#i wonder if my old art teacher would be proud of me if she found out i still use what she taught me

[shitpostdevil]

You have digital bookmarks of fanfiction? That's cute. Now print them out. Bind them. Make it a physical library, coward.

[thenightfolknetwork]

Helloooooo!!! I hope you’re doing well. I’ve been listening for a while now, but I haven’t written in before.

So! I’ve done ballet for a little over ten years. I started when I was six and a half, and I’m almost seventeen now. I probably won’t dance professionally, but I love it. A lot. The culture surrounding ballet has a… history of mistreating the liminal community—I mean, aside from the obvious body-based exclusion, there’s also the horrible appropriation in the so-called “romantic” period—but luckily, the ballet school I attend is founded and run by a fellow person of the night, and it’s very accepting of all sorts of creatures. People tend to assume that I’m Sapio when they first meet me anyway, but it’s still nice to be able to talk to the mice and cockroaches and not get strange looks, y’know?

And, two years ago, I finally convinced one of my best friends to start taking ballet classes! It’s been great. We review choreography together, help each other with different skills—I’m a jumper, she’s a turner—get enlisted by the costumers to do what we like to call “grunt work” (I am an expert at sewing buttons)—we even go to the library to check out books on stuff like "the use of physical motifs in ballet" and "creature traditions in classical repertoire." It’s really, really wonderful getting to be with someone who’s as excited about the art form as I am.

That’s not my problem. My problem is that she’s… she’s better than me now. Despite starting at 14 in something where being 9 is considered old, she has incredible turnout and gorgeous lines, never gets winded, is picking up épaulement far faster than really anyone ought to be able to—I could go on like this for a while.

You see, she’s a shapeshifter. Proud of it, too. One time when we were 12 or so, our painfully Sapio history teacher very nervously asked if anyone knew what it was like to be from “a genus with so-ma-tic var-i-a-bil-i-ty”—I swear he was looking at notes on his hand—and my friend kicked her scuffed converse up on the desk, said, “No, but I can tell you what it’s like to be a shapeshifter,” and then gave herself extra teeth while smiling. That’s the kinda control she has over it.

And she has a lot of options when it comes to which shape she wants to take on any given day. Since ballet is easier for certain bodies, she, very understandably, chooses a form for class that’s naturally flexible and strong and has exactly the required musculature and is easy to balance with and that’s fine. There is absolutely nothing wrong with her being comfortable and confident in her identity, and, by extension, her body. She doesn’t rub it in, or act like she’s better than the rest of us, or anything like that.

To be clear, she is a hard worker. I don’t want to dismiss that. She writes down notes after class and helps the teachers with the really young groups and takes the lower level’s class on Tuesdays and Thursdays to work on her technique and is generally doing everything right. But so am I! I do all of those things with her, heck, I'm the one who taught her how to seek them out! And I’ve been doing this for ten years! And when you come from a genus that rarely lives past 100, ten years isn’t something to sneeze at. It’s not fair. It’s not anybody’s fault that it’s unfair, but it’s still not right! Please help. I love my friend, and I want to be happy for her, but whenever I see her do a freaking quadruple pirouette in pointe shoes and then balance (because of course, sure, why not, it’s soooo easy) before landing, I just feel furious.

Oh, reader. This sounds extremely difficult and frustrating. You've worked very hard over the last ten years, and as you rightly say, that is not something to sneeze at – especially when you take into consideration how young you were when you started.

You talk a lot towards the end of your letter about what is and isn't “fair” or “right”. I would like you to take a moment and consider the alternatives. Would it be more fair for certain genuses to be prohibited from taking part in your classes? Would it be more right that your friend should sublimate her natural abilities in order to take part?

Or perhaps you would simply not allow anyone to participate at all if they seem to be more naturally flexible, or have better balance, or a stronger core than… Well, here is the other question. What is it we're comparing to? The national average, the average ballet dancer – or simply, you?

Did you know, in the world of professional cycling, there is one trait which is most likely to affect a cyclists chances to reach the upper echelons of their chosen sport? More than height or weight, more than time spent training, more even than their genus. This trait is: being born at high altitude.

But that's not fair, you say! It isn't right, that a simple accident of one's birth should lend such an advantage. Perhaps we should set a cap on natal altitude in such competitions. And what of the second most impactful trait – the wealth of one's birth country? Do we have different leagues for rich and poor, high and low altitude?

I hope you can see how ridiculous that sounds. Life is not a mathematics equation. You can't just add time and effort and get success. There is so much luck involved – lucky births, lucky bodies, lucky brains and lucky bank accounts.

You aren't doing anything wrong by happening to have been born into a family that supports your interests. So too, your friend isn't doing anything wrong by happening to have a body that makes ballet more accessible to her. It is simply the luck of the draw.

Furthermore, 'being good at ballet' is not a finite resource. Your friend isn't taking anything from you by doing well, and her accomplishments in no way diminish your own.

These feelings of jealousy are natural and normal. But they are not healthy emotions, or helpful ones. Acknowledge them, then let them go. Concentrate instead on what you love about ballet, what you love about your friend, and in taking pride in your own achievements. You have worked hard and accomplished a great deal in your own right, and those accomplishments deserve to be celebrated in their own right – not only in comparison to someone else.

[For more creaturely advice, check out Monstrous Agonies on your podcast platform of choice, or visit monstrousproductions.org for more info]

[emsylcatac]

This may seem random but I’m honestly curious how the Dupain-Cheng apartment is planned. I’m not knowledgeable about French apartments, all I know is the basic and famous architectures there. So there’s 3 floors (bakery, possibly the parents’ room, living/kitchen/dining/possibly t&b) and an attic with a balcony? I’m asking for reference because I’m confused and everything in the MLB universe is kinda exaggerated when it comes to scale. TY 🙏

Heeeyaaa!! Sorry this has been sitting here for a whiiiile because I knew it would take a lot of time for me to answer, so I've been working on it bits by bits when I could.

But somehow it seems pretty much of an issue on tumblr today so anyway let's finish to break it down now 😂 (beware that I'm not a Parisian architect so it's a lot of deductions from what I know about Parisian apartments in general and personal researches, I could be wrong in my interpretation & analysis of it)

So as you're saying, there are three floors including the attic, plus the ground floor (side-note btw but sorry it may seem confusing but I'm talking using UK English, meaning what Americans call "first floor" is "ground floor" in UK Eng, so the "second floor" for Americans is the "first floor" here, etc. It's easier for me cause that's what we do in my language too; I'll also use both the 'flat' and 'apartment' appellations cause I'm lazy and never pay attention to which one I use rip, language coherence has left the window, my old English teacher wouldn't be proud)

It's pretty common for bakers to live above their bakery in France, though not all do.

By the way, for your information, the Dupain-Cheng Bakery which here is situated in Place des Vosges, was heavily inspired by the Boris Lumé Boulangerie that is located in the 18e arrondissement, in Montmartre:

Also for your information, this is what the bakery they got their inspiration from looks like (I took a trip there with my friend google map and tried to screenshot the whole building - it's bigger than the Dupain Cheng's house since it has more floors and I doubt the bakers live in it all, but I wanted to check how far their inspiration went but it seemed it stopped at the shopfront + the global looking-aspect of the building; I also checked the roof and no balcony there). But yeah the building looks very typical-Parisian block of flats.

It's pretty common in Paris to have one or more flats per floor, so you'd have a common staircase in a building and each floor can be split into two, three flats with doors and doorbells and stuffs.

What always struck me was the staircase of the Dupain Cheng's house to access the different floors: they look exactly like a common and shared staircase between a few residents of a flats block. We see a blue staircase with doors on each floor having doorbells and such. There's even a little stickers above the doorbell to indicate the name of the flat's resident.

My best guess here is that they own what used to be a block of flats with different residents, and that they reorganised it into one same house (the Dupain-Cheng, or the people who owned the bakery before them, or even before, etc. The point is that at some point, these apartments have been converted into one and the same so the owner of the bakery owns it all).

(undercut for the rest cause it's starting to get long):

Know that flats in Paris can have very different size, even in one same block of flats! Some can be 12m^2, some 30m^2, etc.

In Troublemaker, Marinette tells Jagged that the restroom is upstairs. Which considering the arrangement of their house is super vague and not informative at all. We also know that there are two doors with bells on the 1st floor (2nd for Americans). So my guess is that on the first floor, one flat was converted into the parents' room, and the other into the bathroom (for which you'd need to use a different door than the parents' room one, and as I said above, that could be smaller than the room for the parents' bedroom).

(Not the best screenshot but yeah we see 2 doors from what were 2 different flats in this, and that could easily be for the parents's bedroom and for the bathroom, one or the other. It's also possible that the parents have their private bathroom too).

We know they come inside the house from the bakery, though there could be a side-door somewhere because when the bakery is closed it'd make sense to use another entrance, and if they want to go to the living-room & kitchen (which we know is on the 2nd floor - 3rd for you Americans - thanks to episodes like Weredad and such), they will ring that bell (as we saw happening in Stormy Weather, Kung Food, Weredad, etc.).

This 2nd floor is organised as such, according to the concept art I found here:

So you have both the kitchen and the living room in one place which is something that is done more and more nowadays as an "open space" type of thing. Their table to eat - they can't have a big feast there clearly aha. The main entrance door is behind the couch, from the point of view we're in on the 2nd picture. And we can see the stairs leading to Marinette's bedroom, which do look like they've been added afterwards as a reorganisation.

Marinette's room clearly is in the attic arranged into a room, and her balcony probably wasn't one but I think some work happened so it could be converted into one - just the fact that she has to go out through a window indicates that imo. Especially since said window is pretty high up and you can only access it thanks to the fact that they made a mezzanine for Marinette's bed. Plus I've looked it up and you don't find these kind of balconies much in Paris - there are roof balconies but they rarely look like Marinette's.

Again, picture of her room that give a good idea of how it's organised that I found here on which we see the trapdoor, the desk under her mezzanine for her bed and the window giving access to the balcony:

(notice that she also has a sink, which give an access point to water which isn't common in a bedroom - so it probably used to be something else before that required an access for water, like a bathroom for instance).

We don't see the little bed with umbrella from here but it's where we're situated when looking at this picture. I found also good models of her room here if you want to have a look.

As for the balcony, here it is:

So yeah the fact that it's above the attic next to the chimneys + the uneasy access is what's making me wondering if it wasn't added afterwards, and that before the roof was kinda looking like the one next to it separated by the chimneys!

Here I'm done haha, I hope I answered what you were looking for as best as I could! 😊 again I don't pretend to know the exact truth of how it's done but this breakdown seems logical to me - at least I'm pretty sure of an old apartment block converted into one same house!

Have a nice day! ☀︎

[writtenonreceipts]

a prompt?

single parent trope for feysand, pretty please?

more prompts for this would be great, otherwise you get my rambling mind and we all know how that goes...

Find my main masterlist here

#

An Intimate Display of Insecurities and Hopelessness

The air-conditioning was out.  Again.  And Feyre had already stripped down to a tank-top and shorts.  The heat was miserable.  

“Sweet mercy,” she muttered as she stood in front of the large fan she’d bought yesterday to try and keep things cool.  It wasn’t working.

Feyre brushed her hair from her sweaty brow and bit back a curse.  This day was not going at all the way she’d wanted it to.  It had taken her far to long to get anything started, not to mention coordinating with Elain on how she wanted to participate in the shop.

It was only three days to her deadline to get her shop up and running.  Three days to get pallets made, canvases designed, and interior design finished.  All in one-hundred-degree weather and boob sweat.

She turned back to the mess of her shop.  This was going to take more work than she had time for.  Or sanity.

The front door opened behind her with a clatter.  Feyre wasn’t that concerned about it, knowing she was getting some things delivered.

“Just leave the deliveries on the floor,” she said, not looking back.  She was trying to have a vision of what she was going to accomplish, a vision that would be epic and glorious.

“Excuse me?” 

Feyre spun at the smooth voice and nearly stumbled.  The most attractive man she’d ever seen was standing in her shop.  His black pants were crisp and cleanly lined and his black shirt was rolled up to the elbows, displaying his tanned skin.  He was tall, lean, and with his black hair swept neatly back.

Feyre felt sweat roll between her breasts.  Oh hell.

“Feyre Archeron?” He asked and took a step forward while holding out his hand. “Rhysand Avitas.  I’m the new building manager.”

A dozen curses ran through her head as she did her best to wipe her sweaty hand on her shorts inconspicuously.  Because of course she knew who Rhysand Avitas was.  Everyone in their small town did.  He was the son of the police chief and now the youngest elected mayor in Valeris history.

He had also been just a year ahead of Feyre in school.  So she knew the kind of person her was.  At least, she thought she did.

“Rhysand, of course,” she said as she took his hand. The heat didn’t seem to effecting him.  Jackass. “Sorry, I guess I lost track of time.”

Indeed, it was half-past two right when she’d told his assistant that he could come by the shop.  And see that everything was in order for her opening deadline.  Except she hadn’t really expected him to show up.  

“Not a problem.” He smiled in such a charming way that Feyre found herself wanting to hate him.

But Feyre already did hate him.  He had bought the building just two days after her father’s death.  Just two days after the building was up for sale.  She hadn’t even had the time to get funds together to convince the bank that she could buy the lease herself.  Now, she was going to have to open her shop under him.

In school he had been captain of the football team, president of the ASB club.  He had been the kind of person Feyre had never wanted to interact with.  High and mighty, proud and cruel.  He’d worn a mask of indifference to anyone beneath him, she was convinced.

Feyre cleared her throat. “Things are a little messy right now, but it’ll be ready for opening day on Monday.”

Rhysand nodded as he walked around the shop.  Bits of wood crunched under his too fancy shoes and dust clung to his pants when he brushed up against one of the pallets that Feyre was still trying to decide how to convert into a display case.

“You’re a painter, correct?” he asked.  He looked over his shoulder at her and Feyre was taken aback by his eyes.  Bright blue—so bright that she could have sworn they were violet.  And damn her if she didn’t want to at least try and draw them.

“Yes,” she replied. “My sister does some gardening and does floral arrangements and I’m planning on having her sell some of her work here as well.”

“I remember,” he said, “Mrs. Ellis always made sure all of her classes knew about her protegee.”

Feyre rolled her eyes.  The high school art teacher had been someone no one really liked.  Aside from her.  Maybe it was just because Feyre had wanted someone to pay attention to her, but the woman had always been nice to Feyre.

“My work wasn’t that good back then,” she said.  And it was true, it had taken years of study and experimentation to get to where she was now.  Ten years after those miserable high school years and here she was, finally maybe a little bit confident with what she could do.

Rhysand said nothing, only observed.  “And you’re sure you’ll be ready by Monday?  No offense Miss Archeron, but it seems like a lot needs to be taken care of.  You assured the bank, and my assistant, that your shop was worth allowing in the complex.”

Feyre’s mouth pursed as she watched his man before her.  With his impeccable clothing, that silver watch on his wrist, it was hard to imagine that he’d had any hardships in his life.

“Yes, and I keep my word,” she said, her voice cold enough to rival any a/c.  “What I would like to know is why the air conditioning still isn’t fixed.  It’s been this way for a week now.”

“It’s being looked into,” Rhysand said. 

His gaze turned sharp as he looked her over again.  Something passed over his face that Feyre didn’t care to try and understand.  She just wanted this man out of her shop so she could get back to work.

“Was there something in specific that you wanted to discuss?” she asked, “or were just interested in questioning my ability to run a shop?”

He smirked at her and shook his head. “You always did have that fire in you, didn’t you?”

Feyre was ready to tell him to get out when a soft cry caught her attention.  She held up a finger to silence him as she listened.  Maybe she’d imagined it.  Hell, she hoped he’d imagined it.  Unfortunately the cry came again.

“Just a minute,” she said.

She hurried to the back of the shop where a door led into what would be used for the breakroom.  It was a few degrees cooler back there, which was why she’d set it up for it’s current use.

Sitting up in the pack-and-play was her daughter.  Seren with her golden hair and large blue eyes looked up at her and cried again.

“Momma!” 

Immediately, Feyre scooped her daughter up.  Seren latched on with a snake-like grip.  Her arms wound around Feyre’s neck tightly.

“Hi baby,” Feyre murmured.  “Why are you awake?”

It had only been a half hour since Feyre’d put her down, she’d been hoping for at least one hour of uninterrupted work.

Seren said nothing and only whimpered into Feyre’s neck.  As Feyre whispered to her daughter to sooth her, she went back out into the main part of the store to find the diaper bag she’d packed that morning.  In one of the insulated pockets, she found a bottle of apple juice.

“Here, honey,” Feyre said.  Seren snatched the bottle and began drinking, tears still rolling down her cheeks. “Okay, there we go.  Momma need to talk to Mr. Avitas okay, can you let me do that?”

Seren nodded and the almost two-year-old tucked herself right against Feyre’s neck.

Pressing a kiss to her daughter’s forehead, Feyre turned back to Rhysand who stood right where she’d left him.  The hard look in his eyes was gone and whatever hard-ass talk he was no doubt going to deliver evaporated.

“It seems I was wrong,” Rhysand said, “you do have some help, don’t you?”

Seren wiggled in Feyre’s arms to get a better look at the man, her bottle sticking in one cheek.

“Momma,” Seren said, her voice just slightly muffled.

“Yes, you are my big helper,” Feyre agreed, “even when you get into my paints.”

Seren beamed up at her. “I help.”

Feyre snorted a bit of laughter.  Help.  Sure.  There were some painted handprints on the wall that aid otherwise.

“Did you have any other concerns you needed to address, Mr. Avitas?” Feyre asked.

He seemed so taken aback that Feyre had had her daughter in the back room napping that it took him a moment to speak again.  It would have been amusing if the man hadn’t been so annoying to begin with.

“She looks just like you,” Rhysand said.

That was the last thing Feyre’d expected.  She quirked a brow at the man.  She knew it was true.  Seren, thank the heavens, looked like an Archeron.  There was barely a trace of her father.  Something Feyre would give thanks for every day.

Feyre heart gave a painful squeeze.  Of course that was what he meant.

She met his gaze, holding it for a long moment.  Her hold on Seren tightened automatically, something she always did when she remembered her baby’s father. 

“Yes, she does,” she whispered.  Feyre wondered what Rhysand could possibly know.  When she’d moved back to Valeris two years ago, just after she’d found out she was pregnant, she scrubbed her life clean of that man.  Rhysand couldn’t possibly know who the father was.  Even if he did, he shouldn’t care.

“Right,” he muttered and ran a hand through his hair. Once again, an un definable look flashed over his features, and disappeared just as quickly.  “I’ll see what I can do about the air-conditioning.”

“Good,” Feyre said, “I’d hate to have to delay opening.”

And much to her surprise, Rhysand laughed.  “Of course not.  That would be rather inconvenient, wouldn’t it?”

He turned back to the door and looked as though he would leave without saying anything else, until he paused. He seemed to be having an internal dilemma when he looked back to Feyre.

“If there is anything I can help with, let me know.”

The words were halting and careful.  Feyre wasn’t sure how to read them, how to respond.  So she only nodded.

#

i wanted to add more to this for the first part, but well here we are...

tags

@aelinchocolatelover // @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx // @bamchickawowow // @ireallyshouldsleeprn // @courtofjurdan // @sassys-world // @sleeping-and-books // @superspiritfestival // @chieflemming // @julemmaes // @lysandra-ghost-leopard // @firestarsandseneschals // @emikadreams // @rapunzel1523 // @booksofthemoon // @highladysith // @fangirlprincess09 // @rowaelinismyotp // @vanzetanze // @jlinez // @cassianscool // @stardelia // @my-fan-side // @sjmships // @tillyrubes10 // @acourtofsjmtrash // @hellasblessed // @rhysandswhore  //  @story-scribbler  // @post-it-notes33 // @live-the-fangirl-life // @strangevil321 // @whythefuckdoiexist // @pastasiren // @beanco8 // @lemonade-coolattas @foreverfallingforthestars // @surielandiareendgame // @feysand-loml

[roomeight]

Graham Coxon's Foreword to Narcissus & Goldmund

At seventeen I was wide-eyed and thirsty. I was a student studying General Art and Design. I was a sponge determined to absorb everything I could. All new experiences rang with significance - the pictures, the films, the books, the music, the photographs, they all filled my world with a sense-heightening mess of magic, I humbly held artists of any kind in very high esteem, marvelled at their work. I would walk the streets of Colchester dressed in overalls and tweed, smelling of turpentine and oil paint, much to the despair of my mother. I was a proud student, an honoured aesthete.

At this time, one teacher made a particular impression on me and the rest of my group, although to many it was a bad one. This teacher appeared from nowhere and seduced us into defining ourselves and, in doing so, unwittingly split our group into factions - or at least accelerated the process. What she did was simple and playful but left me feeling as though I had undergone an important personal and creative development. She stacked tables and chairs to the ceiling, climbed up and hung up a roll of tape with string. She then encouraged us to draw it as it swung around the room. The precious graphic design types rolled their eyes, silently mouthed curses, felt for their fine-nibbed pens and bemoaned the prospect of another two hours with a teacher that was so obviously a weirdo; but to others, those of a looser nature, myself included, this eccentrically dressed, enthusiastic, beaming woman immediately became a heroine, and we slashed at our huge sheets of paper with our sticks of charcoal. The already cynical graphic artists thought her teaching pointless and undignified, but the fine artists loved her and admired the unashamed energy and enthusiasm she displayed so unselfconsciously. You were for her or against her. She neither patronized us nor intellectualized, and so created an environment in which we began to the making of marks on paper as a highly personal, sensual, spiritual act.

Late one morning I was sitting drinking coffee and smoking one of those very, very first cigarettes, when she smiled over at me and came to join me at the table. "There's a book you should read, Graham, if you haven't already. I think you would love it. It's called Narcissus and Goldmund. The title alone made me imagine it might be heavy-going, so I found myself avoiding the book for quite a while. I don't know why I didn't at least give it a go. Maybe I wanted to preserve the feeling of excitement of knowing that something beautiful and hugely important was just around the corner but felt it so intimidating that I was loath to quit the comfort of loitering in an adjacent alley. Maybe I felt flattered that a woman I greatly admired thought me mature enough or intelligent enough to contemplate recommending such a book. I am sure she recognized that I was more an empty vessel than a full one and wanted to contribute a little to filling me up, so maybe I was afraid that I would leave the book unfinished or find it boring and in so doing fail my new teacher. Maybe, maybe, maybe...

In any case, time went by, and I left the college and moved on to take a degree in Fine Art at Goldsmiths' College, part of the University of London. The book had been itching away at me for around three years by the time I finally bought it, turned to the first page and, breathing in deeply, took the plunge. I need not have worried. I didn't find the book at all difficult to read, and I was quickly immersed in it totally.

Although I now find myself in the privileged position of writing a foreword to this deeply moving and powerful book, I don't feel in the least bit qualified to do so. I never studied philosophy and I don't consider myself a 'thinker' as such, but I am an asker, an asker of big questions, and always felt there was more to learn and more to  experience right from the beginnings of my impressionable adolescence right up to now and my impressionable late youth.

The clean simplicity of Hesse's writing offers a vast space in which to push your weightless mind, and, although you can see the universe between the lines, he never forces you to venture too deeply but, rather, leaves it entirely up to you as to how far in you might like to travel. This is not just a story. This book is a gentle arm around the shoulder. It gets us off the hook, treasures us that there is still time, that surrender is possible even it is a surrender to ourselves, that no matter how recklessly we bolt out into the unknown the journey home is a brief one. It lets us know that even when we become lost in the crazed volatility of what we think of as freedom, reaching the very edge of our own flat world, gazing petrified over the edge at the black expanse of our own demise, we are but a change of hardened heart away from the innocence of our beginnings, from peace.

We see that outward journeys are easy - essential if somewhat desperate assertions of our will and independence. After all, we have first to be filled with something for an inward journey to be possible. This book made me wonder just how far down the dangerous roads of our early adult lives does the pull of a simpler  life begin to tug at our sleeves. When does the overbearing din of hollow seduction suddenly fall on deaf ears? Does the balance need to be addressed? If so, then when, finally, does an existence free of clutter prove more desirable than one of chaos?

I think we can all see ourselves in Goldmund. His experiences can relate sharply to our own, they melt and shape themselves into the mould of our own lives. Life and the material world was designed to seduce, and we ourselves are designed to be seduced by it. We career, uncompromisingly, through our early lives, proud of our strength and youth but never treasuring it. Maybe that's how it should be, that we squander it if only to mourn it later when we don't feel so invincible and have to savour each day of our late adulthood. Perhaps this may be why as we get older, we like more what we see when we close our eyes. Could this be God's way of making the transition into the next life a smoother, less traumatic one?

This book has proven itself to be a template to me. It has a perfect and gentle tension and familiar dynamic shape. It's a book where you can plot your own progress and plan your own happy ending. It has been a source of great inspiration to me throughout the sixteen years its words have been rooted in my head. It is a book that you can never grow out of because you grow into it, and it softens around you like a good old pair of shoes. It is not without its tragedy and its blood and its guts but shows this aspect of life to be as much a valid part of the journey as happiness.

Narcissus and Goldmund is a well from which we can draw limitless emotional strength, and I am not ashamed to say that I am extremely jealous that you might just be reading it for the first time.

- Graham Coxon, musician

2006

[storybookstalker]

A Helping Hand

 - Author’s Note -

➥ Sorry for my absence! I’ve been struggling with my mental illness and with school a lot so it’s been hard to really keep up with anything. Hopefully this somewhat makes up for some of that time! This is a smallish fic I made for my art trade with @yandere-starchild​ ! I really hope you love it as much as I loved your part of our trade! 

↳ Yandere - Platonic - Bruce Wayne : Batman 

↳ Yandere - Implied - Tim Drake : Red Robin

It’s insanely lucky that she’d managed to get into Gotham High to begin with, especially without having the whole support thing that seemed to come with having parents. Nor any other kind of support network. She didn’t exactly have friends at the school, regardless of how hard she used to try,— not that she had many, to begin with— but she’d like to think that grades were more important than friendship. She’d found somewhat of a friend in some kid named Tim a while back, but he’d gone and dropped out. Not that she blamed him, even if he was weird with how he just suddenly greeted her as if they knew each other one day. No, Ymir would have dropped out a long time ago if she had the choice. The classes were long, tiring, and too early; and forced her to stay up way too late in a cold effort to keep up with the curriculum. She’d zone out in forced attempts to jot down the teacher’s notes, it’d probably be more fun to watch paint dry than do this. The detention from falling asleep in class only led to more trouble with the dean and with her legal guardians, and more falling asleep on cold desks from sheer exhaustion. 

All of this funneling down into why Ymir found herself waiting outside the probably electric, kinda scary looking fence that surrounded the Wayne Manor. Looking back on it, this was most likely a horrible idea. 

The other week she had run into Tim again, quite literally bumping into him and pouring hot coffee onto his nice (and probably expensive—) looking sweater. He didn’t seem to mind all that much surprisingly— despite her embarrassment— and somehow the two ended up chatting like old friends in a booth, bonding over their shared frustration with Gotham High. 

“Y'know, I actually used to be pretty good with your classes! Just lost the motivation to do them.” 

“Haha, yeah I know what you mean,” Ymir agreed, “It’s just really hard to keep up and it doesn’t help that I’m falling behind a bit…” 

That’s when he offered to tutor her. It was a little shocking, considering she had just dumped hot coffee on his nice sweater. His logic was that he’d have to go back to the school eventually, so helping her study would benefit both of them. 

“Besides,” Tim continued, “we should try to get to know each other better.” 

And so, that’s how the very tired girl ended up spending a few days with Tim every week. 

Usually, they’d meet at a library or something but Tim asked to study at his house this week, which led full circle back to her standing in front of Wayne Manor. Ymir probably should have known that Tim was a Wayne long before this point, but apparently, it had never come up. Or, rather she probably just didn’t pick up on it, not that it mattered now. 

Ymir wondered if he had jokingly given her a fake address until the manor’s gate began opening up. Her nervousness only managed to increase the closer she got to the house, not that she could easily turn around with how the gate shut behind her, everything looked way too expensive for her to even be looking at. The front door was even more intimidating; was she supposed to use a different door? Ymir’s dizzying resolve just barely steadied when Tim appeared and greeted her, calling her inside. 

If Tim noticed her awkwardness, he didn’t mention it. He and the manor’s butler, Mr. Pennyworth, seemed to welcome Ymir. Pennyworth, though Tim tried to encourage her to call him Alfred, offered drinks and snacks throughout the study session. The older man would step in to help if either party seemed to have more questions than they could answer but it was mostly just the two teens for the majority of the time. Ymir’s nerves soothed themselves as time went on, by the end of the session she found herself talking to Tim normally. Ymir went home with a smile, maybe she’d found a friend, finally. 

Weeks passed, and while her grades did improve, Ymir’s parents seemed unhappy with the entire situation still. It was hard to enjoy her time with the Waynes when her parents would scold her for having “too much fun”, apparently too happy to be studying as she should be. She was sure Tim noticed it, but vocalizing anything happening would just ruin it more for her.

It wasn’t until Tim had to cancel a study session that all it tipped over. Her confusing relationship with Tim, her parents shoving their expectations down her throat, school— all bundled into a breakdown in front of the Wayne Manor. The constrictive lump in her throat dropped to her stomach when Bruce Wayne himself stepped out from the gate and invited her inside. 

Ymir tried to backtrack, Tim wasn’t there so why would she come in—? 

“Nonsense,” Bruce brushed off her stuttering, “Any friend of Tim’s is always welcome here.” 

He waited for her to follow before leading her into his Manor. In which he sat Ymir down and got water for the teary-eyed student. Bruce explained that Tim had mentioned that she seemed overly stressed, “Which is odd, from what Alfred and Tim tell me you’re doing much better grade-wise.” 

Ymir’s heart dropped to her stomach, she didn’t really want to shove her family issues onto the most wealthy man in Gotham. Especially not after all the help Tim gave her. What kind of a ‘thank you’ is crying and whining? 

Ymir steadied herself, “I am. I’m passing now, I’m grateful for everything Tim’s done for me, Mr. Wayne.”

“Bruce is fine, Ymir. With how often you’re over here you might as well be family.” Bruce smiled, almost in a reassuring way, as if he already knew how overwhelmed she was. “And since you’re basically family, I want you to know that this is a safe place for you. If you need anything, you can tell me.” 

The lack of care from her own parents and the warmth from the Waynes came crashing down on her, hot tears came rolling down her face as she attempted to explain herself. There was no rush from Bruce or Alfred, both of which comforting her in their own ways. 

She spent the next few hours venting out her emotions about her family and school, Bruce offering advice. Tim appeared later on in the evening, inviting her to watch a movie to help calm down after her comfort session with Bruce. 

Meanwhile, Bruce made a call home and ensured that she was allowed to stay over should she want to. The Waynes were more capable of taking care of Ymir, Bruce just had to make sure they could continue to protect her. Not that it would be difficult. With a family like Ymir’s? All he needed to do was pull some strings, her family should be proud to have their daughter be accepted as a ward of Bruce Wayne himself. For now, he was happy to wait until she was comfortable enough to call the Manor her home. 

↳ END ↲

[ibijau]

Counterfeit AU pt6 / On AO3

Meng Yao makes himself useful after losing his job, and discovers something unexpected

Names are funny things, Meng Yao thinks as he stares at the sheet of paper in his hand. 

Funny things indeed.

-

After everything that went down in the Hanshi, it's Beastie that saves Meng Yao from himself.

Left to his own devices, he would have either wallowed in misery, or waste time proving to himself that everything that happened wasn't his fault, the way he knows he's done in other lives. But when he comes home after having his past lives thrown into his face and losing a job he loves, Beastie’s mother corners him just as he puts his key into his lock. Her daughter is on school holiday, she explains, and was supposed to be looked after by a friend with children of a similar age. But one of the children came down with something contagious, so the whole plan fell through, and the poor woman now desperately needs help finding someone to look after her daughter.

She’s not asking for Meng Yao to play the babysitter, but he knows so many people, he has so many connections, maybe he could pull a favour somewhere, help her out again.

“I can take care of her for a few days,” Meng Yao offers without thinking. “I’m jobless as of today.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry! What happened?”

“My employer died,” Meng Yao replies, which is close enough to the truth. He doesn’t think Nie Huaisang will continue using his Shanzi alias after this, and they’ll never meet again. He might as well be dead. “I don’t plan on looking for a new job right away, so I can babysit for a while, it’s no big deal.”

She tries to insist that he doesn’t need to be doing that, but quickly agrees after some reassurance that Meng Yao doesn’t mind. She looks so relieved she could cry as she says she’ll drop Beastie in the morning. Meng Yao smiles, certain that his mother would be proud of him for doing what’s right.

Having Beastie around is definitely the best choice he could have made. She’s a good kid, but she’s also high energy and needs to be entertained, which means he doesn’t get to think too much about how much he misses Nie Huaisang and Lan Xichen. 

They watch movies together, as they’ve always done when he picked her up after school. They go for walks to a nearby park, and once to a museum to look at old armours and swords. He buys Beastie a fake sword, though they agree to keep it at his place, since her mother already despairs that she so strongly favours boy’s toys. In fact, Meng Yao ends up just spoiling that little girl, the way he would have loved someone to do for him when he was her age. He even has Nie Huaisang’s console repaired so she can play on it, instead of selling it as he’d intended.

The video games are a big hit with her. She’s particularly in love with the same game Nie Huaisang spent too many hours on, that weird little terraforming thing which Meng Yao can’t see the appeal of. He liked that it made Nie Huaisang happy. He likes that it also makes Beastie happy, and that she’s very careful not to ruin the work previously put into it, focused instead on maintaining it and planting flowers

“It looks like home,” she explains when Meng Yao asks about that, and lifts the console for him to see.

It doesn’t look like a homely place, he thinks, and more like a military fortress right out of a wuxia drama. But Meng Yao doesn’t get to make that remark, because his phone vibrates, demanding his attention. Beastie, sitting crossed legs on some cushion on the floor, goes back to watering virtual flowers, while Meng Yao checks some news from his bank account. A lump sum has been sent to him, a good deal more than his usual salary, coming from an account registered under a name he doesn’t recognise.

It has been a week since he was fired.

Nie Huaisang kept his promise.

It really is over.

Not that Meng Yao really doubted it. Nie Huaisang has many faults but indecision has never been one, though he’s always been good at pretending otherwise. Once his choice is made he toys with expectations but rarely ever changes his mind.

Rarely, of course, isn’t never. Meng Yao, foolishly, hoped to be one of those few exceptions. 

Those new zeroes on his bank account feel like a divorce, and he never even got a honeymoon. 

That night, Meng Yao allows himself a few hours to wallow in misery, after Beastie went back to her mother. He is only human, and it does feel good to eat take-away in front of a cheesy romance. The film's hero doesn't get the girl, who was dead all along. Meng Yao cries, even though he's seen that movie before. 

By morning, he's in control again, and takes Beastie to the park so she can run around in the sun, and scare pigeons with her sword.

Those holidays are all great fun, until Beastie’s mother reminds them that she has homework to do.

Beastie is a clever kid, there’s no doubt about it, but she doesn’t much like doing her homework, least of all when she feels she could be playing. It takes all of Meng Yao’s negotiation skills to get her to even look at her school books, and he almost resorts to bribery to make her pick up a pencil. But she works hard once she starts, and Meng Yao, wanting to encourage her, sits with her at the kitchen table to update his resume. Beastie will go back to class soon, and inactivity just isn’t in his temper.

When Beastie is done with her work, she gets permission to put on whatever movie she likes while Meng Yao checks what she’s done in case it needs correcting.

But when he picks up the sheet of simple maths she’s expected to give her teacher on monday, all Meng Yao sees is her name.

It’s really funny. He knows her name of course, though he hasn’t heard it in a while. Even her mother took up to calling her Beastie after he nicknamed her that. It just fits her so well, that active little girl who prefers trousers over dresses because they're easier to move in and always wants to play at fighting. She’s a real little monster, and Meng Yao loves her like that. She’s just Beastie.

But according to the homework she’s spent the afternoon on, she’s also Nie Mingjue.

It could just be a coincidence. Names are funny like that, they pop up in unexpected places, they get forgotten and reused. Perhaps in another life, Meng Yao would have just dismissed it as a random incident.

In another life, he wouldn’t have been called Meng Yao.

It’s the first time this happens since that first life they all shared. He’s Meng Yao again, Lan Xichen bears his old name too, and now he’s found a Nie Mingjue, hiding right under his nose. A Nie Mingjue who likes fighting, and claims that her toy sword is actually a sabre, and who always insists a lot on things being fair, even when Meng Yao tries to give her the biggest share of a food she likes.

It can’t be a coincidence.

Meng Yao needs to tell someone.

He needs to tell Nie Huaisang.

He tries, of course, and without surprise his former employer’s number has been terminated. He has the same luck trying to send an email. Nie Huaisang might as well never have existed. Meng Yao feels helpless, torn between tears and laughter. After spending centuries looking for his brother, Nie Huaisang just might have lost his chance due to being so damn dramatic. Serves him right, Meng Yao thinks, still bitter about being discarded so easily, and never getting a chance to see if things might work better in this life.

Bitterness doesn’t last. Meng Yao cares about Nie Huaisang, more than he should if he were a little smarter, and he knows how important finding his brother again would be for him. And if Nie Huaisang can’t be directly contacted, there’s always indirect ways.

It’s not that Meng Yao misses Lan Xichen, he tells himself that night, when Beastie is back with his mother and he starts writing a long text message on his phone. Well, it’s not just that, anyway. He does miss Lan Xichen, sweet and funny and so eager when talking about art. But more importantly, Lan Xichen probably has access to Lan Wangji, who clearly must know how to contact Nie Huaisang. 

Texting Lan Xichen is a strategic choice. 

The way Meng Yao's heart jumps inside his chest when Lan Xichen immediately replies is… it's strategic too. He's just glad that his plan is working. 

How have you been? :)

I could have been worse. I've just realised something and I think it concerns you. I've told you about that kid I babysit, haven't I? 

Little Beastie? Is she okay? D:

She's Nie Mingjue. 

This time, the answer isn't immediate. Meng Yao stares nervously at his phone, wondering if Lan Xichen thinks he's lying, or planning something. Considering their first life, who could blame him? 

But after a few minutes, his phone vibrates again. 

Sorry, I dropped my phone and couldn't get it back from under the couch. Are you sure?? (⊙ˍ⊙)

It all fits. You could come meet her if you want. But it's him, I'm sure. 

Did you tell Nie Huaisang???

I can't contact him. Are you in touch with Lan Wangji? Maybe he can warn him. 

I have his number, I just texted him! I'll keep you updated! It's so wonderful if it's da-ge!! Can I really meet him? ╰(*°▽°*)╯

Her*?

I'll send you my address. If you can come tomorrow, she'll be there.

Are you sure? I don't think da-ge would still want me around. (≧﹏ ≦)

Meng Yao gives that question the consideration it deserves. It's not an unfair worry to have, and he'd be wondering the same if he hadn't known Beastie for so long. 

I literally killed him, and he killed me. If she had to hate anyone it'd be me, but we get along great. We're no longer the same people we used to be. It's the same for her. 

If you're sure, then I'll come! (❁´w`❁)

-

Meng Yao is very sure indeed. 

So Lan Xichen comes. 

It's odd to invite someone to his flat. It's a small place, a bit messy, full of trinkets and DVDs that Meng Yao would never admit to owning, not with the image he wants to create. He's always avoided guests. But having Lan Xichen over is as rewarding as it is terrifying. Lan Xichen brought some charming little cakes, as if he's visiting someone important, and he smiles at the sight of a movie poster on the wall, confessing he watched it so often as a teenager that the tape broke one day. 

"It's my favourite too!" Beastie exclaims. "Meng-ge has it, you know! Can we watch it now?" 

Normally, Meng Yao would point out that it's a little rude to ask that when they have a guest. But he can see that Lan Xichen is nervous and unsure how to act around Nie Mingjue, and maybe a movie will let them all relax. 

In the end, they spend a pleasant afternoon, the three of them. Once Lan Xichen stops worrying that the Nie Mingjue of old will appear and shout at him for getting him killed, he starts chatting with Beastie about her favourite movies, what she's learning in school, what she wants to be when she grows up. She's very happy to answer, and very impressed when he explains he's a teacher, even though she's finding it hard to accept that most of his students are fully adult.

And when Beastie is back with her mother, Lan Xichen lingers for a while, tempted by the offer of Meng Yao's favourite takeaway.

“It’s amazing how much like him she is,” Lan Xichen says as they sit on the sofa to wait for the food to arrive. “It’s the first time he reincarnates, you know. At least, Wangji told me they’d never found any trace of him before.”

Guilt shoots through Meng Yao. It’s his fault if Nie Mingjue’s soul was so fractured it took him this long to be reborn. Or at least, it’s the fault of someone he was, once, which is nearly the same, and yet completely different. Meng Yao has learned from living and dying several times, and he’s lucky enough to live in a kinder world than Jin Guangyao did. It helps.

“She’s also different from him, though,” Lan Xichen continues, moving just a little closer, until they’re almost touching.

“We’ll, for starters she’s a kid,” Meng Yao points out, wondering if he should take the other man’s hand. If this had happened before the Hanshi, he would have, but he’s not sure where they stand now.

“It’s not just that. In that first life, I knew da-ge as a child too and he was…” Lan Xichen sighs and makes a vague hand gesture. “He was a lot. Way too serious sometimes. We all were, I suppose, but him most of all. The Nie tended to grow fast, to compensate for dying young. I’m… I’m glad that he gets to properly be a child this time. That she gets to be a child.”

“The world has changed,” Meng Yao says, finding the courage at last to brush his fingers against Lan Xichen’s. “Things aren’t always easy but they’re… easier, I suppose.”

Lan Xichen’s returns that touch, gentle and careful as always. This, too, is easier now than it was back then. It’s not easy, but there’s less pressure to conform, less demands to be good dutiful sons, and just a little more space to be their own people, to make their own choices.

Maybe in their next life they’ll meet again and it’ll be even easier to be like this. But even now, Meng Yao is ready to take the chances that his past self wouldn’t have dared to dream of. He leans toward Lan Xichen, hoping to kiss him, but a knock on the door interrupts them and he jumps to his feet to go get their food. The delivery man looks at him a little funny, but makes no comment. If Meng Yao is half as red as Lan Xichen, he deserves those odd looks.

Nothing happens again that night. The moment has passed, and after eating, Lan Xichen has to go home because he has engagements the day after that he can’t cancel.

It's not a date that night, no more than any of their previous encounters were. 

It's not a date then, but next time, when Lan Xichen invites him to a restaurant, Meng Yao is informed in no unclear terms that this is, in fact, a date. They go see a movie after, and Meng Yao gets to kiss one of the two most handsome men in the world.

Life is good. 

Life is really good, and yet Meng Yao wants more. 

In spite of their efforts, Lan Xichen and him can't get in touch with Nie Huaisang to inform him that his brother has finally reincarnated. Even Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian are getting worried. From what they told Lan Xichen they haven't had any contact with him since the day they picked him up at the Hanshi. 

"They say he's done that before," Lan Xichen tells him. "They think he'll return in a decade or two, maybe a little longer. Time is hard for immortals, they lose track easily." 

That's all very well for them, but Meng Yao doesn't have a few decades to waste, and neither does Nie Mingjue. They're not immortals. One bad illness, a reckless driver, just tripping in the stairs, and it's all over until they reincarnate again, and Meng Yao is done with missed chances. 

If he can't directly get in touch with Nie Huaisang, Meng Yao can make a few discreet calls to former buyers, and advise them to get their purchase asserted again, just in case. He makes sure to only contact people who bought legitimate artworks of course. He wants to make a wave, not get in trouble. If Meng Yao knows Nie Huaisang even half as well as he thinks he does, then even in hiding Nie Huaisang will be checking what’s happening in the world of art collectors, and he’ll hear about some of his buyers suddenly becoming fearful of fakes.

It’s a little mean perhaps, when Nie Huaisang is so proud of his counterfeits, but kindness has never been Meng Yao’s greatest quality.

Besides, it works.

One afternoon, when Meng Yao is alone at home, checking a job offer that he’s probably going to reject because he deserves better, there’s a knock on the door. Meng Yao considers ignoring it, but some of his elderly neighbours have been coming to ask for help with their phones or whatever new fancy blender their kids got them to make life easier. Usually, five minutes of easy work means free homemade food for his next meal, which is always a great deal.

When he opens the door, there’s a very old man waiting in the corridor alright, but free food is probably out of the question.

“Well, I’m here,” Nie Huaisang says. “Whatever is going on, it’d better be important.”

[thegreatestofheck]

Only One [S. Snape]

part two of “The Other Her” 

warnings - mentions of death, angst mostly pairings - severus snape x reader synopsis - You return to Hogwarts years later to watch your son’s Quidditch match, only to find yourself a little bit in over your head.  a/n - So, this really didn’t end up the way I expected it. But, I had one (1) person ask for this, so I delivered. Thank you to @palegoopbearlight for being so encouraging. It really inspired me to work hard and produce something good, so I hope this is sufficient! It’s long lol. Also, not a song fic so I hope that isn’t too big of a deal? 

***

You never expected to find yourself back at Hogwarts after you graduated. But, there you were, standing in the courtyard and staring up at the large doors that would lead you back into the place of memories. They weighed in your shoulders like pounds of brick and you couldn’t shake them off.

A red haired girl ran past you and you found yourself almost calling out Lily’s name before you stopped yourself. Her name rested on the tip of your tongue like poison. 14 years ago, Lily Evans and James Potter were murdered by Voldemort, leaving their son behind. You heart still ached thinking about it. He was here, the boy that Lily loved so deeply. Part of you wanted to see him, just to see her one last time. Another part hoped you could avoid him completely so you wouldn’t feel the guilt of hating her for so long.

“Mama!” A boy cried out from beside you. Putting off your memories to greet your son, you turned to him with a smile. Perfectly painted lips pulled into a grin, you ran to meet him.

“I’m so glad you came,” he said, burying his face in your robes. You pulled back and ruffled his hair with your hand.

“I wouldn’t miss your first Quidditch match for the world,” you told him, making him grin wider. “Your father would be so proud.”

His smile wavered but he straightened his back and lifted his chin to show you that he would make the both of you proud today.

“I have to go,” he said. Already dressed in his blue and bronze quidditch gear, you could see the excitement in his eyes. “Catch you out there?”

“Of course, love.”

You watched him run away, not thinking you could possibly be any prouder.

“y/n,” an woman’s voice said near you. You turned to find Minerva McGonagall standing there. “It’s nice to see you again.”

“You as well, Professor.” You stepped forward to embrace her with a smile.

“It’s been too long. Are you hear for the game?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“There is no need for such formalities,” McGonagall said with a simple wave of her hand. “Have you eaten?”

“Not yet. I’ve only just arrived.”

“Come. I’ll get you some food from the kitchens.”

You tried to protest, but if your seven years at Hogwarts had taught you anything, it was that McGonagall was not one argue with.

“Your son is exceptional at Transfiguration,” McGonagall told you as you walked beside her. “And Flitwick often boasts about him.”

You tried to cover a smile.

“He takes after his father.”

McGonagall fell silent.

“y/n, I wanted to say-“

You turned the corner and found yourself face first in the dark cloaks of a man.

“Pardon!” You said, stepping back before seeing who it was.

“Severus,” McGonagall said, her lips flattening into a thin line. Your heart sky rocketed into your chest at the sight of your old friend. It took him a few moments to recognize you. It was true that you had grown up a lot since graduating and you had seen him very little so you weren’t surprised.

“y/n.” His voice was deeper than you remembered, more monotone. There used to be a certain way he said your name that gave you butterflies. His eyes widened at the sight of you and you felt yourself smile.

“Sev,” you said, the old nickname coming to you so easily.

“What are you doing here?” His eyes narrowed again as he donned the mask that you could tell he worked so hard to build. All the confidence you had gained in the 13 years since you graduated evaporated and you found yourself back in the body of the timid student who wanted nothing more than to make her feel friends happy.

“I’m here to see my son play his first Quidditch match,” you said, feeling that blossom of pride burst again in your chest. Severus looked taken aback by your mention of your son, though you were unsure why. He talked about his “Professor Snape” (which was still a struggle for you to get used to) all the time in his letters.

“It’s against Slytherin today,” he drawled. You nodded your head, the air around you turning stale.

“I hear you’re the head of Slytherin house.”

“Yes.”

“I never saw that one coming when we were kids.”

Severus stiffened at the mention of your childhood, even though you had hoped that it would make him relax. He screwed his mouth shut and there was an awkward moment of silence.

“We’ll see you at the game, Severus,” McGonagall said, trying to move you forward.

“Yes,” was all he said in response.

“It was, uh, good to see you,” you told him and he nodded his head once. With a flourish of his cloak, he walked on.

“You two were close once,” McGonagall said.

“Once,” you replied simply.

“Whatever happened?” It was strange, this almost friendly relationship that had developed between you and your former teacher. Part of you felt like there was something she was hiding up her sleeve. Still, you had been aching to talk about it for years. Long buried emotions came to the forefront of your mind and your mouth started speaking before you could stop yourself. 

“It’s...it’s a long story.”

***

You remembered the fight that Sev and Lily had in your fifth year. You remembered hearing that cruel word cross his lips, spat like venom in her direction as she tried to defend him. It played like one of those moving pictures in your mind as you lay in bed that night. 

Everything was about to change once again. 

There had been some semblance of normalcy after you told Sev you loved him and you reveled in it. But after what he said to Lily, you knew there was no hope for going back. 

And you were right. 

Lily wouldn’t even look at him. No one else would either. Whispers followed to two of you wherever you went. Rumors started to spread, no doubt started by the self proclaimed “Marauders”. The more time you spent with Sev, the more you were at the center of these rumors. 

What little popularity you had before was gone and soon Sev was the only person who would even look in your direction. 

But then he left you too. 

He started to pull away, slowly and then all at once. Where you would once spend meals with him, he was now sitting with his own new friends, a certain group of Slytherins who were well known for their love of the Dark Arts and bullying others. 

It hurt you to the core to watch Sev make new friends that weren’t you. He smiled less, laughed less, and you couldn’t help but wander why he would be happier with them than with you. Then you didn’t even care about his love romantically, you only just missed the warmth of his friendship. 

As he drifted away, you found yourself alone. At one point, you tried to wave at Lily in the halls but her friends hurried away. Still, you couldn’t help but think that you saw a small smile creep up her lips. 

Then you met him. The boy who would steal your heart and refuse to give it back. His name was Cygnus Halcyon.

It was strange, how you and became friends. He found you in a corner of a hidden corridor one day, trying desperately to keep your crying to a minimum. He talked to you, quietly trying to reassure you that everything would be okay, even if he couldn’t really understand what was wrong through your incoherent sobs. 

And from that day on, he was your friend. You were suspicious of him at first, wondering why he even cared to talk to you in the first place. But he was persistent. No matter how hard you tried to push him away, he kept coming back. Even when he ditched the others to come sit with you at meals, part of you hoped that Sev would see and get so unbearably jealous like you had been of him and Lily that he would come over, but he never did. 

Eventually, you stopped thinking about Severus and started to actually see Cygnus sitting there in front of you. 

You weren’t entirely sure how it happened, but you found yourself in love with him one day. It wasn’t anything big or uncomfortable or dramatic. One day, you just felt it, out of the blue and completely comfortable. You kept it to yourself. You had been in this position before and you refused to let history repeat itself. 

He kissed you first, one day just sitting out by the Black Lake. 

“Why did you do that?” You asked him, eyes wide with shock. He laughed, but not in a mean way. 

“You know I love you, right?” 

You didn’t actually know that. You hadn’t even considered it a possibility. 

“I...I didn’t think...you can’t-” 

And then he kissed you again, just so that you would be sure that he was telling you the truth. 

It wasn’t until after graduation that you found out you were pregnant. You knew it was his, of course, there was no one else. 

You had your son at 18, too young, your parents said. But neither you or Cygnus cared as you stared down at the face of the baby boy the two of you loved so deeply. 

***

“He died not shortly after that,” you said, scowling to yourself ever so slightly as you watched a few of the students chase each other through the halls right past you and McGonagall. 

“I heard about Mister Halcyon’s death. I am sorry for your loss,” she said and you turned to look at her with the best smile you could muster. “Ah! It looks like we’ve finally arrived at the kitchens.” 

“Wonderful,” you said with a wider smile. “I’m starved.” 

***

Your cheers of joy could have been heard from the castle as the golden snitch was caught and Ravenclaw won the game. Allyn, who served as one of the chasers, turned to look at you with the widest grin on his face that you had ever seen. If you could snatch him right out of the air and envelope him in the biggest hug, you would have. Unfortunately, he had to go meet with his team first. 

“Your son is good,” McGonagall said from beside you with a smile. “Wish he was in Gryffindor.” 

“Oh, please, from what I’ve heard, your team is going rather well with Harry Potter as the Seeker.” 

You could have sworn you saw the tips of her cheeks tint pink. 

“It is true, he is exceptional. I am afraid, however, with the new Inquisitor, he may very well get himself kicked off of the team before we even get to play our first game.” 

Of course, you had heard all about Dolores Umbridge from Allyn, who sent you a letter almost as soon as the opening feast had begun. You sighed at the mention of her name. 

“I was actually wondering if you wouldn’t mind coming back to the school to take up a teaching position for a while,” McGonagall said as everyone in the stands started to rise. You were taken aback, but not totally surprised. McGonagall had been spending an awful amount of time talking to you today, especially for a teacher you had barely interacted with during school. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well, it’s not a teaching position exactly. Madam Pince has been having some troubles in the library keeping everything under control. You spent so much of your time in the library during your time here I was hoping-” 

“I’ll do it,” you said quickly, starting to smile. “I’ll take the position.” 

McGonagall gave a wiry smile. 

“Thank you. How soon can you move in?” 

***

“Mama!” 

You raced forward as Allyn ran out from the Quidditch tent. Even at 14, he didn’t seem to care that the others were watching him run into the arms of his mama. Some of them snickered as she brought him into a tight hug. 

“Did you see all the goals I made?” He asked excitedly. You nodded your head as quickly as you could. 

“Of course! You were killer out there, little man.” 

“Do you think Dad was watching?” His grin was unsurpassable. You nodded your head as your throat ran dry. 

“Yes, of course he was,” you told him, trying to keep your voice from breaking. You leaned down just enough to look Allyn in the eyes. “And you is so proud of you. Almost as proud as I am.” 

Allyn hugged you one more time, his squeeze a little more firm than before. 

“Hey, Halcyon!” One of the players from the tent called. “You coming?” 

“Yeah, hold on!” Allyn turned back to you with the widest grin. “Everyone’s going out to eat at Hogsmeade.” 

“Go, have fun. I’ll be here when you get back.” 

Allyn tilted his head to the side. 

“What do you mean?” 

“McGonagall has asked me to take up a position working here,” you told your son with a sly smile. The grin on his face grew even wider, if that was possible. “You’re going to be seeing a lot more of me.” 

***

You somehow managed to stay out of Severus’ path long for the first few weeks while working at Hogwarts. You fell into the same pattern and rhythm that you had in your last two years of school, practically hiding from him so you wouldn’t have to look him in the eyes. It seemed like nothing had changed. 

You were surprised to find him in the library one day. Your first instinct was to hide behind one of the bookshelves. 

“Are you hiding from Professor Snape?” A student next to you asked. You turned quickly to find yourself staring down at Neville Longbottom. “I used to be afraid of him too.” 

You wanted to tell the fifteen year old boy that you weren’t afraid of Professor Snape, that you just had no desire to talk to him at that given time. Instead, you swallowed your pride and looked back over at your old friend. 

“How did you overcome it, Mister Longbottom?” You asked him. He looked up at you and almost smiled.

“I’ve spent too much of my life being afraid. I’m trying to make my parents proud.” 

You smiled and a warmth blossomed in your chest. 

“I’m sure they are very proud of you, Mister Longbottom.” There was a glassiness to his eyes as he glanced back down at his Herbology textbook. “And if it means anything at all, I’m very proud of you, too.” 

He smiled up at you then. 

“It means a great deal. Thank you.” 

Walking back to your chambers that night, you knew that you couldn’t avoid Severus any longer. He was your coworker now, your fellow employee. You weren’t sure that Dumbledore would take all too kindly to two members of his staff refusing to communicate. 

You sought him out the next morning, bristling with courage. You saw a lot of yourself in Neville. If he could overcome his fears, then so could you. 

“y/n,” Severus said when you walked into the dungeon where his potions class was. It was clear by the few remaining students that a class had just ended. You felt a twinge of fear strike your heart, but you pushed past it. 

“Hello, Severus,” you said. The last few students walked around you and you stepped forward to meet your old friend. He stiffened as you approached and you took that to mean you had gone far enough. 

“What do you want?��� He asked. You cleared your throat. 

“We work together now,” you said and then shook your head. “I should say, I know we have a past...erm...we were friends once....I mean, we are still friends if you want to be friends still, but I just wanted to say....”

Pausing, you closed your eyes and tried to imagine Cygnus there beside you, whispering words of comfort in your ear. He was a steady ground and some place stable to stand. He never judged you for stumbling over your words or starting a sentence over three times in a row. If he was there beside you, you could do anything. 

When you opened your eyes again, Severus’ face was just as unreadable as it had been before. But you were no longer afraid. 

“I don’t want there to be any ill will or bad blood between us. We’re working together now and I would like that work relationship to be one of mutual respect. You’ve lived your life and I’ve lived mine. But we’re here now and it’s nothing like when we were kids. I would appreciate a having a professional relationship with you, Professor Snape.” When you finished, you could almost hear Cygnus mutter a congratulations. 

You almost smiled to yourself. Severus’ face never even twitched. 

“You don’t have to call me Professor Snape,” was all he said in response. “Severus is fine.” 

That sense of pride that had burned in your chest twisted and became like a heavy weight. Severus...almost like you were friends again. You were partially grateful that it seemed as if he had forgotten how to smile. You always loved his smile. 

All you could do was nod your head before turning to leave swiftly. 

You barely made it back to your chambers before you started to cry. Maybe it was the relief from the weight you had been carrying around your shoulders for the last few weeks that made you break down, but you had a feeling that it was standing in front of Severus again and feeling like you barely knew him. 

You tried to remind yourself as your tears continued to run from your eyes that Severus had long ago stopped being your friend and it had been his choice, not yours. He was the one who walked away, not you. 

And he would have to live with it.

***

Severus got his dream job the next year. You had spent almost your entire first year on the job trying very hard not to punch Dolores Umbridge in the throat that you had almost forgotten that it was always DADA that Snape had wanted to teach. But there was something off that year, a chill in the air. 

“You’ve gotta be careful, Allyn,” you told your son one day while the two of you were picnicking by the Black Lake. “You can feel the shifts in the wind, right?” 

Allyn nodded his head. 

“It feels...darker than last year,” he said, looking up at the sky. You nodded slowly. 

“But everything will be alright,” you told him with a smile. 

“How can you be so sure?” 

“I can be so sure because everything will be fine as long as I have you with me and nothing bad is ever going to happen to you.”

Allyn smiled up at you, a twinkle in his eye. He shifted his gaze out to the water. 

“Did you come here with Dad?” he asked. You breathed in deeply through your nose and followed his line of sight. 

“Yes. We came out here often.” 

“I miss him.” 

“I do, too.” Leaning over, you pressed a kiss to the top of Allyn’s head. 

The two of you sat blissfully in silence, both picturing Cygnus there with you. It was a happy thought. 

Later that day, you were in your chambers getting ready for bed when a hurried knock came to your door. 

Scowling, you walked over, part of you fearing that it was Allyn. But when you threw your door wide open, you were more than surprised to see who was on the other side. 

“Severus.” 

He looked a mess. Dishelved, paler than usual, his eyes wide with fear. He breathed heavily, leaning one hand up against your doorframe as if it was the only thing keeping him upright. 

“Severus, what’s-” 

“Can I come in?” He asked. His monotonous façade was dropped and you heard the fear in his voice, fear and worry. 

“Of course.” You stepped out of the way and let him inside. He crossed the room before you even had the chance to close your door, leaning his back up against your far wall. “Please, tell me what’s happened.” 

He pressed his lips together, as if physically keeping a secret inside his mouth. Your heart thrummed in your chest. Only once before had you ever seen him so out of state and that was the night Lily died. He came to your house to deliver the news, but he ended up crying on your bathroom floor instead. That had been the last time you saw him before coming to work at Hogwarts and here you were again in a similar situation. 

“I can’t,” he said finally, shaking his head. “No, I can’t.”

“Okay. That’s okay.” You stepped toward him with one raised hand. As slow as your movements were, he still flinched away. “You’re okay, Sev. You’re safe in here.” 

He shut his eyes, squeezing them as tight as he could as he leaned his head against the wall. He slowly slid to the ground, knees pressed up against his chest as he rested his face in his arms. 

You were frozen where you were. A thousand questions rattled through your brain that you knew would never be answered. You looked at him more carefully and on one of his arms you could see a series of scars that were unmistakable. The Unbreakable Vow. 

“Oh, Sev,” you breathed, your heart going suddenly still. What have you done? 

At the sound of your voice, he started to cry. It was such a shocking sound that for a few moments, you didn’t even realize that was what was happening. And the few moments after that, you weren’t entirely sure what to do. 

But then you reminded yourself that the crying man before you was your friend. And maybe you weren’t great with talking to people and maybe your social skills weren’t the best, but if there was one thing you were good at, it was taking care of the few friends you had. 

Pushing past whatever roadblock kept you from comforting him, you stepped forward, quiet on your toes so not to startle him. He flinched again as you slowly lowered yourself to the ground next to him. Moving as slowly as you could so you didn’t startle him away, you slowly put your arms around him. One arm behind his neck and the other wrapped around his front so you could rest your palm against the side of his head. 

He tensed against your touch for the first couple of seconds, but the he softened and then he collapsed, turning in toward you. He grabbed your arm for dear life, his fists stuffed full of your long sleeves. His tear stricken face was pressed to your chest, your chin resting on the top of his head as he cried. It broke your heart to hear such a closed down man cry the way he was. Even more so, it killed you to know that your best friend was suffering and there wasn’t a single thing you could do about it. 

“Shh,” you whispered gently, holding him as tight as you could. “You are safe, Sev. I’m here. I’m here.” 

Dumbledore was killed two months later. 

He had never been your favorite person, but seeing his lifeless body lay motionless on the hard stone ground sent chills down your spine. It didn’t help that there had just been Death Eaters storming the castle, Severus as their head. 

You weren’t sure what broke your heart more; the fact that he had been working with the Death Eaters all this time and put your son in danger or the fact that he had the chance to kill you but he didn’t. 

Allyn was sobbing as you held onto him from behind. Almost the entire school stood around their headmaster’s body, a painful silence hung over all of them. Without Dumbledore, it seemed like the fight against Voldemort would be a vain one. 

The world was no longer safe and there was no where to take your son away. Either Voldemort had to die or Allyn could never live in peace again. And for you, only one of those was an option. 

***

You gasped, jumping to the side as a spell flew overhead. Taking barely any time to recover from your fall, you fired a return spell at the Death Eater in front of you. 

You breathed in deeply through your nose, hoping to stifle the burning fear in your chest. This was a different kind of fear than you were used to. This was deeper, immediate, like gliding over a smooth surface. You were mortified, but there was absolutely no time to waste in being afraid. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught sight of the three children who had done the most for this school in the past seven years. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were scurrying across the grounds, heading toward to boat dock. You glanced back at the castle, knowing full well that the battle was raging heavily there and they could use every wand they could get. But you also knew that if those three were going somewhere, it was important. 

And you weren’t going to leave them alone. 

You supposed you were a bit braver knowing that Allyn was safe and far from here. He had protested wildly when you demanded that he go home, but you didn’t care how loudly he screamed. There was no way you were going to lose him to the same people who killed his father. As long as he was safe from here, you would die fighting Voldemort’s army if that was what it took. 

You hurried after the kids, keeping yourself at a safe distance away so you didn’t startle them. When they reached the boat house, you ducked behind a tree. There were voices inside the building. One was definitely the raspy voice of Voldemort. The other was just as easy to place. 

“Severus,” you whispered to yourself. Your heart panged painfully. If this past year with him as headmaster had taught you anything, it was that he was no longer the boy you once loved. He had grown up and made all the wrong choices. But you had grown up too. 

And then your heard the hiss of a snake and the sickening sound of a body hitting loose glass window panes. You covered your mouth with your hand to keep yourself from gasping too loudly. You knew before you even came from out behind the tree what had happened. 

Almost instantly, hot tears started to slide down your cheeks. You could hear Voldemort disapparate and as soon as he was gone, you pushed yourself out from behind the tree and ran toward the children. They snapped their heads toward you, wands raised, and you put your hands up. 

It took them a few seconds to recognize you, but once they did, they relaxed. 

“Professor Snape-” Miss Granger started, her face blanched from fear. You nodded your head. 

Mister Potter was the first one to move. He stood from where he was, his legs shaking as he rose. He moved toward the door like he was walking on glass. You supposed, as the adult, you should be the first to go inside, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move. Not until Harry was all the way inside. 

The boathouse smelled like algae. That stench was the only thing you could think about when you first entered. Staring down at Severus as he lay bleeding on the ground, all you could do was wonder why, with all the magic in the world, they couldn’t make the boathouse smell better. 

Ron kept a tight arm wrapped around Hermione by the door while you and Harry walked toward Severus on the ground. 

“Professor,” Harry said. Severus head lolled to the side and you could see the wide, bleeding gash on his neck. Your lips trembled as you lowered yourself slowly to the ground on the other side. The stone floor was cold, even through your pants. Severus didn’t even look at you. 

Silver tears rolled from his eyes, but it was nothing like that night the year before. These were tears of a tired man in pain, ready to let go. 

“Take them,” he said to Harry, his voice hoarse. “Take them!”

“Hermione, a vial?” Harry turned back toward his friend. 

“Here,” you said, pulling a vial out the pocket of your cloak. You couldn’t remember why you had put it there, but you were glad you did. Harry took it, his hands shaking, and dipped the rim underneath Severus’ tears, collecting them at the bottom. 

You were lost. The tears of a dying man meant nothing to you, but Severus seemed to relax once Harry had them in his possession. He took in a shuddering breath and you reached out to grab his hand. Still, he looked at Harry, who held his gaze. 

“You have your mother’s eyes,” Severus said. You pushed down a sob. Even with his dying breath, he still thought of her. You hung your head so the children wouldn’t see you crying. 

Severus breathed in another shaking breath and squeezed your hand as he let it out. You looked back up at him, but that was it. 

He was gone. 

***

You were still numb when the battle was over. It was all a blur to you, what happened after Severus died. Harry died but then he wasn’t dead, more fighting. You could barely hear the screams over the buzzing in your ears. Your mind was a blank, banking completely on muscle memory to keep you alive. 

But once it was all over, that numbness didn’t fade. You sat with Madam Pince in the Great Hall. It seemed smaller now. You weren’t sure why. 

Across from you, Remus Lupin and his new wife lay with their hands clasped together. That made you the last one. You were the only one left. Not even that thought produced a single tear. 

“Miss Halcyon?” 

You looked up to find Neville Longbottom standing in front of you and you somehow managed to smile. He had cut the head off the snake that sat on Voldemort’s shoulders. it was quite the spectacle. 

“Harry’s looking for you,” he said. Your smile turned into a scowl and you pushed yourself onto your feet. 

“For me?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Why?”

“Won’t say, but he’s in Dumbledore’s Office.” 

You nodded your head and took a step forward. Before you walked past the boy, you placed your hand on his shoulder. 

“You have made your parents very proud, Mister Longbottom,” you told him. His cheeks turned red, but he nodded anyway. 

“And you’ve made your son proud, Miss Halcyon.” You were going to ask him what he meant, but he gave you no time to do so. “Harry. Dumbledore’s Office.” 

“Right. Be safe, Neville.” 

“The war’s over.” 

“Still. Be safe.” 

“Will do, Miss H.” 

He turned away from you then, sitting in the place you had just been. That left you to go find Harry. 

It was a horrible thing, to walk through the castle when it was full of so much destruction. Nearly every corridor was destroyed to some degree. Large slabs of cement littered the ground. Blood splattered here and there. It was impossible to determine if the blood was from someone on your side or someone on Voldemort’s. Either way, you felt your stomach curdle at the sight of it. 

Most of the bodies had been cleared at that point, but some still lay around here and there. You tried to ignore them. 

You weren’t sure if you should knock on the door to Dumbledore’s office or if you should just go in. You decided that you were an adult and knocking wasn’t required when both men who once worked in that office were now dead. 

You pushed your way inside. 

Harry was just sitting there on the stairs, the same look of numbness on his face that you imagined was on yours. When he saw you, he looked up and stood. 

“Neville said you wanted to see me,” you said, pulling on the edges of your sleeves. The edges were singed and still hot from someone setting your cloak on fire. 

“I need to show you something,” he said, taking a few steps toward you. “Or, I guess, Professor Snape does.” 

You tilted your head to the side, eyebrows pinched together. 

“I don’t understand.” 

“You will.” 

He beckoned you over to a round bowl floating in the middle of the room. 

“What is this?” 

“A pensive. It shows you memories.” 

You remembered the tears that Harry had collected. They hadn’t been tears at all. They were Severus’ memories. 

“He showed me what I needed to see to defeat Voldemort, but I think he left something for you, too.” 

You shook your head slowly, tears gathering in your eyes like a storm. 

“I don’t want to see his memories.” 

“I think you need to.” 

You look at the water bowl, rolling your lower lip between your teeth. You looked back at Harry then and finally saw what Severus was talking about. He really did have Lily’s eyes. 

“Your mother and I, we were friends, you know,” you said. Harry almost smiled. 

“Yeah, I know.” 

“I miss her very much,” you told him. “Very much.”

Harry said nothing and you took that to mean that you had better get to surfing through Severus’ memories. 

When you placed your face in the bowl, you saw all the same things Harry did. You saw how Severus met Lily, all the time they spent together. You watched how he fell in love with her and how she fell in love with James. You watched yourself on the sidelines of these memories, never speaking, only there in passing. You watched him find her body, watched him as he went pleading with Dumbledore. You watched his horror as he discovered what Dumbledore’s plan for Harry was. 

You thought that was it. But then it seemed to start over. 

All the memories that had been so full of Lily were now full of you. You watched him laugh beside you at the Black Lake. You watched his little smile at you while you slept on one of your books. You had been studying for OWLs. You remembered that. You watched the two of you dancing horribly in one of the spare classrooms while the rest of the school was partying in the Great Hall one Halloween night. You watched as he held you in the darkness of your room, your parents screaming at each other downstairs. You watched as you stood between him and a spell shot his way by James Potter in third year. 

And then you saw him pull away from you at the end of fifth year. He watched on as you and Cygnus grew closer and anger bubbled in your chest. It wasn’t your anger though, it was his. 

“Why did you do it?” You wondered as you watched on. “Why did you push me away?” 

He seemed to have the answer for you. 

Those friends he had, the ones who all turned out to be Death Eaters. You watched them mock you and so many others, joking about how they would torture and hurt you. How, as Voldemort grew more powerful, people like you would be rid of. 

But once he had separated ties with you completely, your name was no longer brought up. They mocked and made fun of and threatened others, but not you, never you. 

As long as Severus was away from you, you were safe. 

You watched the night he came to your house after Lily died. Cygnus was still alive at that point, he was the one who opened the door. Hearing those heart wrenching sobs from Severus broke your heart all over again. 

You watched the day you first came back to Hogwarts. You saw yourself through his eyes. 

You watched the scene that sent him to your door crying. How the poor Malfoy boy was being forced to kill Dumbledore, but Severus knew he wouldn’t have the strength to do it. Severus knew that he would have to kill one of the only people he had ever trusted. 

The last thing you saw was Severus standing in front of the mirror. He was staring at himself, but he was looking at you. 

“If something happens to me, y/n, know that I...I am sorry. For everything.” 

For everything. Everything that he had just showed you. Everything that he had done. Everything that he was going to do. 

“Not all of this was for her,” he said. “Some of it was for you. You were the only one...the only one who stayed after it all. There is so much I wish to tell you, but I can’t. So, I just have one thing to say to you. Thank you.” 

There wasn’t even a lingering second before the memory disappeared. Your vision darkened, the murky water returning. 

You straightened your back, lifting your face from the bowl. Water trickled down your cheeks, but it wasn’t the water from the bowl. It was your tears. 

You ran your sleeve underneath your nose once before turning to face the empty room. Harry had left sometime while you were in the memories. Well enough, you thought. Better than him seeing you in such a mess. 

You left the office, leaving behind the last memories of your best friend. It was time to move on. He was gone. He had been gone for a very, very long time. 

“It’s time to move on.” 

“Mama!” 

You snapped your head to the side at the sound of Allyn’s voice. 

“Allyn?” Your voice broke. 

He was bolting toward you through one of the destroyed corridors, grinning. His face was covered in soot and dust and dirt, but he never looked so happy. His clothes were torn and singed like yours were. It didn’t take long for you to put two and two together. He had never left the battle. He had been here the whole time. 

But you had no time to be angry with him. Just at the sight of your son, your heart started to soar back to life. The numbness faded and you took one step forward and then another and another until you were running toward him just as quickly as he was running toward you. 

The two of you collided, holding onto each other for dear life. 

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him. 

“It’s over,” he said when he pulled away. The sixteen year old boy in front of you was all you needed, you realized. Cygnus was gone, Severus was gone, Lily was gone, but you still had your son. As long as he was there, nothing else mattered. 

[easily-infatuated23]

The Parent and the Professor

a/n: i love the idea of reader being a professor! let me know if you want a part two :) letters are in italics

pairing: Draco Malfoy x Professor!Reader

word count: 4k

warning: mentions of war and not feeling worthy

summary: Will a broken friendship be rekindled when Scorpius’s favorite teacher writes a letter to his father?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have always had a passion for teaching and inspiring young minds. So, it wasn’t surprising that I was ecstatic to start my fourth year teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts at my alma mater, Hogwarts. When I first started working there, I was haunted by the memories of the war. Everywhere I looked I could remember a different face of a friend or teacher laying dead. Seeing the students happy faces made the memories easier to bear. Just the knowledge that they could safely live out their childhoods in such a magical and special place softened the lingering pain.

One of my favorite parts of teaching at Hogwarts was teaching the children of the people I had grown up with. For some, I knew so much about their parents from those early silly childhood days that simply seeing their faces made me laugh and reminisce. Of all the children of friends I had taught thus far, the most gifted was Scorpius Malfoy. It wasn’t such a shock that he was so clever, his father had been a very gifted student when he applied himself. I had been apprehensive when I first read Scoripus’s name on the attendance sheet. His father Draco and I had actually been very close friends for the first 6 years of schooling. We were both in Slytherin and he was one of the few people who didn’t tease or berate me for not being a typical Slytherin. Yes he would get annoyed when I stood up for Hermione when he called her a ‘mudblood’ or when I would challenge his pure-blood views but he always was kind to me.

That all changed in the beginning of our sixth year. He started pushing everyone away and yelling at me almost any time he saw me. I tried to continue to be kind to him but my attempts were swatted away like flies. Once the war began, I understood why he had become distant. He was given an impossible task with no choice as to whether or not to complete it. The worst moment came when he walked to the side of the Death Eaters and The Dark Lord. I was one of the few people that knew he did this for the sake of his parents and not for the Dark Lord. He redeemed this action when Harry Potter was revealed to be alive. He threw him his wand and ran back to the side of good. We locked eyes for a moment before he ran through the castle to safety. I haven’t seen or spoken to him since. He did make a sort of “apology and amends” tour going to almost every individual in the Wizarding World and showing he was a changed man and that he no longer held his past ideals. The one person he left out on that tour was me.

I never understood why. I figured he either thought our friendship was beyond fixing or maybe because he knew I would forgive him and understand. More likely, I guessed he couldn’t stand to face me. But none of that mattered now. It was all just a slight pain in my heart whenever I saw Scorpius. As the school year began, Scorpius Malfoy excelled in my class. He was always the first to raise his hand to ask or answer a question, always the most engaged and eager to learn. One day after class I noticed he was lingering by the door. “Can I help you Mr. Malfoy?” I asked. He nodded and approached my desk. “I was wondering if you could assign me as Athena’s tutor. I know she asked you for one and I want to volunteer”. He looked down at his shoes, trying to hide a blush I figured stemmed from a small crush on the student called Athena. “I was going to assign it to you any way but because you asked I will also add ten points to Slytherin for taking the initiative”. He looked up and smiled. “Thank you Professor!”. He ran out of the room so giddy, calling to his best friend Albus to tell him the news. “What a sweet kid” I thought. Later that night I took a break from grading tests and thought about my old friend Draco Malfoy. Perhaps I should write him. But just to tell him what a gifted student his son was. His wife had passed away four years ago and I figured it must be lonely being all alone in the large estate he occupied known as Malfoy Manor. Maybe this would re-open a line of communication between the two of us. It had been a long time since I had seen him and frankly, I missed him. He probably didn’t think of me though. Sighing, I picked up my quill and penned a formal letter to my former friend.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

-I couldn’t bring myself to write Draco-

I hope this letter finds you in good health. I wanted to inform you that your son has done exceedingly well in my Defense Against the Dark Arts class and has quickly become my prized pupil. He has even volunteered to take on extra tutoring responsibilities. He is a sweet young man and it is a privilege to have him in my class.

Sincerely, Professor Y/L/N

I examined the letter for a long time, constantly frowning at it and wondering if I should just ball it up and forget about it. At last I found the nerve to seal the letter and before I could stop myself Harvey, my owl, was flying away from my cottage. “Too late now” I murmured. My letter went unanswered for nearly two weeks. I spent the entire first week feeling anxious and most of the second week resigned to the idea that Draco had truly decided I was unworthy of a response. After all, it had been many years. On the Friday of the second week, I stayed up late grading some last minute essay submissions when I heard a tapping at my window. I turned to find an unfamiliar owl outside. I opened the window and took the letter. After a sufficient amount of pats and snacks were given to the owl, I settled in to see if the letter was what I had been waiting for. It was the first thing I saw, the green snake seal on the back confirmed it. Draco had responded to my letter. I flipped it over to see my name scrawled on the front in handwriting I used to be more familiar with. I stared at the letter for a long time before finally opening it. I gently removed the seal and unfolded the letter, my heart pounding so hard I thought it would leave my chest.

Dear Professor Y/L/N,

I appreciate your kind words about my son. He has spoken fondly of you and of your class, he says it is his favorite. Congratulations on being the longest serving Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in twenty years. It is quite a feat. I hope you are well.

Sincerely, Draco Malfoy

My heart skipped a beat. He matched my formality but he still slipped in something to make me blush. I sighed. I hadn’t been expecting some long rambling dramatic letter explaining why he never came back to me, despite my efforts, but a small clue or hint would have been something. I thought writing the letter might give me more closure but I was horribly mistaken. Now, all I wanted to do was write him back and find some way to see him. I had done my best after the war but he pushed me away more. That night was a sleepless night for me. I felt like a sixteen year old again, debating if I should write him back or not. If I did decide to write him back, how long should I wait? Ultimately, I decided it was best to leave it there.

Two months later, Quidditch season was in full swing as Slytherin was playing Hufflepuff in a match leading up to the finals. I was never one thrilled by the idea of Quidditch, but Scorpius had begged me to come so I attended. He had followed in his father’s foot steps and was the Seeker for the Slytherin team. When I got to the parent and faculty section I was stunned to see none other than Draco Malfoy. I quickly looked away and tried to pretend I hadn’t seen him. I jogged up the bleacher stairs and sat next to the Divinations teacher. For most of the game I pretended to be watching the match but in reality, I kept glancing at Draco’s platinum blonde hair, half hoping he would turn and see me and half hoping he would leave without knowing I was there. Eventually, I was able to relax and enjoy the game. Scorpius lead the team to a win and the Slytherin student section went wild. I could have sworn I saw Athena blow him a kiss. I guess those tutoring sessions had helped him as much as they had helped her grades! I couldn’t help but look down and chuckle to myself, this little bit of childhood romance warmed my heart. When I looked back up my gaze was meant by the piercing blue eyes of Draco Malfoy. I couldn’t tell if the look on his face was that of shock or fear but before I could give a slight smile he looked away. Now this truly felt like we were sixteen again.

Everyone started to rise and leave the section talking and making merry. I rose from my seat and before I could begin to descend, Draco rose suddenly and turned to me, walking in my direction. I froze. “Hello Professor Y/L/N” he said, not meeting my gaze for long. “Mr. Malfoy” was all I could manage to croak. “I was so pleased to receive your letter about Scorpius, he doesn’t always tell me what’s going on when he’s here”. “Yes,” I smiled “he is a wonderful student. You must be very proud of him”. Draco gave a small but sincere smile. “I must admit, I didn’t expect to see you here” I said. “I was able to get a few weeks off from work so I decided to come down and watch the match. It has been nice to see the place so..” he paused. “Free” I finished for him. He smiled and met my gaze again. “Yes thats exactly what I was thinking.” There was a few moments of silence. It wasn’t as awkward or terrifying as I had anticipated. “I should go find my son” he said finally. “Yes of course it was good to see you again”. I meant this whole heartedly. “Perhaps I can see you again soon and we can talk while there is less noise” he said. A little surprised but happy I replied yes. Before turning to leave he squeezed my hand and gave me his signature smirk before turning and descending down the bleachers. Was my friendship with Draco Malfoy finally going to be rekindled? I hoped so. Before turning and walking out of sight he called back to me, “I’ll write you”. I nodded. I would never have expected this to happen and I had no idea what to expect next.

Another week went by before I heard from him. His owl found me in the middle of a lesson, I opened the window and thanked the owl. I tucked the letter into my robe pocket. As I shifted my attention back to the class I saw Scorpius’s face twist with confusion then look at Albus Potter. Shit. He clearly recognized the owl. I decided I would talk to him after class. Once the lesson was over I called Scorpius to my desk. “I saw you looked confused when your father’s owl delivered me a letter so I thought I owed you an explanation”. He said nothing but simply looked at the floor and shifted uncomfortably. “Your father and I actually used to be very close friends in the early years at Hogwarts,” I began. He looked up at me puzzled. It was clear his father had never mentioned that detail to him. “I wrote to your father telling him what an exceptional student you were and then we ran into each other at the last Quidditch match, congratulations by the way, and we discussed possibly meeting to catch up. I didn’t want you to simply see the owl and then have your brain spin in circles thinking of possible reasons for the letter”. He nodded and finally spoke. “Yeah I was really confused at first. I must admit I am a bit more confused now though. He has never spoken about you before. When I told him you were my favorite professor he seemed to not know who you were”. Ouch. “Well we were going through a hard time back then, I don’t blame him for forgetting” I managed, trying to keep my composure. “You may go” I finished. He jogged out of the room glancing back one more time before finally leaving. Maybe he thought I died. Rationalizing wasn’t helping. I climbed the small staircase in my classroom and entered my office, locking the door behind me. I opened the letter and read its contents.

Dear Professor Y/L/N,

It was pleasant running into you at the Quidditch match last week. If you are able, perhaps you would be kind enough to meet at Malfoy Manor for lunch on Saturday at 11:30. I fear we have much to discuss and would prefer to do so in private.

Sincerely, Draco Malfoy

Saturday, at the Manor. It would be a difficult place to be. Although I was a Slytherin, I had befriended Harry Potter and the rest of his trouble-making trio. I enjoyed their company. It provided a break from the constant berating from the rest of my house. However, due to this friendship I had been taken and held hostage along with Luna Lovegood in Malfoy Manor for a few weeks before the final battle. I had been hit with every curse short of killing me. Draco had been forced to witness but did nothing to help me. I understood why he couldn’t but just once it would have been nice to see him stand up for me. But, alas, I figured I wasn’t worthy of any help. Returning to the Manor was something I never thought I would do but his letter let on to a promise of answers to questions I had been harboring for so long now.

Dear Mr. Malfoy,

I accept.

Sincerely, Professor Y/L/N

Short and sweet. Now came the long wait for Saturday. Once the day arrived I was more nervous than I had previously anticipated. I pulled on a pair of black slacks and a fitted white long sleeve shirt. Over the top I chose to wear my brown striped blazer. I put on my favorite silver earrings and necklace with an ’S’ charm. When we had been young, Draco gave me a silver ring for my birthday that was shaped like a snake. I had worn it everyday since then without thought. When I went to reach for it today, I paused. Wearing it had become part of my daily routine but he didn’t know that. Would he think I wore it just for him? I shook the thought out of my head and wore it anyway. If I didn’t wear it I was worried I wouldn’t feel complete which would make me more nervous than I already was. I pulled my light brown hair into a half-up-half-down look and applied some light mascara. I was never one to wear makeup but I hadn’t slept much on Friday night so adding some definition to my face and leading the attention to my green eyes became a necessity to attract attention away from my dark circles.

At 11:29 I gathered all the courage I could and apparated to Malfoy Manor. I knocked timidly on the front door. Even the frigid fall wind couldn’t cool my skin as I blushed in anticipation of the meeting. When he opened the door I was overwhelmed by the scent of apples and cologne that had once held a permanent residence in my nose. “Professor, please come in” he said cordially. I nodded and entered into the place that had housed my nightmares for so long. But somehow it was different. The decor wasn’t as sterile as it once was. It actually looked more lived in and closer to a home than a prison. He noticed my slight surprise. “We’ve redone the place a bit so it probably looks much different compared to……last time” he mumbled. I put on my bravest smile and turned to him. “Yes it is quite lovely Mr. Malfoy”. “Please, you can call me Draco. ‘Mr. Malfoy’ is awfully formal don’t you think?”. I looked at him, a slight smirk waved across his face. “Alright, as long as you call me Y/N” I replied. He led me to the kitchen where a small round table was set and had sandwiches on the plates. “I figured since it was just the two of us there was no need to use the dinning room. Can I take your jacket?” he asked. I nodded and unbuttoned my blazer, handing it to him. As he took it from me, I saw him glance at my right hand and saw the serpent ring coiled around my middle finger. He quickly took the blazer from me and said nothing.

As we sat down to eat there was a few minutes of uncomfortable silence before I finally broke and turned to him. “I am sorry but I have a lot of questions and I won’t leave without answers”. He sighed. Nodding, he turned toward me and I began. “Why didn’t you find me after the war? I wrote to you and tried to reach out but you ignored me. When I told Scorpius we had been old friends he looked at me as if I was lying. Why? Did you completely erase me from your life? If thats the case its your decision but I would like to know why.” I paused, waiting for him to speak. “After the war, I was so ashamed that I never stood up for you and how badly I had hurt you when I shut you out, I didn’t feel worthy of your forgiveness. I ignored your letters because I thought you would be better off not ever having to be reminded of the pain that I caused you.” He couldn’t meet my eyes. I exhaled sharply and buried my face in my hands before I finally replied. “Then I guess you never knew me at all”. He looked up, a stunned expression on his face. “Of all the people in the world you should’ve known that I would be the one to forgive you the most. I understood why you did what you did and why you couldn’t help me. You as much as the rest of us were fighting for the lives of us and our families. Had it really been your choice, I don’t think you would have complied.” He stood up and walked away from the table. “I know” he finally said. “I realized all of that a few years ago but at that point I thought it was too late.” He leaned on the kitchen counter with his back to me. His head was dropped and his shoulders were shaking softly. “Its one of my biggest regrets.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

“Well, we’re here now. If you have anything else you want to say, nows the time.” He turned back to me. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I never helped you, I’m sorry I didn’t find you after the fighting was over, I’m sorry I didn’t defend you better at school, I’m sorry for all of it.” His words sounded desperate but genuine. It was like he couldn’t find the breath to properly support his list of apologies. “Stop” I said suddenly. I walked in front of him and grabbed his shoulders, lowering my head until he was forced to meet my gaze. “I forgive you. Completely and totally. I just want my friend back.” He chuckled through a cry before pulling me into a tight hug. His hands were around my waist and mine around his neck. I moved my right hand to the back of his neck and stroked his hair, like I had when we were kids whenever he was upset. He chuckled again softly and held me tighter. “Ok as nice as this is I think you are gonna squeeze all the life out of me!” I joked. “Oh I’m sorry” he breathed as he let me go and pushed me away slightly.

After this first meeting, I saw him almost every weekend. We would meet and reminisce and catch up on our lives. At our third meeting he asked me about the ring. “I see you still wear the ring I gave you. I thought you would have gotten rid of it”. He held my right hand and looked at the ring. “Draco, truthfully, I was worn this ring every single day of my life since you gave it to me. It’s a part of me”. This seemed to please him as his cheeks flushed a light pink. By our sixth meeting me we were sharing a bottle of wine after dinner when he decided to play an old record of songs played at the Yule Ball. “Oh my goodness I can’t believe you actually have this!” I laughed as he purposefully did his worst dance moves. “This was one of my favorite nights at school, how could I not!” Before I knew it, he scooped me up and we were dancing the awful and silly choreographed dance we all had to learn. He spun me around in his living room as the music played. Our shadows were dancing on the walls from the light of the fire. “I don’t think I have laughed this hard in years!” I remarked. “Me too” he replied with a chuckle. Just then all of the sudden the laughter stopped and I realized this was the closest I had been to him since we were in school. This only lasted a few moments before Scorpius appeared at the door. We quickly broke apart and Draco took a step froward. “Yes son?”. “Uh, I just wanted to let you know I was going to Albus’s house to spend the night..” he stared at me with a look of confusion on his face. “Oh yes thats fine, have fun and be safe”. He quickly left the room and hurried out the front door before either of us could offer an explanation. “Oh gosh that was so embarrassing” I said, sitting on the couch and hiding my face in my hands. “He probably thinks that we kissed or were about to” I said, the sound muffled through my hands. Draco sat down next to me. “Weren’t we?” he asked timidly. I sat up and looked at him. “I don’t know, my mind kinda went blank” I chuckled. “Mine too” he smiled. “Can I kiss you?” he asked finally. I smiled and nodded. He smiled back and reached his hand out until he touched my face. He brushed his thumb over my cheek as it made its way to brush over my lips. With his other fingers positioned under my chin, he gently pulled my face closer to his, tilting it slightly upwards and to the right. He kissed me gently moving his hand back to my cheek. I hadn’t expected him to be so gentle but I was so happy I sunk into it easily. Scorpius would get an explanation later, right now, I just wanted to live in the moment I never realized I wanted.

[blog4snape]

What if I Meant it? (2)

Pairing: (young) Severus Snape (M) x Reader (F) 

Genre: Fluff with some soft angst

Rating: Citrus (very safe for work)

Summary: A follow-up from the previous chapter. After Severus leaves your classroom, you notice he left his book behind.

Warnings: *spoilers* invasion of privacy

Word Count: 1.7K

Date Written: 9/10/2020

~~~~

June 18th, 1978

After Severus left your classroom in a huff, you sighed, turning your gaze over to the indentation he had left in the pit. He had forgotten his book. You pulled yourself up from your chair and crossed the room to the fortress of pillows, gingerly picking up the discarded item. The book opened naturally to an outlined message, the words smudged from constant touch. Several pages were folded into the shape of a heart with notes written hastily into the inner margins. Curious, you squinted your eyes trying to read the blotched and scribbled writing in the inner corner of the book. Your face flushed, immediately snapping the book shut and holding it farther away from you.

After a moment of collecting yourself, you stared down at the cover of his book. It was an outdated divination book, one he must have gotten from a secondhand book shop for next to nothing. ‘But then again,’ you thought to yourself, ‘all of divination is quite outdated.” You scratched your scalp. 

In your syllabus and throughout the first week of classes, you had expressed that there was no need for any of your students to buy the books. You didn’t require any of your students to purchase divination books, as most of the lessons you taught were hands-on anyway and the books were frankly full of rubbish. Tracing a finger over the worn-out cover, you smiled softly to yourself. Severus was an excellent listener--it couldn’t have been a mishearing--he must have taken an interest in the subject to go out of his way to purchase a divination book. 

‘Or in you.’ The words floated in your head, reminding you of the notes you had just seen scratched into the book still in your hands. 

You sighed, laying in the pit. It was still warm from where Severus had been resting, and you caught a hint of the scent of pine and lavender that would tend to cling to him. You opened the book once more, flipping through the notes he had written.

“That dunderhead Potter wasn’t paying attention to the lesson on Ichthyomancy. He got slapped by the fish we were working with today-”

You laughed, remembering the giant trout that smacked James Potter’s face last week when he decided to mess with it during your lesson after your instruction not to. “You deserved it, Potter,” you laughed, causing other students to follow your footsteps. You said it then and you’d say it again now. 

“-It was pretty great, even the professor laughed at him. She has a cute laugh.” 

As your eyes traveled further down the page, seeing what Severus thought of your laugh made it halt in your throat. Your cheeks burned as you continued to read the comments he wrote. The majority of all of the writing was about divination class- most of them were notes he had written from the lectures. You allowed yourself to have a new teacher’s proud grin, seeing that he was getting a lot out of your lessons. But as you kept turning pages, you found yourself appearing in the margins more and more. Not all of the words were about you, but many of them mentioned you in some way or another. 

‘I told her I had taken quite a liking to ferns. The next week she waved me over after class with a huge smile on her face. She looked so excited. She gave me a tiny fern plant whose sparse fronds had yet to unfurl.’ 

Next to the note was a small doodle of a baby fern. You grinned, it was the cutest drawing you’ve ever seen.

‘She tutored me after class today. She told me to “keep up the good work” and hugged me afterward.’

You nodded, glad to help your students feel more confident in their abilities and glad that Severus Snape was one of them.

‘She baked us biscuits because we all got high marks on the test last week. They tasted good.’

You smiled, happy to know your students liked your gifts. For every test they aced, you would give your students biscuits as a reward. You figured the upperclassmen deserved a treat every now and then, as they’re usually stressing about the OWLs and their NEWT classes.

‘She has pretty eyes.’

Your smile faded. You had to read that line again. You adjusted the book in your hands, moving one hand to your temple. Were you reading that right? 

‘She held me while I cried. It was all I’ve ever wanted. I want her to hold me again.’

‘She doesn’t want to tell me about who she saw that night. But, she didn’t ask me about the werewolf. So I guess I’ll stop asking her. For now.’ 

That night a boggart was in your classroom. You bit your index nail, images of your boggart pressing into your mind. With all that had been happening lately, you didn’t even realize he had stopped asking you but you instantly felt gratitude blossom in your chest. You read the past two notes again, feeling regret at the way you handled the situation. You wished you had been harsher. Any other teacher wouldn’t have given in to his demands. But he wasn’t just your student--he was your old friend.  

‘Her hands are soft.’

Was he just your friend? Your heart thumped, wondering if he only thought of you as his friend, also.

‘I like her plants. She’s got a bunch all over the classroom. Whenever I ask her about one, she gets so excited and tells me all she can about it. I already knew most of it, but I haven’t the heart to interrupt her. I like when she gets passionate about something, and the way she rambles about plants is cute.’

The note was surrounded by small drawings of the plants around your classroom. You stroked the ink outlines of the leaves with an appreciative grin. He was rather talented.

‘She’s so cute when she’s setting something on fire.’

Despite the flush on your cheeks, you chuckled a bit. Divination allowed you to set a lot of things on fire, and sometimes you seemed just a bit too eager. ‘So are you,’ you murmured, thinking of Severus’ passion for learning.

‘She smiled at me today and told me something. I was too focused on her mouth to remember what she said.’ 

You absentmindedly stroked your lips. You took a moment to swear at yourself- urging yourself to stop reading this book, to stop reading Severus’ private feelings, and to stop feeling your own feelings, but you just kept going. 

‘She named one of her plants, “Snargs.” I don’t know why, because it wasn’t even a Snargaluff, but it made me chuckle anyway.’

You smiled at the mention of your plant. Next to the note was a drawing of Snargs, your forever-flowering cactus with the name ‘Snargs’ written in a curly font above the plant. You looked up, seeing Snargs sitting on the high windowsill with his petals dancing in the soft summer breeze. You blew a kiss to him, placing his weekly watering schedule at the back of your mind as you kept reading.

‘She gave me a gift last Christmas. It was a new bag for my books. I saw her staring at the holes in my old bag the month before. The box didn’t have a sender, but I knew it was her. I could smell her perfume on it and it was her handwriting on the note inside.’

Embarrassed, you scratched the inside of your arm. You tried to be sneaky about your gift but it was certainly difficult getting anything past someone as observant as Severus. The two of you didn’t participate in the holiday’s secret santa event, but you could tell he desperately needed a new bag. His previous bag looked a century old, full of holes and nearly falling apart at the seams. His materials constantly fell out of his bag, and you had grown sorrowful every time he had to backtrack with downfallen eyes and a red face to retrieve his dropped items. You knew he didn’t want your pity, and you were afraid if you gave the bag to him in person he’d reject it, so you decided to be as anonymous as possible. You were glad he decided to use it anyway despite knowing where it came from in the end. Smiling, you wondered if he’d accept the gift if it came from anyone else.

Then, for the next few pages shaped like a heart, he had written your name in the margin in his best calligraphy, with pulsing hearts, twinkling stars, blossoming flowers, swimming fish, and tiny sketches of tarot cards. You stared, mesmerized at his magicked art, caressing the moving lines with your fingers. He wrote your names together in a heart, side by side with his. You couldn’t help the smile bubbling onto your curious face as you slowly took in every addition, fiddling with the corner of the dog-eared pages that had been shaped into a heart. You flipped the page, confused--there were tiny hearts drawn around an inky black mass. The mass was a jumble of rough sketch-lines, but they started to move. Your breath caught in your throat as the lines scribbled down on the paper formed an image of you, turning around and smiling. Nothing but astounding brightness was in your features, a direct contrast to the next notes he had written down. 

‘I wonder if she feels the same as I do. She has to, right?’

You just couldn’t answer that question right now. You bit your lip, glancing up at the door as if Severus could burst in at any moment. You sighed, thinking about him as your eyes dropped back to the writing. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stroked the next horrible words beneath your finger, feeling his self-doubt emanating from the paper.

‘But who could ever like someone like me?’

The next note was a long paragraph, but whatever words you could see were smudged and crossed out. Ink had been spilled on top of the page, the black streaks marring the yellowed pages. The corner of the page was brandished with scorch marks. 

~~~~

A/N: Thank you for reading!  These “one-shots” (lol) are from a series called Afterimages of You. Here’s the masterlist for all of the one shots I have posted in the series. a big ol thank you to @thats-mrs-snape-to-you​  @bush-viper-cutie​ and @littl-prince​ for helping me, i love you guys!!

[acquariusgb]

The Clinton Tapes extracts of Bill as a father

Since tomorrow is Father’s Day in the US, here are some cute extracts from the book the Clinton Tapes by Taylor Branch about Bill being a wonderful father to Chelsea.  

-  Chelsea stopped by, neat as a pin, talking about an exam on Spanish verbs. She said good night and a preliminary goodbye for his long trip. When she was gone, Clinton said former president Bush had been encouraging him to spend more time at Camp David. Bush was hearing of low morale in its vast, attentive support staff, which remained isolated and idle because the Clintons almost never visited. The president said that while he appreciated such concerns, he saw few opportunities to change soon. Chelsea was fourteen years old. The last thing she wished for was a weekend at Camp David, which to her was the middle of nowhere. She stayed home, and her parents wanted to be apart from her as little as possible. So Camp David must wait. May 1994

- When Chelsea stopped by, the president tried to set a time to play cards, or just to talk. He said he had not seen her for a while, but she excused herself to get up early. Clinton looked a bit forlorn, telling me she had a summer job at the National Institutes of Health. July 1994

- Chelsea came in fretting about homework. In an exercise to hone succinct composition, she was writing an essay of no more than one page on the best and worst qualities in the legendary character Dr. Frankenstein, with illustrative passages from the Mary Shelley novel. Chelsea said her draft spilled stubbornly onto a second page, which was unacceptable, and she expressed doubt about her choice of quotations. The president paused to give counsel, and I left the recorders on as he read most of her essay out loud. He liked its cited images of Frankenstein’s passion for learning, enthralled in his lab, cheeks sallow with intense discovery, but he thought Chelsea was slightly ambiguous about whether his best quality was curiosity or ambition. On the negative side, where she wisely pinpointed an overbearing pride as the chief fault, he said she might find shorter, more precise quotes. We both complimented her language about the progressive blindness of Frankenstein’s zeal. Instead of creating life, Chelsea concluded, the mad doctor faced a “monster who had become his bane.” She went off to make revisions, and Clinton promised to consult her again before saying good night. May 1995

-   A festering wound could damage sensitive U.S.-Japanese relations for years, Gore warned. Clinton must visit Japan quickly to make amends. Just today, the president told me, he and Gore had tramped back and forth over a crowded calendar. December was out because of nightly Christmas parties, and so on, until Clinton circled dates next April. Horrified, Gore said that would be months too late, especially since the White House was announcing a peace trip to Europe for next week. Why not substitute Japan for Northern Ireland? Alternatively, Gore zeroed in on three lightly committed January days, but the president pronounced them vital to Chelsea’s schoolwork. Gore blinked. So what? He stared through Clinton’s halting explanation why this would be a bad time—because Hillary must join him in Japan, and junior-year midterms are the most pressure-packed events in all of high school. Mutual exasperation spiked. “Al,” Clinton told him, “I am not going to Japan and leave Chelsea by herself to take these exams.” Gore erupted. He thought Clinton had lost his bearings. They had a big fight, said the president, and were still wrangling about dates for Japan. November 1995

- During this preview of the campaign, Chelsea popped in the doorway to say she was sorry she may have disturbed us. She had been singing to herself in the hall, and did not realize we were here. Before he could reply, she vanished, and while I was rewinding the tapes shortly afterward, the president rummaged around the big Ulysses Grant desk. A decade ago, when she was about six, he said Chelsea had skipped into a ceremony at the governor’s office with a briefcase, which he was obliged to open in front of everyone. He showed me a photograph of little Chelsea doubled over in laughter as Clinton squeamishly displayed a boa constrictor inside. His daughter was cheerful and courteous, he said, but she was mischievous, too. May 1996

-  His voice surprised me again on Sunday, July 7. He had just finished testifying by videotape for one of the Whitewater criminal trials, in which Ken Starr’s deputy prosecutors were trying to tar him with far-fetched charges against Arkansas bankers. The president was tired, and really needed to spend time with Chelsea. So we must cancel our session tonight. He vowed to catch up soon. Of course, I replied. His staff always handled such logistics, but for some reason he delivered this notice himself. July 1996

-   Clinton told stories about Chelsea on our way down the hall. He and Hillary had just returned from her ballet recital. “She’s not an ideal body for a ballerina,” he reflected. “Far from it.” Chelsea was bigger than most of the other girls, who were flat-chested and tiny. She had big bones. Her feet had bled after practice ever since she was a little girl. Nevertheless, she pursued ballet above other arts or sports for which she was more naturally suited. “I’ve always admired that,” he said. “I’ve wondered whether I could ever stick with something for its own sake.” He was inclined to obsess about competitive standing and talent, he said, whereas Chelsea, though smartly aware of her limits, loved everything about ballet including the hard work. August 1996

-  Then he lingered on Chelsea’s seventeenth birthday. Because Hillary had been late to dinner at Washington’s Bombay Club, Clinton found himself the delighted sole host to a dozen high school girls in raucous discussions of love and the world. [...] The president glided into stories wholly off my list. Chelsea’s Sidwell Friends School had welcomed seniors to make two-minute spontaneous remarks at a gathering of fathers. On a theme of candid revelation, one girl told the assembly why she and her dad communicated by letter in the same house. Chelsea almost knocked Clinton over, he said, with raw eloquence cutting through the inhibitions of youth and the public eye. She confessed setting her heart all year on tryouts for a part in The Nutcracker, which she did not get. Life’s first major disappointment, as she called it, left her depressed and sleepless, consumed by failure. She could think of nothing but wasted sacrifice. Both parents talked with her late many nights, but she was inconsolable until she woke up fitfully to a letter only an hour old, headed “3am” on her father’s White House stationery. It said he could not sleep, either, being upset because she was upset. He loved her, was proud of her, and believed one day she would find new value in her years of ballet. Somehow these words dispelled a cloud of absorption, she told Sidwell. She still read the note every day. As for his work, she admired what he did in the face of so much invective, but it had not always been so. In preschool, she had cringed as the other children stood proudly to declare their parents’ jobs—doctor, fireman, teacher. Not even she had a clue about governor, and so Chelsea in turn said her mom was a lawyer and her dad cooked the French fries at McDonald’s. She became an instant hit, with by far the coolest dad, but of course the grownups made her promise not to tell lies. Apologizing later to the class, she thought her father just talked on the phone and made speeches, which got the kids briefly excited again because they thought she said he made peaches. February 1997

[checkurwindow]

i’m so scared

Book: Open Heart

Warnings: It’s a lot longer than my usual fic and much angstier, but hope you enjoy it!

Rating: Teen for light swearing.

Pairing: Ethan x F!MC

Word count: 5200+ I KNOW!! It’s the single longest piece of writing I’ve ever written.

Author’s note: I’m actually really proud of this fic so please reblog and let me know what you thought of it! Here’s my masterlist for more content! I wrote a sequel to this fic too!

One

That’s how old she was when her father left. Her mother knew that he was never going to stay, but that didn’t stop her from breaking down every night for 3 months when she thought her beloved daughter had fallen asleep, when instead she lay awake, wondering what could have happened to make her mother hide her sadness every day, only letting her walls come down when she thought nobody was watching. 

She didn’t understand much beyond that, just knowing that her dear old dad had left for a pack of cigarettes and milk, but left behind only a stack of legal papers on the counter while her mother had gone off to work, desperate to give her little girl the best life she could.

Two

The number of people in her family. She and her mom, her mom and her. It was just the two of them, or at least that’s what her mother told her every time she asked. She was fine with that, she loved her mother with all her little heart. She didn’t need anybody else.

Her mom had found a job in Providence, a job that could support both of them, and an apartment that had a reasonable rent. She was scared at first, moving to a “big city”, but her mom assured her that it was a kingdom, and she was the princess. 

Three

That was the number of bracelets she had gotten for her fifth birthday. She and her mom had been walking downtown, running some errands, when they walked past a jewelry store and saw the set of three bracelets in the store window.

She had asked her mom if she could have them, even resorting to using her best puppy dog eyes in an attempt to persuade her. 

Her mom had told her that they were too expensive, and they didn’t have enough money to buy them. She was disappointed, sulking the rest of the way home.

3 weeks later, her mom returned to the jewelry store, spending almost a month's worth of her salary to buy that special set of bracelets for her daughter. She was beyond excited when she woke up on her birthday and saw that bright pink box next to her bed.

She started showing off those prized possessions of hers to all her friends at school. One was gold with a diamond charm, the other was silver with a ruby charm. The last was bronze with a deep sapphire charm. The bronze one was her favourite, even after Derek Reagan said it was ugly. She told Derek that he was ugly. 

Four

That was the grade she was in when she met him.

It was a usual Monday, she was rushing through some unfinished homework when Mr Kingston, her teacher entered, accompanied by a boy who looked just a little taller than her. 

Turns out it was a new student, transferring from another school that had just closed down. He was wearing a blue button-down, a big difference from the rest of the boys in her class whose t-shirts were either dinosaurs, or cars, or superheroes. He introduced himself as Ethan Jonah Ramsey while the rest of the class stared blankly at him, before returning to their own friends. Mr Kingston assigned him to the seat next to her.

“Hi, Eefen Jonah!” She waved excitedly at him as he sat down next to her.

“My name is Ethan, Jonah is my middle name,” he corrected.

She made a small ‘o’ with her mouth, thinking for a short while before responding, “I prefer Eef,” she smiled, making him blush slightly.

She took a container out of her bag, opening it to reveal large apple slices. She took one in each hand, careful not to let them slip as she turned back towards him, offering the slice in her left hand.

He slowly took one and smiled, “thanks,” he said when he noticed the set of sparkly jewelry on her wrist, “I like your bracelets.”

Five

That’s how many people were in her friend group by middle school.

First, there was Jackie Varma. She thought Jackie was a little mean when she first met her, she always picked fights with everyone. But she soon learned that she was only mean to people she didn’t like, and she even called Derek stupid when he was mean to her. She asked Jackie if she wanted to have lunch with her after that.

Next was Sienna Trinh. She was nice to everyone, and her first friend at school. She always shared her food, usually sweet treats, with everyone in class, even when Jackie was convinced they were poisonous, she never stopped radiating her positivity.

Bryce Lahela was a flirt. And rightfully so, as every girl in her class had a crush on him. Every girl except her. Bryce was convinced he knew the reason why, and voiced his opinion every chance he got, “She doesn’t have a crush on me because she’s in love with Ramsey, that’s the only reason.”

She would always blush when he said that, which was often seeing how he and Jackie bickered daily about it. Yes, she and Ethan had been best friends since fourth grade. Yet that was all they were. Best friends, never venturing out of that sacred zone. 

And then there was Ramsey himself. He had gotten tall, very tall. He was easily the tallest of the group, while she was one of the shortest, barely taller than Sienna. He was a bit gangly and awkward, sometimes very quiet as well, but he was her best friend. 

Six

That was the day of the month Ethan was born.

He was turning fifteen, and begged his dad for money instead of his usual books. His dad thought it was strange, as reading had quickly become one of his favorite pastimes, but waved it off as typical teenager behaviour. 

A couple days before, she had lost her treasured bracelets. She had taken them off during art class, careful not to spill paint and ruined her favourite set of jewelry. She had rushed off after class because she wanted to get the cafeteria pizza while it was still fresh and hot for all her friends, and accidentally left the bracelets behind. When she came back to get them after lunch, however, they were gone. She cried for the first time in what felt like forever. 

Ethan’s dad had done what he had asked of him, giving him cash for his birthday. Upon receiving his present, he rushed up to his room and took his box of savings out from the top of his closet, almost falling off the chair he was climbing to get them. 

He hurriedly counted up all his money, adding to the amount he had been saving, ecstatic when he realised he had a little more than what he needed. He quickly ran out, wallet in hand, barely able to tell his dad that he was going out as he sprinted out the front door.

He finally made it to the jewelry store that, after much research, he knew carried the same set of bracelets as the ones his best friend had lost. The attendant asked what a young man like himself was doing buying such an expensive set of jewelry, teasing about if using all his hard-earned cash by doing extra chores was really worth it for a girl. 

He smiled widely, heart racing from the sprint over, but nodded rapidly, forking over the money he had planned to use to buy a new set of books. When he got home, he put the shiny new bracelets in a box, doing his best to wrap them in bright red wrapping paper, her favourite colour. 

At school the next day, he got in early and slipped the box into her desk drawer before she arrived. 

“Eef,” that’s what she called him when something big was happening, “you won’t believe what I found!” she squealed to him after class.

She told him all about the bracelets she found at her desk, while he smiled and nodded, telling her he was happy for her. Jackie made eye contact with him and gave him a knowing look, his eyes darting around the room when he realised, but she didn’t say a word about it after that. 

Seven

The number of med schools she applied to. They all applied to med schools. 

She applied to Harvard, Yale, Stanford, Princeton, Brown, NYU, and Johns Hopkins.

She was accepted to all of them, which was more than impressive. Her mother had never been prouder of her. 

Ethan never told her, but he applied to the same schools as her, all seven. He got into all of them except Harvard, so hoped to every powerful being up beyond the night sky that she wouldn’t accept their invitation. He wasn’t ready to lose her, not yet, maybe not ever. 

After spending countless coffee-fueled nights sorting through and weighing the pros and cons of each school, she finally decided on Johns Hopkins. Ethan did too, after he determined that they had the best professors there. At least, that’s what he told her when she asked how he decided.

Sienna, one of her closer friends in the group, was her shoulder to cry on if Ethan wasn’t around, which was rare but had happened a couple times throughout the years. Sienna decided to go to Princeton, along with her boyfriend, Wayne, or was it Dwayne? Nobody really knew as he never bothered to show up most of the time when they reluctantly invited him per Sienna’s request.

The rest of their friend group split up, each going to a different med school. They made a pact one drunken night the summer before they all headed out to med schools all across the country. 

They promised to meet up every chance they could, even if it meant driving in the middle of the night through storm and snow. Jackie insisted it was way too cheesy when Sienna half sobbed, half stated it while they sat on Bryce’s rooftop, bottles of alcohol and snacks surrounding them, but in the end, the tears made Jackie agree. 

Ethan helped her pack for college, something she assured him she could easily do herself but he insisted anyway. He helped move her things into her dorm, something he hadn’t yet done for himself but he didn’t care. They met her roommate, Grace Young, who upon first seeing them, mistakenly assumed they were dating. She quickly corrected Grace, properly introducing Ethan as her best friend. 

Eight 

That’s the number of years it took for Ethan to realise he was in love with her. 

Why it had taken him so long, he didn’t have a single clue. He should’ve realised it sooner, but now he couldn’t not see it. Ethan was completely sure he was mind-blowingly in love with her.

Why hadn’t he noticed the first day he met her, when she immediately shared her apple slices with him, making him feel welcome and accepted unlike most of the class. Sure, he had figured out long ago that she was beautiful, but he never thought it was love. 

Why hadn’t he noticed it all through middle school, when Bryce mercilessly teased the both of them about it. “Damn,” he thought, “I hate it when Bryce is right.”

And why had he not realised it in high school, when he spent all his savings he earned over countless summers to replace the bracelets that she lost? When instead of bullying her, Derek Reagan started flirting with her, which made Ethan so angry when he saw it happen, but ecstatic when she turned him down in front of the whole school, citing all the times he had bullied and picked on her. Friends don’t do that for each other. But she was more than just a friend, wasn’t she? 

Ethan should’ve known when he followed her 370 miles away from their hometown just to be at the same med school as her. Sure, it was a great school, but that wasn’t the reason he was there. He was there for her. You don’t just do that for a friend you like or even have a crush on. No, he loved her. 

It was quite ridiculous, really. How had she gotten him wrapped around her finger, and without him even realising for so many years? Ethan knew he was helpless to her charms, he would do anything she wanted him to do, he would’ve followed her to the ends of the earth if she had asked. 

But did she know? That was the thought that circled around his head during sleepless nights as he tossed and turned in his bed. Did she know how weak she made him? How helpless he was when it came to anything that had to do with her? 

He quickly decided that she couldn’t have known. She wouldn’t have let him spend all his birthday money and savings on her, let him follow her to med school, let him torture himself all these years if she knew it was all for her. 

Nine

That’s how many apartment listings she had to choose from. 

She sat in the coffee shop near the hospital reading over the listings. Now that they had started their residency, Grace had been matched with another hospital and moved in with fellow interns there. 

This one was too expensive, that one would be too loud. She had no idea which one to choose. And to add to her troubles, she had no roommate. There was no way she could find a reasonable place in downtown Boston without a roommate, it was impossible.

That’s when Ethan walked through the door, his hair combed to perfection as usual. 

“Ethan, thank god you’re here. Come help me pick out an apartment,” she pleaded, showing him pictures of all the listings.

He shrugged his jacket off as he sat down next to her, inhaling the comforting scent of hers he had grown to love over all these years that wafted through the air. 

“This one looks nice,” he pointed to one of the listings, “barely a block away from the hospital, great lighting, tons of restaurants around, and the rent would be affordable for two people.” 

“I know, it’s perfect but I can’t afford it,” Ethan frowned and looked up at her in confusion.

She let out a defeated sigh, “I haven’t found a roommate yet, and there’s no way I can afford that place all on my own,” she admitted and turned back to the other listings in search of a cheaper place, the frown still evident on her face.

“I’ll be your roommate,” he mentally cursed himself the second those words escaped from his mouth. He had just offered to be roommates with his best friend that he just happened to be hopelessly in love with. What could possibly go wrong? 

His regrets immediately ceased to exist when her face lit up, full of delight. She threw her arms around him gratefully, hugging him as tightly as she could, and he knew every single moment would be worth it for her, “thank you so much, Eef!”

Ten 

That’s the number of times he had tried to tell her. 

The first time was when she came home after a bad day. It was pouring rain outside, and she had walked in completely drenched and in a mess of tears. After many attempts on Ethan’s part to try to get her to tell him what was wrong, he eventually gave up and stuck to comforting her instead. As she cried, soaking his clothes with not only her tears but the rain her clothes and hair had absorbed on the way in, he wanted nothing more than to tell her how much he loved her.

Then there was the time she convinced him to bake a cake together on their day off. He had accidentally gotten cake batter on her nose, and she laughed as she smeared some of it across his face, which resulted in a war using their leftover ingredients still on the counter. He never thought she was more beautiful than she was right there, and was tempted to risk it all. But he never did.

The third time was over the phone, he had gone home but she was still at Edenbrook, filling in patient charts when he received a call from her.

“Hey, Ethan.”

“Hey, what’s the call for?”

Her voice was momentarily shaky on the other end, it made his heart rate go up significantly, “I just wanted to tell you...hi,” was what she said after a long pause. 

“You called just to say hi?” he laughed.

“Yeah. I gotta go now, bye,” she hung up before he had a chance to respond.

The next time was when they watched a movie. “Maybe a romantic movie would help,” he thought to himself as he loaded up The Fault In Our Stars. He was wrong. The movie only made her cry again, and he couldn’t bring himself to tell her then. 

The next time, he was determined to finally do it. He stopped by the florist on the way home, picking up a bouquet of her favourite flowers, bougainvilleas. He even rehearsed the exact words he was going to say when he professed his love to her while walking back. But he opened the door only to be met with her wearing a stunning blue sundress that left him was speechless. Only she had that effect on him. 

The sixth time was in the middle of the night, around 1 am. Ethan couldn’t sleep, his head was clouded with thoughts of her and her alone. He convinced himself he was going to tell her. Yes, he was going to march into her room and tell her. He got up to tell her, but instead heard her throwing up when he approached the door. He spent the rest of the night comforting her and making sure she was okay. 

Then he decided he couldn’t do it himself. He called up Sienna, who had long since figured out who Ethan was in love with. Sienna actually laughed when he had asked her to tell her on his behalf. She thought it was a joke. When she realised he was being serious, her lighthearted behavior dissolved, instead, she firmly told him that he had to do it himself, and promptly hung up the phone. 

Eighth time’s the charm, right? Wrong. He thought of writing a letter, “it’s easier this way,” he thought. All he had to do was write his feelings down on a piece of paper and hand her the letter, easy. He then realised that it was far too impersonal. He knew her, hell, he spent more than half his life with her. And that’s why he knew that if he ever did it, she’d want to hear it in person from him directly.

Then he tried to tell her as they walked back from Edenbrook after a long shift. It was a typical Boston day, and Ethan decided there was no time like the present to tell her. He had every intention to tell her, he really did. But she received an important phone call that she needed to take just as he was about to open his mouth. 

Finally, he decided that he had had enough. He wasn’t going to let anything come between his plans to tell her the truth for a second longer than he needed to. He planned a delightful picnic for the both of them. They headed to a nearby park that she loved on a cool but sunny day, it was a perfect day. And that was what stopped him from telling her this time. 

They were having so much fun, what if by telling her the truth, he ruined the day. What if he ruined their entire friendship, years worth of time spent together wasted and down the drain all because he was so selfish? What if she didn’t reciprocate his feelings, and that was the last good memory of her that he had? He gave up trying to tell her after that.

Eleven

That’s how many times she tried to tell him. 

The first time was immediately after she found out. It was a shocking discovery, and she was lost as to what to do with the new information. It didn’t exactly help that it had been an awful day. On her way back to the apartment, it started to rain heavily. A terrible end to a terrible day, really. When she finally made it indoors, she instantly fell into his arms. She knew she could’ve told him there, but she didn’t. 

She decided that they needed to be doing something more fun and lighthearted, so she suggested baking, and was surprised when he actually agreed. But seeing him there, covered in cake batter, who knows how much flour, and grinning at her, she wanted to keep this memory.

After feeling guilty for not telling him that day, she called him while taking a break from charts.

“Hey, Ethan,” she said, building herself up to finally tell him.

“Hey, what’s the call for?” 

Her voice quivered, the nerves building up, “I just wanted to tell you,” she decided it was too much, she’d tell him another time, “...hi.”

‘You called just to say hi?” she heard his laugh on the other end.

She closed her eyes tightly, embarrassed, “yeah. I gotta go now, bye,” she hung up as quickly as she could.

The next time she tried to tell him was during movie night, but the bastard just had to pick The Fault In Our Stars. Since when did Ethan even start voluntarily watching romantic movies anyway? And he couldn’t have picked any other movie. She spent a good part of the rest of the night cursing the tears that choked back all the words she wanted to say. 

Then she was going to tell him when he got back to the apartment. She spent so long in the bathroom practicing what she was going to say to him in the mirror. Time and time again, pacing in her favourite blue sundress to calm her nerves as she recited the words back to herself. But then he showed up with a bouquet of her favorite flowers. He had always been so sweet like that to her. She really didn’t deserve him, and she hated herself for not telling her then. 

At 1 in the morning, she felt sick to her stomach, and rushed into her bathroom. She threw up all of her dinner from hours before, no doubt looking awful while doing so. Then Ethan showed up and spent the entire night comforting her. She knew she could’ve ended her own torture right then and there, and she was planning to. Up until she fell asleep on his shoulder. 

Maybe she didn’t have to be the one to tell him? And so she drove an hour back to Providence to see her mom, seeking advice. There must’ve been a better way to tell him, a way that wouldn’t be putting her through so much agony. Her mom only hugged her tightly. She told her that she was the only one who could make the decision to tell him and wished her the best of luck.

She sat at her desk and attempted to write a letter, but how could you write someone a letter to tell them about such a subject? There was no way words on a piece of paper could explain how she felt. It wasn’t fair to Ethan, it had to be done in person.

And then there was the time they were walking back home from the hospital. She would’ve told him there, she should’ve told him there, but she didn’t. Instead, she received a phone call. She knew exactly what the call would be about even before she tapped the ‘answer’ icon.

The next was the time he set up a picnic for the both of them. It was a perfect day, it was the perfect time to tell him, but that was the moment she realised she loved him. She just wasn’t willing to stain the moment she realised she loved her best friend with her horrible news. 

Finally, there was the time she actually told him the truth. It was cold, but she asked him to go up to the rooftop with her. He agreed, and they made their way up to the empty rooftop garden. They stood in silence as they looked out at the city around them, the city lights glittering like diamonds in the dark, or shooting stars in the night sky. Ethan tried to tell her first.

“I love—”

“Ethan, I’m dying.” 

Twelve 

That’s how many months are in a year. That’s how many inches are in a foot. That’s how many signs there are in the zodiac. That’s how many days of Christmas there are.

That wasn’t how many malignant tumours she had, Ethan refused to believe it. 

Well, as he soon learned, that there were most likely more than 12 tumours in the person he grew up with, the person he loves, the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with, the person who had much less than a lifetime to live. There were twelve tumours over a month ago, and she hadn’t told him.

He was so caught up in his own feelings that he didn’t know his best friend had stage 4 pancreatic cancer. It was needless to say he felt like absolute shit. She had end-stage cancer and he, a doctor, couldn’t do a single fucking thing about it. 

He waited until he was out of her sight before he let all his emotions out, he asked her if she could go back in the apartment and leave him on the roof to process what had happened, she did. 

He knew all about pancreatic cancer, he knew that the symptoms usually don’t show up until it was too late,  he knew that it would’ve already spread all across her body. Yet, it didn’t stop him from completely breaking down after she went back down. 

He sobbed, he sobbed until all the tears were gone, then he shouted, he shouted at the night sky, shouting at every being up there, screaming at them, asking how they could possibly curse the most perfect person in the world with an untreatable tumour. 

Once he was done, once his tear ducts were dry and his throat was hoarse, he returned to the apartment, his eyes red and his throat sore. He quietly crept into her room, seeing those teary eyes of hers that broke his heart, that made every cell in his body hurt and scream. He wordlessly climbed into her bed and wrapped his arms around her. That was how they spent the rest of the night, him silently holding her in his arms, not willing to ever let go. 

She fell asleep fast, she was tired, she was always tired nowadays. He was the opposite, his mind racing. He spent the entire night hating himself for not realising sooner, for missing all the clues. All the clues that were right in front of his face this whole time. 

He remembered the first time he tried to tell her when she came home upset, was that when she learned the news? He thought about how she reacted to the movie they watched, he finally realised why she was crying so much more. Then there was the night she threw up, he cursed himself for missing that. It had been so obvious. But he hated himself the most for not spending all his time with her when he had the chance. 

Now as he sat in the hospital room, his head in his hands as she slept soundly, all he could do was wait. Wait for the cancer to take her from her friends, her family, from him. That’s all he could do now, wait. Ethan had been in the hospital for a week now, she’d wanted to be at Edenbrook so that he could see her during his breaks, but he hadn’t worked since the day he found out. 

He only went back to their apartment to take a shower every now and then, and even then he sprinted to and fro. They didn’t know when her time would be up, it could be hours, days, weeks, or even months. And he had to be around when she ran out of time, he would hate himself even more if he wasn’t. 

He had called all of their friends, and they all took turns showing up at her room to see her. Bryce showed up with a gigantic stuffed teddy bear that didn’t fail to make her laugh. Jackie came with a million stories about her horrible intern, attendings, and patients alike. Sienna came in everyday bearing fresh home-cooked food for her. 

His dad and her mom showed up most days too, providing words of encouragement for not only her, but him as well. They both figured out one way or another how he felt about her, and they knew how hard it was for him. 

Ethan was always at the hospital, but limited the time he spent in her room. He couldn’t stand being at her bedside, watching her groan and moan in pain as he was completely fine. Everything just felt too real for him. 

“Doctor Ramsey, she’s asking for you,” a nurse said. He looked up and nodded. His feet felt heavy, like they were made of bricks as he approached her room. He pushed the door open, and his heart dropped at the sight before him.

She was staring back at him, her eyes hadn’t changed a single bit. The rest of her didn’t share the same fate as her eyes. She was thinner, her face pale and gaunt, she looked exhausted. The hospital gown looked as if it was wearing her, and not the other way around. And despite all of that, she was still beautiful in his eyes. 

“Hi,” she said in a whispered tone.

He pressed his lips together, choking back the tears that were beginning to form. He couldn’t handle this.

“You look awful,” she teased, which earned a pitiful laugh from him as he wiped the sides of his eyes where tears were moments away from falling. 

She moved to one side of the hospital bed to make room for him. He hesitated for a moment, afraid that he would hurt her some way, but he eventually laid down beside her. Her frail frame clung to him, and he felt the dreadfully familiar feeling of her tears staining his shirt. 

“I’m so scared, Eef,” her use of the enchanting nickname she gave him that he wholeheartedly loved made the tears fall from his eyes as he closed them tightly, holding back a sob.   

He didn’t know what to say, he couldn’t find the right words, so he just hugged her as tightly as he could without hurting her and pressed his lips against her forehead. After all, what were you supposed to say to someone whose life you would trade your own with when they’re dying? 

Was he supposed to lie and say “everything’s going to be okay”? He wouldn’t, he couldn’t bring himself to lie to her any longer after all the wasted time he spent lying about his true feelings. No, he would hold her. He would hold her and love her until he couldn’t love her anymore.

[amerrierworld]

Curtain. (viii)

Carol (2015) fan fiction

Pt: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 

Word Count: 2,048

Thursday.

Nothing could foul Therese’s good mood today. Not the expired coffee that she had, not the cold and wet morning weather, not her persistent headache. She gladly welcomed it. 

Go get her tiger, Dannie had texted her, making her grin stupidly at her phone. She’d woken far too early, jittery with caffeine, wondering what could get her through the day the fastest before 3pm rolled around.

She decided to spend the day in her darkroom, which was just her smaller, second bathroom storing various chemicals and photographs, with the windows and door taped to block out all light. First, working on her photos from the night before, she snorted at the ridiculous photos of Dannie, stuffing his face with tooth-rotting candy. It was rare she used her film camera, but it had felt like the perfect opportunity as her good mood and confidence were spiking. 

The drizzly rain had disappeared by the time she headed out the door, arms loaded and feeling prepared for the first time this whole week.

-

Therese breezed in at 2:56pm, waiting patiently as Mr. Tucker’s class lined up for the bell. Feeling bold, she waved at him. His sour glare only barely dampened her mood. 

A couple of eager kids helped her set up the room the way she liked, distributing easels and pulling out the class’ art folders.

As the class slowly got started and more kids sauntered in, Therese greeted each and every one of them, but her eyes were watching for a blonde. Rindy came in, excited and oblivious to Therese’s nerves about her mother, and took her seat at the front just like yesterday. 

It was 3:17 when Therese worried Carol wasn’t going to come at all, and then hurried footsteps came through the door, heels clicking. In came a flustered Carol, still impeccably dressed, pulling her driving gloves off her hands.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” she sighed, breathless, “traffic was-,”

“It’s alright,” Therese smiled, who couldn’t even imagine feeling angry or disappointed at the sight of her, “here, give me your coat.”

She draped Carol’s coat over her own on the back of her chair at the main desk, fingers trailing over the fabric, and introduced Carol- Mrs. Aird to the class. Many of them recognized her as Rindy’s mom, or the lady who was always at PTA meetings and fundraisers. 

“I didn’t realize you were so famous around the school,” Therese chuckled, her cheeks a bit rosy as they got started. “If I had known, I would have made your introduction a bit more dramatic.”

Carol smiled, running her hand over her deep blue skirt, smoothing the fabric. She wouldn’t want Therese to know her hands had gotten sweaty at the sight of the slim teacher drowning in another painting shirt, beaming when she’d walked in. 

Traffic hadn’t been the issue, not at all. It had been her own racing mind stopping her from getting out the door, wondering if her outfit was okay, wondering if her hair was in place, wondering what Therese would have thought of it.

“You look lovely,” Therese commented, as if reading her thoughts. Carol realized she hadn’t responded to her previous comment, and mentally kicked herself.

“But, you’ll need this,” Therese handed Carol a large, cheap button down like her own. “I wouldn’t want that silk to get paint on it.” 

Carol nearly blushed at Therese’s notice of her blouse’s material. It was such a small detail, she felt flustered and proud that Therese had noticed it. She took the shirt from Therese, slipping it on awkwardly. It felt bulky, but not uncomfortable, and she felt more at ease now that her and Therese were practically matching, and ready to take on any flying paint splatters.

Her safe haven was sitting by Rindy the first day, watching her paint and watching Therese flit about all the other kids. She’d never been this speechless around any women before, not Abby, not any other flirty opportunity she’d had over the years. 

The rest of the afternoon went by quite quickly and quite uneventfully. A few kids kept asking questions, and Therese took every opportunity to help and guide them. Part of her was nervous to have a moment to breathe and then be faced with the hawk-eyed blonde sitting in one of the ridiculously small chairs. 

But once she looked at Carol, really looked at her, she realized how nervous the both of them were. Her face was neutral and stoic, but her toes tapped on the ground, her legs shyly pressed together as she hunched over her daughter, laughing and smiling. 

This was her classroom, Therese realized, subconsciously puffing her chest; and no one, not even the adults, should feel uncomfortable in her classroom. 

So, she approached Carol with a spare easel in her hands, and paper in the other. 

“I see one person who isn’t doing our daily art task, isn’t that right Rindy?” Therese addressed the young girl, but was looking at Carol, who glanced away and willed herself not to blush.

“I wouldn’t know what to do with a paintbrush, Ms. Belivet,” Carol confessed. “Rindy is the artistic one at home.”

“Oh, I don’t believe that. Rindy, why don’t you show your mom how to paint?” Therese asked, setting the easel in front of the older woman, who began protesting but realized quickly it wasn’t going to get her anywhere.

Therese grabbel a brush from Rindy’s tiny water cup and pressed it in Carol’s hand. Their fingers were clasped for a split second before Therese stepped back, breaking the spell.

“I wouldn’t know what to draw!” Carol exclaimed.

“Just do as I do, Mommy,” Rindy said, with a tone of adorable frustration, like it was the easiest thing in the world. Therese giggled behind a hand clasped over her face and left the mother-daughter duo to paint together, feeling triumphant.

-

As the kids began filing out at 5, Mrs. Morgan had stopped by, checking in with Therese, and delighted to see Carol with them. Small talk between the three women left them being the last ones in the room, Rindy fidgeting in her chair, waiting for her mom to be done. 

Carol was about to leave with Rindy’s hands in hers when she eyed the young teacher stuffing her things in her bag, the classroom drearily empty all of a sudden. She didn’t see or hear the familiar jangle of car keys anywhere near Therese. 

“You have a ride?” she inquired, hoping she sounded as nonchalant as possible.

“Oh, yes, I usually get a cab,” Therese said, picking at a dry patch of paint on the back of her hand. 

That clearly didn’t satisfy Carol, because she took a step back in the room and  said, “Let us drive you home. It’s the least I can do.”

“It’s no problem, Mrs. Aird, you don’t have to worry about me,” Therese tried to wave her offer away. Carol wouldn't have it, tutting and walking back towards Therese. 

”Nonsense. Here, I’ll help you carry some things.”

That’s that. Carol picked up one of the heavier bags with ease and held Rindy’s hand in the other. Therese watched her, a bit startled at her forwardness. The art teacher supposed she had no other choice but to follow. Her eyes were drawn to the way Carol’s calf muscles tightened as she marched confidently to the parking lot, and she nearly tripped.

“Seatbelts on,” Carol ordered as they slid into their seats. “You can put in your address on the GPS, Therese. Here.”

She pushed a few buttons and the dashboard screen lit up. Therese carefully put in her address, wondering if Carol knew the area, wondering if she judged how and where Therese lived.

“Oh! I know that neighbourhood.. lovely place. Do you live in that apartment building there then?”

“Y-yes,” Therese stammered. 

“There’s an ice cream shop just down the street there where we go sometimes, isn’t there, sweet pea?” Carol turned to glance at her daughter, who was fidgeting with a spare crayon in her hands. 

Rindy shrieked with excitement, and began demanding they get ice cream for Miss B. 

“I suppose you’re trapped in the car, so you don’t really get a say, hm?” Carol’s eyes twinkled mischievously at Therese, who sucked in a breath. 

“Really, Miss Ross,” Therese blushed but found her courage, “dessert before dinnertime?”

Carol looked at her, and for a second Therese thought she overstepped, before the blonde tipped her head back and laughed. Rindy joined in, not knowing why her mother was laughing, but excited nonetheless.

Carol was still chuckling by the time they pulled out of the parking lot, and Therese felt a sense of pride beaming in her chest.

It was barely warm enough to enjoy ice cream, but they huddled back in the car with their sweets and ate away in the nearest parking lot, a minute down the street from Therese’s home.

Rindy was bombarding Therese with stories and questions, and Therese answered happily. She noticed how Carol had ample opportunity to stop their conversations and go to drop her off, but didn’t. Her belly swirled with butterflies at the thought.

So she kept talking with Rindy, kept talking with Carol, enjoying her cherry ice cream in her sprinkled waffle cone like she was eight years old again. 

“I suppose I should eventually drop you off, shouldn't I?” Carol asked after their ice cream was gone. Rindy was drowsy in the backseat, and the sky was darkening slightly.

“Oh, of course, yes,” Therese nodded, hiding her disappointment. “I’m sorry for keeping you.”

“You’re not keeping me from anything, darling,” Carol said as she pulled out the parking lot again. Theres blushed. “It’s just that this one needs to get home for her afternoon nap.”

“Right, no, you’re right,” Therese shot a glance at Rindy, sleeping quietly. “She seems exhausted.”

There was a pause and Therese looked back to questioningly meet Carol’s gaze. Her grey eyes shimmered with delight.

“I meant myself, Therese.”

“Oh!” Therese went red. Carol threw her head back and laughed. 

“When you get to be my age, one restless night can throw off your whole day,” Carol pointed out as they neared Therese’s apartment building.

She didn’t sleep well last night, Therese noted. She wanted to ask if she was alright, if there was anything she could do, if there was anything at all she needed, but instead,

“I hope a giggling group of toddlers didn’t make it worse.”

“Not at all, it was lovely,” Carol smiled. 

“You’re welcome back any time. In fact, since you know the school so well, if you have any ideas for the class, we can definitely try to make something of it. Lord knows I barely know what happens around Frankenberg’s.”

“That’s just because you’re new, sweetheart,” Therese blushed again at the endearment, cursing her body for reacting so quickly, and looked out the window. Carol, thankfully, kept her eyes on the road. “You’ll get used to it in no time. I see you’ve met Claire already.”

“Mrs. Morgan? She’s a saint. It’s nice to have some allies,” she said, thinking of Mr. Tucker and his brutish behaviour.

Carol hummed in agreement and pulled up as close to the front door as she could. 

There was a buzz in the air between them. Therese didn’t want to get out, Carol didn’t make her get out. The blonde glanced at her daughter in the backseat, busied herself with her gloves. 

“Thank you for the ride,” Therese squeaked as she unbuckled herself, keeping her eyes down. “It’s nice to see a familiar face at the school. I owe you one.”

“You don’t owe me anything, Therese,” Carol said.

“No, no I do,” if there was one thing Therese couldn’t stand, it was feeling like she owed people. “At least for the ice cream.”

“I suppose you’ll have to make up for it next time,” Carol teased. 

Next time. Therese looked over at the driver by her side just as she opened the passenger door. Carol looked bacn her, with an unasked question between them. Something daring, something shy, something hopeful.

“Next time,” Therese beamed.

She hurried quietly out the car as to not wake Rindy and went to the front door. Only when she was stepping inside did she turn back to see Carol waiting in the car, watching her.

She raised a bashful hand to wave goodbye, and Carol sent her the most brilliant smile that blew all the cobwebs out of Therese’s dreary life, before the car revved and headed down the street. 

A/N: ice cream date! because I miss going out for impromptu snacks and food right now... let me know what you think!! <3

[uninformed--opinions]

Talented is a complement meant for the lucky

I’m a dancer.

People have said “you're so graceful, even as you walk, look at your arms. how talented you are, how lucky you are”. I’ve counted. Overwhelmingly, they say talent. Not skill, not driven, not strong. Not “how long have you been dancing, how much do you love it?”

I’m polite, or course, glow at the complement and say my thanks, but inside it makes me wrinkle my brow and scrunch my nose. I’m not talented. I resent the implication.

When I was a kid, I was gangly and clumsy. My knees had often growing pains, I tripped over my shoelaces which I kept constantly untied, because it was a shortcut to putting shoes on, and because people noticed and smiled at my nonchalance.

When I was eight, I swung around a banister and whacked my toe on a doorframe. I got stitches and the toe was swollen up like a balloon from three needles worth of freezing.

I restarted ballet when I was ten, overjoyed, and frustrated I was only allowed one class a week. I held my arms out to the side in a second position with drooping elbows. I looked at my betters and wondered at the mobility of their shoulders, thought they might be doing too much. I had no feeling for whether my toes were pointed.

When I was eleven, I still couldn’t touch my toes, but I was allowed to sign up for two dance classes.

I resent the implication that grace came easy to me.

By the time I was fourteen, I’d found a drive and a happiness in dance, something that worked its way into my identity. I fought for it, I’ve messed up my feet from pointe shoes and the love of it. I’d give anything at any moment to be blinded by stage lights, to smell dry ice and the floral scent of the stairs at my hometown theatre. It was an escape and a grounding in turn.

I know every inch of my body, having studied its movement relentlessly in the mirror. I could map out my range of motion in imaginary arcs behind my eyelids, and I know every flex of muscle on my feet. I’ve learned how to dance on blisters, how to keep your face even as you perform the same thing again on fresh floor-burn. I know to be proud of my bruises (they mean I’ve worked hard) and I know how to soak blood out of the foot of my pale pink tights. It drives me, and in the same way, it helps me breathe energy into a room and know peace.

My mother when she was seven years old, walked both ways through downtown Vancouver to a competitive jazz program at the community centre.

When she was fifty and I was seventeen, she helped me film an audition tape.

I still trip over nothing when I’m at home, still close my hand in the fridge door, but my mother says I walk like a with grace. My old ballet teacher jokes sometimes that we use up all of our grace on stage, leaving us clumsy, which is hilariously true, and definitely not just of me.

When I was seventeen, I was burnt out, but that isn’t relevant. We would go across the floor in our class with the studio director. He would demonstrate once, then watch, giving constructive criticism. Sometimes there would be praise after a really good run - and invariably the run after that would be dreadful. It was funny, cause we could see him in his head going from really happy for us to tearing his hair out seconds after he told us good job.

Dance is like that, most times. It is layers upon layers of fixing yourself with specificities, building up layer by layer of trying harder, pushing longer, noticing more, building up to an image of a perfect you in your head. Not that any of us thought we’d get there, but what is there to strive for if not that? Dancing is athletics and an art form, almost meditative, maybe spiritual, and definitely breeds a certain way of tackling challenge. Look what I built - it wasn’t here when I first came. Mostly, dance is like carving yourself out of marble.

“You’re so talented! How lucky you are! How innate.” How dare you diminish my love, my time, and my bruises.

To hear that does bring a smile, though. I’m not a total grump. That is, after all, what dancers do: make the improbable look innate, easy, gentle - beautiful.

[hyuniebaby]

Fractions (1)

GIF originally posted by chanshine

Pairings: Minseok x Y/N

AU: Soulmate AU

Inspired by this tweet:

A/N: I’ve had this in my drafts for over a month now but I still haven’t finished writing it yet so I decided to cut it in half instead of posting it in one go. 😅 I didn’t even proofread it because it made me anxious for whatever reason. Now please excuse me while I hide after I post this. 🙈 I hope you enjoy this...

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

When you were younger, you’ve always dreamed of being married to your soulmate. Your parents were soulmates and having seen how they deeply loved each other growing up, it made you want to have the same thing they did.

You recall coming home from school one time with a skip on your steps. When your parents asked you how your day went, you gave them a toothy smile and exclaimed, “I learned about fractions today! My teacher said that if you divide something into equal parts, each part is a fraction of the whole.”

Your mother smiled at your enthusiasm. At that moment, as she heard you explain what you learned, she knew you were going to grow up to be a wise lady.

“Mom, Dad, do you know fractions?” You ask cheekily, back then you thought they didn’t know it because you’ve never heard them mention the word.

“Of course, darling,” your father scrunches his nose at you, a hint of smile in his lips.

“Can you give me an example, Daddy?”

He pauses, thinking deeply. He turns his head away from you and looks at your mother’s eyes, “Your mom and I, we’re two halves of one soul.”

You watched as they looked at each other with sparkling eyes and warm smiles.

“Why are you smiling? Did I miss something? Was it a joke? I don’t understand,” you whine. “I don’t think you’re talking about fractions, Daddy.”

“You’ll understand when you’re older, darling.”

And he was right. When you grew up, you understood what he meant, theoretically, at least. He was talking about soulmates.

You found out about it from your best friend Jess. You were still young back then, maybe around twelve years old. Her parents told her that they were soulmates when she saw that her mother’s skin on her arm was glowing. Her mother preferred wearing t-shirts and long sleeved blouses rather than sleeveless clothes which was why Jess hadn’t noticed it before. Her parents explained that when you meet your soulmate a part of your skin lights up in daylight and glows even brighter in the dark.

When you got home that day, you remember immediately walking up to your parents to ask them if they were soulmates. They were startled by your question at first, but gave you a gentle smile. “Yes we are, darling,” your mother confirms.

That night you learned that the patch of skin that shines when you meet your soulmate is called the soulmate mark. But most people initially called it an “invisible tattoo” because it was the easiest way to describe it. It was like a tattoo in a sense, because it was a permanent kind of body art, except that you were born with it instead of having a tattoo artist injecting ink on your skin.

Each soulmate has distinct patterns on their skin and they have it at the exactly the same location. Your parents’ tattoo was like a very intricate design of leaves located just a few inches above their hips. When your mother showed you her glowing tattoo, you couldn’t help but gawk at it as you gently ran your fingers over it.

It was then that you realized why your parents were perfect for each other. Whatever your father lacks, your mother makes up for it. They complemented each other. They told you that was how soulmates work, that everything falls into place as you meet them. They were two halves of one soul.

That was how you got really excited about weddings, not just normal weddings, weddings of soulmates to be exact. It was the reason why you were close to tears right now as you heard the priest say, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may now kiss the bride.”

Your breath hitched and you placed your hands over your heart. You were so overwhelmed with happiness. You couldn’t close your eyes, if you did, tears would start to fall and you didn’t want that. You didn’t want to ruin your makeup.

You watch as Jess smiles adoringly at Chanyeol before they both leaned in for a kiss. You were extremely happy for Jess. Chanyeol is a nice man, and a romantic one at that. When you first met him, you knew he was Jess’s ideal man and when you introduced them to each other you were shocked to know that they were actually soulmates.

You couldn’t imagine how Jess must be feeling. This was Jess’s dream too, to marry her soulmate. You wonder how she managed not to cry while you were barely holding your tears.

You look over the other guests. Their reactions were similar to yours which made your heart swell. You were glad the couple were surrounded with people who love and care for them.

Your eyes meet with your friend, Yixing, and you both smile at each other and wave. You and Yixing became friends when you were in high school. He’s heard you daydream about meeting your soulmate a million times already so he knew that you were also feeling a bit sad deep down, despite your joy for Jess. You knew too that he felt the same. You were both in your 30s and you both haven’t met your soulmates yet after all.

When the wedding and the reception was over, you bid Jess goodbye and congratulated her once again. You wished Chanyeol and her to live a happy life together. Jess pulled you into a hug and whispered, “You’ll find him too. Don’t worry,” as if knowing what’s plaguing your mind.

You smiled and nodded, although you weren’t sure if what she said was true. It was uncommon for people to meet their soulmates beyond 30 years old after all. What’s more uncommon is if one doesn’t have a soulmate. Just the thought of not having a soulmate made your heart ache terribly.

Yixing, oh sweet Yixing, suggested one time that if you both haven’t met your soulmates by the age of 35, you should just get married with each other. You agreed instantly, you didn’t want to end up being alone for the rest of your life. At least, you had Yixing who you knew would treat you right if you did get married with each other.

But fate was cruel. On his 34th birthday party which you planned, he met his soulmate, Diane. She was Jongin’s cousin who worked in China. She flew home to Korea to visit her family after years of working overseas.

How timely it was that Jongin brought her to Yixing’s party claiming that she needs to expand her social circle.

When Jongin introduced her to Yixing, you saw how they both froze. You wondered if it was true that you’d feel a slight buzz in your body once you find your soulmate. Out of nowhere, Diane and Yixing’s left elbows shined. You watched with amazement and slight sadness as four seemingly interconnected circles appeared glowing on their skin.

You had to admit, despite the bitterness on the tip of your tongue, it was truly breathtaking to watch the invisible tattoo come to life. It was magical to watch your skin shimmer and take form into something beautiful — all because of love. Maybe this was why the expression “You’re glowing” is said when you meet someone who treats you right.

With Yixing finding his soulmate, you felt lonely. Among your friends, you were the only one left without a soulmate. But Yixing finding his other half at such an age did give you a small flame of hope. That small flame was enough to make you happy, so when you got to talk to Yixing again, you congratulated him sincerely. But you could sense his worry as soon as the words left your mouth. He didn’t have to voice his thoughts, you knew well enough what he wanted to say.

You smiled at him. He truly is the sweetest person. “I’m fine Yixing, I really am. It rarely happens that you meet your soulmate when you’re more than 30 years old, but it happened to you. I have a feeling it’s gonna happen to me too.”

Yixing knows you’re a pessimist so he naturally gets worried about you, but today, he knew you weren’t lying when you said those words. He was glad you were being optimistic for once. “I know it’ll happen soon, darling. I have a good feeling about it too.”

That was enough for you. Yixing doesn’t lie and the fact that he believes you’ll find your soulmate flares up the hope you were feeling.

As much as you wanted to spend your time finding your soulmate, you have to work too. The previous company that you worked at unfortunately closed down. So you didn’t have a choice but to go look for a new job.

The company you’ve always dreamt to work at was EXO Pharmaceutical Company but it was a highly competitive company and when you applied back then, you lacked the credentials. You’ve been building up your resume and your credibility with seminars and training from your previous work, so this time you were really hoping to get the job. You just have to impress everyone there.

When you got a call from Jongdae, the HR personnel, saying you got the job, you were beyond ecstatic. You couldn’t help but jump around and scream as soon as the call ended. You called your parents informing them of your good news. You were close to tears as you heard them say that they were proud of you and the woman you became.

Just before you ended the call you father whispered, “We’re three parts of a whole.”

This made your heart melt. To you what he said was loud and clear: You don’t need another man to make you feel whole because you have us – your family. With that, your worries on whether or not you find your soulmate is gone.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*  *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧ ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

It was your first day of work at EXO and you were really nervous. Junmyeon was assigned to help you familiarize yourself with the workplace and to guide you on what to do. When he first introduced himself to you, your breath hitched and your heart started thumping faster. Was he your soulmate? But then you notice that he had a glowing tattoo on his wrist when he offered his hand to shake and yours didn’t.

You felt embarrassed. This has happened a lot of times to you. You often mistake people as your soulmate. People had different descriptions on what they felt when they first met their soulmates so sometimes when you find someone overly attractive that it makes you nervous, just like Junmyeon, you get confused if that person was your soulmate or not.

You quickly push your momentary attraction aside because it felt wrong. Sure you were free to think some men are good looking but somehow you felt like you were cheating on your soulmate if you think of other men that way. What a hopeless romantic.

You clear your throat and greet Junmyeon warmly. He then guides you to your workplace. He points and names which equipment you’ll be handling. He teaches you how to handle the machinery and equipment. You were a fast learner and have handled almost the same equipment before so by lunch time, you were able to do things by yourself.

“Thank you for your help, Junmyeon.”

“No problem! Come on, let’s grab some lunch with the others,” he smiles at you. “The CEO wants to meet you later, by the way.”

This made you freeze. The CEO of the previous company you worked at never once visited you or asked to meet you. You’ve only ever seen him when there was a company event. So this was something that you weren’t familiar with. What if he sees something in you that he dislikes or asks something that you don’t know the answer to? Sure you just got the job, but he can fire you on the spot, no? You pale.

Junmyeon notices your panicked state and immediately says, “Hey, don’t worry. Mr. Kim is really nice. Although he does have an intimidating aura but that's just the CEO vibes,” he shrugs. “It’s customary for him to greet his new employees. I’m sure you’ll be fine as long as you’re polite.”

Junmyeon has a warm smile and a soothing voice, it did help a little in alleviating your nerves but you still couldn’t help but think of the worst. With a sigh you just nodded your head then plastered a smile.

Lunch with your coworkers was fun. You may have forgotten about meeting the CEO as soon as they graced you with their presence. Baekhyun, Sehun, Kyungsoo, and Junmyeon were all fun to be with. Mostly it was Junmyeon and Baekhyun who talked a lot while the rest of you listened and laughed. It was nice to have people welcome you so warmly.

You weren’t used to talking a lot and you mostly kept to yourself when you’re in a new environment so this was quite different than what you’re used to. Different in a good way.

By the end of lunch, you couldn’t help but sigh in relief that you successfully made friends just on your first day at work.

As you were walking back towards your workplace, Baekhyun assured you that you didn’t need to worry about meeting Mr. Kim — the CEO. If Junmyeon liked you, then Mr. Kim would too. Apparently they were cousins.

You don’t really know if Baekhyun was lying, it was after all the first day you’ve known him. But his face was wiped off of mischief and the tone he used was comforting, so you found yourself believing him.

You were in high spirits when Mr. Kim’s secretary came to call you. But even when you weren’t as nervous as before and definitely less worried, your palms were sweating.

The secretary, Ms. Moon noticed you kept fidgeting, although, you swear to god you were trying to be subtle. She gives you a smile and says, “You don’t have to worry.”

You cringe internally. You’ve been awfully bad at hiding your nervousness today.

“Mr. Kim is really nice. Just be polite and professional.”

You nod your head and compose yourself.

“You ready?” She asks.

“Yes Ma’am.” You say as you rub your palms over your pants for the last time. You immediately put on a smile.

She knocks on the door, “Mr. Kim, Ms. Y/L/N is here.”

“Let her in.”

You entered the office with a smile on your face. Mr. Kim was still busy signing papers so he hasn’t looked up to you yet.

You stood in front of his desk, not really knowing what to do. Your heart was pounding so fast, you wanted to make a good first impression so badly.

It didn’t take too long though, after a second he has plastered a smile even before he looks up. When he finally turned his face to you, everything felt like they were moving in slow motion. You couldn’t even hear the clock ticking anymore. You freeze.

Mr. Kim is gorgeous. If Junmyeon made your breath hitch, Mr. Kim took your breath away. It was impossible, but you felt like your heart was pounding ten times faster than before.

Mr. Kim didn’t move. The smile on his face falters a little. You wouldn’t even notice it if you weren’t staring at him.

It felt like you were both staring at each other's eyes for an hour when in reality it was just one hot minute.

Mr. Kim was the first to break off from the trance. He clears his throat and smiles wider, “You must be Ms. Y/L/N. I’m Kim Minseok, CEO of EXO Pharmaceutical Company.” He offers his right hand to shake.

You return a smile and look over to his hand and shake it. As you raised your hand, your eyes focused on the back of his hand that was glowing. From the tip of his ring finger to his wrist lay a pattern of flowers. The pattern seemed to have surrounded his wrist too. It was beautiful and you were mesmerized. You unconsciously stopped moving to stare at it in awe.

Unbeknownst to you, Mr. Kim was observing you too. But when it took you a tad bit long to reach for his hand, he tears his gaze away from your face reluctantly. His eyes trail to his right hand which you were looking at. His eyes widened at the sight. He was quite sure the soulmate mark wasn’t there before. Which only meant one thing…

You. You were his soulmate. He was yours.

You realize that you were staring and so you straighten your back and reach for his hand. “I-I’m sorry—” but you stop in the middle of your sentence when your hand finally touches his.

There was a tingling sensation when it happened. You knew you weren’t imagining it because you felt Mr. Kim jolted slightly.

After the initial shock, Mr. Kim tightens his hold on your hand as he shakes it. You firmly shake his hand in return.

You clear your throat, “I’m sorry… for... zoning out, Mr. Kim,” you face down. You felt all your blood rush to your face in embarrassment.

Mr. Kim doesn’t respond. When you looked up, you noticed he was staring at your hands. He was still holding your hand and you didn’t know if you wanted to retract it at all. His hands were warm and soft.

But then you suddenly remembered that he was the CEO, he was your boss. So you carefully removed your hand from his grip.

That’s when you saw it. The back of your hand was glowing, exactly the same pattern and position as Mr. Kim’s. You almost gasped.

You closed your eyes really quickly and tried to compose yourself. Internally, you were screaming and jumping, but you have to suppress your emotions. It was highly unprofessional.

[quicksilversquared]

A Very Jagged Take-Down Ch 1: Dissonant Chord

Marinette knows Jagged Stone, everyone knows that. She's his favorite niece, never mind the fact that they aren't actually related. And Jagged Stone is really famous, the exact kind of person that Lila loves claiming connections to.

That was never going to end the way Lila wanted it to.

(a collection of one-shots)

links in the reblog

Jagged Stone could admit that sometimes, he was a little bit oblivious to how other people were feeling. He was a little too boisterous, too distractible, too caught up in his own thoughts and ideas and plans. It caused problems, sometimes- Jagged had butted heads with more record managers than he cared to think about because his artistic vision differed from theirs, and sometimes he didn't come off particularly well in interviews because he was too busy thinking about other things to notice an interviewer trying to ask a different question- but he was working on it, and if he was oblivious to something, well, he did have Penny to clue him in.

Still, Jagged Stone had been trying to improve. Penny had been pretty stressed out on several occasions recently, and he had wanted to ease some of her load by being at least a little more observant. He had thought that he was doing really well.

Considering that he had apparently missed his niece's upset mood during his last visit to commission a stage outfit from her, he apparently wasn't doing as well as he wanted to.

"What do you mean, she was off?" Jagged Stone implored Penny again. "Penny, if I'm going to learn..."

"She was hiding it pretty well, to be fair," Penny assured him. "Especially when you were looking. But when your back was turned, she looked kind of stressed."

Jagged Stone frowned. That wasn't a good thing! Maybe he could help, though. "Do you know what she was upset about?"

"Do I- no, Jagged, I cannot figure out what people are upset about by looking at their body language!" Penny exclaimed, clearly exasperated. "And I didn't want to pry, not when she was trying to be professional with coming up with ideas for your commission."

Jagged Stone considered that. Then he perked up. "Do you think that you, just maybe, could sneakily bring it up with Marinette when you go over with my measurements tomorrow? If I can help my niece with anything, I want to!"

"Yes, yes, I can try," Penny promised, and then she sighed, rolling her eyes. "And we've talked about this, Jagged Stone. Marinette is not your niece."

"Who says that she isn't?" Jagged Stone demanded, planting his fists on his hips. "My niece in rock-n-roll! Her CD cover and glasses and the songs they inspired put me back at the top of the charts. I am an artist, she's an artist- family in actually kickass artistry!"

He didn't understand why Penny was rolling her eyes. Really.

  Penny returned the next day with several design sketches and barely hidden anger bubbling away under her professional demeanor. Jagged Stone picked up on it right away, ushering Penny into their room at the Grand Paris and getting her settled with a platter of her favorite chocolates.

He was rather proud of himself for that, really. He was learning! He hadn't missed Penny's stress!

"I found out what happened," Penny told him, inhaling a chocolate in one bite. She chewed angrily, then swallowed. "A week before we went over for brainstorming, Marinette got expelled from her school after getting framed for cheating, thief, and hurting another student. The other student walked back on her claims the next day," Penny added hastily before Jagged Stone could grab his guitar and storm over to Dupont to bash their blundering principal over the head. He hadn't been impressed by the man the one time- or was it two times, he really couldn't remember- that they had met, and clearly there was a reason for that. "And her expulsion was retracted. But she's still facing some skepticism from her teachers and classmates over the whole thing."

"Who would want to frame Marinette?" Jagged Stone demanded, thoroughly baffled. "Marinette is fantastic! They'd have to be a cruel, heartless soul to do such a thing."

"Yeah, well, that's kind of what this girl sounds like, honestly." Penny took another angry bite. "Marinette was telling me all about her. It's the daughter of a diplomat- or that's what she claims, at least- who keeps making up all of these stories about things she's done and people she's met. Marinette is one of the only people who doesn't believe a word she says, and the only one willing to call Lila out."

Jagged Stone nodded in approval. "Calling out bullies and liars is very rock and roll!"

"Less so when it gets her framed and expelled, but yes." Penny flopped back in her chair, then perked back up. "Something Marinette said- well, it sounded almost as though the liar girl was claiming connections to you. She stopped herself before I could get much more out of her, though."

He nearly exploded with indignation at that. "The liar girl is trying to use me to boost her status? How dare she! And going after my niece while she does-"

Penny sighed in exasperation. "No matter how often you say it, Marinette isn't actually your niece-"

"I'm going to put a stop to this nonsense," Jagged Stone announced, surging to his feet as a surge of energy hit him. Maybe he wasn't going to be in Paris for the next couple of weeks because he was on tour, but, well, that just gave him time to plan. "No liar will use my name to hurt Marinette! Now, if I can grab my computer-"

"We're meant to be heading to the train station to go to London in twenty minutes," Penny reminded him. "For a meeting in London with the new record company you were considering switching to."

"Of course! Penny, I would be lost without you." Jagged beamed at her, then dashed across the room. "I can bring my computer on the train! Plenty of time to think there, no problem. We have a private compartment, so I won't even be interrupted!"

Behind him, Penny could only sigh.

  It wasn't hard to find more information on the liar in Marinette's class. All it had taken was going to Marinette's social media, going to her Ladyblogger friend's page, and from there finding Alya's personal blog.

He felt a bit strange flipping through a teen girl's personal blog and it certainly wasn't something he would ever do normally, but Jagged Stone was on a mission and Alya's blog was a veritable treasure mine. Not even three minutes after he first found the blog, Jagged Stone had learned who the liar girl in question was and had found several of the claims that she had made, all so absolutely outrageous that Jagged Stone had to wonder how anyone believed them in the first place.

But outrageous or not, they had also given him an idea.

Lila had claimed that she had saved his cat, and that he had written a song for her in thanks. Now, he definitely wasn't going to be thanking her for anything, but he could certainly write a song about her.

It wasn't going to be flattering, and it wasn't going to call Lila out by name- Penny had helpfully informed him that doing so would probably land him in legal trouble, even before he had been able to voice the idea (which was super rock-n-roll, actually, that they were so much on the same wavelength!)- but the details that he was going to refer to, courtesy of the blog, would mean that anyone familiar with Lila would know exactly who he was referring to.

Jagged Stone already had some lyrics scribbled out on a sheet of paper and a couple bars of music to go with it, and it was going to be a banging song. Like, top-of-the-charts, definitely-on-the-radio, impossible-to-miss banging.

"The main problem I'm foreseeing here is that it takes time to release a song," Penny reminded Jagged as she bundled him and Fang into a town car and then got in herself. "You need at least seven songs usually in an album, and then there's the studio time, you know that, and-"

"So it'll get released as a single for now," Jagged Stone told her, because obviously he wasn't going to leave Marinette hanging for longer than he had to. What kind of uncle would he be if he did that? "Singles take less time! I can probably have a demo by the end of the week, and then if we can get a recording studio in any of the cities that we actually spend some time in, then I can get the tracks recorded and all ready for mixing and- oh!" Jagged froze, struck by the most perfect idea. "If we can get Marinette to do the cover art for the single, that would be perfect! Then she gets her bully taken down and some money besides- yes, I'll tell her about it right away and work around her schedule, Penny, I already know that- and I get some more awesome art!"

Penny rubbed her forehead, right between her eyebrows, but didn't protest further. "All right. But you know that if you want a cover that'll go along with the single, Marinette needs some direction. I just don't know how you'll keep it all a surprise."

"She can get the background demo tracks and a prompt list of words," Jagged Stone told her at once, because he had already considered that. He had been working on getting better at not leaving all of the thinking and planning up to Penny, too, even if she hadn't quite gotten used to that yet. "That will help her come up with a cover. And look, I've already started!"

"I...see that."

By the time they had boarded the train and were halfway to London, Jagged had gotten the main part of the song written down. The lyrics just needed tweaking, the drums could probably be shaken up, and he wanted to add a few more backing tracks and play with some effects, but he had been inspired and it showed.

"I'll check it against your other songs after the meeting and make sure that you're not accidentally borrowing from an old song," Penny told him as he enthusiastically tapped his pen against the seat of his chair, trying out different drum beats with the tune. "And then I suppose we can start work on demo tracks, if you're so determined to get this out fast."

Jagged Stone grinned. "That sounds perfect."

  In what was surely Jagged Stone's fastest turnaround time ever, he was ready. The song was written, the demo tracks had been polished up into the final tracks and had been professionally recorded and mixed, Marinette had gotten the single's art done (and it was amazing, of course, somehow absolutely perfectly fitting the song even though Marinette hadn't heard the lyrics yet), and everything was ready, all within a month's time.

(His new record company was none too thrilled that he hadn't given them time to promote it, but, well, he was big enough to drop a new single out of nowhere and have it succeed, so did it really matter?)

And then it dropped Monday morning. By mid-morning Paris time, it had exploded all over the radio and thousands of people had bought it already. His new record label was applauding it as a huge success, all of their complaints about the lack of promotion forgotten, critics were already praising both the song and the cover art-

-and Jagged Stone didn't care. He was more focused on if the song had done its work and had gotten rid of Marinette's liar problem.

"You are not allowed to call her up and beg to know what's going on," Penny instructed him sternly. "Marinette is in class right now, and you know that she'll reach out and keep you updated when she can. Now either sit down and stop pacing, or go give Fang a bath. Heaven knows that that will keep you busy."

"Oh, I suppose." Fang deserved a bath after putting up with their most recent bout of traveling, after all. Travel grime was ugh, even on a crocodile. "But let me know as soon as Marinette texts! I won't be able to check my phone, since my hands will be all wet, but I wanna know!"

"I promise. Now go, shoo- you're distracting me!"

Jagged shooed.

  Marinette had been a bit distracted all morning, and for once, it wasn't because of Adrien or her Guardian duties.

Ever since Jagged Stone had told her that he was going to be dropping a new single soon and asked her to do the art, Marinette had been looking forward to the song coming out. She didn't know what the song was about, exactly- Jagged Stone was being strangely cagey about getting any more specific about the lyrics- but he had sent along a basic demo track along with a few prompt words for her illustration and it sounded amazing. She could only imagine how awesome the final version- properly mixed, with all of the instruments ironed out and vocals and everything- would sound.

(And now it had some pretty awesome art to go along with it, if Marinette said so herself- dark, seething greens in the background stood in stark contrast to the trails of shimmery gold dust in the forefront. It was more abstract than some of her other covers, but Jagged Stone had proclaimed it the coolest thing ever and tossed her a bonus on top of the already-generous commission price, which was amazing.)

And then, right before lunch, Nino gave a shout of surprise.

"Jagged Stone just dropped a single!" Nino announced, waving his phone at everyone. "I didn't even know that he was thinking about releasing anything! Lila, did he tell you?"

"Well, yes, but he asked that I keep it secret," Lila said at once, pressing a hand to her chest. It was a common look on her, faux-humble in a sickly sweet way that made Marinette want to gag. "I even got to listen to it before it got released, and it's fantastic."

"This art is sick!" Nino exclaimed. Marinette peered over his shoulder, and- yup, Nino was already in the process of buying it. "'Not All That Glitters is Gold- man, I gotta get a poster of this art, I bet that the non-digital version actually does glitter!"

Marinette hid her smile. It did, actually.

"Yes, they're a fantastic artist, aren't they?" Lila bragged. "They're a very private person, but I introduced them to Jagged Stone- I thought that he might want a professional artist for this song."

All eyes shot to Marinette, waiting with bated breath to see her reaction. After a second, Lila gasped dramatically, hands flying to her mouth. "Oh! Not- not that there was anything wrong with the album cover you did, Marinette, just that-"

"It's funny that you say all of that," Marinette said, her voice icy-cold. "Because I did the cover art for Jagged's new song, and I have the art- with all of the layers, in case you want to claim that I just downloaded it- plus the in-progress demos that I sent to Jagged Stone, plus the invoice for that commission to prove it."

The class went silent.

"And you didn't introduce me to Jagged Stone, he reached out to me," Marinette added on. "And I have the emails for that, too. So you can cut it out with the lies now."

"Oh, silly me, I must have gotten the single mixed up with Jagged's next full album," Lila tittered hastily. "The professional that I recommended to him must be doing the full album, and I just misunderstood."

Marinette was pleased to see that this time, not everyone looked entirely convinced.

"Ms. Bustier, can we please listen to Jagged Stone's new song?" Nino asked as their teacher entered the classroom, shoving his hair up into the air. "Please? Marinette did the art, and Lila's already heard it because she's friends with Jagged!"

"Well, I suppose you can put it on while I get the lesson set up and collect the homework," Ms. Bustier said with a laugh. "That's so exciting, you two! Nino, you know how to connect to the room's speakers so that we can all hear it? At a reasonable volume," she added hastily as Nino got up. "If we get any more noise complaints, then we won't be allowed to have any music on for events for the rest of the school year."

"Got it, Ms. Bustier!"

"I can't believe that you got to do another cover for Jagged Stone!" Alya said excitedly as Nino hooked up his phone. "And you didn't say anything!"

"Of course not. Some of my commissions are secret-"

Marinette was cut off by the oh-so-familiar opening chords of Jagged's newest song, and she trailed off. The accompanying horns were new, and definitely attention-catching and fantastic. Marinette's breath caught in her throat, already blown away.

And then the lyrics started.

At first, Marinette didn't really hear anything out of place. Then she caught a mention of kittens on a runway and sat up straight. All around her, murmurs gave away that other people had heard the same thing and everybody sat up and listened as the song swung around into the chorus.

'Not all that glitters is gold! Hiding behind lies that were told

A dollar-store gem trying to pass herself off as a diamond!

Claims of connections abound, but none of her stories are sound

A liar, through and through!

Adrien spun around in his seat to look back at Marinette, just as Marinette realized what Jagged Stone had done and clapped her hands over her mouth in silent glee. He quirked an eyebrow at her, mouthing a silent did you ask him to do this? and Marinette shook her head.

No, she hadn't asked. She had mentioned Lila to Penny, though, after Penny had asked about why Marinette had been so down. Her parents had probably said more, if she was really being honest, and Penny had no doubt told Jagged Stone, who then came to the very logical and oh-so-Jagged conclusion that the best way to deal with the problem was by writing a call-out song. A call-out song that, by the sounds of it, included references to more than a few of Lila's lies, not just her ones concerning Jagged Stone, so there was no way to mistake who the song was referring to.

She definitely hadn't mentioned all of those to Penny.

In the back, Lila had gone white. More than a few classmates had turned around, sending her disgusted looks. Alya had frozen in her seat before whipping around, murder in her gaze. Even Ms. Bustier was looking incredibly suspicious as she made the connection between the lyrics and all of the stories that Lila had told over the months.

Lila's reign of lies had come to a very abrupt end, heralded by the sound of horns.

"You didn't even know that he was going to do that, did you?" Adrien asked her as soon as the song came to an end. "You looked so surprised!"

"He didn't let me hear the lyrics at all!" Marinette exclaimed, and wow, now she knew why. She was honestly starting to feel teary, because Jagged Stone had written this song for her, because she had been upset after Lila's expulsion attempt, and she knew just how much work went into making a song, and it- this was incredible. "Or really anything beyond vague prompt words. I knew that he knew about Lila, because Penny asked why I was feeling down and I told her, but this..."

Marinette would have assumed that just bursting into class would be more Jagged's style, over-the-top and impulsive and immediate, but maybe he had just been too inspired by the topic and the idea of a song to think of that. And whether or not that was the intention, the song was so catchy, so bound to be popular, there was no way that Lila would be able to escape it. She would be hearing it on the car radio, playing in the train station and on the bus and in the mall. If Lila was on her own, she could leave, or turn it off. But if she was with classmates, or her mom- assuming that her mom didn't actually know what Lila had been up to all this time- then Lila would have to sit and stew.

...maaaybe that wasn't a great thing if she was going to be staying in Paris, but with any luck, it would drive Lila so mad that she would leave.

"That's one heck of a call-out by Jagged!" Kim cackled loudly, breaking through the muted muttering. "Wow, how ticked off did you have to make him for him to go out of his way to write and produce a song calling you out?"

"No, it's not what it looks like- I swear, he's just, uh..." Lila was floundering. There really was no easy way to get out of this, but clearly she was going to try anyway. "You know not all song lyrics are literal! I did save his cat, and he did write a song for me, it's just that-"

"What's the name of the so-called song Jagged Stone wrote for you called, then?" Nino asked sarcastically. "'Clinging to the coattails of fame without any dignity'?"

Marinette choked on a laugh before hastily trying to hide it. Across the aisle, Chloe was far less subtle as she cackled in delight, clearly thrilled by Lila's messy downfall.

Marinette wasn't surprised. Chloe was far less impressed by connections and tall tales than a lot of their peers, but she was absolutely the sort of person to be bitter about how much attention Lila had been getting. It meant less attention on Chloe, and that just couldn't stand.

"Okay, class, please settle down!" Ms. Bustier implored. She was glancing around the classroom, clearly trying to figure out a path forward. "Ah, Lila, let's step out to talk to the principal and call your mom."

"No, but a song from a rock star is hardly considered any sort of reliable source, surely!" Lila cried, still not willing to give up and come quietly. "He's met thousands of people, why would everybody assume that he's talking about a real person? That he's talking about me?"

"Lila. Now."

Finally looking properly wilted, Lila gathered up all of her things in a rush, stuffing them roughly in her bag before heading out the door in front of Ms. Bustier. All around Marinette, whispers started up, some people comparing notes on stories Lila had told and finally (FINALLY) looking them up, others looking up the lyrics to the song. Marinette ignored them all, fumbling for her phone and pulling up Jagged Stone's contact number.

Seriously, how was she supposed to thank him? He had gone to so much work, gone so far out of his way, just for her. Because it was for her, Marinette knew that. Jagged Stone had plenty of over-eager fans that sometimes went overboard with things, and of course there were tabloids that loved to make up stories about him. Jagged Stone ignored all of them the best he could- well, until they got too intrusive, at least, like that one photographer- instead of slapping back. There was no reason for him to go out of his way just for Lila, when she looked at it that way. Lila and her lies wouldn't even appear on Jagged Stone's radar, if it weren't for Marinette. But that hadn't made a difference to Jagged.

Seriously. Best. Uncle. Ever.

(Well. Best not-technically-an-uncle ever. After all, Penny always insisted that Jagged Stone couldn't just adopt Marinette as his niece, no matter how much he wanted to.)

With shaky fingers and happy tears blurring her vision, Marinette texted a quick thank-you to Jagged, hoping that he could feel all of her gratitude through the few simple words that she managed to pull together. Without the constant threats from Lila hanging over her head- either because Lila would be gone or because she would be so thoroughly discredited by everyone that she would be powerless- and without having to constantly be at odds with most of her friends about Lila and her lies, Marinette's days at school would be much more enjoyable and relaxed.

  Penny glanced at Jagged Stone's phone for the fifty-seventh time in an hour and a half. His phone kept lighting up with all sorts of messages- from his new producers, from celebrity and non-celebrity friends alike, from his family members- and she had kept checking it, noting messages that needed to be responded to as she did.

It was exhausting, especially since Penny had her own correspondence to attend to- questions about integrating the new song into set lists, requests for interviews about the new song, and an ongoing back-and-forth with Jagged Stone's lawyer to make sure that he wasn't going to get in legal trouble for the song (since no names were mentioned, he was in the clear as long as he didn't call out Lila during any interviews, but she just wanted to be prepared). Frankly, Penny was tempted to put Jagged's phone on mute and just ignore it for a bit before checking to see if Marinette had reached out. After all, she would be in school right now, so the likelihood of Marinette and her classmates being able to listen to the song before lunch was, well, rather low-

Message from: Marinette Dupain-Cheng

-but Penny supposed that it wasn't entirely impossible.

"Message from Marinette!" Penny called out, and there was a yelp and a clatter as Jagged Stone dropped the broom he was using to scrub Fang to dash out to the main room and snatch up his phone. He grinned at the message, whooping in triumph.

"They listened to it in class and all of her classmates figured it out right away!" Jagged announced. "And the liar girl got carted off to the principal's office and her mother is being called, so she's dealt with. Score!"

"Yes, good job," Penny told him, resigned to hearing about it for the next month, at least. Jagged Stone was going to be too caught up in the euphoria of his success to be much use, so she would have to deal with all of the setting up appointments. "Your idea worked, Marinette's bully has been dealt with. Can you relax now?"

Jagged didn't seem to hear her. "You know what, I'm going to call up room service and we can all have a feast to celebrate! And- oh, I should text Marinette back, 'cause I wanna get any more updates! I just want to make sure that the little eel doesn't manage to slither out of punishment again. I doubt even she can get out of it now, but I gotta follow through!"

Penny could only sigh as Jagged Stone bounced away across the room. As he went, Penny could hear him singing under his breath.

Tea with a prince, talking about charity

She's too kind, too good to be

Working to save the world, she always tries

Except everything she says are self-serving lies!

Not all that glitters is gold! Hiding behind lies that were told

A dollar-store gem trying to pass herself off as a diamond-!