 Curses too… completely harmless… Maybe Grade 3 the highest if I’m generous enough.

            They were just simple Curses… some looked like demonized squirrels, most likely someone got spooked by a few squirrels, so a Curse was made to look like one. Some were insect based due to all the bugs found outside. They weren’t causing any harm or damage - so there wasn’t a need to exorcise them.

            Nanami could remember the first time he started seeing Curses. He was around the same age as the Vessel was, five. It was a normal day at the park that his mother brought him, and he saw so many odd creatures, like what he was seeing here. One had tried to grab at him, but he kept shouting at it to leave him alone - his mother was concerned about what he was screaming at, and he was confused about why she couldn’t see it.

            His mother took him to a psychiatrist where they played it off as an overactive imagination. Nanami let it slide and he kept what he saw to himself. It wasn’t until he began high school that a larger Curse was found prowling around during an event that caused great stress, some of the other students were finally able to see what he had been seeing for years. Until they were slaughtered before him. Nanami felt like he had no choice since he was always able to see them, but he never did anything about them; he had grabbed the nearest object he could find, a kendo sword from a fallen club member, and it suddenly glowed blue like his hands did.

            He didn’t know what was going on, but it felt like it was something he could only do in that situation. It was then something appeared in front of him, a ratio line against the monster and there was a pinpoint on where to strike. Nanami had never seen that before… but he had to take that opportunity… so, he struck there, and the monster was gone instantly.

            That was the day he discovered his 7:3 Ratio Technique, and it was the day that Tokyo Jujutsu High School had officially scouted him to join them. He had never heard of the school, or Jujutsu Sorcery. However, he figured it wouldn’t be so bad compared to feeling like he was crazy all the time.

            Nanami scowled at the memory of being scouted by the school. Maybe things would’ve been better if he hadn’t been scouted. Why couldn’t he just ignore the Curse like he had done his entire life? Live in bliss?

            Would Yu still be alive if I never went to Jujutsu High…?

            The squealing of laughter from the young children playing snapped him out of his thoughts. A ball rolled by his foot as he slowed his pace to a stop. A couple of kids hesitated to approach, seeing his scowl. Slowly, he gave a soft grin before he kicked the ball to them, causing the kids to squeal with delight before waving their thanks and continuing their games.

            Please stay as kids… please don’t see Curses…

            It was dusk by the time Nanami had reached the sister school. One of the teachers was there, returning from his mission early due to the situation. Nanami approached the teacher and gave a bow.

            “Hello,” Nanami greeted stiffly. “I’m Kento Nanami from Tokyo Jujutsu High.”

            The teacher spun around from his speaking with one of the surviving Assistant Managers, his black hair spiked up erratically. He wore a long black coat and had a cigarette in his mouth, his amber eyes narrowed and sharp looking.

            “Yaga only sent one…?” he scoffed. “If he was going to send one, why wouldn’t he send Gojo?”

            “You tell me,” Nanami agreed with a bored tone.

            The teacher just sighed. “Ugh, great… and a sarcastic one at that…” he mumbled.

            Nanami raised a brow, confused.

            If anything… I was completed on board with you, sir…

            “I’m Kuroneko Urabe,” the teacher then greeted. “I’m one of the faculty here.”

            “Urabe-Sensei, what have you discovered so far with the incident?” Nanami pressed getting straight to the point. He had always been punctual.

            The man gritted his teeth. “Well, for one thing, we had no idea that Hitoe was bringing the Itadori family here,” he informed. “After going through Yuko’s car, we found Hitoe’s phone, and she had a few phone conversations with Mr. Itadori.”

            Nanami raised a brow. “Were there any messages recorded?”

            “No, there wasn’t,” Urabe growled. “However, there was an email sent to her phone… and it was information regarding the incident that happened in Sendai about four years ago.”

            “The Itadori house, right?” Nanami guessed.

            Urabe snapped his fingers. “Bingo,” he confirmed. “Yaga was actually the head sorcerer for that case,” he revealed.

            Figures… but again, why wouldn’t Yaga-Sensei mention that?

            “It was suspected that a Curse was attracted to the high amount of Cursed Energy at the home, but an object was never found,” Urabe explained.

            “But… the kid is the Cursed Energy, yes?” Nanami pointed out.

            “Bingo, right again!” Urabe snapped his fingers. “As the Vessel of Sukuna, he has a high amount of Cursed Energy, and apparently even as an infant he attracted Curses.”

            Subconsciously attracting Curses…? Causing the death of his parents…? That’s terrible…

            Nanami pinched the corners of his eyes. “So, how did his grandfather survive all this time? With the Curses?” he questioned.

            “Wasuke Itadori was a student here at Kyoto, he just had a different last name,” Urabe explained. “He was Wasuke Hagane,” he revealed. He rummaged out a few yellowed papers to show and old school photo of the young man, who if you accelerated the age of the boy, you could see the resemblance.

            Although in Nanami’s opinion, the Itadori boy still looked more like a mini-version of Sukuna than anything.

            “Hagane… Hagane…” Nanami murmured to himself. “Weren’t they a small clan of Jujutsu Sorcerers that specialized in blades infused with Cursed Energy…? Knives, swords…? Whatever was on hand?”

            “BINGO!” Urabe snapped his fingers again.

            Nanami frowned. “Is that like… your catchphrase or something…?” he grumbled in irritation. He didn’t know who was worse… this guy or Gojo-Senpai.

            “Depends on who you ask,” the teacher shrugged.

            Nanami just sighed. “Okay… so, is there any information on who came and took the kid?” he then asked.

            Urabe lifted a card. “They left this,” he said as he handed it to Nanami.

            The card was black with a symbol in the center in a crimson red. The symbol Nanami recognized right away as he had seen it in so many textbooks - the sigil of Sukuna.

            “We believe that a cult that worships Sukuna may have taken the kid,” Urabe explained. “Maybe they plan on nurturing the kid to grow up to be evil or something…? I have no clue.”

            One of the Assistant Managers came running towards them. “Mr. Urabe! Mr. Urabe!” the young man shouted, clearly distressed.

            “Ugh… What is it?”

            “The three fingers we had acquired… they’re gone…!”

            Nanami felt his blood run cold. “Wait… the three fingers…” he whispered. “Are you talking about Sukuna’s Finger’s?”

            “Um… yeah…” the Assistant Manager nervously replied.

            “Damn it…” Nanami grumbled. “So, what would happen if those bastards gave a five-year-old those three fingers?”

            Urabe scratched his chin. “Shit… best case scenario it would kill the kid, worst would be Sukuna is officially reincarnated,” he said.

            “Kill”…? Did he just outwardly said he wishes the consumption would kill the kid?

            Nanami honestly didn’t know how he originally felt when first given the mission. At first, he thought it was absurd as he was asked to go rescue the Vessel harboring Sukuna. But at the same time, if this cult managed to resurrect the King of Curses… it wouldn’t be good.

            It was obvious that Wasuke Itadori had brought the boy here to be helped. Minori Hitoe had a Cursed Technique that dealt with the soul… She was most likely going to help the kid suppress Sukuna so he could live as normally as possible.

            Shit… He’s a little kid… being thrown into something he most likely never asked for…

            With a newfound determination, he walked across the bridge that led him towards the school. He already was able to see residuals of Cursed Energy from the attack, but in order to enhance his sight he put on a pair of silver rimmed glasses with green lenses.

            He could see the residuals of Cursed Energy from the bodies of Hitoe and Itadori, but most of it was on the table, most likely where the boy was sitting on. It was highly concentrated, a mixture of his own awakened Cursed Energy and Sukuna’s. Nanami focused on it and began to follow it through the halls, and it led him back outside.

            Again, the concentrated Cursed Energy lingered in a specific spot, most likely where the cult had their vehicle. The residuals continued on before it got too faint for Nanami to see anymore. He wondered if she could still follow the trail.

            Urabe clapped Nanami’s shoulder. “If you need transportation, you’re shit outta luck, kid, I don’t have a spare driver for you,” he said with a frown.

            “Do you have… I don’t know… a bike…?” Nanami offered a suggestion.

            “Eh…? What are you? In Middle School?” Urabe teased with a smile.

            “No, but I rather not walk for miles on end again…” Nanami deadpanned.

            The older man sighed. “Okay… fine… I’ll lend ya a damn bike…” he grumbled.

            “And camping gear,” Nanami added cheekily.

            “Oh, damn it, really…!?” the man complained.

            “Well, it is getting dark soon, and I need to find the Vessel as soon as possi-”

            “FINE!”

            Normally, Nanami wouldn’t be this cheeky, but he was desperate for these items. He figured that once he arrived at the Kyoto school, he would be given an Assistant Manager to drive him around. Apparently, that was not the case.

            While he waited for his requested items, he checked his phone. So far, he has not received any messages from Yaga, Gojo-Senpai or Shoko about the third years joining the mission. A groan escaped him.

            The Assistant Manager from earlier that revealed that the fingers were missing came with the bike that was requested. He had packed camping gear in a small bike trailer attached to the back of the bike. Nanami raised a brow at the trailer.

            “Oh, it has a seat for the Vessel,” the Assistant Manager explained when he saw Nanami’s expression. “Once you get him, he’ll be able to sit in the back comfortably.”

            Nanami hummed in appreciation and nodded. He put his overnight bag in the trailer as well before he then hopped on the bike and began to pedal off. With a wave of his hand, he began to follow the light residuals of the Cursed Energy into the woods as the sun dipped completely down and the trail ran cold.

Notes:

- Since we never really knew about Nanami's background except that he his maternal grandfather is Danish and that he is the only sorcerer in his family, that was why I decided to flesh it out a bit. * I honestly liked the idea of kids who are born into non-sorcerer families when they begin to see Curses they try to ask for help but their families just brush them off as "over imaginative" due to their ages since they awaken their abilities around 5-6 years old. Nanami just kept his mouth shut because he knew his family would see him as crazy. * I honestly liked writing him a little cheeky and bored lol - Gojo is very bitter about Riko still, but I can assure you he does go and spy on Megumi to make sure he was alright since Toji is dead. - Kei's first name is unisex and can mean "intelligence" and "blessings". his last name Hino is "sun field" because um... no significant meaning. * Ironically, this is the "male" version of Megumi's name. Toji literally could've named his son Kei for the "blessings" meaning but he decided to be a jerk and give his boy a girl name like dude... (Megumi is traditionally a female name, BUT sometimes is used for males, it's just a ... why? thing.) - The teacher, Kuroneko Urabe, his name is related to a Curse Technique that will be shown a bit later. Kuroneko means "black cat" and Urabe manes "divination; fortune telling". You might be able to tell what his CT is based on his name alone. Even him saying "Bingo!" is related to the CT. - Minori's last name, Hitoe, means "caring for someone" or "compassion". It shows that she was very compassionate regarding Wasuke and Yuji. - I decided to give Wasuke a different kind of backstory then was presented to us in the manga and anime - after all, he had wanted to tell Yuji about his parents and Yuji was like, "Nah, I'm good fam." I thought it would make sense that Wasuke would have some sort of attachment to the Jujutsu World, but like Nanami had left after he graduated, but unlike him he had never returned, and he had changed his last name back to his mother's maiden name. Hagane, the "original" last name means "Blade, edge" and can also mean "cut, kill". * This shows that Wasuke was proficient with his knife skills - he also knew how to use a sword such as a katana but never had one around due to Yuji being a tyke. * It is also a reference with Sukuna with cleave and dismantle since they are cutting related Curse Techniques.

You can support me here! I do streaming on the side with video games and I'm trying to upgrade my computer! It keeps blue screening and I need to upgrade some parts! I would love to stream the Jujutsu Kaisen Cursed Clash game! Thank you for any support!

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[hellenhighwater]

Can i ask you to tell a random story I’m bored

We had this social studies teacher in middle school who would just get bored and wander off sometimes. He was a fantastic teacher, and we adored him, but sometimes he would run out of steam and leave us to our own devices for a little while. Relatable: if I found myself at the head of a ship crewed entirely by twelve year olds, I, too, would occasionally succumb to the urge to hurl myself overboard. 

Luckily for him, we were a fairly well-behaved group. Left to our own devices, we limited ourselves to hiding alarm clocks in the ceiling, sat down and organized an operation to smuggle away the whiteboard markers from every classroom over the course of a week, and, once, held an impromptu pop-and-lock tutorial session on top of our desks. (The teacher returned, took one look at the class clown mid-pelvic-thrust on top of a desk, the rest of us quietly observing, and turned right back around for another cup of coffee. Who can blame him?)

On one occasion, the boys started doing one of those “I bet I’m stronger” squabbles that seems to be contagious in groups of pubescent boys. The obvious solution quickly presented itself: an arm-wrestling tournament. 

One cannot accuse tweenage boys of having organizational skills, so there was nothing even approaching a method to the hormone-driven madness, just pairs of boys straddling the conjoined desk-and-chair thingies that middle school classrooms and repeatedly slamming each other’s knuckles into the hard surfaces, while the other boys hooted like a pack of monkeys at the superbowl. 

The champion of the boys’ tournament was a blonde-haired, blue-eyed jock. He was on the football AND hockey teams, and his hair did the justin beiber swoosh thing, back when that was cool. And he had actual muscle definition--unheard of in non-CW middle schools. All of this combined meant that while he was generally a nice enough kid, the current situation had him tripping on power like the dictator of a small island nation. There was cheering, there was backslapping--if someone had had a cooler of Gatorade, it would have been dumped over his head. We’re going to call him Brad. That wasn’t his name, but spiritually: he was Brad. 

Brad sat at the desk of his victory and accepted the adulation of all his pimply conquered enemies.

And then Jenny sat down across from him. 

Now, all of us girls, being much more naturally mature and less predisposed to stupidity, promptly reached a collective agreement that what the boys were doing was dumb. But also it looked fun, so we immediately started our own arm-wrestling tournament. With much less fanfare, we produced our own champion: Jenny. Jenny was an extremely quiet person--not quite shy, but sweet and pleasant to everyone. She had probably spoken less than four sentences to Brad all year, because the Popular Boy is always a little intimidating to someone that unobtrusive. But she sat down at that desk across from him and put up her hand. 

With the air of lauded professional being asked to play along with an amateur, Brad allowed himself to be cajoled into one more round of arm-wrestling. 

Jenny slammed his knuckles so hard into the desk they popped. 

Brad asked for a rematch, claiming he hadn’t been ready. Jenny politely agreed.

He lost even faster the second time. 

And the third. And the fourth. And the fifth. 

Realizing a little too late that he was in over his head, like a dinosaur suddenly noticing the suspicious scent of tar, Brad claimed his arm was too tired to continue. 

And so we had our reigning champion. 

Jenny took the win as gracefully as a queen, but if we could have paraded her through the school like a returning general, we would have. I would wager that every girl in that room still remembers this, and I hope Brad never forgets it. I’ll always treasure the absolute bewilderment on Brad’s face in that moment. 

And outside the classroom window, where nobody had noticed him, was our teacher, watching, holding his cup of coffee, and grinning. 

[astaroth1357]

The Brothers Catch the MC Dancing/Singing By Themselves

So long 2020!!! I’ve been listening to nothing but End-of-Decade Mashups and the 2010s was the decade of club bangers, so excuse me as I write a little happiness at the end of this shitty, shitty year.

Lucifer

Lucifer was in his secret study with the door closed which usually would block out a lot of distractions, but…

The MC was out in the library just blasting this… awful noise!!

Okay, maybe the noise wasn't awful - but as a classical music man, he had no use for the electronic bleep-bloops of whatever the hell they called "music!"

He had tried to put up with it for about an hour… but he had his limits. Soon enough he could feel his fuse dwindling to nothing and he just HAD to open up the door and tell the MC to keep it down!

He just wasn't expecting to find them dancing… while belting their heart out using a feather duster as a microphone…

Oh… wasn’t this amusing~?

For once, Lucifer decided that work could wait for a minute or two as he leaned against the doorframe to watch the MC do their thing, his smile could only be described as somewhere between being highly entertained and genuinely smitten with the off-key goofball in front of him...

The look went away real quick after the MC finally noticed he was there and dropped the feather duster like it was on fire. Shame… They were acting so cute before... 

He still had a knowing smile on his face when he asked them to turn their music down some, but he didn’t blow up at them or anything… What can he say? He enjoyed the show. 😏

Mammon

The MC has a nasty habit of singing under their breath when they’re bored. Mammon knew this, of course, and he never stopped straining to try and hear their quiet notes whenever he could...

It was hard to do since they had long trained themselves to keep it quiet in public, but he was certain that from what he could hear, he certainly wouldn’t mind listening to more!

The only exception was when they thought they were alone… like in their bedroom doing homework for example.

Mammon had just happened to pass by their bedroom door (and not going there directly just to bother them because he felt lonely or anything...) and heard something through the door…

It sounded like the MC but different… rhythmic and melodic… That was it!! They were singing!!!

He knew he had to be careful about this... If the MC realized he was listening, then they’d stop and leave him high, dry, and wanting more...

He had to push their bedroom door in incredibly gently so it wouldn’t make any noise… The House was old - okay scratch that, ancient - and all the doors have a creak to them if you’re not careful… but oh, was it worth it…

He knew, he just knew, that he would like their voice! Good or bad, it was all them! Why did they also sing so quietly?? He felt like he could listen for hours!

 And he just might have gotten the chance if he had been paying enough attention to notice that he was leaning ever closer into the doorway... The second those rusted hinges made a creak, the MC whipped around and snapped their mouth shut.

Busted...

Unfortunately, no amount of begging got the MC to start singing for him again, so he had to go back to the drawing board… Maybe he’d get to hear them again someday… right?

Leviathan 

Levi had been looking for the MC for some time now to see if they wanted to play a game with him but he wasn’t finding them in any of their usual hangouts… 

Their bedroom was the last place for him to check and when he stuck his head in he didn’t see them there… But he did heard the sound of running water from their personal bathroom.

He was going to leave, honest! He wasn’t going to be one of those creeps who listens to people shower (despite absolutely being perverted enough to do so) but he recognized a familiar riff coming from the room…

He knew it anywhere. It was from one of his favorite anime openings of all time!! And what’s more? He heard a new voice joining the singer like accompaniment… It was… the MC??

Levi could have probably fainted from delight right then. Even if the MC wasn’t as good at singing, the mere fact that they were singing that opening made his heart soar! Who doesn’t love to sing along to their favorite songs??

He probably should have thought a bit more before throwing the door open to belt out his favorite part like he did because, you know, even behind a shower curtain the MC was naked and definitely not expecting him... But, hey, for five whole seconds they sounded great together!

Annnnd then he ran out of the room, red-faced and shouting semi-mortified apologies right after he realized what he could have seen by doing that (*cough*nakedMC*cough*)... 

Poor Levi, but at least he just scored himself a new karaoke partner!

Satan 

You ever been so happy about something you just want to go for a run? Or even better, dance? That seemed to have been the case for the MC that day...

The MC’s least favorite subject had just had a test and they received their scores before leaving the classroom the next day. He knew they must have been anxious by how nervously they clutched their paper...

They had been getting tutoring help from him for weeks and it really must have paid off! Satan wasn’t able to catch up to them before they checked their score, but the way their face lit up was a good sign at least.

He was on his way to go congratulate them when… they started to dance. Right in the middle of the school. They kicked up the music on their phone then started dancing down the hallway like nothing could stop them!

It was such a random and carefree act that it frankly blew him away... You’d think a human in a school full of demons would be running, maybe even hiding, but certainty not dancing! What even was their human sometimes...?? 

He had to hold in some laughter to keep from getting noticed and just followed them down the hallways with a grin on his face and his phone in his hand…

He, of course, posted it to the brothers’ group chat and all of them got to see the wonderful view of the MC shaking their ass to their favorite song of all time… Oh, and they aren’t going to forget that, like, ever. Devious little shit...

Asmodeus 

Asmo loves to go clubbing so dancing is just an enjoyable pastime for this man, but he never thought that he’d end up dancing in a dressing room... 🤷‍♀️

He and the MC were on their weekly trip to Majolish and the MC was behind some curtains in order to try on a new outfit he put together for them. Usually during these times, Asmo waits out in front of their stall distracted by his phone, but this time he actually noticed something...

The MC’s feet. He could see them behind the gap of the curtain moving along to the music playing through the store’s speakers… So they liked this song, hm...?

Honestly, Asmo couldn’t help himself. He ended up getting up from his seat and pulling back the curtain a tiny crack just to see what the MC was doing in their stall... Thankfully, they were already dressed, but they were indeed dancing by themselves hidden just out of his sight...

Now, how could he let them dance all by their lonesome~?

Asmo slipped into the stall himself and caught the MC by the hips, frankly any protest they might of had didn’t really last long as he guided their body along with his. 

It was far from their first time dancing together and it always felt amazing when they did… Their every move fit together perfectly like a call and response and it didn’t take long for them to get lost in the music.

Eventually, a store employee began to wonder why they were in there for so long and eventually found two sets of feet in one stall… Really, they got off lucky, because knowing Asmo it was kind of amazing that dancing was all he was doing back there!

Asmo was a far too valuable customer for the store to kick out, so the two of them just got a warning not to do it again but man was it worth it… 

The MC has to wear that outfit to their next club. No exceptions!! 😌

Beelzebub

You know, sometimes you just got a rhythm and beat in your soul and it pops out at the most random times… like in the middle of cooking!

Beel was coming into the kitchen looking for yet another snack for the day when he caught the MC already in there baking and… dancing?

They had their phone out to play music while they worked, hips swaying to the beat. Hell, everything they were doing was set to that pace! Every flick of the whisk and stir of the batter was just a part of their private dance sequence.

For a second, he had to wonder if he had just stepped into a musical or something? Dancing while cooking? He hadn’t seen any of his brothers mix those things before… but it worked?? Like, they made it look natural and even a little fun!

Just imagine the look on the MC’s face when Beel came up behind them and pulled them into a twirl behind the counter. It caught them so off-guard that a bag in their hands slipped and covered them both in powdered sugar!

Not that Beel cared about the mess because he just licked his lips clean and told the MC not to stop what they were doing... Which was how the others found them both covered in sugar and moving to the beat while the MC was icing the cake they just finished. 🤷‍♀️

Lucifer ended up lecturing them both about being more careful in the kitchen but they were too busy sneaking smiles to each other to pay much attention... 

Sometimes the music just moves you, you know?

Belphegor 

Belphie very rarely gets up from his naps without a little help. Sure, even his body needs to wake up eventually, but it normally takes some kind of outside force to drag him back to the world of the living...

So imagine his surprise when he seemingly woke up for no reason in the middle of his afternoon nap with MC… Or well, he thought there wasn’t reason, until he started paying more attention.

The MC was cuddled up to him like usual, but he could feel a hum against his arm that was coming from their chest. Steady and slow… almost soothing.

When he finally heard a noise in the air - equally soothing as the humming and in time with the vibrations - he put two and two together… Were they singing right now?

Belphie kept himself very still and pretended to be asleep just to check his suspicions and… yeah. He could hear the MC softly singing a human world song under their breath.

Must have been a testament to how besotted this cow man was with them that even hearing their voice that quietly could pull him out of his dreams. 

Eventually, Belphie just had to roll over and pull them up against his chest so he could hear them better... Of course, his movement just made them stop, but any idea that they were off the hook got swept away when they heard him grunt:

“Hey, you woke me up… Don’t stop now.”

Let’s hope they know a good lullaby or two...

[hargrove-mayfields]

Desperate to just get away from Hawkins and his dad, Billy finds a somewhat local university, maybe a few towns over so he can afford the tuition with his own money, and just picks something random to study. He’s never had the space to really explore what he actually gives a shit about, the only basis he’s got to really make such a big choice is that he’s good enough at math and science to get by in some advanced field, and he’s got enough experience working with his hands to earn a technical degree.

So that’s what he does. Goes out for tech design because the school is renowned for that specific program, and it sounds good enough for him anyways. But what he doesn’t realize until it’s way too late (see: the first day of his classes), is that technical design is actually a theater degree. So that’s what the big THET in front of his first-year lecture means. He probably should’ve actually read all those damn handouts and shit they tossed at him beforehand instead of just throwing them out.

At first he’s super pissed, because if there’s one thing he is not it’s an artsy kind of guy, and now because of a dumb misunderstanding, he’s forced to sit through all these boring fundamental classes and theater histories, all based around something he didn’t even intentionally sign up for? It’s bullshit.

But maybe it starts to slowly grow on him. He’s actually pretty damn good in the shop when it comes to crafting other people’s designs, and even better at making his own, though those aren’t official yet. When he gets a chance at working as a board op for practice, that comes just as easily. Actually, before his first semester is even over, he’s good enough to get access to programs and positions on show crews most freshmen wouldn’t even come close to for another two or so years.

Even though he’s this technical genius by their standards, by his own standards a kid just trying to get by in life, Billy gets bored of even that. Because he is the best damn set builder his school has seen in years, and he is definitely in line to be a high-rate SM when his time comes, but he still, as he assumed in the first place, is not cut out for this.

Not the theater, he’s grown to love that part, it’s the being stuck behind the scenes. If there’s one thing Billy Hargrove is meant to be, it’s loud, it’s showy, it’s being paid attention to instead of maybe being mentioned in the program everyone is just going to throw away after the show is over anyways.

So, even though he’s never been on a stage in his goddamn life, Billy switches majors. New area of focus- a bachelor of fine arts in the vague concept of theater, or more specifically, acting.

And it’s admittedly stressful as hell, enough that he almost drops it all after his first week in. The performance aspect of the performing arts is something he had zero experience in, even when it came to watching it, his old town back in California having fond one too many drag shows at the community theater for his old man to let him go anywhere near that building, and then there just wasn’t a live theater in Hawkins at all, the old building was torn down in like, the forties, the new mall they built after he skipped town in its place now.

But from the first moment he actually gets on stead, instead of sitting in a classroom blathering on about the theories of acting and genres and shit, even though it is just going back-and-forth on some lines from a long washed up play with a kid who has no tonal control, he’s a natural. And he’s not just good, though good might be an understatement, he’s the best in his (admittedly somewhat small) class, but he also fucking loves it.

Puts so much passion and energy into these shitty little monologues, but it’s not for nothing. The casting director sits in on his acting fundamentals class per his teachers recommendation actually, and Billy ends up writing his name on a priority list; he’s set for the rest of his college career and beyond.

And it does work out, because years later, as in enough time that he’s since graduated and been cast as an extra enough times to now be considered for a lead, he’s still at it, and he must be good, because he’s still respected enough to pulls some strings and perform at his old school again. After all, he's still the programs, and probably the whole town's, biggest claim to fame, meaning he’s more than welcome back on their stage if it means they’ll get more attention. That and they’re trying to pressure him into using that actors wage to get a graduate degree. The house even gives him three free tickets to his show.

First thing he does is send them to his old address, a place he’s written to almost every day but not visited once since that first time he left.

What he expects, and kind of hopes for is for Max and her mother to use the tickets, because by his numbers she’s probably not on her own yet unless something big happened that he would definitely already know about, and maybe they’d use the other ticket for that little boyfriend of hers to come. Actually, he doesn’t give a shit who comes, as long as his sister is there and his dad isn’t.

In her letters and birthday cards and phone calls, she was always supportive of him, but the first time she sent him a tear stained letter detailing how things were without him, from everything on Neil’s temper to how she was flunking her English class without his help, it stressed him out and almost made him drop everything. Give right up on this whole thing and go on back home to be her big brother again, since he’d sort of failed at that until his last few years at home anyways.

But this was what made it all worth it, knowing he’d done this all to become something better for her, a role model, a functional big brother, and a hell of a good performer.

The show is one he’s real excited about too, a chance at a role he knows Max is going to like, or at least one she would’ve back when she was 14, and he hopes that’s something she can appreciate anyways; a flashy, loud as hell rockstar in a skin tight costume who doesn’t take shit from anyone. Hell, he’ll hardly even have to act, most of the art is in the quick changes backstage.

Come show time, though the stage at the college isn’t the biggest, there’s still at least 50, 60 lighting rigs in the ceiling, and when they’re all pointing right at him, it’s truly impossible to tell if Max is actually in the audience. He picks a spot of red he hopes his her and performs vaguely in that direction, though he won’t know after the show, once most everyone but visiting families like his own have cleared out, and he’s already been upstairs to change out of his heavy ass final costume for wardrobe and continuity to deal with, he runs back down to the lobby to find them.

And the expression on Billy’s now makeup smeared face is the one of relief or happiness he was expecting, and the one mirrored in his sister's expression, but his features also tell something more like confusion.

Because instead of the lineup of three he was expecting, behind Max, there’s her little friend Jane, not all that surprising other than the last time he was in town she wasn’t even allowed out of her dad's house to spend the night at their place, but he can get over that. He hugs Max tight and greets them both, in that after show rush combined with this now, he can’t be bothered with technicalities.

But his smile falls quickly, when he locks eyes with Max’s other invitee; Of course his little brat of a sister brought along Steve Harrington.

Steve Harrington as in the one person that made it hardest to leave for school in the first place. The person he held and he cried for, promising he’d come back for him when he had anything to offer.

But he never had, perhaps because even though he loves what he does (and hates Hawkins), he still worries it’s not going to last. Just like the relationship he’d once fought so hard to have with Steve, this actor thing, he’s scared to let that mine final channeling of his passion crumble too.

Still, that doesn’t explain why he never made an effort to include Steve, other than that the last thing he wants is to tear down anyone else in this outlandish dream of his. He’ll never forget the look on the other boys face when he told him they were through, all genuine heartbreak and objection, the most real emotion he’d been faced with in this life of performing. And besides, Steve had the chance to move on, get married to any old Nancy he wanted. Who was Billy to stifle that, when he now had his own outlet to turn to?

He doesn’t mean that though, and clearly, the other boy doesn’t agree either, Steve stepping  forward with that big, goofball smile he always wore lighting up Billy's night more than some overpriced LEDs in the ceiling could. As soon as Max lets up on her hug, he replaces it, wrapping his arms tight around Billy and patting his back sort of awkwardly, mostly to mask all the emotion that’s really behind it, a silent communication between just the two of them.

That’s what Billy does best, afterall. Masking his true feelings to put on the best performance he can. Maybe that’s what it is that convinces him, as he buries his face in the familiar dip of Steve’s shoulder, breathes in the rich cologne he would’ve made fun of before, and he’s almost drawn to tears as he feels it.

He’s not going to go back to pretending. Acting like he’s any less in love with Steve than the day he left him.

It’s the calling he feels for Steve in the same way he felt it to acting. He cannot let what they have go again. He’ll have time to be mad at Max later for setting this up, but for now, he just appreciates what he has, which is a hell of a lot more than he walked into the theater with, be that before tonight’s show or for the very first time.

The house closing around the four of them- actually it’s really only Billy and Steve, Max and her friend snuck out forever ago to catch a break from their embarrassing gooeyness- reminds them to break it up for now, but there’s a promise in that reunion, one that says they both understand why things happened the way they did, yes, but also that there are places to go from here. Still a lingering flame no amount of distance or easy breakups could extinguish.

So Billy might not have become a star by any stretch of the imagination, but he’s sure as all hell exactly where he needs to be. It just took him four years, a pesky little sister, and a pair of really tight leather jeans to realize it.

[dannyreviews]

Where is the Friend's Home? (Khane-ye doust kodjast?) (1987)

A characteristic that is lacking in mainstream Hollywood films is a plot that is so simply told, but excites you at the same time. Abbas Kiarostami’s “Where Is the Friend’s House?” involves a basic goal that expands into a 80 minute character study about what it takes to maintain selflessness at a young age and the finished product is one of world cinema’s hidden secrets.

On a somewhat uneventful day in a school classroom, Mohamed Reda (Ahmed Ahmed Poor) is scolded for repeatedly misplacing his notebook and is warned that he will be expelled if he does so one more time. By accident, his classmate and good friend Ahmed (Babek Ahmed Poor) takes Mohamed’s notebook and is desperate to return it to him to prevent his friend’s expulsion. What transpires is an arduous journey that Ahmed undertakes to find Mohamed’s home on the other side of town which will take him up stairs, hills and strangers’ backyards. 

This film isn’t solely about Ahmed’s journey, but about his fellow countrymen’s everyday tasks as well. Kiarostami weaves these two storylines side by side with the right plot devices and overlapping dialogue. For example, there’s a scene involving a business transaction between two strangers over the installation of doors on one of their houses. At first, you wonder what the purpose of this scene is, and then the sewing of both stories come together when Ahmed reappears and the builder asks if he could tear a page from Mohamed’s notebook to draw up the contract. So at the same time, you see Ahmed’s selfless act and what he’ll most likely grow up to be in his adult years, continuing his selfless ways to help his fellow man. 

“Where is the Friend's House?” is also a throwback to other films like “The Red Balloon” and “The Bicycle Thieves” that utilize the motif of a child fending for themselves in the streets. At the same time, it incorporates the theme of child actors acting like regular children that was previously done in “The 400 Blows”, “Forbidden Games” and “Spirit Of The Beehive” and later on in “Au Revoir, Les Enfants” “Cinema Paradiso” and “Ponette”. The result is a Venn Diagram of a film where the main story is the world through the eyes of a child who wants to make a man of himself, taking the lessons of his teacher and grandfather to heart, even doing something as foolish as running from home to unchartered lands to help a friend in need. The common bond between all these films is that they are non-Hollywood foreign language gems. American films are too caught up in stupid characters, cheesy CGI, convoluted stories and  unnecessary subplots that are incorporated into remakes and monotonous superhero franchises. I have yet to wait for an American director to focus on a linear story that may seem boring on paper, but grabs the viewer’s attention nonstop as if you’re in the character’s shoes. This film is more reality than some of the garbage that passes as “reality” television.

The Ahmed Poor brothers who play Ahmed and Mohamed are excellent from the very beginning. The very first scene tugs at your heartstrings when Ahmed’s Mohamed is crying in class as he’s threatened with being expelled from school. He’s only a little kid and yet the weight of responsibility overwhelms him. I can remember seeing classmates of mine cry in school when confronted with similar issues and seeing that crying on screen brought me back to those halcyon days. Then you have Ahmed, whose presence takes up 95% of the film, and his determination is on full display. Babek’s Ahmed manages to stick to his innocence without coming off as overly cute. He may be a grammar school student, but he has the grit and drive of an adult. Not many films can pull off having a child act like him or herself without being nauseatingly annoying. The Ahmed Poor brothers were naturals to be in front of the camera and did not disappoint.

Unfortunately, Iran did not submit a film to the Academy Awards Foreign Film category in the year of this film’s release. By missing out of being in the running, “Where Is the Friend’s House?” could have been more widely seen by American audiences and the film wound up debuting at the American film festival circuit 6 years later, well too late for Oscar consideration. Despite that, Kiarostami won awards at the Fajr and Locarno Festivals in 1987 and 1989 respectively. As of now, the film is #2 on MUBI’s Top 1000 Films list, one up from “The Godfather”, an impressive feat. So 35 years later, this masterpiece is getting the reception it richly deserves.

9.5/10

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s 2021 Birthday R&S

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for an R&S which has not been released in EN! 🍒

[ This was released on 24 July 2021 ]

[ Chapter One: Model Aircraft Competition ]

The cicadas outside the window are clamorous, and the dark green trees cover the blazing sun, casting shady and cooling patches.

This is an incredibly ordinary late afternoon. The summer vacation is about to arrive, and the classroom is filled with the buzzing chatter of students, as rowdy as usual.

Gavin is asleep on the seat next to the window. Sunlight passes through the crevices of leaves and linger on his shoulders, bright and indolent. However, he isn’t actually sleeping, and the conversation between his deskmate and the student in front of him drift to his ears clearly.

“Hey, are you going for that model aircraft competition the teacher mentioned a few days ago?”

“I heard all the middle schoolers in our city will be participating. Those who get prizes will have extra marks, and the person who gets first place can visit the Aviation Headquarters!”

“Then again, you’ll need the capabilities to win. If you're participating, I’ll watch.”

“Hehe, you speak as though the person who lags behind in every subject can bag a trophy.”

The two of them attack each other with taunting remarks. After lapsing into a moment of silence, they suddenly turn their gazes to Gavin simultaneously.

Gavin’s deskmate pokes his arm and calls out to him.

“Gavin, you aren’t asleep, are you?”

The figure wearing a blue and white school uniform remains plopped on the desk, unmoving. A slightly muffled response drifts from him.

“What is it?”

Gavin’s deskmate and the student sitting in front of him look at each other, then speak excitedly.

“Do you know about that recent model aircraft competition?”

Gavin lets out a “mm”.

“Aren’t you going to participate?”

“We had a discussion about it, and felt that in the entire class, you’re the only one with the capabilities to win a prize. The others are just a bunch of useless troops, and they’d be of no use even if they went.”

Gavin stirs slightly. His deskmate looks at him with anticipation. In the end, he simply cushions his head using the other arm.

“Not interested.”

“Huh?”

His deskmate stares at the back of his head in utter disbelief.

“Your dad’s a military officer, and you’ve seen more real planes since young as compared to the number of models we’ve played with. This competition is basically made for you.”

Gavin doesn’t respond. In the sunlight, a few strands of hair on the back of the youth’s head stick up disobediently, clearly showing that he isn’t in the best of moods.

At this moment, the dismissal bell rings. Along with the cheers from students, the classroom erupts into a state of chaos.

Gavin finally sits up. After stuffing the English book he used as a pillow into his sling bag, he turns around and leaves the classroom.

After the figure vanishes at the door, Gavin’s deskmate turns to the student sitting in front of him, expressing puzzlement.

“Why do you think Gavin doesn’t want to participate? A few days ago, I saw him at the bookstore outside school buying an Aeromodelling Atlas.”

The student in front of him shrugs, signalling that he has no idea.

“Maybe he got bored.”

[ Chapter Two - Proof ]

When Gavin reaches home, his mother has yet to return.

Placing his bag down, he suddenly notices a new post-it note on the fridge. On it, there’s a menu written in delicate handwriting: Stir-fried tomato and scrambled eggs, fried stuffed tofu, stir-fried duck with pineapples.

There’s a smiley face drawn on the last line, and the words “The dishes Little Gav loves to eat” are written at the side.

Only then does Gavin remember - his birthday is coming.

Every year, his mother would start preparations way in advance. It’s as if in her eyes, this particular day is even more worthy of celebration as compared to all other festivals.

And this year is no exception.

The post-it note is a little crooked. Gavin uses a fridge magnet to straighten it, then returns to his room.

The small room is covered with traces of youth. There are posters of basketball celebrities on the walls, and there's a globe and a few books on the desk.

After hesitating for a while, Gavin pulls open his bag and takes out a pamphlet. On it, there’s information pertaining to the model aircraft competition.

He reads the information seriously. A breeze blows the the white curtains, and the lights and shadows of dusk outline the youth’s straightened back profile, casting specks of light on a book. The words “Aeromodelling Atlas” can be vaguely seen. 

While reading, he suddenly recalls the words his deskmate said-

“Your dad’s a military officer, and you’ve seen more real planes since young as compared to the number of models we’ve played with. This competition is basically made for you.”

His grip on the pamphlet abruptly tightens. Gavin rolls it into a ball and tosses it on the table, getting up in frustration and leaving the room.

Everything in the living room is clean and tidy. The school uniform he had changed out of is drying in the balcony. The large uniform drifts with the wind, and the air is filled with the fragrance of soap.

Even though there are clear traces of diligence and attentiveness, certain things can still be seen.

Model robots and clay crafts are displayed neatly on the left side of the built-in cupboard. However, there’s nothing on the right side.

All the cups and plates form a complete set. However, one cup is placed upside down on the cup rack. Although it has been a long time since it was last used, its owner wipes it spotlessly every day.

It’s as if the person she’s waiting for has always been around. Disappointment has repeated itself in endless cycles, but she continually harbours hope.

Gavin ignores such traces. He walks over to the fan in the living room, furrowing his brows as he squats down.

This fan has been spoilt for several days. Each time it’s turned on, it releases a strange clacking sound, akin to a heavy wooden door being pushed open with great effort.

-

When Wardia steps in with a bag of groceries, she sees Gavin half-squatting and studying that fan which has been broken for numerous days.

She calls out to Gavin.

“Little Gav, the fan is spoilt. I’ll ask a worker to fix it tomorrow. Don’t mind it.”

“When you called yesterday, the worker said that he wouldn’t be free these days. He probably won’t be able to drop by tomorrow either.”

Gavin pushes the outer shell of the fan lightly, and the white netted cover stirs gently, letting out a muffled buzz.

“No need to call for a worker. I can fix it.”

Wardia is stunned for a moment. Then, her eyes crinkle into a smile.

“When did our Little Gav become so incredible?”

Gavin stands up, his tone very certain.

“Leave it to me.”

Wardia casts a contemplative glance at Gavin. He’s going to be 14 soon. At this age, children tend to think about a lot of things, and may be exceptionally sensitive in certain areas.

Since a particular point in time, he had already been working hard and learning how to become a man with an indomitable spirit.

She can only nod.

“Okay. Mommy bought green beans today. I’ll prepare you a cooling soup later to alleviate the summer heat.”

With this, Gavin responds by heading to the kitchen to get a bowl to soak the beans for his mother.

The green coloured beans are immersed in water. Some float and some sink, and their colours are clear.

Wardia looks at Gavin. After a moment of hesitance, she speaks in a light-hearted and leisurely tone.

“Little Gav... Daddy took up an urgent mission recently and was sent to a very faraway place. He might not be around for your birthday this year again...”

“Mm, I’ve got it.”

Gavin’s tone is very indifferent. It’s as though whether that person returns or not has nothing to do with him at all. Wardia wants to say something, but after opening her mouth, she turns around, forcefully suppressing her emotions. 

Gavin carries the bowl with both hands. When he sees his mother’s back, he suddenly grows quiet.

Why harbour hope when one clearly knows the ending?

After dinner, Gavin returns to his room. The pamphlet is still on the desk. He pauses for a moment, then reaches out to pick it up.

He’s going to be 14 years old soon.

Becoming one year older is something his mother looks forward to even more than he does. Because of this, she feels even guiltier with every year of his father’s absence.

Even though he knows he doesn’t need that person to wish him a happy birthday, he hopes that his mother can be a little more genuinely happy on his birthday.

Gavin makes a decision.

He smoothens the pamphlet on the desk. In a serious manner, he fills up the registration form on the back with his name. When he sets down the pen, his eyes sparkle with a certain determination.

He wants to participate in the model aircraft competition, and he wants to get first place.

He wants to use something he likes to prove to that person that he has already grown up, and has become even more incredible than he imagined.

“I’m going to prove to you that I can still do it without Evol.” He repeats resolutely once more.

If that person left this house back then because of how small and weak Gavin was, he’d definitely have a slightly different answer when he sees the current Gavin.

He’d definitely want to... return and see this family.

[ Chapter Three - Wings Waiting To Fly ]

Aeromodelling books and scattered materials are piled up in Gavin’s room. When Wardia enters while carrying chilled green bean lily bulb soup, she sees Gavin sitting cross-legged on the floor, using a vernier calliper to measure the wingspan.

Wardia carefully steps across the spare parts, placing the bowl on the desk.

“Little Gav, why are you so diligent in this competition? You’ve been fiddling around in your room for several days.”

Gavin wipes sweat off his forehead.

“This is a really large-scale competition. The teacher says that the person in first place will get to visit the Aviation Headquarters. I want to have a look.”

He’s determined not to tell his mother the true reason.

Wardia nods, giving him a “work hard” gesture.

“In that case, Little Gav must continue working hard and strive to be a guest at the aviation base.”

Wardia pauses, then looks at Gavin seriously.

“But Little Gav, even though this is a very rare opportunity, you must remember that no matter what happens at the end, Mommy will be happy for you. Because I know that you’re doing something you like, that you’ve worked hard, and have obtained happiness in the process. And that’s enough.”

Gavin nods.

“I know.”

“Oh yes, Mommy also wants to use this chance to discuss your birthday plans with you.”

Wardia grins while posing a question.

“What does Little Gav want as a birthday present this year? And what kind of pattern do you want your birthday cake to have?”

“Do you want to invite your classmates over to celebrate with you?”

Wardia prattles on endlessly as she counts the plans she has for his birthday on her fingers. That pair of beautiful eyes are layered with gentleness, but also hide a twinge of guilt.

It’s as though she’s exerting her all to ensure that other aspects are done even better to make up for that guilt.

After Gavin ponders for a while, he shakes his head.

“I’ve already grown up, so there isn’t anything I specially want as a birthday gift.”

“I just want Mommy to always be happy.”

When Wardia hears Gavin’s words, she’s taken aback for half a second. Her eyes stir slightly.

After this, she walks over to hug Gavin gently. Gavin has no idea why his mother is suddenly doing this, but he puts down the blueprint of the aircraft wing, reaching out to return his mother’s hug.

Wardia speaks softly yet resolutely.

“Little Gav, even if you become an adult in the future and become a man with an indomitable spirit, your birthday is still an important thing.”

She pauses.

“Because this day doesn’t just belong to you. It also belongs to everyone who loves you, and the people who have prepared and looked forward to this day for a very long time.

After his mother leaves the room, Gavin looks at the blueprint of the plane which is just beginning to take shape. He repeats what his mother said softly.

“It also belongs to everyone who loves you, and the people who have prepared and looked forward to this day for a very long time...”

Those clear eyes seem to be filled with an even greater determination to win the prize. He picks up the vernier calliper and continues measuring the wingspan.

[ Chapter Four: Heading In Another Direction ]

There’s only one week till Gavin’s birthday.

That huge pile of materials in Gavin’s room has turned into a beautiful white plane with blue wings and smooth lines.

At the competition venue, that white aircraft model ascends, spins around, flies upside down, and lands under Gavin’s control. Everyone is astonished at how perfect it is.

Without any reservations, Gavin wins first place.

The person handing out prizes is a certain officer from an aviation base. He places a small plane-shaped badge into Gavin’s hand.

“You referenced the air freighter Y2251 for the style, didn’t you? I could tell from a glance.”

Gavin nods, and the officer pats him on the shoulder.

“You reconstructed it very close to the original. Being this outstanding at such a young age, I believe your father will definitely be proud of you when he knows about this.”

Gavin lifts his head sharply, staring at the officer.

“Do you know him?”

The officer who handed him the award chuckles.

“I met him at an international meeting in the past. He’s a very outstanding soldier.”

Gavin doesn’t speak further. He lowers his eyes, tightly gripping that badge which symbolises the sky.

-

At night, Gavin sits at the edge of the window, lifting the small aviator badge to his eyes, staring at it meticulously under the moonlight.

The badge isn’t large, but the wings on it have been engraved vividly. It’s as though in the very next second, it could break free from the heavy fetters of metal, flying freely towards the horizon.

Gavin looks at it for a very long time, then reluctantly shifts his gaze away from the badge.

The summer evening breeze passes by his lapel, bringing with it a cooling and refreshing scent. The trees in the courtyard are very tall, and the sprigs of blossoming plants stretch to the edges of the window, touching his ankle.

This is the first time he has attained honour based on his own strength. Does this mean he now possesses the strength to be acknowledged by others?

He looks at the badge. Finally, his eyes crinkle into a slight smile, unintentionally revealing the wilfulness and pride that a youth should have.

Using his hands to support himself on the edge of the window, Gavin turns around and leaps back into his room. He locates a plain white envelope from his drawer, then picks up a pen. On the address line, he fills in his father’s current location, then stuffs the badge into the envelope solemnly.

After hesitating for a while, he scrunches up the envelope slightly. A few creases immediately appear on it.

Only after he leaps over the wall and heads out to slip that envelope into a mailbox at the corner of the street does Gavin release a soft sigh of relief.

This is a proof of pride, and it’s also an invitation from a youth. 

An invitation for the person whom his mother cares about to return to this place, and spend a birthday together which could constitute a “reunion”.

Gavin stands in front of the mailbox, lifting his head to look at the star-studded sky.

Tonight, the Milky Way seems to be brighter than in previous nights. Sagittarius emits a resplendent light, and the bow formed by stars points towards an unknown, faraway place.

[ Chapter Five: Indentations of Growth ]

On the early morning of Gavin’s birthday, Wardia cooks him a bowl of longevity noodles, and there’s even a soft-boiled egg burrowed underneath the noodles.

“Happy birthday, Little Gav.”

“From today onwards, you’ve grown one year older.”

His mother smiles as she says her well wishes to Gavin. After he’s done eating the noodles, she holds out a measuring tape.

“Shall we measure how much taller our Little Gav has grown this year?”

“...okay.”

Gavin is slightly resigned but accustomed to it as he stands next to the pole in the corridor. 

Right now, he has already grown much taller. In a serious manner, Wardia uses a pencil to draw a mark near the roof of his head.

“Our Little Gav has grown much taller. Wow, one, two, three... four centimetres.”

His mother keeps the measuring tape and Gavin steps away from the pole. There are numerous deep and light indents on the white body of the pole - traces that witness one boy’s growth each year.

"Looks like I won’t need to measure you next year. Little Gav has already grown taller than Mommy.”

Gavin immediately cuts in, his tone extremely certain.

“I’ll protect Mommy.”

Wardia taps Gavin’s forehead lightly.

“Mommy doesn’t need to be protected by Little Gav. Mommy will protect Little Gav. I’ll celebrate your birthday with you every year until you grow up.”

“What will happen after I grow up?”

His mother grins as she turns around and enters the kitchen. Her gentle voice drifts to Gavin’s ears, and sounds a little hazy.

“After you grow up, you’ll meet someone like Mommy who is willing to celebrate a lifetime of birthdays with you.”

While his mother starts busying herself to prepare Gavin’s birthday feast, Gavin decides to fix the fan in the living room.

With the successful experience of aeromodelling, Gavin picks up the instruction manual and fixes that clanking fan very quickly.

The fixed fan starts rotating to and fro in a leisurely manner, releasing a cooling wind. Gavin closes his eyes to feel the breeze, and his hair is blown up, fluttering messily.

“It’s fixed.” Gavin opens his eyes, turning his head to look at the time.

Noon passed not too long ago, and it’s still very early.

Gavin thinks for a moment, then heads into his room to retrieve the model aircraft. He sits on the steps of the courtyard.

A chunk of paint on the model aircraft cracked a few days ago. Gavin holds a small brush, slowly giving a fresh coat of paint to the tailplane.

The cicadas on the trees are noisy as always, and the brilliant sunlight filters through the leaves, falling on Gavin’s face.

While using the small brush to mend the plane with layers of paint, Gavin occasionally lifts his head towards the nearby door.

Judging by the time, he should still reach today, no matter how late it is.

Birds soar in the sky, and the sun continuously shifts to the west, until it brings twilight with it, turning into a semicircle about to be swallowed up by the horizon.

Gavin sits on the steps for a very long time, from noon till late afternoon, and until the beautiful lines on the model aircraft have been mended, laying beside him quietly.

Yet, that door doesn’t get pushed open.

A few leaves are blown by the wind, and they fall on the wings of the model aircraft. Gavin reaches out to pick the leaves up.

He grips the leaves in his palm, lowering his eyes and thinking about something unknown to anyone else.

With a sudden creak, the sound of a door opening drifts from afar, and footsteps land on Gavin’s ears.

Gavin instantly straightens up, but he quickly faces away.

The tender dusk envelops him, illuminating the slightly upturned corners of his lips.

[ Chapter Six: A Heart of Well Wishes ]

The people who pushed the door open are his maternal grandfather and grandmother.

Carrying a birthday cake, they brim with smiles as they walk towards Gavin.

His grandfather grabs Gavin into a hug.

“We wish our Little Gav a happy birthday.”

His grandmother lifts the cake, waving it at Gavin.

“Grandpa and Grandma specially bought a cake to see you, and to celebrate our Little Gav’s birthday.”

“Thanks, Grandpa and Grandma.”

Gavin receives the cake from his grandmother and heads towards the living room with them. Before walking up the steps, Gavin casts another glance at the door.

The door remains quietly caged in twilight, waiting alongside Gavin.

But even until the evening grows dark, it is never pushed open again.

Wardia notices Gavin’s abnormal silence. When she follows his gaze and looks at the door outside, she realises something.

However, Wardia doesn’t say anything. She simply pauses, then is full of smiles as she opens the cake box.

“Here’s wishing our birthday boy a happy 14th birthday!” His grandparents grin while singing the birthday song.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you...”

After singing the birthday song, his mother looks at Gavin, speaking gently.

“Go on and make a wish, Little Gav.”

Gavin stares at the cake and remains silent for a while. Then, he speaks quietly in his heart.

It’s fine if that person doesn't return. It’s fine if he isn’t acknowledged. Anyway, he has celebrated his birthday today, and has grown one year older.

He can fix a fan for his mother, and can use his strength to protect this home.

So-

It’s fine.

-

After dinner, the family sits in the courtyard to enjoy the cool air.

Hearing from his mother that Gavin won the first place in the aeromodelling competition, his grandparents are extremely surprised.

“Little Gav is truly incredible. Isn’t it really difficult to build models? What reward would you like? Grandpa and Grandma will give it to you.”

“There isn’t anything I want as a reward.”

However, his grandfather is very stubborn.

“You’re still so young. How can there be nothing that you want? Just suggest something, and treat it as a gift from your Grandpa and Grandma.”

At this appropriate time, Wardia cuts in. “This is a well wish from your elders, so just accept it.”

Gavin lowers his eyes and thinks for a moment. Then, he lifts his head and responds softly.

“In that case, I want our family to be like this every year in the future.”

He pauses, his eyes carrying within them slight warmth and ease.

“We’ll eat cake together, talk together, and sing the birthday song together.”

"That’s such an easy feat. Every year in the future, Grandpa and Grandma will bring a cake and celebrate Little Gav’s birthday with your Mommy.”

“It’s a deal.”

The evening breeze blows past gently, blowing up stray hairs in front of Gavin’s forehead, revealing a pair of clear amber eyes. He turns back to the courtyard and watches as his grandparents and mother engage in small talk and laughing to their heart’s content.

This is a complete family which has been mended with love, and it has much warmth and many things to look forward to.

It encases the youth’s heart, enabling him to not feel lonely at this moment.

The Milky Way is as magnificent as always. Beneath the brilliant star-studded sky, the tree which has been growing in the courtyard for a very long time stands quietly, as though it would remain this way every year.

Cheri’s Reflections:

Imagine if the letter wasn’t sent because Gavin forgot to put stamps LOL T^T

Not-so-fun fact: Wardia died when Gavin was 15, so this is the last birthday they spent together...

And MC not reading his letter back in Loveland High and leaving him waiting for hours hurts even more now because it probably reminded him of how he waited for his father to no avail

✈️ Spreading Wings Date: here

✈️ Support the cafe by dropping by the tip jar!

[there-must-be-a-lock]

Rain Check

Spencer Reid x (gender neutral) Reader

Word Count: 2860

Warnings: Lots of sexual tension and pining and ~heated glances~ or whatever but no actual sexy times. Author plays fast and loose with the canonical details of Spencer’s teaching sabbatical, as well as the logistics of grad school. There’s a teacher-student thing going on, but no weird age gap or whatever. Excessive objectification of Spencer’s hands, because really, what else do you expect from me? 

A/N: For the “mutual pining” square on my @cmbingo​ card! 

You trail off. Spencer’s staring like he’s waiting for you to say something else, even though you’ve been rambling for a while now. 

“Sorry,” you say sheepishly. 

“For what?” 

“You probably didn’t need to know all of that.”

He blinks, shaking his head with a quiet laugh. 

Something about him makes you want to open up; it’s been almost an hour of nonstop conversation, and you haven’t told him what you’re studying or even where you’re studying, but you feel like you’ve known him for years. You’ve talked about your favorite books and assorted high school traumas. He keeps insisting he’s not good at small talk anyway. 

“I really like listening to you talk,” he says, soft and sweet. “I just… I like watching you talk, too. I noticed your eyelashes and — and I got distracted.” 

Your cheeks feel hot, suddenly. You know the feeling. 

“Oh,” you manage.

There’s something about his hands; they’re just very fucking distracting, and every time he tucks his hair behind his ears, you lose your train of thought. It doesn’t help that he keeps absently-mindedly twirling a pen as he talks, long dexterous fingers moving with precise little movements, and — yeah. Distracting is putting it mildly. There’s this constant low flicker of want in your gut. 

“It’s been a long time since I enjoyed myself this much in a bar,” he admits, with a self-conscious little half-smile. 

“Me too.” 

Probably helps you’re not actually inside the bar. You’re tucked in the corner of the deck, leaning on the railing, and even though it’s crowded, you’ve barely noticed your surroundings. Every time you look at him, the rest of the world feels distant, like one of those perfect movie moments where the crowd parts and the hero and heroine walk toward each other in slow motion, meeting in a spotlight as everything else fades away. 

It’s just… those moments don’t happen, not in real life and certainly not to you. It’s never as simple as that: see — want — have. 

You can’t help but hope that this time might be different. 

Spencer’s smiling, and the way he looks at you with those big soft eyes makes you feel like you’re standing in a spotlight. It’s not a bad thing, necessarily. It’s just unusual, this jittery, excited, not-exactly-stage-fright thing happening in your chest. 

You have to remind yourself to breathe. 

The pause stretches a bit too long, and in an effort to fill the silence you blurt out, “What are you thinking about?” 

He hesitates, and his tongue slides along his lower lip, drawing your attention to his plush pink mouth as he says, “I was thinking—”

“Spence! There you are!” someone says loudly, and you’d be embarrassed by the way you jump, startled, if Spencer didn’t do the exact same thing. 

“Hey. Emily. Um… what’s up?” His voice cracks. He looks like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar; it’s flattering and oddly endearing. 

“We have a case.” The woman seems to be holding back a smile as she glances apologetically at you. “Meet you up front.” 

Spencer is visibly disappointed as he turns back to you. He gives you a helpless sort of shrug, and for a second, neither of you say anything. 

Your throat feels tight as your eyes lock on Spencer’s parted lips again. It’s been such a long time since you felt this drawn to a person; his closeness feels hypnotic. 

“I’d like to see you again,” he says shyly. “I — can you—” 

“Phone number?” you supply. His hands flutter and his eyebrows rise, like he forgot, for a second, that cell phones exist. Then he pats his pockets, pulls his out, and passes it to you. Once your number is saved, you give it back with a small smile. 

“I’ll probably be out of town for a few days, and then — maybe next weekend,” he says. 

“I’d really like that,” you admit, trying to make yourself take a step back. “This was — yeah. I’m glad I met you.” 

“Spencer!” someone says, from the door, and he waves them off without turning to look. 

“Earlier, when you asked—” He pauses, frowning, shifting his weight like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. “I was thinking about how much I’d like to kiss you.” 

His voice is soft and husky, and it cracks on the last word like maybe his throat is tight too. You feel hot all over. 

You never even shook hands; there’s been no physical contact whatsoever between the two of you, and now your head is spinning with the urge to reach out, to touch, to get closer... but it feels like you missed your opportunity for that — it doesn’t feel right, not when you know it’d be over much too quickly. You can tell Spencer feels it too. 

Once two magnets snap together, it’s a lot harder to separate them. 

“Rain check on that,” you say breathlessly, and he nods, raising one hand in an awkward wave as he steps back. 

-

This is Spencer, by the way. I’m really glad I met you.

The text comes in just an hour or so later, when you’re sitting in the cab on your way home, and you smile so wide it feels like your cheeks might split with it. 

-

The giddiness lasts until Tuesday morning, when you walk into the first session of your six-week-intensive graduate seminar and see Spencer at the white board, writing down page numbers for your reading assignment. 

Your eyes lock, and there’s another of those moments where you can’t see anything other than him. It’s not so pleasant this time, though. 

Spencer drops his pen, and you promptly forget how to walk, stumbling and spilling coffee down your front. You curse so loudly that the rest of the class turns to stare at you. 

To add insult to injury, the only open seat is directly across from Spencer’s. 

Fantastic. 

You spend the next hour and a half trying very hard to avoid eye contact, and for the most part, you’re successful. He doesn’t seem to want to look at you either. 

You do sneak one glance, though, and he’s just as pretty in the harsh fluorescent light of the classroom as he was in the golden glow of the bar lights. It seems really fucking unfair. 

If it were any other class, you would consider dropping it, but you were lucky to get a spot; this is big for your resume. It’s a special, one-time-only class, and your advisor had described the guest professor as “a genius, and one of the leading names in his field.” 

...fuck. 

Spencer dismisses the class. You start packing hurriedly, convinced he’s going to ask you to stay back, but you get out the door without incident. You’re already halfway down the hall when you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. 

Can we talk? 

It’d be so easy to lie, say you have somewhere to be, put the rejection off for another day, but instead you take a deep breath and turn around. 

Spencer is sitting right where he was, except now he’s cross-legged in the chair, twirling a pen and frowning at it like it contains the mysteries of the entire universe. He gives you a twitchy attempt at a smile, eyes wide with worry. 

You move closer, sitting down next to him, trying to ignore those fucking fingers as he plays with the pen. This would be a whole lot easier if he would stop doing that, because it’s just like the bar — the same hot, fluttering sensation low in your belly, no matter how much you try to ignore it now. 

“I thought you worked for the FBI,” you mumble and he lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sigh. 

“I do,” he says ruefully. “I just — also teach, sometimes?” 

“Yeah. I got that.” 

His tongue does that slow swipe across his lower lip. You bite your own lip, trying not to stare, and Spencer drops the pen with a clatter. 

“Sorry,” he says, shoving both hands through his hair. “I’m so sorry if I — if this is — is this going to make you uncomfortable?” 

You frown, looking at him blankly for a second, because that was so not the reaction you expected. “Uncomfortable?” 

“Knowing that I — that I’m attracted to you? I’m aware of the power imbalance inherent in the situation and I promise I would never—” 

“Present tense?” you blurt out, and Spencer stops, blinking at you. 

“Well… yes. I thought that was obvious. I meant it, you know; I don’t just meet people like that,” he says, agitated. “It’s usually difficult for me to talk to strangers, and you’re — you’re just — yes. I’m attracted to you.” 

“I figured you would think I was immature, and — I mean, it’s such a fucking cliche,” you laugh, digging the heels of your hands into your eyes. “I usually try to avoid modeling my life on Van Halen songs.” He gives you a blank look and you add hastily, “Never mind. Point is, a student with a crush, throwing themselves at a professor? Seems like a recipe for embarrassment.” 

“Oh,” he says, as a smile spreads across his face. “So… maybe after the class is over, we could—” 

“Yeah?”  

Spencer is blushing. Jesus pogo-jumping Christ, you want to kiss him. 

“It’s just six weeks. We’ll keep it strictly professional — appropriate — for six weeks.” The words are quiet, all husky and promising, and you can’t tell whether it’s intentional or not, but something about that tone sounds very fucking inappropriate. “And then… we’ll take that rain check.” 

You nod and clear your throat. “You’re on.” 

SIx weeks, two classes a week, ninety minutes per class. Easy enough. 

-

It’s not easy. Not in the fucking slightest. 

Part of you wishes he could be a bad teacher, or something. If he was boring — if he had an obnoxious laugh — something. Instead, every goddamn minute spent in his classroom seems like another reason to fall for this guy. 

And yeah, sure, he’s pretty. You catch yourself staring, sometimes: his long lashes, the hint of gold in his eyes, the sharp angles of his jawline, the messy hair… and you’re not the only one. It seems like the entire class is crushing on him by the end of the second meeting, boys and girls alike, and maybe you would make fun of the Indiana Jones-style lash-fluttering that’s aimed his way if you weren’t guilty of doing the same thing yourself. 

Once word gets around that there’s a cute new professor in the criminology department, rumors start to fly left and right. You’ve heard other students talking about him, speculating about the apparently “way more badass than you’d think” Doctor Reid. You hear stories about how he got shot once — was kidnapped and tortured — overdosed on heroin — saved a train full of people by talking down a lunatic with a gun — hooked up with a movie star — went to jail for murder — you name it, every story more far-fetched than the last. 

Well, he did mention getting shot one time, but you’re pretty sure the rest are too absurd to be true. 

Either way, it’s not the looks or the legends that have you hopelessly head-over-heels. 

It’s the way he lights up when he gets started on a subject that interests him. It’s the joy in his expression when a student asks a good question, or when they draw the right conclusion; his smile is bright and brilliant every time. 

The first time one of those smiles is aimed in your direction, along with a half-shouted, “Correct!” and an excited wave of his pen, you’re just about blinded. It quickly becomes one of the driving goals of your day-to-day life: make Spencer smile. 

He’s beautiful, in those moments when he’s grinning and enthusiastic, but the quiet moments are even worse. 

Sometimes he stares as you work your way through a train of thought, eyes glinting as he fixes them on you with a breathtaking intensity and this fierce pride. Sometimes, his voice is firm and sharp, and sometimes when he says things like, “Yes, exactly like that,” it sounds so much dirtier than it should. 

Sometimes — sometimes — once or twice or a dozen times — you fantasize about that voice. You’re only human. 

You never realized there was such a thing as a “praise kink,” but… yeah. That about sums it up. 

At first you worry that he’ll lose interest: that you’ll say something stupid or he’ll find someone else, because in your experience with men, they don’t wait around for six hours, let alone six weeks, once they’ve realized they can’t immediately have what they want. Instead, it only gets worse as the weeks pass. 

It’s nothing obvious, nothing that could be labeled as inappropriate — you still haven’t touched Spencer, not so much as an accidental brush of his hand against yours when he passes back a graded essay. It’s just that his gaze lingers, whenever he looks in your direction, just a moment longer than it would on anyone else. Every time your eyes meet, you have a hard time remembering that the rest of the world exists. It might as well just be the two of you. There’s this heat between you, this crackling electricity, like touching a live wire every single time, like you can’t pull yourself away to break the current. 

It’s the longest six weeks of your life. 

-

“That’s our time,” Spencer says, glancing at his watch. “I’ll get your essays marked and returned to you before break, and on Sunday evening, I’ll submit your final grades, at which point—” His eyes flick to you, and you bite your lip. “— my responsibilities as your professor are complete. It’s been a pleasure.” 

-

“Hi,” Spencer says, without preamble, when you pick up the phone on Saturday evening. “This is — um. This is Spencer?” 

You roll your eyes, but you’re grinning so hard you can barely say, “Yeah, I know.” 

“Right. Um… where are you?”

“Just dropped off a few library books.” 

“I got grades done a little early,” he says hesitantly. “Do you want to… meet me at my office, maybe? We could go out for dinner?” 

You’ve never been there before, but you know where it is. Open office hours with Spencer always seemed like a disaster waiting to happen, because your self-control only goes so far.

“Sounds good,” you say, voice strained, heart racing. “Be there soon.” 

You walk fast. 

The building is mostly deserted, at this hour, and as you walk quickly down the hall, the catch and release of breath in your lungs seems too loud for your quiet surroundings. 

You might be panicking a little bit. There’s still a part of you that’s just waiting for him to change his mind, to realize how dorky and awkward you are, to find someone more polished or accomplished or… something — fuck, this seems to good to be true. 

Spencer has one of the old, cramped temporary offices used by visiting professors, and even though he’s only been here for a month and a half, he’s amassed quite a collection of books in the small space. When you step through the open door, he’s got his sleeves rolled up as he places a couple books gently in a box. He runs his hands through his hair with a sigh, making it even more hopelessly touseled. 

“Hey,” you say, and he turns around, wide-eyed and nervous for a moment before a smile — one of the brilliant too-bright ones you’ve become so fond of — transforms his face. 

“Hi! Um, I’ll come back tomorrow to finish cleaning, I was just — we could go out, I don’t have to — dinner? Are you hungry?” He picks up a pen from the cluttered desk, twirling it like he just really needs something to do with his hands; he seems just as anxious as you feel. It’s comforting, for some reason. At least you’re both awkward dorks. 

“Not hungry,” you say shyly. You close the door, slow and deliberate. 

Spencer’s eyes widen and then go dark, all heavy-lidded and heated. 

He drops the pen, closes the distance between you in two long strides, and cups your face in his hands before kissing you, deep and urgent, dizzyingly perfect. It’s desperate, after all this time, all that pent-up longing and suppressed electricity surging through you all at once, making you gasp at the sharp incredible sting of his teeth nipping your lower lip. 

It’s one hundred percent worth the wait. 

You’re both breathless when he breaks the kiss, but you sway closer anyway, trying to follow his mouth, and blink like you’re coming out of a trance. His lips are red and swollen. 

“Rain check on dinner?” he asks. His voice is suggestive and smoky — there’s nothing appropriate about it. 

When you nod, he just reaches behind you and locks the door. 

.

.

Smutty bit is now here!

.

More CM fic here! 

[athena-is-a-chaotic-lil-shit]

Let the Stars Witness

Okay okay holy— omg I did it! My first request and from an admired writer of mine no less!

From @kim-monsterlings : Hi and welcome!! Really looking forward to seeing your work! ~ If you would, could I request some form of friends to lovers with an orc? (Prompts maybe like, "you deserve better.") Thank you! <3

Since it wasn't specified on what their genders are, I hope your okay with what I went with! And I kinda trailed off from the prompt (or rather it's different but similar)

Anyways you'll know when you read!

•

Pairing: Male Orc (Duruk) x Human Fem!Reader

Word count: 2.2k

Warnings: None.

•

"You know, I never thought I would be friends with anyone here, especially with someone other than my, well, species," you tell your companion, your eyes not leaving the cloudless night sky as you lied on your back on the roof of his house. The stars were out tonight.

If you told your younger self that you'd be having great escapades (if running away and getting into a series of trouble fall under that) with an orc, you would most definitely cry your eyes out because you thought were being teased, taking it as a hurtful comment. You were sensitive like that. Part of the reason why no one would even go near you, afraid they might hurt you with a pat on the shoulder or with one word alone. You became the prime target of bullies, finding twisted amusement at your pathetic reactions. A crybaby, they called you. But it wasn't your fault you didn't have much control over your emotions. You were weird, asocial, timid, maybe even depressed. Having a neglectful family didn't help either, it just worsened.

•

The morning you met Duruk was after the orientation. And it was not so good for a first impression.

Long story short, you cried.

But since you're perhaps curious as to what happened exactly, let's elaborate.

You had your headphones on, the melodic sound of gentle rain played in a 3-hour loop and blocked out other noises, your eyes glued to the path you were on. You took long and hurried steps, wishing you could teleport to your classroom and hide in the back, disappear or become invisible.

You were distracted, or should we say, focused on the ground and expecting everyone to step aside and let you through.

Well, except for the one who had his back on you.

You crashed—not an exaggeration— into something- someone massive. You stumbled back and landed on your bum, wincing from the impact. Luckily, your headphones were safe (ah yes, priorities), detaching from your ears and landing on your shoulders. When you looked up to see who it was, you thought your eyes were gonna fall off, grow little legs, and scamper away.

Before you stood an orc, halfway turned to glance at whoever it was that tried to push him, his sharp tusks jutting out from his maw. His brows were furrowed as he looked down on you. Sure, he wasn't as tall as the orcs you've seen around the city and campus but still was over 6 feet, with muscles thicker than your thighs, easily hulking you.

You tried to get out an apology and run as far as you could go, but you just sat there, frozen as you strained your neck to meet his gaze, you couldn't look away. Your heart was trying to claw its way out into the surface.

Then you felt the tears swell up.

They cascaded down your face before you even could stop them.

The orc's eyes widened at your reaction and crouched down to your level in an instant that he almost fell over. His hands hovered, not sure what to do.

"Hey, hey, please don't cry. Please don't—"

"I-I-I'm re..really s-sorry p-please don't hurt m-me..." You managed to choke out pathetically, hiccuping in every word.

"Shhh now hey, it's okay. It was an accident— what? No! Why would I do that?" he replied. The orc peeked over his shoulder and to the sides. "Let's get you to somewhere, uh, less crowded," he added. You turned your head and saw that you had an audience, whispers went around as they sent pitiful and disgusted glances in your direction, only making you cry even more.

He proceeded to unceremoniously lift you into his arms, bridal style, and dashed away. You gripped the front of his shirt and shut your eyes. You were trembling now, scared of what he might do to you. How could you even fight back with your small stature?

It wasn't long until you felt him slow down and placed you carefully on a bench. The orc knelt in front of you, brows scrunched up as he studied your face.

"You okay? I didn't hurt you, did I?"

You didn't reply, only staring at him through your glassy eyes as you heaved.

You flinched when his hand started rubbing your back, his other hand placed on the side of the bench to balance himself.

He continued to caress your back and murmured soothing words in hopes of calming you down.

Your tears didn't stop falling until moments later when you came down from your initial fear, the warmth of his palm leaving your back once you did. All the while the orc remained where he was, at a loss of what to do next.

You rubbed your sticky face with the collar of your pale and blotchy crimson sweater, sniffing and taking slow, deep breaths before you spoke.

"I... I'm sorry for causing you trouble. E-Even going as far as to take me somewhere quiet. I...appreciate that." You thought you'd pass out with the way people gathered around you, it was suffocating. "Thank you..."

"I panicked," he started, "Sorry—I mean, it's okay, you didn't do anything wrong. I get that a lot of people run away from the sight of me, but you didn't, and just froze there on the ground so..." he shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck.

You shook your head. He was such an imposing figure to many, their first thought was most likely to get away or scream at him.

"You looked angry... When I bumped into you." You slammed into him actually, but he didn't budge an inch. Guess it was one-sided.

"Oh, that? Well, my brother scolds me a lot for having such a grumpy face, scaring humans away. Like he was the one to talk when he's taller and bigger than me! People would faint on the spot when they see him, I bet!"

The image your mind conjured up tore a laugh out of your body, two orcs arguing about how not to terrify people at sight was damn hilarious. When was the last time someone made you laugh like this?

The orc grinned, your reaction a contrast to that of earlier.

You opened your mouth to say something but the ringing of the great bell resounded, cutting you off. The two of you stood up as you realized you were late for your first class of the school year.

"So, uh, what now?" you asked.

"How about we go to our class, then maybe meet up later? Oh, fu— my mother will gut me— I haven't introduced myself!" He blurted out, his voice making you yelp with the sudden outburst.

Clearing his throat, he reached out, "I'm Duruk."

In turn, you gave him your name, taking his hand and smiled. "Hello, Duruk."

•

True to his word, you met again later when lunch came. The cafeteria was packed so you settled on getting the convenience food they offered and eat somewhere quiet.

Your conversation that day spiraled when you found out the two of you had a lot in common. From your favorite rock band to your favorite flavor of ice cream.

You both strongly agreed that vanilla ice cream was superior.

You agreed to meet up during breaks, always having something to chat about.

Eventually, you became inseparable.

He even changed and transferred to your class just so the two of you could be together at the start of the day rather than walk half of the campus to see each other every time.

You became best friends, sharing each moment in school, may it be helping the other stay awake in a boring class, or copying homework when one of you forgot to do it. Soon enough, Duruk started inviting you to his house to hang out. He did mention he had four other siblings, but he lived alone. You came by almost every night and on whole weekends to escape from home, only a few miles in between. No one would notice you gone anyways, but you returned around midnight, not wanting to impose on Duruk no matter what he says, so he walks you back instead.

You basked in each other's company. The odd and scrutinizing glares didn't go unnoticed when you two were together, but you shrugged them all off.

It didn't take long before you started having feelings for the orc, a little wishful thinking that you could be more than friends. You noted lately that his touches would linger seconds longer than usual, hugs and even a hand on your shoulder and back seem to be warmer and —you dare say— affectionate. It weighed heavily on your heart, your simple crush turned into something else, and it only grew with each passing day, and every laugh you shared.

But of course, you swatted those away, buried them deep inside every damn time they climb back up. Who could even love you? Yes, you have Duruk, he likes you, you think. But that's the end of it. Just close buddies. You can't take the risk of ruining your friendship with him and make things awkward with the only one you had! What if he stops talking to you, weirded out by your confession? You don't want to go back to being alone again, your heart can't take the rejection that came with it.

So you endured.

•

A little over five months ever since the embarrassing accident, here you are now, stargazing with your best friend.

"Well, good thing you didn't watch where you were going that time then," he says, chuckling beside you. His hands cushioned his head against the hard surface. "I wouldn't have..." he trails off.

"Hm, what?" you ask. Duruk went silent and didn't answer you for a time. You were about to let it slide but then he breathes in audibly.

"I wouldn't have met an angel if you did. Should've caught you in my arms, but sadly I didn't move fast enough." He replies, his voice deep and mellow.

You straighten up and turn to face him, your brows shot up, incredulous to what he just implied.

"W-Wait. What?" you squeak, your heart thumping hard in your chest, your skin warming up even in the chilled night air.

Is he—

"You're so cute, y'know that? Fuck it, it's all or nothing," he whispers under his breath as he sits up to face you. His expression was unreadable, but you see in his mahogany eyes a familiar glint of determination. "I'm not good with long-ass speeches so I'll make this short," he breathes in before he continues, "I feel something for you, for a while now, more than a best friend does, like...in a romantic sense. I want to cherish you and hold you in my arms every time I see you, I- ah fuck- damn it I just—" he growls, "I love you, so much and if you don't love me back then please re—"

You shut him off with your lips against his, Duruk's tusks pressing against your cheeks as you held his face in your hands. He was stunned for two solid seconds before returning the kiss, his arms snaking around your waist and pulling you close and into his lap.

You feel something wet roll down your hand and you immediately jerked back to see his face. The orc was crying.

Did you do it wrong? Were you so terrible at it—

"I don't deserve you... A monster like me doesn't deserve an angel like you."

Where was this coming from??

"Say that again, I dare you."

"I don't de—"

This idiot!

You pecked his lips to cut him off.

"You big dummy," you begin, "I love you too, idiot. You may be a monster but not what everyone else defines you as. I love you as you are. You're my best friend, and dare I say my l-lover now. Is that right...?"

Duruk gives you a small, gentle smile, "If you'll have me, then yes, for as long as you want me to be." He says, sniffling a sob as a couple more tears tumbled down his rugged face.

You never thought you'd see him like this. He was the one who kept making you laugh with his stories and terrible jokes. Before you, in your hands was someone vulnerable, his eyes soft and fond as he gazed into yours.

It made your heart pound and it hurt.

You leaned in and he met you halfway, kissing once again, deeper and more intimate this time. Real. You brought your arms around his neck, your tears spilling out and he tightened his grip around you. It felt like a dream, too good to be true, but the way he hugged you like you were the only thing that anchored him in this world made you believe it wasn't. All of this was real and you couldn't be anymore happier.

From above, the glittering stars, the light gentle as they shone, bear witness to two freed hearts, bottled up feelings gushing out like a broken dam as you embraced one another and lost yourselves in the moment of bliss, cheeks stained and clothes lightly damp from the tiny rivulets of liquid that dropped down.

It's a lovely night, isn't it?

[plant-flwrs]

I love your writing! Can you do a reader x fred where the reader’s whole family (like siblings) is slytherin except her and she’s in gryffindor and you can do whatever with it thank you!

rivalries as old as time // fred weasley

masterlist!

a/n: omg i’ve never written mean!george this was kind of scary hehe. n e way, hope u like it! thanks for ur request!

summary: Fred and George are usually united on everything, but Fred’s crush on Draco Malfoy’s sister is definitely something they disagree on.

(5k)

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You had never liked red, and as you fidgeted with your red tie for the fifth time, you felt an elbow to your side.

“Stop,” Fred Weasley whispered from beside you, sending a scowl your way, “It’s distracting.”

“Distracting from what? You have no intention of taking notes,” you said, looking at both his and your blank parchments in front of you.

“Distracting from my daydreams,” he said easily, leaning forward on his desk to rest his forearms against the wood, “I need to focus on them, they’re just getting good.”

“What’re they about?” you asked, hoping to sound rude. Fred looked at you in the corner of his eye, and he was regrettably forced to admit that your signature Malfoy smirk was insanely attractive.

“Oh you know,” Fred said, copying your actions to lean back in his chair, “ the usual. Trolls and Gremlins.”

The both of you slouched in your chairs, arms crossed, ignoring the awfully boring lecture Professor Binns was giving.

You rolled your eyes, annoyed by Fred. Your gaze drifted across the room, trying to find something entertaining for your crystal gray eyes to focus on.

Fred, meanwhile, was internally slapping himself. Trolls and Gremlins? That was so stupid!

He watched your blonde hair fall from where it was loosely tucked into a headband, and you brought a mindless finger to put the hair back. He watched your simple movements, entranced by you.

You and Fred didn’t get along. You are a Malfoy, and he’s a Weasley. But still, somehow, you both always found yourselves thinking of the other.

History of Magic was his favorite class, because of you.

You and Draco had crossed paths on the way to lunch, and he walked briskly over to you, dismissing some of his Slytherin friends. You paid no mind to their scowls and figured they felt so angry because Gryffindor was playing Slytherin next week on the pitch.

“Has mum sent an owl to you this week?” Draco asked, craning his neck a little to look at you. His growth spurt hadn’t struck him yet.

“Oh!” you said, beginning to dig through your bag, “Sorry, forgot about it.”

You pulled a small parcel from your bag, handing it to your brother. The two of you were nearing the Great Hall, where you would have to split and go your separate ways.

“What is it?” you asked, feeling an obligation to be nosy in your little brother’s business.

“Some ink,” Draco said lazily, tucking the package into his own bag, “it’s my lucky ink.”

“Why? Is it enchanted?” you asked, and then lowered your voice, “Is that how you get such high marks?”

Draco smiled at your compliment and shook his head no.

“No, I get those because I study,” he said flatly, a dig at the fact that you excelled more on the Quidditch pitch than the academics.

You jokingly narrowed your eyes at him, and just before he walked to the Slytherin table, you reached out and ruffled his gelled hair. His joking stature quickly turned serious, and you broke into a jog to get to the Gryffindor table and away from Draco. You watched him attempt to smooth back his hair, chuckling as you slid down on the bench, a few seats away from Fred and George.

Fred was hunched over a poorly drawn drawing that George pointed to continuously while he talked.

“If we took that one corridor, there's that curtain that leads here,” George said, moving his finger to the right, “and then we can easily get back in time!”

You didn’t bother to ask, knowing George wouldn’t tell you. As much as you and Fred would get into little arguments, George had it out for you. Despite being his housemate, it was a known fact that you were the target of his pranks. Last year, he had snuck into the girl's Quidditch changing rooms and stole your clothes. You had to beg Fred from where he stood on the outside of the tent to make his brother give his clothes back, and when that didn’t work, you waved your wand and said “Accio clothes”. George had never run so fast up a hill, and he still couldn’t escape your wrath.

You pulled a sandwich from the tray in front of you.

“Malfoy,” Oliver Wood said, catching your attention.

“Yeah?” you said, taking a large bite of your sandwich.

“Did you look over that play I sent you?” Oliver asked, referring to the crumpled note he had tossed at the back of your head during Charms.

“Yeah,” you said, chewing and fishing in your bag for the note.

You pulled it out and saw Fred looking towards you. You looked at him before returning to Oliver. You unfolded the paper and Oliver hunched over it as George had done down the table.

Oliver’s hands were all over the simple drawing, his words getting lost in your boredom. You loved Quidditch, but god, could Oliver be boring.

“What are you two talking about?” both of your heads snapped up to see Fred forcing himself between the two first years that sat across you.

Oliver handed him the paper, pointing at all the meanings of the symbols.

“This,” he finally said, catching his breath, “is how we’re gonna beat Slytherin next week.”

Your weeknights were spent with Oliver, both of you ranting on about strategies while also trying to get done some homework. You occupied a wooden table that was usually used for chess, but the board was moved over to the coffee table where Ron and Harry played.

Fred watched, nearly pouting, from his spot on the couch. He watched the way your light eyes would brighten at the words Oliver said to you, and how you would blush every time he offered you a compliment on your playing.

“Ready for practice tonight?” Fred said, sliding up next to you as you waited outside of Binns’ classroom.

“Yeah,” you said absentmindedly, picking at your nails.

“George and I won’t take it easy on you,” Fred said, his veiled attempt at sounding threatening failing.

“Oh, Fred,” you said, faking a shake in your voice, “you don’t mean that.”

Fred rolled his eyes at your teasing, following after you as you walked to your shared desk.

Both of you came down the Gryffindor stairs at the same time, dressed in your practice jerseys and equipment in hand.

You glanced at him and caught his eyes looking you up and down. You chuckled to yourself, and his face flushed red.

You walked through the portrait hole with Oliver, and Fred watched you as he waited for George.

The two of them twisted and tossed their beater bats from hand to hand as they were perched on their brooms. You and Alicia faced off near the ground, hovering stoically. It was no competition, you were a better flyer than Alicia. She nearly had you matched in the power of her arm, but you still had the upper hand.

Fred bit his lip as you extended yourself to reach for the Quaffle. Your legs were the only thing keeping you on the broom, but you didn’t pay any mind to the unsteadiness. The only thing you thought of was the play Oliver had ingrained in your mind the past week. You repeated his critiques in your head and made sure to fix your grip on the Quaffle.

Alicia trailed after you, and you dove under Angelina to avoid her grasp. They were both trailing after you now. Alicia was nearly taken off her broom by a Bludger, and risking a glance upwards, you saw Fred’s triumphant smile. It was lucky that Fred was on your team for this practice because George had a nasty habit of failing to block Bludgers from hitting you.

Nearing near the goal post, you easily wound your arm back and sent the Quaffle right past Oliver. He slapped his gloved hands on his broom and sent you a proud smile.

The practice continued, and you weren’t hit with a Bludger the whole time, no matter how many George sent at you. Fred was always there to send them off, and send you a wink after he did it. You won the practice scrimmage, but Alicia put up a good fight.

“We have this,” Alicia said, beaming at you as she shed her heavy robes in the changing room.

“If we don’t I think Oliver’ll have an aneurism,” you joked, pulling on a loose t-shirt.

Angelina chuckled, and Alicia continued to beam.

“Really lucky Fred saved you from all those Bludgers,” Katie Bell teased from behind you.

“George has got it out for me,” you said nonchalantly, shrugging your shoulders.

“Yeah, but, Fred sure kept you safe,” she continued to hint, but it went over your head.

“Well yeah, we can’t have an injury two days before the match,” you said, closing your locker and shuffling the combination.

Alicia rolled her eyes, and Angelina laughed.

“Yeah, that’s why,” Katie said, giving up.

You walked up the path to the castle and saw a clan of black robes walking down the path. You saw blond hair that matched yours peaking from one of them.

“Draco!” you called to your brother, breaking into a jog to reach him.

“Hey,” he said, breaking off from his Slytherin teammates.

“Are you guys ready for the match?” you asked excitedly.

Draco huffed out a defeated sigh, crossing his arms.

“No,” he admitted, glancing over his shoulder to make sure his housemates couldn’t hear him, “we bloody suck.”

You fought the cheeky smile that crept onto your face.

“Oh, that’s rotten, Draco,” you said, beginning to walk back down the hill with him, “I’m sure you’ll play your best.”

“I’ll try,” he said, beginning to shoo you off, “go do your homework.”

You rolled your eyes at your brother and waved him off, setting back up the castle.

The day of matches was always nerving, but it was even worse when it was against Slytherin. It felt like everyone in the school wanted you, needed you, to beat them.

You and Oliver sat shoulder to shoulder, both trying to get the other to eat something for breakfast. You both claimed to be too nervous, and then the other would say “that’s ridiculous, you have to eat!”.

Walking to the pitch, Harry Potter trailed behind all of you. You watched the twins stop to reach him, each wrapping a comforting and brotherly arm around his shoulders. You smiled to yourself, slipping into the changing room with the rest of the girls.

The crowd was roaring. It had never been this loud. Various chants sounded off, and you soon realized that someone in the Slytherin crowd learned a charm to louden their voice. Hateful words about Harry spouted from the green stands, and boos countered the Slytherin statements from the blue, yellow, and red bannered stands.

Taking the field, you hovered in front of Adrian Pucey as you had hovered in front of Alicia. Alicia was much nicer to look at, you thought, and she was a better player.

Pucey was barely moving before you soared off with the Quaffle tucked under your arm. You avoided the Slytherin chasers easily, twisting and ducking on your broom with the Quaffle on you like it was a third arm attached to your body. Cheers sounded off as you faked out Marcus Flint and Adrian Pucey, making them dive into each other and nearly sending them off their brooms.

You looked back, seeing Alicia wide open behind you. You glanced forward, the Slytherin keeper braced for your shot. You slowed, allowing Alicia to come to your side. You made a seamless pass to her that the keeper hadn’t noticed, and while he looked at you, Alicia came from the left and scored. You met her to high five, your arms outstretched.

Fred dove to you, following a very determined Bludger. His bat was nearly touching it, nearly about to send it off its path towards you. He was just about to reach it when you dove. Fred and the Bludger soared past you, and the Bludger redirected itself. Doing a loop, and seeing that you were no longer there, it went for the next best thing. Alicia barely had time to brace herself before the Bludger knocked her shoulder out of its socket. The painful injury only caused a short interruption, but she had some choice words for Fred and George for failing to hit the Bludger sooner.

After that one incident, the game continued in the same fashion. You and Alicia flew circles around the lacking Slytherin Chasers, and Oliver blocked nearly everything they sent at him.

The cheers from the crowd stayed consistent for the entire match. There was never a silent moment from any house. A renowned gasp fell across the crowd, though, as Draco changed direction quickly. He turned the end of his broom straight up, and with an outstretched hand, Harry was breathing down Draco’s neck. You watched your brother, his blond hair flying off his face, his long arms reaching out into the sky. You didn’t feel bad for rooting for Draco, because even if he caught it, you were so ahead it wouldn’t have mattered.

Draco’s pale fingers eventually did wrap around the snitch, and without thinking, he let go of his broom in the haste of catching the little thing. He began to fall from the sky, and you watched as his legs and arms flailed around him. His broom fell faster than he did, and you flew to him. You were pulling your wand from your boot when someone had beat you to it. Draco hung suspended in mid-air, his body limp. He raised his head, and you saw his ghostly cheeks flushed pink. He looked around, patting his body to check if he was still alive. When he realized he was, he raised his hand into the sky, showing the golden snitch. The green section roared with laughter, but Lee Jordan’s voice halted them.

“Just a reminder! The Gryffindor team still wins!”

Cheers from every other section sounded off, and you felt a pang of guilt in your heart. You could be a Slytherin, you should be a Slytherin, and here you were apart of one of the houses that cheered for your brother's losses.

You flew to Draco, watching as he tucked the snitch into his robe pocket. You hovered, and he climbed onto the back of your broom. You looked around to see who had saved him, only to see Fred’s smug smile above you. George hovered next to his brother, scowling at Fred. You watched Fred tuck his wand back into his robes, giving you a shy wave. You smiled back at him, a silent thanks for the help.

You flew Draco to the ground, where he collected his broom.

“You were great, Dray,” you said, clapping him on the back, “really.”

“We lost,” he spat at you, cringing from your touch.

“Yeah but that’s not your fault.” you consoled him, watching his face soften, “You did your job, you caught the snitch.”

Draco nodded at you, offering you an appreciative smile. You wrapped an arm around his shoulder and squeezed briefly, then sending him off to his sulking Slytherin team captain.

Oliver was already running towards you, arms outstretched.

“Y/n!” he called, and you smiled widely at him.

“You were amazing, Wood,” you called to him, letting him envelop you in a hug.

He pulled you over to the huddle of your teammates, and they were all beaming.

“Wasn’t Potter this time, was it?” Lee Jordan called from his place in the spectator box, “Y/n Malfoy, the best Chaser Gryffindor’s got!”

You blushed wildly at Lee’s exaggerated praise, ducking your head as your teammates all cheered for you.

Fred and George came tumbling from the sky, landing ungracefully on the ground.

“Think this calls for a party?” Fred asked, and everyone’s cheers increased.

The common room was transformed into an even more red and gold haven. Maybe red was growing on you.

You were standing at the center of a huddle, everyone’s glasses raised. Oliver had just made a quite longwinded speech, to which you cut off with:

“Let’s drink to that!”

Cheers came from everyone around you, and you brought your firewhisky to your lips.

“I still don’t get why you did that,” George shouted at his brother, his words slightly slurred. George never could handle his liquor.

“It was her brother, mate!” Fred shouted back.

“He’s a Malfoy! And so is she! Freaks, the lot of them!” George yelled, and the statement trailed over the crowd and to your ears.

You turned to look at the twins, meeting George’s disgusted face.

You pushed through the crowd and put yourself between the brothers, bringing your face to George’s.

“What’s your problem?” you shouted, and he cringed away from the loud noise.

“You!” he shouted back, and you could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“You’re a prick,” you said to him, sounding poisonous, “a drunk prick.”

George scoffed and brought a hand to your shoulder. He shoved you away, and you tumbled into Fred. Fred’s arms were around you before you could lunge at George as if he read your mind.

“Let me go!” you shouted to Fred, thrashing against him. George stood in front of you, taunting you. He waved his drink around, his drunken expression full of arrogance.

“I can’t!” Fred called out to you, then to George, “George, stop!”

George rolled his eyes and tossed back the rest of his drink. He stumbled off to somewhere else, leaving you in Fred’s grasp.

He felt your heavy breathing against his chest, your warm arms in his hands.

“You alright?” Fred spoke into your ear, his mouth moving against your hair.

“Yeah, I’m fine, you can let me go,” you said, wiggling from his grasp.

Fred hadn’t wanted to let you go, but he figured it would be odd if he kept you pulled against him.

“He didn’t mean that,” Fred started, but you waved him off.

“Yes he did,” you said. starting to walk away.

Fred reached out for you, pulling you back.

“I’m sorry,” Fred said, his eyes searching yours.

“Stop, Fred,” you said, pulling your arm from his hand again, “None of you Weasley’s have liked me since the day I was sorted into Gryffindor. It didn’t even matter who I was.”

Fred’s eyebrows furrowed at your statement, but he couldn’t find it in himself to feel anything but sympathy as he looked at your hurt expression.

“That’s not true, Y/n,” he started, but you turned again. He didn’t stop you that time.

Your mood was ruined. You filled your cup with more firewhisky, but at the bottom of each glass, all you could see was George’s disgusted face.

You had never done anything to the Weasleys, but that never stopped the redheads, or their friends, from sending you glares any time they saw you. You felt torn, torn by the unnaturalness of you being in Gryffindor, being away from your brother. You were torn by the fact that you felt weren’t even wanted by Gryffindor. No matter what you did, it was never right.

You remembered watching Draco get sorted, his baby-faced wonder as he sat on the stool with his legs crossed at the ankles. You had hoped, you had even prayed, that Draco would be sorted into Gryffindor. When that house was called out, though, the table of green erupted, and you watched your brother be swept off by your rivaling house.

George would never understand this, he would never see you as anything but a Malfoy, a pure-blood supremacist. You weren’t what your family was, you didn’t care about blood status, but no one cared.

Your anger seethed, watching George having fun, dancing with Angelina. Your grip on your cup tightened, and you wanted more than anything to go up to him and throw what was left of your drink into his face. You started over to him.

Fred intercepted you, having been watching you intently the whole night.

“You don’t want to do this,” Fred said, trying to calm you down as he blocked your path to his brother, “wait ‘till morning, then you can scream at him all you want.”

You could only shake your head, trying to move pasted Fred. You didn’t want to do this in the morning, you wanted to do this now, while the warm anger moved through your blood as fast as the whiskey did.

Fred’s hands gripped your upper arms, holding you in place.

“Let me go, Fred,” you mumbled, teeth gritted.

“I can’t, Y/n,” he said, searching for your eyes like he was begging you to look at him.

“He can’t always get away with it,” you whispered, feeling your anger turn into sadness. You had refused to cry about George or anything he said in your first year, but it seemed that now was your breaking point.

“He won’t, I promise,” Fred whispered back, trying to sound reassuring. He found it hard, his heart hurting at the sight of you so upset.

“He always does!” you exclaimed, your voice breaking. Your eyes were still dry, but the pounding in your chest felt like a heart attack.

“Well, he won’t this time,” Fred replied, bringing his face to yours so you had no choice but to look at him, “I’ll make sure of it.”

You met his eyes, and he saw the hopeful glint in them. He offered you a kind smile, his lips stretched across his face. You nodded at him, relaxing in his grasp. You didn’t try to move from it, and you didn’t want to. You felt safe in Fred’s arms.

“Oi!” George called from behind Fred.

Fred turned, putting you behind his back and himself between you and George. You pushed and pulled, trying to get in front of him and to George, but he was too strong.

“Fred, when are you going to get over this?” George asked his brother, downing the last of his dark drink.

“Shut up, George,” Fred warned, trying to push you and him away from George.

“I’ve told you a million times, mate,” George started, “Malfoys and Weasleys don’t belong together.”

Fred was on top of George in seconds. He was wrestling him to the ground and putting him in a headlock.

You put a hand over your mouth, watching as they fought. You replayed George’s words, “Malfoys and Weasleys don’t belong together”. Was this simple brotherly teasing, or did Fred have feelings for you?

Katie and Alicia found you in the crowd, and you hadn’t even realized what you were doing as they pulled you off of Fred and George. You had grabbed Fred’s shoulders, trying to pull him off his brother, but they thrashed against your grip.

Alicia and Katie were guiding you up the girl's dormitory stairs, pushing you towards the bathroom as your face became green with nausea. Katie held your hair, rubbing your back as you emptied your breakfast and what looked to be an entire bottle of firewhisky.

You groaned, moving to rest your back on the wall in front of the toilet. Katie flushed the vomit, closed the lid, and sat in front of you.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her kind voice inviting you to tell her all about your insecurities and worries.

Alicia came in right at the part of you feeling guilty for not being Slytherin, and Angelina stumbled into the dorms at your conclusion of what George said about Weasleys and Malfoys.

The girls consoled you, assuring you that you had every right to be in Gryffindor and that George was just a prick.

“What’d you think he meant by that?” Katie said, testing your reaction, in reference to what George said.

“I dunno,” you grumbled, moving yourself to lay down on the ground. Alicia moved, grabbing your shoulder and making you stay upright.

“Could it mean Fred,” Alicia spoke like a kindergarten teacher, and your drunken self giggled as she spoke, “likes you?”

You gasped, your head falling back to hit the wall.

“No way,” you mumbled, and when Katie started giggling next to you, you did too.

When Fred finally made his way up the girl's stairs, bypassing the detouring charms, he heard loud and manic giggles coming from your dorm. He opened the door but found the beds empty. The door to the bathroom was open, and the sound came from there.

“Hello?” he said, rasping his knuckles on the door frame.

The four girls on the ground, all looked up at him with bright smiles, all saying at the same time: “Fred!”

Fred’s eyes went to yours immediately. He smiled as his name fell from your drunken lips, admiring the twinkle in your silver eyes.

“Are you alright?” he asked, moving to crouch in front of you.

The other girls got the hint, and filed out of the bathroom, all mumbling something of good luck to you.

“Yeah,” you replied, still smiling.

Your eyes focused on his face, and you saw a nasty cut on his lip. It bled a little to the corner of his mouth and down his jaw, stopping just above his shirt collar.

Your smile dropped, and you brought a hand to his jaw, “Are you alright? You’re bleeding, Fred.”

He brought a hand to his lip, and when he pulled it away he saw blood. You pushed yourself to your feet, wobbling a little as you stood. You got a wad of toilet paper and wet it a little in the sink. You put your hands on Fred’s shoulders, telling him to be still.

He closed his eyes as you dragged the paper over his jaw and dabbed at his lip. Once you got the blood off, you got a dry piece of toilet paper and ran it back over his jaw again. He suppressed the groans he wanted to release, forcing his hands not to reach out and grab your waist. Once the trail of blood was gone, you used a finger to tilt his face up. You ran your fingers over where the blood had been, making sure you got it all. Fred’s mouth opened a little at the touch, and he sighed heavily. You let his face drop back to yours, and looked at him. His mouth still had some blood in the corner. You wet the pad of your thumb with your tongue and cupped Fred’s face. You brought your thumb to the corner of his mouth and swiped your finger across his lip. This time Fred wasn’t able to suppress the moan that came from his chest. Your hand still rested on his shoulder, and your hand still held his jaw.

“Did George do this?” you asked, fearful of his response.

“Must have,” Fred whispered back to you.

“I’m sorry,” you said, dropping your hands from Fred and turning your back to him, “I shouldn’t have gone over to him.”

“Hey,” Fred said, wrapping a hand on your waist and pulling you into him, “George deserved that. You should see the shiner I gave him.”

“I can’t let you fight your brother like that,” you whispered, putting a hand on his chest and feeling his beating heart, “you two don’t fight like that.”

“I don’t care. I’ll fight him every day until he gives you a chance,” Fred replied, bringing a hand from your waist to the back of your neck.

When he began to pull your face closer to his, you pulled back a little, still in his embrace.

“I can’t kiss you,” you said, a teasing smile on your face.

“Why not?” he pouted.

“I just threw up, it’s gross.”

Fred dug in his pocket for a second and pulled out a tin. It was one in the packaging of one of his products, but he assured you they had yet to be charmed to make people’s tongues swell.

“I don’t know,” you dragged, twisting the small mint in your fingers.

“Why would I prank you right now? You have no idea how much I want to kiss you,” he took the mint form your hand and put it in your mouth for you.

He was right, it was just a regular mint. The taste of vomit was gone, and after you chewed it, Fred barely wasted a second before he pulled you into him.

He kissed you hard, despite having a busted lip. When you ran your tongue over it, he winced, and you pulled back.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you said, bringing your hand up to it and touching his lip. His hand grabbed yours, and he placed gentle kisses to each of your fingertips. His hand moved to your palm, to your wrist, and up your arm. His mouth ran over your shoulder, which he pulled your shirt back from, and up your neck. His lips finally connected with yours again, and you let out a pleased moan.

Fred pushed you against the counter of the sink, and you wrapped your hands in his hair. The feeling of nausea hit you very quickly, and you pulled away from Fred. You doubled over, trying to will yourself from throwing up.

“Oh god,” you started, and Fred rushed to your side, “I’m gonna throw up again.”

“What? Was it the mint? Are you alright?” Fred protested as you pushed him on his back out of the bathroom, closing the door and locking it behind him.

You threw open the toilet seat and emptied what was left in your stomach. Flushing, you closed the lid and sat on it. You pulled your wand from your waistband and unlocked the door. Fred came in hesitantly, and when he saw you were fine, he lifted you off the toilet by the hand.

“Come on,” he said, guiding you out of the dorm.

“I don’t wanna go back to the party,” you mumbled, pulling his arm closer to you as you held onto it.

“You’ve been up there for ages, the party’s long over,” Fred assured, pulling you down the stairs.

Cups littered the ground, and abandoned streamers hung from the ceiling. A banner Dean Thomas had made hung lopsided on one side of the room.

Fred pulled you to the couch, bringing a blanket over you.

“Do you want anything?” he asked, and you laughed at his nurturing actions.

You were about to say no, but the rumbling of your stomach convinced you otherwise. You had emptied everything you had eaten, and you were hungry.

Fred snuck to the kitchens easily, making the same trek he made nearly every other night. He brought you back some sandwiches, but when he slipped through the portrait hole, he found you asleep on the couch.

Your breathing was even, and your mouth hung open a little. You curled into the couch, tucking your legs up to your chest.

He put the sandwiches on the table next to you and moved your body to the left. He curled up next to you, pulling the blanket over the both of you. He spooned you, tucking his face into the crook of your neck. He wrapped his arm around your waist, and your hand found his under the blanket.

For the first time, you felt at home in the Gryffindor common room.

[mlpdestinyverse]

“The Bigger One”

Heather Tart is used to many things, be it receiving praise, using her charm to sway a situation to her favor, or asserting her dominance as a respected student at Twilight's School of Friendship.

A punch to the face...is not one of those things.

Feat. Star Chime, Heather (Tart) Reed

Related Chapters: Tongue Twister, Honesty, Confrontation ~Destinyverse Archive~

Story and Description Under The Cut

Heather Tart had a plan. Of course she did. Her meticulous mind could think its brilliant way through anything. Especially when she had a goal so close to her she might just be able to touch it. As such, she used her natural charisma to discreetly excuse herself out of her afterschool clubroom that day. It was a little earlier than the typical time her Science Club ended. Not that it mattered. Not only did their activities finish early, but in their final moments of leisure time, only one topic buzzed relentlessly around the classroom. Princess Luna was here, visiting the School of Friendship. Under what pretense - and for how long - no one knew. Near the end of the day, the regal Alicorn had been spotted by a stray hall monitor. Striding beside Princess Twilight Sparkle, Luna had been touring the school grounds between class periods, quietly observing the students through door windows while they busied themselves with classwork. Yet she was nowhere to be seen once said periods had ended and the hallways bustled with hooves and claws alike. Elusive as ever, their mysterious Moon Princess. One could assume the Princess of the Night had discreetly taken her leave long ago; glorious gossip, however, said otherwise.

Heather's heart had nearly burst when she'd heard the news. Years of dreaming and the heavenly Alicorns were finally rewarding her. The teenaged Earth Pony resisted prancing through the empty halls in her excitement. Upon trotting out the front doors, Heather scanned the beautiful frontal schoolyard and its glistening pond that surrounded the entrance. The sky was still gray from its brief shower hours before, and with careful hooves, the filly made her way across the damp stones cutting through the pond and around the side of the school. With even more precaution, Heather made sure to avoid the mud in favor of patches of rain-touched grass. She hated nothing more than muddying her hooves. And if she was going to meet Princess Luna? She was going to do everything to ensure she'd look as elegant and pristine as ever. Step one: Make her way towards the back, where she knew the school's picnic tables were scattered about just for students during their lunch periods and downtime. Step two: Grab the nearest table towards the backdoors. Probability told her, almost without a shadow of a doubt, that this would be the very exit Princess Luna would use if her tendency to avoid crowds and not cause a fuss was anything to go by. It wasn't one hundred percent guaranteed, but the chances were high enough that Heather was willing to take it. It wouldn't be out of character for her, either. Heather loved sitting at a table on a sunny day to quietly work on homework. Sometimes, as president of her club, she'd even sit there to plan out new fun lab experiments for the Science Club's next meeting. Studious. Conscientious. Hard-working. She could never get enough of teachers and students alike noticing her and praising her efforts. As they should. The scenario in her mind played out the same way. She'll be sitting there, hunched over a notebook and mulling over new club activities, when Princess Luna and Twilight waltz their way out of those doors. They'll see her, Twilight will ask her what she's doing, and Heather would yet again demonstrate her leadership and intellect. Twilight will praise her, introduce her to Luna as one of her best students- And the youngest of the royal sisters will look upon her and remember her name. Heather could feel her heart racing and subconsciously her hooves picked up their pace. Meeting the other princesses, catching their attention, and standing out amongst the drabble...if she were to be honest, she didn't realize just how much she ached for it. Not until now. Not until it was so close- Heather turned the corner, honing in on the table she knew would be hers- Only to find another sitting there. And oh, at the sight of her, Heather felt her very blood boil. Of course she just had to be here. The dullest, most boring-looking Unicorn that had ever insulted Heather's eyes; dull white and cream coat, drab grayish-blue mane, pale and ugly blue irises as narrow as a snake's. And who could ever miss that long, rat-like tail with a tuff of mane at the end, just lying on the bench beside her. She wanted to laugh at this filly's attire too, trying to pass off as prim and proper with an outfit that only made her look like a senile office worker.  Heather knew very well who this was. And she despised her very existence. But as a filly of her own standing at this school, she had appearances to keep up. So with the most saccharine smile she could muster, Heather took long, deliberate steps towards the other filly. It didn't take long for the Unicorn to notice her, those snake eyes flicking up from what had to be the most ostentatious book Heather had ever seen; silver and grey with metallic decor on its cover, embedded with one large tacky-looking gem just as blue-gray and washed out as the filly it belonged to. Heather stopped beside the table, avoiding a muddy patch beneath it, and held the Unicorn's gaze as much as those eyes repulsed her up close. "Hi there! You must be new around here!" Heather chirped. She gave the filly a chance to at least muster a reply. She should have expected the Unicorn to

cautiously eye her like a socially inept buffoon. After an awkward few seconds, she nodded. "I am," the filly managed. Good for her. "Well isn't that nice!" Heather lies through her teeth and a beaming smile. "Then I can't blame you for not knowing! Where you're sitting right now is my usual seat. But hey, now you know, so I'm sure you won't mind moving for me, hm~?" The Unicorn stared at her. Two seconds. Five seconds. Heather watched impatiently as the other filly swept her gaze across the other empty tables around them, almost pointedly. 'Yeah. You heard what I said. I'm not being subtle. Get lost.' Victory was in her grasp, of course. She wasn't the only one here that had pretenses to maintain and denying her civility would only make this filly look like the asshole of the two. And that wouldn't make the Unicorn much of a role model, now would it? Heather's innocent smile stretched expectantly, taking in the Unicorn's deadpan expression boring into her. Another annoying second later and the other filly finally shut her book tight, sliding it to one side without breaking eye contact. "No. I don't think I will." Heather's smile twitched. How she didn't take into account a lack of even the most basic social courtesies from this filly, she'll never know. "Well that's a little harsh," Heather feigned hurt, disguising the simmering fury just beneath her skin. "I just wanted my favorite seat for my studying. Is that really too much to ask for?" An unwavering, distrustful narrow of those eyes was the Unicorn's only response. So. That's how it was going to be. ...yet face-to-face with such blatant defiance, Heather - for the first time - was at a dead end. There was no sweet talking that face. And with no one around, there was no leverage here for her to turn the tables. Behind pursed lips her jaw clenched and her teeth grated. Pathetic. Pathetic. It infuriated her how rapidly the power had shifted - power taken from her in the one place Heather had worked for it.  Power THIS outsider didn't deserve. It was then that Heather's eye honed in on a certain pretty little book, teetering near the edge of the table. Ah. Okay then. Heather could take a loss. She could take a small, minuscule hit to her pride. No one was there to see it. Her goal was still in reach, so long as she kept up pleasantries and proceeded with her plan at the next table over. Heather, however, wasn't above taking small, subtle, petty victories. Anything for the satisfaction of reminding others where she stood around here. "That's too bad...but I understand." Heather sighed and hung her head. "I won't bother you." She turned her body, then. Too quickly. Or just fast enough to make the harsh bump of her flank against the table's edge at least semi-believable. She listened for it... SQUISH A gross squelch cut the silence, a sound that was beautiful to her ears. As she had hoped, turning back around revealed the plummeted book, lying delightfully amongst the brown patch of muck below the table. Despite her gasp, Heather could barely stop herself from grinning at her success. "Oh no!" she exclaimed, and it was just as difficult to stifle a much-needed laugh, especially with how much this Unicorn's face had slackened at the sight beneath them; silvers and greys, now smeared with dark mud. The other filly took in the filthy book with dim eyes. Poor spoiled girl. "I'm so sorry! Let me-" Heather's hoof was inches away from picking up the book to present to the Unicorn - a grand power move in her head - when a sourceless light blinded her. The Earth Pony barely had time to react before something solid rammed straight into her face. All she could do was squeal and tumble back into the ground at the excruciating pain and the sheer force of the impact. There was a wet slippery slide of the earth below her, displaced by the collision of her body. She didn't even know she was holding her stinging face until she pulled back trembling hooves from it, furiously blinking her blurry vision back into focus. Her head throbbed, the blood rushing into it

pulsing loudly in her ears.  While her world was reassembling itself, Heather felt the fabric of her torso become seized and in moments her entire body was being pulled up by a shocking amount of strength. The open-air was suddenly freezing against her pelt, forcing her delayed senses to fully experience the scorching hot pain spreading through her muzzle and cheeks. Her left eye especially struggled to stay open, even as another face shoved itself into hers. The filly before her breathed shallowly against her nose, wild and unhinged eyes resembling a beast now more than ever. "That," the Unicorn heaved out in a heavy, shaking breath. She renewed her grip on Heather's dress, expression distorted into a monstrous snarl. "Was father's you heartless wench!" Heather felt like a ragdoll, swaying on weak, dirtied hindlegs, one hoof pathetically draped over the vice-grip holding her in place. Her brain felt shaken, thoughts racing. And her blood ran cold when the other filly let out a quiet, humorless laugh at her. "Oh, I know your type..." the Unicorn whispered breathlessly, those venomous irises burning holes into her. "Thinking you're the biggest fish in the pond. Like you can lord over everyone else without consequence. You think no one can stand up against you." Heather choked on a sound as her face was pulled in further, a breath ghosting her muzzle even hotter than before. Her panicked magenta eyes darted up to the Unicorn's horn; what was already glowing a haunting silvery-blue now crackled violently with energy, stray white sparks searing into her exposed skin. A primitive growl ripped out of the other filly, and in those ferocious eyes, Heather swore she saw bloodlust. "How's it feel to meet a bigger fucking fish?" Heather screamed. It was something raw and primitive of her own, and she thrashed in the other filly's hold to no avail. She didn't know how long that went on for, wasn't sure how much time was passing as she waited for another strike- "STAR CHIME!" A booming, commanding voice filled the space, powerful enough to tremor the ground beneath them. Her ears only then registered a number of other voices rising in volume and proximity. The rigid muscles in her neck ached when she finally turned her head just enough to see out of the corner of her eye.  So many heads were sticking out of classroom windows, no doubt stragglers from clubs that surely have ended by now. Amongst those faces, she could recognize a few teachers, and to the right... Princess Twilight and Princess Luna, with the backdoors thrown open around them. Her attacker jerked away, releasing Heather to let her fall onto her forelegs. As soon as she was released, a blur of movement rushed out from the creatures gathered behind the two Alicorns. "Heather!" The Earth Pony almost instinctively flinched away, but was immediately soothed by the familiar arms of her best friend, Amber Shine, cradling her form. It amazed her how the Pegasus filly was willingly angling her body to both support her weight and shield her if need be. Despite the protective walls surrounding her, Heather still had a clear view of the princesses. Twilight looked absolutely horrified. But clearly someone else here held the most oppressive presence and authority. Princess Luna looked upon the scene with a frigid death stare that would cut through anyone. And it was trained on one single filly. "What is this?!" Luna demanded, her deep voice rumbling the air like thunder. When she strode forward, not even Twilight dared to stay in step. She trailed behind the other princess with shock etched into her youthful features.  The Unicorn shuffled, and Heather watched Star Chime's newly distressed visage come to life. Her long tail lashed behind her like an agitated cat. "She knocked father's tome into the muck, mother!" Star shouted, eyes darting wildly from Heather to Princess Luna. The Alicorn's expression actually faltered for a second before her sharp blue eyes landed on Heather. And Heather's heart jolted in terror. 'No...no! Don't you dare ruin this for

me!' "It was an accident!" Heather wailed back, letting every ounce of emotion pour into her voice. Near-instantly, Star Chime whipped towards her with a scowl. "You LIAR!" "ENOUGH!" Star Chime's head snapped up to look at her mother, as Princess Luna now stood a mere tail length before them, dark blue wings flaring out behind her. "That does not constitute violence against a defenseless subject, Star Chime!" And as the lunar princess seared those harsh eyes into her daughter, it dawned on Heather the advantage she had. The position she was in, with her face undoubtedly swollen and appearance soiled by the assault of that horrid young princess. She was more grudgeful now than fearful, though she couldn't deny the tears of pain and prior-fear-for-her-life that had left streaks in their wake. However, there was room to play it up further. So focusing on the pain and just how overwhelmed she felt? A hiccuping, sniveling mess she became. "Y-you didn't even let me pick it up for you!" Heather sobbed out, pressing her wet cheek into her friend's warm chest. The sweet Pegasus comfortingly stroked her hair. She could just imagine the pity on Amber's brow. "You just attacked me out of nowhere! E-even after I apologized!" Murmurs. Sweet murmurs of concern and disbelief sounded from the far-off onlookers. They knew her; thoughtful, honest Heather, who got along with everyone and had a spotless record. In the face of unnecessary violence, they literally had no reason to doubt her. Besides, how was she supposed to know that garish book was from the late King? Not even the Alicorns above could claim she was lying here. "Oh Heather..." Twilight murmured compassionately, and that alone filled her to the brim with glee. Checkmate. "M-mother, please, I just..." Star Chime begged uselessly. Oh, begging suited her. Too bad she had nothing to excuse her brutishness. She lost this battle ages ago. Heather knew, because Princess Luna could only exhale deeply, her countenance a storm of emotions that the filly was honestly clueless to identify. What Heather hadn't seen coming was the sudden shift in the Moon Princess' expression from there; from rigid and grave to sheer exhaustion and sadness. "I thought we were past this..." Luna whispered, so quietly that Heather had nearly missed it. The true proof that those words were even spoken was the way Star Chime recoiled as if she had been slapped. Heather jumped as feathers slid over her back, only to realize Princess Twilight had moved forward to reassert authority. After shooting her a gentle glance, she returned her attention to the other princesses. She hesitated before opening her mouth to speak- Luna beat her to it. "I have changed my mind, Twilight." Luna began, collecting herself just as quickly as the shift had happened. "Star Chime will not be attending your school after all." Heather would have whistled were this not an inopportune time. She simply sat back and enjoyed the unfolding drama as Star Chime looked at her mother with wide, shell-shocked eyes, frantically searching Luna's face for an answer already before her.  "Mother," Star Chime's voice cracked, desperation seeping through. "No, please, let me prove myself-!" "There is nothing to prove." Luna quietly interjected. Her general demeanor was no longer of disappointment or even judgment, but somber patience of all things. "I realize now that you require more of my attention than what little I have given you...perhaps in the future you may return to Ponyville. But now is not your time." As if to make her point, Luna subtly swept her gaze across the onlookers, and Star Chime followed her line of sight. Heather had to agree, Princess Luna was practically showing her mercy. Imagine attending classes here after making a first impression like this. She'd be the talk of the halls. Every soul in Twilight's School would know of the violent princess who punched one of their top students square in the face (and Heather would absolutely make sure every ear knew of it). Little miss Star Chime was better off being pulled

out of this school before she even started. It'd give Heather less of a migraine and save her the humiliation.  Just like... "Allow me to extend my deepest apologies in place of my daughter," Luna said towards Heather, whisking away every other thought in her mind. While she began to buzz in delight, that buzz slowly died down at the unreadable expression the Moon Princess wore. She was as formal and distant as ever. Almost...scrutinizing her? Where was her sympathy? "I will be holding a very thorough discussion with her over these events, and I intend to offer reparation to you and your kin." "Heather's parents aren't here in Ponyville," Twilight finally found an opening to speak, taking on the tone of a responsible princess. "But Applejack is her guardian, so I'll be contacting her soon to pick Heather up." "Very well. I will return shortly to speak to her, then, and recompense will be sent to the family." Heather perked up when the royal addressed her once more. "I understand that you are distressed. I will be escorting Star Chime away from here, and you will have time to recover with your friends. I hope you do not mind." Heather sniffled and swiped a hoof over her face. "I don't mind...thank you, princess." Luna's attention left her too quickly for Heather's liking, focusing on the Unicorn princess instead. "Come, Star." Luna called in a hushed voice, taking her exit with grace and purpose. Heather's focus shifted to Star Chime just as the Unicorn's horn lit aglow with that very same eerie silvery blue, levitating the grimy book out of the sludge. As parts of the wet mud slipped off in thick glops, the Unicorn gave the book's cover a weak swipe of her hoof, only managing to smudge muck further into its intricate crevices. While Luna departed with the elegance and power of true royalty, Star all but dragged her hooves after her, gaze downcast and mouth pressed into a firm line. Unsurprisingly, she shot one final scorching side glance at Heather Tart through her draping bangs. It lingered until Heather left her periphery and the Unicorn could only trail after her mother like a helpless foal.

Pressing her head further into her friend's chest, Heather sneered at the filly's retreating back until she rounded the corner and out of sight. 'That's what you get, rat princess.' "Heather, are you okay? What did she even do?!" Now that the immediate threat was gone, her colt friend Arctic Bolt was charging in from the small crowd, nearly slipping a few times in his scramble over. Oh great. Heather wasn't sure if she was in the mood for the buckball star's overdone jests and witty quips at this moment. Yet she couldn't reject the amount of attention and concern she was receiving. "Gods, I think she gave you a black eye." Amber Shine fretted. The filly helped Heather sit up, but the moment she even tried to brush a hoof near the Earth Pony's left socket, Heather flinched away and grunted. "Punched me." Heather forced out through gritted teeth once Arctic had slowed to a stop before them. "Fell to the ground..." "Geez, it's like your dress took as much of a beating as you did..." Arctic muttered. And as much as she wanted to roll her eyes at his dumb remark, looking down proved that the joke was more accurate than she'd realized. Red fabric was now stained with mud and grass and stretched out past its limits by the iron grip of that wretched beast. Or maybe it didn't look so bad! MAYBE that was just her, peering at it with one eye while she held shut the one that was throbbing and bruising over. Yeah. That remuneration better come fast- "Heather, I am so sorry." Twilight's voice promptly grabbed her attention. The Alicorn mare bent her legs to meet her height, looking to her with so much guilt that one would think the perpetrator had been one of her own family. "This shouldn't have happened. Star Chime has been working hard through some of her...habits, and while she's made progress she's also very emotional at heart and then after losing her father-" This was very new and very disconcerting, watching Princess Twilight Sparkle actually fumble through her words and appear rather flustered over the situation. Heather felt her jaw clench. The two had to be pretty close for Twilight to feel this compelled to defend the girl. "That said, harm should have never come to you, especially on my premises. I just...I hope you won't hold this against her. If circumstances were different, I really think you two would have gotten along." Oh. Heather could not stop her face from screwing up at that. Twilight noticed (Heather for once hoped she did, God forbid the Friendship Princess actually tried to forcibly mend this atrocity) and her shoulders noticeably drooped. "But I completely understand if this has damaged those chances."

Twilight took in a healthy breath of air and straightened back up. While she once again spoke with calm and control, the way her ears remained pinned back was hard to miss. "Please head in and wait outside my office whenever you're ready, Heather. I'll let the nurse know to prepare an ice pack for you before I get in contact with Applejack. This'll definitely take some time, so please bear with me." Ugh. Applejack. As if her voice wasn't already annoying to listen to on a daily basis. Now the older mare was going to fuss knowing her overprotective nature and Heather wasn't looking forward to having her ear talked off on how slices of raw potato and toothpaste were the grand answer to healing her face or whatever ridiculous ideas those country bumpkins had in their screwy heads. Moving out and away from the farm life couldn't come sooner. But there were bigger things to focus on in the present. It wasn't until Twilight had walked off, exchanging words with the last few students who were being herded away by the remaining school staff, that Amber Shine voiced a question that had been on Heather's own mind. "What did she mean by...'working through habits'?" The orange Pegasus uttered slowly, eyeing the backdoors as the final student filed in after the princess. "That was way more unsettling than it had to be." "Oh...oh Gods it's all connecting..." Both Heather and Amber turned to Arctic, who was now holding his head between his hooves in what appeared to be either alarm or a headache. Ever the dramatic one. Heather would have been tempted to snap at him for obnoxiously drawing the suspense out, but thankfully Amber was faster and more patient. "Uh, mind sharing?" The Pegasus cautiously prodded, now giving her friend a hesitant glance-over. Arctic's wide blue eyes flashed back into focus and he began wildly gesturing with his hooves- "Okay listen- I have this friend in Canterlot whose cousin went to Celestia's School for Gifted Unicorns with this other guy, right-" "The friend of a friend's cousin." Amber repeated, and oh, Heather recognized that tone as the filly already being half-done with the conversation. Bless her. "Easy to follow. Carry on." "No, seriously listen!" Arctic hissed quietly, and for the first time since Heather had met the silver Earth Pony, he actually looked like he was being serious. "My friend told me this story about how apparently, Princess Star Chime got pulled out of school for completely thrashing that cousin's friend! Said there was blood and teeth everywhere and she beat the poor guy until he was begging on the floor!"  Heather could feel her visible eye nearly bug out of its socket. "And they tried to let someone like THAT come HERE?!" she near shrieked. Her friends were lucky that she had already spent her vocal cords not too long ago. "It IS the School of Friendship. Guess they were hoping to make her less punchy." He muttered out one of his wisecracks. Heather's head was whirling too much for her to admonish it. How close had she just come to being battered into a stain on the grass?  Wait...actually- "Okay, but why are we only just now hearing about this?" Amber, ever a kindred spirit, inquired the very same disbelief in her own mind. "The newspapers would have blown up over a royal scandal like that!" Heather agreed. And if she had possessed this knowledge just a little earlier, maybe she would have treaded just a bit more carefully. At the very least, she would have been able to figure out a way to use it to her advantage... "Well for one, it was like, two years ago... and apparently not a lot of ponies got to witness the attack. But-" Arctic leaned his head in, head whisking about in search of eavesdroppers before dropping his voice even lower. "It sounded like Celestia and Luna covered the whole thing up and made everyone involved agree to keep the information private. So most of the public has no idea what happened, but obviously whispers managed to slip through a few mouths in upper Canterlot..." "Wow..." Heather whispered. Yeah. That was probable. The princesses

had the power. And while Heather knew anyone else would have been a little frightened over the influence their rulers had, whether for the sake of a nation or for their own means...Heather herself was sort of amazed. As if she could actually blame them for going to such lengths to conceal the shame that girl would have brought to their exalted family otherwise. "But even before that!" Arctic swiftly continued. "Apparently the kids at the school were already dubbing her the 'Delinquent Princess' behind her back! My friend's cousin never knew why until...y'know." "Delinquent Princess." Amber repeated back. "What a...stupid name." 'And I think it's fitting...' Heather was tempted to add but miraculously toned her spite down. "...I mean Ithoughtitsoundedbadass- but only because I thought the whole story was just some elaborate rumor!!" Arctic threw up his hooves. "I didn't think someone from the royal family could be that crazy, yet here we are! So don't talk like it's nothing but made-up gossip after what just happened!"

"...you're not wrong." Amber muttered, and her wing pulled Heather closer into her side. The earth filly welcomed the warmth, though she didn't like the look of discomfort on her friend's face. "In other words, we're talking about violent habits. And from a princess of Equestria...that's awful." "Yep. She is. But let's stop talking about her for now" Heather muttered, feeling both sets of eyes fall on her. The more she heard, the more that resentment deep within her grew. And the more that grew, the more her temples ached beyond the limits of what she was willing to deal with. "I think I'd like that ice pack right about now." "Oh crap, right!" Arctic jumped, urgently motioning for the fillies to walk ahead while he kept the rear. "Got a little carried away. We'll stick around until Twilight gets back!" "Yeah. Twilight did say it'd take a while." With a comforting smile, Amber Shine squeezed Heather's shoulder with her wing feathers. "I say it a million times, but just as a reminder; we've got you, girl." And she appreciated the encouragement. She really did. But Heather found it incredibly hard to muster more than a ghost of a smile when she found her legs on autopilot while her mind was elsewhere. 'Stop talking about her" she'd said. Yet she couldn't even bring her own brain to shut up. When it came to the very thought of that Unicorn princess, ugly green thorns never stopped digging their way into her ribcage. But after today... Heather's inner snarl rang with unconcealed bitterness, louder than ever before. 'How? How does someone like her get to be a princess?'

_________________________________________

Officially introducing Star Chime! Daughter of Luna, sister of Prince Amadeus, and youngest royal of the five royal Equestrian children (Princess Flurry Heart, Princess Lumina, Prince Amadeus, Prince Nova Spark, and Princess Star Chime, in that order)! Though by youngest, she's probably a year or two younger than Nova Spark.

I'm excited that she's ready to officially be a part of the cast!! I've considered her and Dream Flow the future main protagonists of present-day story. One day she'll meet her partner in crime. One day...

Also, very fun to write a chapter exploring Heather's psyche! In no way am I advocating for violence against misbehaving kids, by the way. I know people will see this as Heather "getting what she deserves" - and wanting to see karma get her is valid - but just know the purpose of this chapter wasn't me trying to take pleasure in physically "punishing" this kid, back when she was a youth with very misguided values. Just wanted that to be clear!

[bansept]

Ichihime Week | Day 2: Lovers

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The room is quiet once again, cold, hard marble floor reflecting the sunrise behind the huge glass windows. She would hide if it was necessary: hide from any photographers, anyone barging through the massive yet stylish sleek brown door, or perhaps even some neighbors able to see the two of them in bed like that. But thankfully, there is no such thing as neighbors for Ichigo.

Ichigo Kurosaki, her once high school crush, with his angry scowl, fighting tendencies and terrible frequentations. A young man, still halfway just a boy, who was still mourning the death of his mother, still fighting depression, still trying to figure out how things worked. That Ichigo, who would help save her without a second of hesitation when a rival gang had taken her away, playing gangsters. Oh, she had fallen for him so hard… From so high. Not because he was a mysterious man and had muscles. Because he was kind, caring, loving under this mask of indifference.

She was too much of a coward at the time to ask him anything. Even requesting a pen in this big, boring and dusty classroom was something she couldn’t imagine asking. So, for 2 years, she stayed silent, lovingly looking after him as a simple acquaintance.

School was over soon. Ichigo had to move to Tokyo, for a family business she had heard, and she would stay in Karakura Town. Orihime had been ready to say goodbye, to never see him again, because what were the odds? Ichigo had nothing holding him back in the small town. He’d go, live his life, get new friends, new enemies surely… Another girl would be in love with him, and Orihime was fine with that truth.

The last afternoon of her high school days, opening her locker to retrieve her walking shoes, she noticed a small piece of paper that had been slipped between the small gap, still hanging loosely from a corner, rumpled. In the golden light of the fading sun, she had felt, deep in her stomach, in her bones, her heart, a warm breath.

Please keep a room in your heart for me, just like I’ll keep a room in mine for you.

I. K

.

.

.

Ichigo Kurosaki had not changed in the 7 years of his absence. Instead, he had matured into a tall, lean, muscular and calm-looking adult, the fury of fight faded in his eyes. His scowl was usually gone, unless some piece of news made him grumble incoherent curses. The orange spikes, untamable at the time, had been cut short. She never thought she could like that type of style, being so used to the unruly hair, but she had been terribly wrong.

In 7 years… Ah, in 7 years he had learned so much. How to dress in a suit, the suffocation he had claimed from wearing a tie as a student transformed into a preferred style, the capacity to rapidly think to discern the best thing to say instead of rushing to a conclusion. The steady, deep voice. The small chuckles. The curt smiles. The eyes… As if they had witnessed a supernova from up close, and, with infinite patience, had gathered the wisdom raining from it. He was… Ichigo. But the grown version.

She loved him even more.

They met again at a student’s reunion, one of those sometimes boring, sometimes time-wasting events. Orihime had of course expected to turn in, say hello, munch a few cakes and then go back home and enjoy the upcoming weekend after a long week of work. She was supposed to relax, but the moment she turned around to wave goodbye, Ichigo had appeared next to her, curious eyes asking her if she had read.

‘Read what?’ She wanted to ask, lost for a second. But, of course, she remembered. Actually, she never forgot about it.

After 7 years of no talking, not seeing each other, not even knowing if the other would still remember, she looked up in his eyes and nodded, small but sure.

“I did. I kept a place.”

Maybe it was his smile. Maybe it was his hands. Or his body. Or himself. Orihime couldn’t tell, but something pushed her to fall into his arms that night. And all the other nights after that.

He stirred next to her, a gruff grunt as he placed his head far into the pillow, hands digging in the sheets to hide his eyes from the awful rays of light that had pulled him from his sleep. Orihime turned her face to watch him, chuckling.

Ichigo in a suit was a sight, but Ichigo bare was a wonder to the eyes. While she had rather light skin, his was rapidly turning golden when he sun-bathed too long. And when he was tanned, the strong muscles everywhere on his body rolled deliciously, inviting her to touch him, much like she was compelled to do so.

Orihime laid back down next to him, staring at him up and down, one hand timidly touching his shoulder.

“What time is it?” He asked, voice low and barely audible. Orihime looked around, the small digital numbers on the alarm clock indicating he had a good few hours before having to head to yet another business lunch.

“Only 8. You know, maybe we could go meet your sisters tonight? They haven’t seen you in quite some time.” Ichigo opened a lazy eye and nodded. Yuzu and Karin were done with high school by now, and starting their own studies. Karin was interested in being a lawyer, which had turned out to be quite the surprise. Yuzu wanted to take after her father, and had entered medical school. Last he had heard, she was enjoying it. They were growing up, and even if he had hoped they could remain small and gentle for a bit more, he was proud of them.

“Yeah… We’ll go. They will be happy to see you too.” He smiled, a sweet thing he did a lot around her. Orihime curled her arms around his navel, and he brought her on top of him, cuddling her to his chest. They stayed silent for just a few moments, Ichigo waking up slowly, opening and closing his eyes, and Orihime stretching her arms and legs like a cat after a nap.

“…When we see them, I’d like to present you as my girlfriend.” He croaked, voice catching in his throat, shaky and expecting the worst.

For a year now, they had been rolling around with each other. Sleeping together, caring for each other, taking the other for a date, but never saying the three words they died to mutter. Had it been only for the sex, it wouldn’t have lasted. Had it been with a stranger, neither would have even started this relationship. But… It was different. They knew the other like the back of their hand, what they liked, didn’t like, could live without, couldn’t. This pining that had lasted for years, this hesitation that bored holes into their souls had been enough for them to try something new. And now that they lied with the other every night, cooked for the other, shared a life really, Ichigo felt he could ask this question. Suggest her this option.

He was a busy man now, interested in English literature in his free time while he built a small enterprise from scratch. She was about to have her teaching degree. That was quite the leap between them, but neither cared.

Orihime looked down at him, gaze falling in his own. How cute, heart-touching was it that such a powerful man feared something so evident. It brought a blush to her radiant face, and she kissed his lips with a small chuckle.

“Of course. I would love to have you as my boyfriend, my sweet Ichigo.”

He was the one to blush at her words, relief in his brown eyes as he kept her closer to him for a few more hours.

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Day 2!

Phew this one was tough to write... The meaning of "Lovers" can vary to so many different things, and my brain was thinking of several situations at the same time... I wanted to be a troll first and write something about what they liked, for example, some type of food... But decided against it.

Then my time was cut short and I decided to go with a safe AU-like writing.

Hope you enjoyed it! See you tomorrow for day 3!