#the classes above her did little dance recitals.

[ace-and-ranty]

Just had a very "KIDS THESE DAYS!!" moments, when an YouTuber said, "The average kid isn't going to take the time to watch a movie ten years older than they are", and I'm like, "Why does the average kid care? Wouldn't they just be watching what's available at h... oooooohhhhhhhhhh."

[guapitas]

The Unwinding (Draco Malfoy x Reader)

Chapter Four: Duality of Man

Chapters: one, two, three

Rated: Mature

Word Count: 5k

Summary: In the time that Cedric has to stay in the infirmary, the dire situation only escalates further. In light of a frightening realization, and with nowhere else to turn, you eventually find yourself at the foot of your only option, Draco Malfoy. (See the overarching summary for the future of this fic, here.)

Warnings: Language, I went a little heavy on the f-bombs in this one

Henry Selwyn fell asleep seven days ago. In a week’s time, you’ve become pretty certain about three things:

First, he doesn’t have a lot of friends— or very good ones, at least. His visitors have been mostly among Slytherin sorts, and many from the quidditch team. And after the first couple of nights, there were no recurring faces— or any faces at all, really. If his parents ever showed up, you never saw them. You think that perhaps you don’t know Henry as well as you had previously figured, and you can’t recall the last time you even spoke to him. 

Second, the nurses are utter gossips– and oblivious ones, at that. You turn down corners to grab lunch for Cedric, or to find the bathroom, and they’re hidden in the shadows. They whisper comatose and about Madame Amani’s various “failed attempts”, until they drop to a halt when you pass by. They refuse to reveal any information to the general public. 

And thus, third– Henry Selwyn may not be waking up anytime soon. 

By the time the weekend rolls back around, you and Marla know every nurse by name. You learned them all before she did; though the competition isn’t entirely fair, with how much spare time you have in comparison. Regardless, you’re just happy to keep Cedric company— even if it comes with the burden of his impossible essay. And at this fruitless rate, you sometimes fear that Cedric may go as mad as Henry did. 

“I don’t understand,” says Cedric, holding a large book open just inches above his face whilst he lies back on the bed, “How can there be literally nothing else? Nothing at all!” 

“Maybe we just imagined that first passage. Homework delirium, and whatnot.” You shrug from a visitation chair, your entire body sprawled out on its limbs and headrest. 

Wedged up next to a vase of tulips at his side table is the original text Cedric had read in the library, many moons ago now. It’s been opened and opened and opened, and now you can almost recite the key points by heart. 

“It can’t be…” In despair, Cedric exchanges his current read for the original book and lays it heavy on his forehead. He closes his eyes beneath it. Before you can ask what he’s possibly doing, he answers— “Literary photosynthesis.” 

You’re quite sure that he means osmosis, but, hell, why not? You aren’t sure how long he stays that way, but you’re confident that he’s managed to fall asleep by the time you pull out some readings for Herbology. The upside to all of this is having a consistent place to get schoolwork done— library be damned. You’ve never been so caught up on assignments before. So, with no particular desire to parade the infirmary halls, and while there are no meals left in the day to fetch, you study. 

The session, of course, is not destined to last any longer than fifteen minutes. You only manage to pick up on the first three points of a chapter about the ethics of magical plant production and use, before Marla is at the door and slipping through it. A black duffel bag hangs at her side, and her hair is wet— weighing it down to the longest you’ll ever see it, but only until the air dries it up again. The opening of her Slytherin robe reveals the black loungewear beneath, a typical comfort for post-dance class. 

And as if his name were called— and as if he had never been asleep at all— Cedric shoots up in his bed. He catches the book when it falls into his lap. “Tell me you have good news! I’ll take any news at all!” 

Marla props the door open with her bag– an attempt to bring the outside world to Cedric, she claims– and frowns, taking a stride or two over towards the bed until she can sit on the very edge of it. “They do love you, Cedric.” 

There’s a brief pause until a hard sigh hits his chest and his entire upper body deflates. “Oh, please, I won’t be injured forever! I could grab a broomstick right now and show them what I can do.” 

“You know they need more than that,” says Marla. 

The school books get tossed onto the floor below you as you chime in, “There are other games! Two more left in this term alone.”

“And how about the past decade I’ve been playing?” Cedric’s head tips back to thump against the wall, half-defeated. “Does that count for anything?”

Marla’s eyes meet yours for just a sliver of a second and you can sense the hesitation before she speaks. “You’ve had some… severe injuries in that time. This and, well, that break you took back at Hogwarts. They might be wary, that’s all.” 

The break, right. You didn’t need to know Cedric back in grade school in order to spot exactly what Marla is referencing. In the years you’ve known him now, he’s only discussed it once before– mostly clarifying details and going into depth about an event you had already heard every rendition of. The Triwizard Tournament. Just scarcely escaping the absentminded wrath of Voldemort. 

His eyes go up towards the ceiling as he nudges his jaw to the side, and before neither you nor Marla dare to continue, Cedric sweeps himself up and onto his feet. There’s a small wince in the twitch of his brow as he hauls his body over to the cabinet for his day clothes— not that he particularly needs them during his stay. Thus far, grey joggers and jumpers have suited him just fine. 

“What are you doing?” Marla sighs, sitting back as Cedric wills his body to move with minimal visible strain— in which he fails miserably, by the way. The doses of his medication and severity of his treatments go down with time— he’s getting better— but even a wizard’s anatomy doesn’t appreciate getting their ass beat mid-air. Whenever he’s on two feet, Marla always seems to be waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

“I’m gonna show them,” he says, digging and tossing through the pile of clothes, “I’ll show them that I can play— that I’m more than some freak accident survivor. Or whatever it is they think of me.” 

You finally swing your legs around and pull yourself forward on the surprisingly plush chair. “Now? You can hardly walk straight down the hall, let alone fly.” 

When he doesn’t respond or even move an inch away from his spot, pulling out a fresh set of clothes instead, Marla insists, “Sit back down, Cedric. Don’t be irrational; think about your injuries—“

“To hell with the injuries!” He shoves whatever fabric he has in his fist back down into the pile, still facing the wall. And then he stills, everything stuck beside the heave of his shoulders. “With my body, my health— quidditch is what matters the most. I need to do this.” 

And even from the angle, you can tell Marla’s rolling her eyes– concerned, but entirely done with his theatrics. “Right, well, regardless, they aren’t going to see you now. Give it time, rest up, and play at your best during the next Hufflepuff match.” 

The reassurance consoles him, even if just for the moment. He pulls away from the cabinet and finally turns around, now with a face of defeat, and goes to say something– but he’s abruptly interrupted by a commotion of noise coming from the hallway. 

All three of your heads whip around to get a view through the open door as the sounds draw nearer. A collection of snarls and… growls, like a wild beast, become clear, accompanied by the general ruckus of voices. Everyone is frozen, silent in the face of intrusion, until half of what you hear is the thump of your own heartbeat. The other half is a girl’s clamor, and her ferocious shrieks; shoe soles screeching against the floor. And in another few seconds, they’re walking past the room– a herd of infirmary nurses and security, and in their restraints, a young girl– perhaps a first year– thrashing about. A pool of bubbles and spit collects at the corner of her mouth and, despite her shorter size, the hands on her biceps struggle to hold her in place. 

In the split second you see them pass by, her neck is thrown back, then to the left, then the right, and you think the security may have lifted her feet off the ground for an easier walk, but that only gives her more freedom to strike their legs. The red striped tie around her collar is half-way undone. Their appearance is brief, but nobody moves a muscle until the noise fades down to the end of the hall, and finally disappears behind the slam of a shut door. And once you can breathe again, you meet the eyes of Marla and Cedric. 

“What the hell?” says Marla, finally, and hushed, “Was that not Selwyn to a tee?” 

Cedric hobbles his way back to the bed and takes a seat, one hand up in his hair. Back at the game… yeah, she was definitely a spitting image of that Henry. It wouldn’t have been your first thought exactly, but there’s no denying it. The physical mannerisms, the entire disregard for anyone’s safety– even their own– and, in fact, it’s like they want to cause harm. You keep an ear out, listening for any other noise– particularly for a set of wheels rolling down the corridor. In any case, you hope that this girl was nowhere near as successful as Henry Selwyn was. 

When she doesn’t get a response, Marla continues, her eyes lingering towards the hallway now, “That was… boorish… She was like an animal.” 

You pin your gaze to the floor, letting Marla’s thoughts loiter around yours and– holy shit– surely not? There’s no fucking way. A sick lurch swirls down in your stomach and almost up your throat, and your heartbeat is picking up when you tear your attention over to that damn textbook. You’re almost too afraid to speak, or to do anything, concerned with looking foolish and, well, perhaps a part of you wants to be foolish. You want this to be an outlandish, coincidental connection. Fuck, you’re gonna be ill. 

With a lack of words, you throw yourself off the chair and snatch the book from Cedric’s bed. Your hands find the exact page and paragraph without even having to think about it, and yeah, there it is. You don’t even need to read the passage to know it, and the confirmation does nothing to quell the dread that’s slowly overtaking your body. 

Animalistic behavior, a perpetual state of sleep– god, it’s so fucking plain and right in your face that you almost refuse to entertain it at all. You have half a mind to shut the book and forget about it completely, when you remember that there are two pairs of curious eyes following you. 

“What’s up?” Cedric asks, head tilted back to watch. You look over at him from the book, and there must be something on your face, or in your stare, because it’s only just a second until he catches on. The book is resigned over to his hands in the moment that he reaches for it. 

“Tell me I’m crazy,” you say, the words clawing themselves out of your mouth. 

From the other end of the bed, Marla doesn’t have the quote ingrained into the crevices of her brain like you and Cedric do. She’s been spared. “You’re crazy. What’s going on?” 

“Oh, this fucking essay… there’s no shot,” Cedric moans, and you can’t decipher if what you see on him is distress or– excitement? He pulls the book into his chest and gapes hard over at you and Marla, giving a solemn nod. “This may be terrible for us… but this is a huge win for my thesis.”

While you resist the urge the physically fucking facepalm, Marla takes her turn with the text. She rips it from Cedric’s grip and lets him advise her, “Second to last paragraph on the left.” 

You can’t figure out which words would help to explain this situation– hell, you don’t even know what the situation is. There are two students seemingly undergoing this cryptic and disgustingly vague description, and you have no idea why or how. And, for some fucking reason, Cedric doesn’t look as sick as you feel. 

“Oh,” says Marla. Fucking oh. Are you the one overreacting here? Or, ideally, maybe you are crazy, and this correlation is actually irrational. Yes, yes, that must be it! And thank god, because you’d really much rather be a fool in this situation— and fuck, Marla and her calm voice— “This is happening. Now.” 

“It’s too perfect! I put a spin on this paragraph and write about how we’re literally seeing it taking place today, in this school. Oh, thank Merlin…” Cedric clasps his hands together and gives them a couple of shakes over each of his shoulders. 

Scratch that— they must be the insane ones. “Hello? Why are we not quivering in fear? Getting to the bottom of it all… or figuring out how to stop this before another student gets hurt?” 

Marla’s perfect posture slumps a little as she meets your eyes. For the first time maybe ever, she’s at a loss. “What do you suggest? Who do we talk to, what do we possibly do with this information?”

And it’s true, you have not a single answer for her. Nobody visits Henry anymore, and every nurse clams up at just the implication of discussing his condition– not to mention that this sort of murky relation might only be distinguishable by someone whose brain has been entirely atrophied by something like Cedric’s command to read.. All rationale left the building approximately three days ago, and everything else has gone downhill since then. Nobody would understand… and besides, what are the odds that this isn’t a coincidence? Maybe there’s nothing to report after all! 

God, you can’t tell if you’re gaslighting yourself into submission and, if you are, you clearly need to work on it. You must be making a face again, because when you stay quiet in response to Marla, the joy drops from Cedric’s expression. He sighs instead.

“Selwyn does get one visitor these days. Maybe we could exhaust that last resource.” 

“Oh? Who is it?” Marla asks.

Cedric frowns, as if this isn’t some of the most unexpected news of the night– definitely in the top three, if you’re ranking. It’s been days since you’ve seen anyone even linger around Henry’s door, nurses included. Finally, he admits, “Draco Malfoy.”

And– yep, yeah, of course it is. Why the fuck is this guy everywhere? After years of never catching a glimpse of him, now you can’t seem to escape. 

“When?” Your voice comes off more accusatory than inquisitive. Honestly, you don’t know why this is irking you so much– he’s done nothing wrong to you, and, actually, you’ve never even had a particularly unpleasant interaction with him thus far. Whatever the case, you push the train of thought outwards, because the longer you think about him or the little time you’ve spent together, the more your tummy hurts. On another day, you’ll really need to have a talk with yourself about getting in over your head with these sorts of things. 

“Every night, so far. I see him through the peephole.”

“You nosy ass,” says Marla as she falls back onto the mattress and crumpled up blankets, until she can peer directly up at you. Her hair is dry now, and she looks like an angel with the ringlets haloing around her head. “So? Are we doing this?”

Doing what? You’re still trying to wrap your mind around what the hell is happening– or if anything is happening at all. Half of you can’t believe that any of you are entertaining this idea. “We’ll come back tonight and talk to him.” You dart your eyes over to Cedric again. “Is he sneaking in?”

“Must be.” He piles all of his surrounding books onto each other and leaves the stack on his bedside stand. They clink against the glass vase. “He’s also rich and powerful, or whatever, so that’s worth something.”

Marla nearly laughs. “Sure, but that’s all he has going for him these days.” She rocks herself back up. “And he’s okay on the quidditch field.”

Alright, you’ve had enough of this particular route of conversation, and the deal is done regardless, so for now– “We should have our story straight when we fucking bombard him like this.”

“Yeah, our story, which is…?” Cedric crosses his arms. “There hasn’t been anything like this since grade school.”

In hindsight, that era of Hogwarts doesn’t feel so distant from now. And even though the subject at hand is grave enough, this certainly isn’t helping. Time is so fuzzy when you spend forty percent of it in the same room– you aren’t sure at which point in the past couple of weeks that your biggest troubles shifted from enrollment, to this. 

“Could someone be behind it all? An evil mastermind?” Marla suggests as she crosses her right leg over her left and cups her chin. 

“Maybe, perhaps a copycat?” You begin to pace around the tiny room, ignoring how dark it’s become outside, and hoping that the physical movement will encourage the cerebral. “Like, a bootleg Voldemort?” 

And it’s as if your body knows before your brain does, because you glance at Cedric as soon as the words leave you. He’s entirely unfocused– slipping away for a moment– and you’re about to apologize for even saying the name, but he’s back down to Earth before you get the chance. Surprisingly, he breaks into a smile, “A bootleg?”

Merlin, he can be such a simple man, and thankfully, both you and Marla adore him for it. You try to explain yourself through a fit of snickers, but the difficulty is only egged on by the eruption of theirs. Nothing is even funny enough to warrant this, but the scene is nice. It’s a delight to laugh under the weirdest of circumstances, and you’re grateful to be figuring this out with them, of all people. 

By the time you all manage to shut up, Cedric is practically shoving the two of you out the door. The stress of the day has exhausted him, but he promises that he’ll be awake later in the night, when you and Marla return. Funnily enough, the odds of that may be even lower than what it might take to bust this case open. All you can really do now is hope that you find what you’re looking for tonight– whatever the hell that may be.

---

If Draco Malfoy isn’t here, you’re going to kick his ass– royally so. Cedric claimed that he had been visiting every night since Henry fell asleep, always in the most ungodly of hours, and it would be just your luck for him to finally call it quits on the one instance that you’re here to meet him. 

And now, sneaking into the infirmary isn’t the hard part– it’s actually disappointingly easy to alohomora your way inside, and the single night guard is nowhere to be found anyway. In another life, you might raise awareness for the safety of overnight patients and staff, but there’s no place for that tonight. Instead, the difficulty reveals itself not only when you find Cedric knocked out cold in his bed, but also when you discover that you cannot open Henry Selwyn’s door at all. The knob twists but it doesn’t budge like Cedric’s does, and no amount of spells are cutting it this time. 

It becomes pretty clear that you are not getting into this room when even Marla’s efforts are futile. She curses under her breath after the fifth failed attempt, and your neck aches from all of the whipping it does as you keep a lookout. 

“What the hell is up with this doorknob…” You say to mostly yourself, as if the culprit could be anything other than a good charm, and you even kneel down to get a better look at it. It’s just a regular old handle– nothing visibly out of the ordinary– but you’re desperate, and that guard who slipped up earlier could be coming back any minute to strike. Marla takes a step back to relent, but even her focus remains on the door, like she’s pissed off at its defiance.

And that’s when footsteps creep up behind the both of you.

“Having much trouble?” 

You spring up faster than your knees would usually tolerate, turning to meet that confident, nonchalant voice– really, you shouldn't have had to look to know. With hands in his pockets, and that chain that drops from the left side, you can’t believe you didn’t hear him walking down the hall. 

“Hey,” you say, breathless, and hold back from cringing in on yourself– are you suddenly stupid every time he gets near? Who the fuck says hey? 

Meanwhile, Marla’s got one hand on her wand. “What are you doing out here?”

“Excuse me?” His chin dips, and he looks utterly incredulous, taken aback by the sheer audacity. He glances at you– “Hi–” then back to Marla. “I should be asking you both the same question.” 

His calm stance but firm voice does nothing to curb Marla’s defensiveness, so you intervene. “We wanted to talk to you, but…” You try the dumb doorknob again, to no avail. “We couldn’t get in.” 

And then he does something so fucking slick that it whirls your insides. He’s so sly with it, and if you blinked at the wrong time, you would’ve missed it entirely. His hand makes an appearance as he pulls it from his pocket and gives it a turn in the door’s direction, just a little jolt of his fingers, and then– click. 

If it were possible to make the facial expression equivalent to a question mark, you’d be doing it. Magic without a verbal spell is not unheard of by any means– in fact, there are many general requirement classes for that sort of magic in particular, and you’ve already taken two of them– but… damn. You can’t even say anything as he comes closer to lean in– a breath away from you– and twists the knob, pushing the door open ever so slightly, and then closing it again. “Better?”

You almost want to clap your hands at his finesse– do it again, do it again!– but the smoke steaming out from Marla’s ears reigns you in. Her cheeks have gone crimson and she presses onward, “What do you know about Henry Selwyn?”

“What? I don’t know anything.” For a second, the cockiness in his voice is replaced by contempt, until he meets your eyes again. “We should at least get out of the hallway before the interrogation.”

Even Marla can’t argue that. She opens the door and goes into the room first, and everything is normal, but when you follow her, the stiffness– the cold is overbearing. It’s as if the room exists simply to provoke you, to keep you out of it, and every step forward feels like two positive ends of a magnet getting closer. You think you can handle it, and that maybe a nurse left a drafty window open or something– but then you see him. Henry Selwyn.

His eyes are shut at least, and the covers go up to his collarbones… but his skin is so fucking pale, and his cheeks are hollowed out, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen lips so colorless before. Marla goes further into the room– identical but parallel to Cedric’s– as you stop dead in your tracks. An exhale that hits the back of your head doesn’t even phase you because you can’t focus on how close Draco is— all you can think about is getting your fucking feet to move. Just go. 

And, to be fair, you do try. But nope– nope, nope, nope. There’s no fucking way that you can stand in a room with him, with his fucking corpse. He’s alive, sure, but you can’t look at him for too long before the back of your hand meets your mouth, and averting your eyes doesn’t do any help. It’s still so weird— you know he’s there. 

Is this a taste of what insanity feels like? Maybe it’s the circumstances and the late hour– and Henry fucking Selwyn– but you must be losing your mind, because you really don’t mean to be so dramatic. And to make matters worse, the blood rushing to your head must be causing physical hallucinations now. Your altered state of mind could swear that there’s a gentle press on your lower back, but it’s gone before you even register its presence. 

“I’d much rather do this outside, actually.” Draco’s voice comes out from over your shoulder, and when you reluctantly go to look back at him, you’re instantly met with his gaze. From across the room, you can just about hear Marla’s scowl, but you nod graciously and follow his lead back out the door. 

The walk down the hall and right through the infirmary’s entrance is almost shameful– like a failed mission– but Draco is still here, one way or another. And although it’s an entirely different issue of freezing compared to Henry’s room, you endure it for the occasion. 

“Why are you here?” He’s the first to speak up once you find a nice, tall streetlamp to stand beneath, right outside of the building. The warm yellow shine isn’t very bright, but it hits him just enough to make him out. 

You fold your arms across your chest to block out the cold. “We needed to talk to you.” 

“And what? A Divination classroom couldn’t suffice?” 

“It’s about Selwyn,” says Marla, sharp. She has a proper coat with her now, prepared for the weather, but you think that she would thrive under any conditions, regardless of wardrobe. 

When Draco doesn’t verbally respond, you start from the beginning. In a roundabout way of things, you open with Cedric’s essay, and that afternoon in the library— the frustratingly brief phenomenon. Henry Selwyn, and then when that girl came into the infirmary… What was her name again? 

“Rebecca Avery,” he says, interjecting to fill in your gaps. 

Marla squints and takes her opportunity to pry. “You know her?” 

“Of her. She’s a pureblood.” When this gets no satisfying reaction from neither you nor Marla, he sighs. “I was raised to know these sorts of families, you know… the right sort, the wrong.” And then he shrugs, like his upbringing was even remotely normal in comparison to anyone else’s– let alone to anyone else in this conversation alone. 

The tangent throws you off track, but you eventually find your way back to the story. You explain the connections, the overlaps in behavior, the fucking perpetual state of sleep— you’re anxious all over again. And when you give a great sigh, vocal chords exhausted from a loaded ramble, Draco just… fucking blinks at you. His face is no different than when you began, and sure, you don’t know what kind of response you expected— or even wanted— but, for Merlin’s sake, anything would be better than his grand ordeal of nothingness. 

“Why are you telling me this?” 

Okay, well, that’s a… good question– a great one, actually. Why are you telling him this? Because there’s no one else to tell? Or because there’s a chance that he might have some brilliant, key piece of information that could explain everything? You don’t really know. 

Your mouth opens, and absolutely no words come out. For a moment, you’re stunlocked by the hold of Draco’s cool eyes, until Marla comes up with an answer for you– succinct and good enough. “We think this may be serious.” 

“What an astute observation you’ve made.” His voice is suddenly coated with sarcasm, and his frustration is reverberating back onto you. “Shall we go to the headmaster about it? I’m sure even the Daily Prophet would love to hear all about this one. Might throw you lot a ceremony for your wits, bet Diggory can be the mascot–”

“Alright,” you say, entirely fed up, and just before Marla can stick her wand right down his esophagus. The breeze is really starting to chip at your skin, and Draco’s shitheadedness at your mediating resolve. “My fault for thinking that you might actually be interested in this, or in figuring out what the hell is going on.” 

You’ve known this guy for less than a month now, but in an instant, he’s unleashing a whole new layer of attitudes. For example– this is the first time he’s properly glared at you. “Yeah, your fault it is, then.” 

This time you’re the one halfway to your wand when Marla juts in. She’s sharp, eyeing him up and down like a bug beneath her boot. “I’m surprised you’re not jumping at this opportunity, Malfoy, to make up for daddy’s war crimes.” …And now it’s Marla’s turn to get side-eyed by you, because you had no intention of aiming so low– bringing his family into this? His past? It’s increasingly clear that Draco hadn’t been expecting this attack either, because he isn’t quippy enough to beat her to the next line. Instead, Marla continues with another punch that makes you wince. “You want to move on so badly– to pretend that you’re this new, changed man, but you’re the same coward you’ve always been. It’s pathetic.”

“Hold your tongue when you don’t know a damn thing about me.” He shoots his look back over to you, stone-faced and glowering. “And count me out of your juvenile schemes. I want no part in any of it.”Then, before you can say anything, he’s gone. He storms off, down the side of the infirmary wall and out of sight when he makes a left turn. And now you can’t even bring yourself to face Marla again, teeth grit to keep from chattering and wondering how a simple conversation could possibly escalate this far. Whatever direction this night was supposed to go in, you’re sure this is the exact opposite.

[smallbusinessesbiglegacies]

Michelle’s Studio of Dance Teaches So Much More Than Skills

Michelle’s Studio of Dance Teaches So Much More Than Skills

Michelle Lessard began dancing at just three years old, opened her own studio at age twenty, and has been working extremely hard at her craft ever since. After starting her own business upon graduation, Lessard would go on to become the owner of one of the most successful dance studios on the South Shore. Passionate about the art of dance, owning a business, and of course, encouraging her students, Lessard truly does it all. Growing up immersed in the world of dance, Lessard has faced numerous criticisms and hardships, but that only seemed to fuel her fire. For the last 35 years, Michelle’s Studio of Dance has been so much more than just an extracurricular activity, but a welcoming home to hundreds of children and their families.

Michelle Lessard and her senior dancers at the annual Christmas on the Common Parade.

For over fifty years, Lessard has had an impressive devotion to dance. Dancing from age three until adulthood is no easy task, and sacrifices often have to be made. Lessard explains, “Come high school, I felt like I was missing out on some high school stuff. I was trying to figure out how much I wanted to dance. I did try to balance being a class officer, doing sports, cheerleading and track…but I really loved dancing.” On top of Lessard having a passion for the art of dance, she was also extremely talented at it. Lessard states “All my friends were doing local competitions and they’d talk about their dances and I’d talk about mine, and no one really wanted to listen to me because it was just a different level.” Upon graduation, Lessard moved on from practicing with local studios and began dancing for local groups, attending master classes, and starring in dance commercials.

Michelle’s Studio of Dance dancers performing at the 2024 Winter Showcase and 2022 Recital.

After graduating high school, Lessard was unsure of what path to follow. She grew up devoted to dancing, but never wanted to make a career out of it. After a few years of traveling and studying business, she returned home, worried about her next steps. Knowing Lessard’s utter talent and passion for dance, her friends and family urged her to open a studio. Upon finding a small space above a local auto body, Lessard decided her next move was to start her own business, still unsure of what the future held for her. Little did she know the fruitful career she was about to embark upon. “As a 20 year old, you don't think your first job is going to be your last job,” Lessard explained.

Left: Lessard and her staff for the 2024 dance season.

Right: The interior of Studio B inside Michelle’s Studio of Dance.

At her studio, Lessard has offered every class a young dancer could hope for: jazz, ballet, tap, hip-hop, acrobatics, contemporary, dance company, dance ensemble, classical ballet, strength and conditioning, pre-k and kindergarten classes; the list goes on. She’s grown her brand from a small space above a car shop to a huge studio owned solely by her, that brings her dancers to Disney World, California, and New York City to learn and perform. Lessard’s dancers have numerous opportunities to perform on countless stages, dance in parades and at theme parks, attend competitions, interview for solo, duo, and trio performances, travel across the country, audition for scholarships and ballets, and most importantly, create lasting memories. 

Michelles’ Studio of Dance seniors wearing matching bracelets huddled together before one of their last performances as a team.

A glimpse into Lessard’s office with quotes and pictures that reflect the sense of community in the studio.

Although Michelle’s Studio of Dance is a successful independent business, Lessard shared that it wasn’t easy to reach that point, especially as a young entrepreneur. Lessard stated that in the early years, she often took every criticism to heart and feared that people wouldn’t support her. For ten years, she hardly ever took a paycheck, and poured everything she had into her business. It wasn’t until fifteen years after opening, that Lessard took her very first vacation, proving her dedication to her craft. In describing the hardships she’s overcome, Lessard stated “There were tons of tears in the beginning. I cried more than I was happy. The only thing that kept me going was the relationships I was making…That’s why I kept going. Because I loved that I thought I was making a difference.”

Left: Lessard comforting her dancer of fifteen years before her first ever solo performance.

Right: Lessard and a group of her dancers posing for a picture during rehearsal.

  Although dance has led Lessard down this career path, the students are what made her stay. “The relationships like Shannon, Molly, and Brianna,” she says in talking about some of her past students, "That to me is the best thing ever. The 15 years that I was struggling financially, my sisters would always say, ‘Look at the people you're friends with, look at the relationships you've made,’” Lessard shared. In many ways, dance is unlike other sports. Typically, kids have numerous coaches throughout their athletic careers and jump around to different teams and clubs. Lessard’s dancers typically start as young as two or three years old and stay all the way until graduation. Because of this, the strong bonds formed between Lessard and her dancers are inevitable and last a lifetime. 

Lessard and her dancers volunteering at the Sydney Craven Memorial Fund Tutu Run.

One of Lessard’s main goals as an instructor is for her dancers to leave her studio with something more tangible than proper technique and skills. Instead, Lessard believes it’s more important that she instills confidence and provides encouragement within her students. “I'm hoping that they leave there and feel like they’ve gained something more than dance,” Lessard stated. “If they go to do a report or if they stand in front of a class to give a speech they'll think ‘Oh, this is easy. I've been on stage, I have the confidence. Or you know what, she believed in me.’”

Lessard and her dancers sharing a bittersweet moment after their recital as many of the girls are seniors and won’t be returning in the fall.

Over the last 5 decades, Michelle Lessard has certainly made a name for herself. Although she is passionate about dance, her passion for her students and their families completely overshadows that. It is evident that Lessard loves what she does, and it’s important to her that she touches the lives of each and every student she coaches. 35 years down the road, Michelle’s Studio of Dance is a space full of love, passion, and empowerment for everyone who walks through those doors.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Bff!reader and Bruce as tiny tots? Alfred being a good dad is like crack.

Alfred pulled up to the curb and took a deep breath, his heart aching.

Bless your dance teacher, who stayed with you, waiting for someone to come collect you. At least you weren't just alone, sitting on a bench under a street light- but. You looked so small.

"Where is Nanny Sarah," he asked, sternly.

'No one came," you tell him, shrugging. Your voice small.

"Then you'll come with me," he said, picking up your dance bag and offering you a hand, nodding at your dance teacher.

He squeezes your small cold hand gently and takes you to the car, opening the door for you. "Are you hungry, sweet girl?" he asked.

"It's late. No one has to cook me anything, Alfred," you sigh, buckling your seatbelt and curling on the seat.

"That isn't what I asked, did anyone at least send you a snack?" He knew it was showcase week. They were putting pressure on you to be successful. To be seen. Scouted.

"Miss Lena said I'm getting fat."

Alfred cringed, looking up at you in the rearview mirror. Your face hadn't changed. You didn't even sound upset- it was just a fact. Barked at you, he was sure. "Well that is decidedly not true," he said calmly, fighting the urge to turn the car around and go shout at that woman. "When we get to the Manor, I want you to get a shower and some pajamas. I'll call your brother and inform him that you're perfectly safe. And in the morning I will deliver you to school with Master Bruce."

"I can stay at home-"

"Certainly not," he said sternly. "You're 10. That is too young to be home alone. I'll have dinner ready for you when you've had time to get ready for bed."

For a long moment, you're quiet. Wiping away tears you don't want him to see. "Thank you," you murmur.

"It's my pleasure, Miss Y/N," he said, softening his tone.

________

Alfred watched you holding Emma's hands above her head. Laughing at her clumsy, chubby little legs trying so hard to be like you. "You're so pretty," you tell her, scooping her up and tossing her gently, kissing her and tickling her until the room was full of shrieking toddler laughter.

"My clever girl, you're learning so fast!"

You let go of her, setting her back down and kneeling behind her, gently moving her feet into the right position, watching her face in the mirror to see if it was uncomfortable for her. To see if this was too much for right now. "Good Job!" you tell her. "Big stretch- yeah! Just like that!"

"Alfred-"

"Shh-" he scolded, hushing Bruce, "You're interrupting dance class."

"Pretty, mommy?" her little voice asked.

"So pretty," you tell her, kissing her head. "Let's get you a snack huh? See if there's some watermelon in the kitchen."

"Yum!"

And when you straighten and stretch your back; grinning when you hear Emma yell "Daddy!" as she runs as fast as her chubby little legs can carry her into Bruce's arms, you melt.

"I'm pretty," she declared giggling.

"Just like mommy," he said cuddling her, "Did mommy say something about a snack?"

"Watermelon," she said nodding.

"Well let's go see?" He said, kissing you hello before taking Emma, giving you a little time to finish stretching.

"Did you need something?" you ask Alfred, yawning.

"No," he said simply, watching you stretch. "Just enjoying dance class. You know how excited I get about recitals."

"Am I pushing her too hard?" you ask, meeting his eye in the mirror.

"Miss Y/N, can I speak freely?"

"Have I ever stopped you?"

"No," he admitted. "But sweet girl. In all the time I watched you dance, I never saw you enjoy yourself that much. She's just a little girl spending some time with her mummy. Miss Emma wants to be just like you. And I can't think of anyone better for her to emulate."

"Thank you," you murmur, feeling your face heat.

He nodded, "She's never going to wonder if she's enough," he said, offering you his arm when he stepped away from the barre. "Even if she doesn't dance," he said patting your hand, "she's never going to forget that you think she's pretty."

[ukiyokki]

mars reads too much dreamnotfound fanfiction for their own good

a dreamnotfound fanfic recommendation list by your resident dumbass (me)

this took way to fucking long... i’m tired

below is a (very extensive) list dedicated to all my favorite dnf fics, ranging from quick one shots to 100k+ word monstrosities that devour the storage on my computer, forever incomplete masterpieces to ongoing works of art, you get the idea. i provided links for each fic/series for your reading pleasure. there will be no smutty/nsfw fics on this list, that’s just not my vibe lmao. this list goes in no particular order, and i’ll update it from time to time when i feel like it. now, without further ado, let us begin.

Heat Waves (complete) by tbhyourelame

(wtf else did you expect, looking at a dnf rec list?) amazingly well written, and while it’s not my favorite dnf fic it’s damn near close. in the midst of a brutal heatwave, a suffering dream comes to terms with the fact that he is desperately in love with his best friend. everything i could say about this fic has already been said by nearly everyone who’s read it, so if you haven’t yet caved into the hype, just go for it. you won’t be disappointed.

Gonna be around (completed) by georgescatcafe

(mc irl) my favorite dnf oneshot to date. just read it, i don’t wanna spoil for you :)

Inferno in the Sky (ongoing)by zairielon

(star wars au) an ongoing star wars au currently clocking in at almost 200k words. need I say more? everything about it absolutely slaps, each chapter is amazingly written, and it’s just good. also, can we just appreciate dream and tubbos dynamic in here? 10/10, amazing, must protecc. oh right, a summary: george, an exiled padawan turned engineer, must return to the jedi temple after attacks on it from an unknown assailant threaten the safety of himself and the other jedi.

Like Magic (ongoing) by KangarooKen, NotGra55 (Gra55)

(harry potter au) the unofficial official dnf harry potter au. we watch the young unlikely wizard pair grow up together throughout their years at hogwarts as they battle good old fashioned wizard racism. beautifully written, incredibly fun and suspenseful, and just an overall blast and a half.

GeorgeNotFound, Son of Poseidon, and the League of Minor Gods (ongoing) by Clichewho_69, Cygnvs, Trash_Kinggg

(percy jackson au) percy jackson au? check. “road trip” (technically quest but u get what i mean)? check. enemies to friends to lovers? check. this fic follows the plot of the lightning theif (albeit loosely), but everything is explained enough where you don’t have to read percy jackson to understand what’s going on. basically after moving to the usa, george gets taken to camp halfblood where he learns that a) gods exist. b) he’s the son of poseidon and c) he needs to prove that he didn’t steal zeus’s master bolt.

Protected (completed) by aenqua

(royalty/camelot au) my favorite piece of dnf media of all time. dubbed the official dnf camelot au, where dream is the heir to the throne and george is a servants son with a secret that couldp get him killed. these childhood friends grow up together and learn trust, love, and acceptance. (that summary did not justice to the masterpiece that is this fic) here’s the directors cut

The Hunter (completed) by HederEgo

(mc irl) a choose your own adventure fic with 13 different endings, where dream the hunter must kill george and stop him from beater the ender dragon. enough said.

The official dream team cowboy AU (series)(ongoing) by antsu_in_my_pantsu

(cowboy au) cowboys and outlaws horses and shit. and the big gay. it’s a cowboy au, what else did you expect? fucking yee haw (all seriousness this is a great read, i loved it so so so so much and i can’t wait for the final chapter to release).

This is a Drista moment, let's just accept it (completed) by Qekyo

dnf fic from drista pov. considering its unique perspective, it’s perfectly done. beautifully showcases a sibling relationship through drista and her memories/moments with dream, and it just works, y’a know? also drista supremacy.

Dear Dream (completed) by Qekyo

(wwii au) i don’t cry when watching/reading anything sad. translation: i’m a heartless bitch. however, this fic is the only exception. it caused me to cry so hard my mom walked in my room and asked if i was ok. ‘nuff said.

TECHNOlogical Wingman (completed) by Closeted_Bookworm

techno is the autocorrect ai on dreams phone, and he gains sentience. interesting concept, and the author fucking nailed it. great fic.

It Was Only a Fic (ongoing) by imagineitdear

dream starts reading a dnf fanfic (we’ve all been there buddy).

Teacher’s Pet (ongoing) by niyuha

(teacher au) in which dream is a high school english teacher and george is the new comp sci teacher in room 297.

Saltwater Secrets (ongoing) by earlgay_milktea

(mermaid/high school au) a great example of the shear amount of variety in fics this fandom has to offer. when i started reading dnf fics i would have never thought i’d find one about a mermaid george hopelessly crushing on his human friend, who happens to be his schools star swimmer. yet here i am, and i am far from disappointed.

Smash My Heart (incomplete) by dontrollthedice

george and sapnap are commentators for duper smash brothers tournaments, and george develops a crush on an up and coming smash streamer named dream.

roleplaying in the dark is harder than it seems (completed) by Alienu

laser tag. 10/10

solar system (completed) by quartzfia

(mc irl) george vists dream in pandora’s vault.

Ramblings of a Lunatic (completed) by jungkooksfic

ahh communicating through a notebook left on a shelf in a bookstore- what a perfect way to start a relationship.

Paint me like your French Girls (It's Charcoal, Actually) (completed) by Turtle_ier

(artist au) george is an art student, and dream is a model.

00:00:00 (completed) by isleofdreams

(soulmate au) 00:00:00 is the moment you meet your soulmate, as indicated but the clock ticking down on your wrist until the moment you meet. i’m not a fan of soulmate aus; this fic is the exception.

Blue Skies Smilin' At Me (completed) by kivy

(artist au) i don’t usually cry while reading stuff, but this brought me damn near close. george is a painting conservator and chats it is with the ghost of the artist if the painting he is working on. they fall in a love.

Current Location (incomplete) by hendollana

(influencer au) george simps for a hot american instagram model. who knew he’d actually follow back?

The Withering (series) (series ongoing, 1 work completed) by App1e_Juice

(mc irl) lore and world building and fight scenes and everything i crave. what’s not to love? something starts making the plants and crops around dreams village wither, and must team up with new friends to find the cause of the mysterious disease plaguing the land.

Minecraft, But You Can't Leave (complete) by facadecake

(mc irl) dream and george are sucked into their own private minecraft world together and must beat the game to escape.

Free The Game, Beat the End (incomplete) by goatgoatwasfound

(mc irl) a glitch in minecraft causes thousands of players from around the world to be trapped inside minecraft, with only one way of escape- beating the ender dragon. first dnf fic i ever read, and it’s still 10/10 for me.

Why don't you come a little closer? (completed) by lifeofandoms

george gets stood up by a date, and Dream pretends he’s the date to save george from the embarrassment. simply adorable.

lightning bug (completed) by saintachesP

(band au) while on tour, dream realizes his feeling for george.

Hold me closer (completed) by Treesofmyheart

(mc irl/dsmp) i just,, really like this trope.

Dizzy on caffeine (completed) by GleamingGreenGoggles

(coffee shop au) best dnf coffeeshop au i’ve read. periodt.

living a life of crime isn’t always easy (series) (completed) by itisjosh

(mafia/assassin au) stockholm syndrome except it’s not weird.

Inhibitions Make Interesting Situations (completed) by Ship_On_The_Sea

i pissed myself laughing. it’s just a dream and george being hilariously dense, flustered idiots. serotonin central.

thy eternal summer shall not fade (completed) by gracequills

(high school au) that moment when you recite shakespeare to your crush in your ap lit class instead of confessing (hate it when that happens).

All is Fair in love and Football (ongoing) by graciegirl2001

(college au) #1 favorite college au. in which george is a cheerleader, and dream is the football teams rising star player. this one gets extra points because of the amazing karlnap moments sprinkled throughout. *chefs kisses air*

online love (completed) by andbutso

(high school au) online classes go zoooooooom

Can’t help falling (completed) by isleofdreams

dream re-learns the guitar to sing to george on his birthday. beautiful. fluffy. amazing

dance in the rain and my arms (completed) by lazy_kitkat

george is a rain god, and dream is a wind god

Weather Boy (completed) by DaintyDiizzle

wouldn't you like to know, weather boy? (where dream can control the rain)

The color orange (completed) by anon

(mc irl) dream describes the colors of a sunset

Family Mode (completed)by Strawberry_flavoured_tears

they’re dads :,)

Breathing Room (incomplete) by papercranes

(band an) an amazing band au. the mad lad author wrote original songs for each chapter. above and beyond, mad props :). unfortunately, it’s incomplete

Piece of Clay (completed) by carbonbrine

(artist au) george is a sculptor and his sculpture comes to life- but oh no he’s hot.

Try (completed) by Not4typicalwriter

(royalty au) george must choose a suitor, but none of them are up to dream, his head knights, standards. or dream is hella jelly. also protective dream is perfect

When the Roses Bloom (completed) by HederEgo

(royalty au) close second for my favorite fic. go to royalty au for a quick serotonin bost. it’s all fluff and flowers and crushes, and i love it. criminally underrated.

Heavenstruck (ongoing) by dontrollthedice

george is dreams guardian angel, and dream want to find out more about him and his past life. bittersweet :,)

Bang and Burn (completed) by App1e_Juice

(spy au) george accidentally falls for target number 1 on sapnap’s secret agency’s hit list. this ones great, i love me a spy au :)

Can I get a uhh… (completed) by lemonskies

dream keeps pulling up to the drive through mcdonald’s that george works at drunk.

Pretty Stranger (completed) by anon

when looking for dream in the terminal, george sees a cute guy and decides to flirt.

Take my Hand (completed) by latinbias

(royalty au) another royalty au? poggers. surprise twists? double poggers. love this a lot.

seconds, minutes, hours, lifetimes (complete) by meridies

ROAD TRIP ROAD TRIP ROAD TRIP ROAD TRIP *inhales to compose herself* roadtrip au. unrequited love, ignored feelings, longing, pining, you know the drill. absolutely love this one, its the best roadtrip au i have ever read, in any fandom. (maybe cause i identify with it a little too much, but thats not important. whats important is that you read this fic. right now. im waiting).

Message redacted (complete) by justyouraverageloser

(text fic) dream asks for a girls number and realises hes been given the wrong number. however, an unexpected relationship starts to form between him and the stranger on the other end of the line.

the waves (completed) by anon

(mc irl) this fic was written by the same anon who wrote the color orange, which is up there on my fav dnf oneshot list. dream and george know they have a higher purpose. they don’t know where they came from, or why they are seemingly the only humans in the world, or how they feel about eachother, or even where the skeletons come from, but they are sure of one thing: they have to beat a dragon.

The Dream Doll (completed) by PeppDream (Pep_Pizza)

(voodoo i guess) i’m a real big fan of fics with really out there or unique concepts, so naturally this one makes the cut! i really liked it, it’s really sweet and made me think a lot about what matters to me in the world. george finds a strange doll in an antique shop, and would really like to just stuff it in a drawer and forget about it. sadly (?), the doll has other plans.

last updated February 6th, 2021

[alluringjae]

queen of hearts - sjn

summary: for the first time, one of your star students hasn’t been fetched right after class. but when she finally does, you weren’t expecting such a fine man to be her father.

pairing: johnny x female reader

word count: 5.5k

genre: fluff, romance, comedy | ceo and single dad!johnny + ballerina!reader + modern day!au

warnings: mentions of an absent parent, johnny being an overthinker, sexual innuendos (ten saying dilf hehe), slight explicit language, technical terms of ballet, a mini reference to mean girls

author’s note: sooo i came in touch with my former dance life, which led me to write this. there are links for the variations i used; their names are underlined when they’re mentioned. i am going to get technical with ballet terms here (even when my ballet knowledge decreased), so to any dancers reading, i really did my best, so please don’t come for me or do correct me for any mistakes.

although one character and her dance background, plus the name of the setting, are real, everything else about it is still a work of fiction.

i miss dancing, no cap.

leave me some feedback, constructive criticism or hellos!

Ballet student and teacher by day, a soloist of the Korean National Ballet at night.

This was your daily routine, and it wasn’t the typical 8-5. But it’s debatable whether or not it was worse, because you’re always going overtime. That’s the thing when you’re an overachiever. Nonetheless, you loved what you do. It’s the lifestyle you gradually built since your preschool days.

Mornings on the weekdays were mostly vacant since all the kids were still in school. You’d start at 10 am for a warm-up class for the company. Before you delved into teaching and assisting, you’d train right after your lunch break. Partnering class, en pointe class, 1-on-1 sessions with choreographers, self-practice, then the company night class, that’s the organization of your week.

Now adding the teacher title, you mostly handled kindergartners to 5th graders in the academy aspect of the company. Your first teaching class would start at 1 pm. It’s when the younger students who finished their morning classes zoom into your assigned dance studio. One class would last an hour and a half, then you have a 30-minute break in between another class with the older kids. Their lesson repertoire was more strenuous due to the added across-the-floor lessons and jumps. Water was always your best friend, water refilling stations located everywhere in the company building.

You wouldn’t say you’re a strict teacher, but you weren’t shy to correct anyone from wherever you stood. You’d lightly align their arms or back properly so your students were working on the correct body parts. Compared to the other teachers, a lot of students enjoyed your kind yet frank approaches. Your former students, who’ve already gone to the higher levels, missed your lively presence and wished repeatedly that they want you back as their teacher.

“Teacher (Y/N), I miss you so much! Teacher Ten is so intense. I get the jitters especially when we’re en pointe on the floor.”

“Teacher (Y/N), Teacher Sicheng and Teacher Seulgi scare the heck out of me during partnering class. Especially when I tried to lift my partner, I keep losing focus because of Teacher Sicheng’s never-ending comments!”

Not to be sadistic, but you’d simply laugh at their minuscule complaints. Even if they’re struggling in the academy, those comments were directed to fix their techniques if they wanted to breakthrough.

“Kids, you’re going to be fine! They wouldn’t say or do those things just because they wanted to. They’re here to push you to the next level, like how I used to do with you. It’s a cut-throat industry after all.”

This was always your reply, bittersweet and truthful. Not everyone makes it, unfortunately, so if you’re really striving, you’d do whatever it takes. Throughout your career, you’re relatively impressed with how far you’ve come.

Trainee at 17, Corps de Ballet at 18, Demi-Soloist at 21, and Soloist at 23.

You’ve been a soloist for 4 years. The final stage, which was to become a principal dancer, is your running goal. Becoming a soloist was praiseworthy enough because you’ve seen so many give up in the Corps, but claiming a spot as a principal dancer has been the ultimate dream. Since you’ve watched Swan Lake for the first time at 4 years old with your parents, that’s where you found a passion for dancing and the stage. Here you are years later, practicing numerous variations daily, performing in opera houses, and mentoring all these gifted kids.

Your last class with elementary kids, which began around 5 pm, reached its end once all the students curtsied in front of you and scurried to their mothers or their nannies. The remaining plan on your agenda today was the company class at 7:30 pm, which exceeds the average hour and a half. It’s worse during show season. There have been times everyone went beyond midnight to polish every scene from head to toe.

Currently, there’s no upcoming show for the public, though the annual summer recital for the students was around the corner. Selected members of the company were chosen to perform individually in it, which was both exciting and intense. It’s also because it’s an evaluation on whether you’d get promoted in status or staying put. You’ve partaken in 3 recitals in the past, two of which elevated you from the corps and demi-soloist ranks. The recent one, however, didn’t change your soloist ranking.

It was a major first in your career in ballet, and after finding out the result of the latter, it emotionally pained you. Recalling how much soul you put into that piece, the rejection from your artistic director clenched your heart. Though in time, you moved on from it and viewed it as a stepping stone. Also, Sicheng and Ten personally stormed your apartment to pull yourself together with wine and pizza after going on a short leave.

Since you were trainees, Sicheng and Ten were your best friends in and outside the company. Working daily to occasional barhopping, that’s your youth summed up. It wasn’t because you didn’t like the girls you’ve worked with (though a lot of them were fake and bitchy), but these two were frank and humorous as hell. Together, you’d help each other with your goals rather than be competitive. Over time, Ten leveled up to a principal dancer for 2 years running while you and Sicheng were still soloists. The way you’d watch Ten take all the big roles, that’s where you want to be one day.

Back in your last teaching class, the entire dance room was vacant. Since it’s mainly used for ballet classes, you’d either run through anything you’ve practiced from the company classes and polish it or warm up a little bit more.

Except for today, this was the only free time to sew a new pair of pointe shoes because your current ones were dead. Dead in a sense that the hard shell turned soft, which won’t be able to support you when you’re up on your toes. You’re not taking any risks of minor injuries especially when you’re in the current lineup of company members performing for this upcoming recital again. You have to prove to everyone that you deserve a position as a principal dancer.

As your legs sprawled in a half middle split, your sewing equipment laid in front of you like you’re about to perform surgery, a tiny girl stood by the ajar studio doors. In her neat bun and holding on to her small duffel bag, you’re convinced everyone has gone home already since it’s quite late.

You may have your priorities as a company member, but she was still your student.

“Minji!” You shouted her name, speedily waving your hand. You’re not one to have favorites, though you couldn’t help wonder how extraordinary she was. She’s always taking charge in demonstrating the lessons to everyone and improving every session in the 3 years she’s joined the academy. “Come in! Come in!”

At age 7, she’s gotten taller through the years, above the average from how you see it. She must have amazing genetics. Her legs sauntered in seconds to you. Sitting down across you, she marveled at your setup. Specifically, at the fresh pointe shoes.

“Are those yours, Teacher (Y/N)?” She perked up, caressing its soft fabric and playing with the mini bows of the drawstrings.

“Yes, it is, Minji!” You answered while trying to insert the thin thread through the small eye of the needle. “Why are you still here? Is your nanny stuck in traffic or something?”

“My nanny went on sudden leave, so my dad’s the one fetching me. But I think he’s running late from his job.”

Oh, this was a first to know about her father. In all the years she’s been your student, you rarely caught sight of him, even in recitals. Maybe he sat in an unknown section, but you’re pretty much acquainted with all the parents of your students. Even if some were snobbier than the rest because they wanted their child to have more stage time, you still got to know them out of respect. Quite odd, if you said so yourself.

After deep concentration, the thread triumphantly passed through the eye so you tied the two ends of the thread in a double knot. Seeing as Minji attentively watched you, you tasked her to cut the ribbons of your shoes according to the trail of pencil marks. This was so she wouldn’t cut it too short or too long. While she did that, you hammered your shoes against the floor to soften the hard front, bending the shank back and forth so the arch of your feet could move without difficulty later.

Minji wasn’t expecting such loud sounds, her entire body shaken awake. Her facial expression was priceless, explaining to her, “Once you get your first pointe shoes in a few years, this is one of the basic things you need to do so your feet won’t hurt too much while dancing.”

“Will you be there to teach me how to make my pointe shoes?”

“Absolutely! Come to me first then I’ll mentor you all that I know.”

The process of sewing and breaking new pointe shoes engraved your mind since your adolescent years, with changes along the way. Inspired by some tricks from your former teachers, but there were some differing rituals you followed. There’s no definite process of it, just as long you’re comfortable to dance after.

With your feet, you stepped on the hard boxes of the shoes to soften it more, creating a popping sound. Followed by sewing your elastic bands in. For your ribbons, you liked to burn the edges with a lighter so the thread of it won’t run. Kindly asking your cute assistant for the lighter beside her, you scanned the edges back and forth the flame. In seconds, the edges had a distinct mark, fully closed. From there, you slid your feet to your shoes to make final sewing adjustments. Sewing your ribbons took you another few minutes, plus adding superglue inside the shoe so the shoe won’t collapse when it unstiffens and scratching the shank with a cutter so you won’t slip later while dancing.

Voila, the final product is done! Hopefully, it can last you a week at least.

“Wow, Teacher (Y/N), it looks pretty!” Minji applauded, collecting the mess you’ve both made to dispose of later. You, on the other hand, gave her your thanks once you applied some bandages on your big toes and put on your toe pads. Slipping inside the shoes and tying them, you rose up back to your feet and headed to the bar to break them in. From plies-relevésto forced arches, the shoes gave you the sensation that they were an extension of your feet. The ease flowed through, meaning you were ready to practice your variations.

While you stepped your shoes in rosin for friction, your curious student moved to the front where the mirror lied to watch what you’ve prepared.

“What variation are you dancing to?”

“This is the Gamzatti variation from La Bayadere.” You replied, tapping the play button on your phone and racing to your position on the side. Talking a short ballet walk, you strongly prepared your arms before the music of the orchestra takes off.

This variation consisted of a lot of jumps and turns. Grand jetés, attitude turns, chaîné turns, you needed a lot of core control and proper spotting so you won’t get dizzy. The thrilling music lessened your nerves because you enjoyed learning this piece from one of the principal dancers, smiling and letting the music guide your legs. Once you nailed 3 consecutive grand jetés, the variation ended with a sus-sous and the wrists of your hands flicking upwards.

Holding it for 5 more seconds, you landed back on your feet with heavy breathing and a need for water. But before you could, small claps and cheers from Minji in front erupted. Momentarily, you’ve forgotten her presence because dancing solo puts you in your own space. You’d never let anyone take you away from it.

“Teacher (Y/N), that was wonderful! Are you performing that in the summer recital?”

Yikes, she’s right but she wasn’t meant to see it yet. Solo performances from the company members for the recital were top secret, only unveiled during the production rehearsal. Well, you didn’t think this through, but you didn’t mind.

“Can you keep a secret?”

Time ticked a lot faster today, only 10 minutes left until the company class on the ground floor whereas you were in the second. Just a few steps down the stairs away, yet Minji was still here. You only presumed that within your hour break, her father could’ve made it already. But maybe he’s stuck in traffic or at work.

“Minji, my class starts soon. Have you contacted your father?”

“I already texted him earlier, but he hasn’t responded. This happens often, he’s a busy man.” She bowed in front of you suddenly. “I’m sorry, Teacher (Y/N) for the hassle.”

“Oh no, please!” You shook your hands so she’d stop. Because this situation was relatively new, you were unsure of how to handle it. Or that was until you remembered what Ten texted you earlier. “Minji, the blinds of the main studio are going to be lifted so anyone from the outside can view us practicing. Would you like to watch until your dad gets here?”

With her insistent nodding, she situated herself in one of the seats in the front row. When you entered the main studio, your two close companions already carried a metal barre to the center and leaned towards it while observing you walking to them in your flat shoes.

“I see we have a bit of an audience here.” Ten glimpsed at the young girl, astonished by the many dancers prepping and chatting away with their cliques from the glass barrier.

“Her dad isn’t here yet, and you did say the blinds were up today. Might as well give her a show while she waits, you know.” You lifted your right leg to the top barre, stretching it with your arms.

“Hmmm, shouldn’t her dad be more cautious though? It’s getting late and it’s a Thursday. Doesn’t she have school or something?” Sicheng pointed out, discarding his muscle tee to straighten out his leotard.

“That’s not my business though. She’s just my student, and since she’s still here, I have to entertain her while she waits.”

Before your friends said anything back, the artistic director of the ballet company strutted her way to the center of the room. It’s a common rule here that once she entered, everyone must be silent to listen and race to any free spot in the numerous barres spread out if they haven’t.

“Alright, everyone. We’ll do the typical barre, then before doing across the floor exercises, I’ll be requesting those performing solos already in the recital to dance any variation tonight as another evaluation on who deserves to perform twice.” She eyed the pianist directly beside her. “Proceed first with two demi-pliés then one grand plié. Don’t forget to do the port de bras of each position.”

As the live piano music played, your focus was divided. Partly properly executing the exercise while your artistic director roamed each barre area, partly thinking about what variation to perform. This was a first for the company, and everyone was just stunned to hear the breaking news. It’d be nice to get an extra opportunity to showcase to people your potential.

30-40 minutes flew by quickly. As the guys carried the bars to the side to clear out the floor and the girls changed to their pointe shoes, the artistic director ordered all the performers of the recitals to stand in a line in front of her. Everyone else was seated around the room, so the interested eyes of everyone were on you. There were 10 performers, half are from the corps and the other half are either demi-soloists or soloists. You and Sicheng stood beside each other, internally shaking with nerves under the intimidating eyes of the artistic director. She used to be a principal dancer for the Stuttgart Ballet in Germany before moving back to Seoul, making her undeniably capable of leading all of you.

“Okay,” From her seated position observing the 10 performers, her finger pointed at you directly. “Ms. (Y/L/N) (Y/N), you perform first.”

Your nerves intensified and more sweat streamed out your upper body. Even if going first felt more relieving, no one was ever brave enough to perform individually in front of the esteemed artistic director. Principal dancers aside from Ten that you’re close with were intimidated when they have 1-on-1 or partnering sessions with her. But anyhow, in less than 2 minutes, you’d be done. This wasn’t the first time she’s had your full attention either, so you’ll treat it like the other individual performances you’ve had.

You smiled to yourself when the other soloists left you alone, while you gave the name of the variation you’re dancing to the pianist. Running to the side to put on a practice tutu, the artistic director asked, “What will you be dancing for us tonight, (Y/N)?”

“I’ll be dancing Queen of the Dryads from Don Quixote.”

The last time you did this variation was 3 years ago during the recital that didn’t change your position as a soloist. Even if this variation hurt to think about for a while, it was still one of your favorites to watch and do. Moving on, you could only muse how powerful and beautiful you felt at that time. This isn’t an easy piece to perform in your opinion. Yet according to the members of the company, this was their favorite solo of yours.

As the starting notes unfolded, you took a deep breath and elegantly walked into the frame. You only wished you wore your fake crown again for this. Minimal smiling and light arms, you imagined yourself as an actual queen who captured the eyes of many. In this case, your fellow seniors and juniors held their breaths at the captivating sight of you.

Off you go into a series of glissade jeté developpé on relevé at elevating heights, then a fouetté arabesque and another arabesque on relevé before ballet walking again to the side to dance across the stage. Sissonne to the front, right developpé to the front on relevé, pique to prepare for a single pirouette, you gracefully did a chassé to the front twice and stood on your toes with a sus-sous.

Doing it a few more times, the climax of the entire variation was nearing. Returning to the center, you took another deep breath and lifted your left leg for the Italian fouettés. Spotting to the front and back while maintaining your balance, the variation approached its end with lame duck turns, posing with your arms were positioned at a 45-degree angle, your back slightly arched and your left leg doing a tendu derriére. Your eyes reflected at the mirror in front, surveying your alignment. Once your 5-second hold was finished, you properly put your arms down and closed your back leg into 5th position.

The applause from everyone in the room roared, Ten and Sicheng wolf-whistling even for more support. It’s a usual thing every time any of you perform individually, and no one minded it. The artistic director grinned, giving a quiet clap from the front before calling out the next performer, who was from the corps. Bowing to everyone hastily, you paid more attention to spot your student by the window. She was smiling ear to ear, waving both hands at you.

“You did amazing, Teacher!” She mouthed. Hearing words of praise from members was one thing, but hearing them from students was another. You’re so used to watching them and giving them your compliments that you often forget that you’re a dancer first before a teacher. Seeing them all delighted, saying that it motivates them more, showed that you’re doing a great job teaching them. You’re a reflection of what you pass down, and all you want was for them to be the best they could be.

From her jolly expression, a tall masculine silhouette hovered a part of the window. Her instinct of giving a brighter smile when the hand of said silhouette patted her head then carried her duffel bag again, that could only mean one thing. Excusing yourself to the artistic director, you stepped out to bid your goodbye and maybe meet her father. Minji and the tall man were about to leave the building if it weren’t for your breathy voice calling them out.

“Seo Minji and Mr. Seo?”

They stopped their tracks. Minji was fast to react, familiar with your voice and racing towards you for a sweaty hug. Meanwhile, your focus shifted once the masculine silhouette came into full view. You finally understood why Minji’s growth spurt spiked up, noticing that he was taller than Sicheng.

The top buttons of his shirt were off, yet he kept his formal blazer on. His hair was a bit tousled, some strands falling in front of his forehead. He must’ve run here. Peeking through were some roots of his scruff growing. His eyebags were almost as dark as his brown hair. Yet by the way his Rolex remained spotless, you blatantly assumed that he was more than well-off. Especially when the ballet academy was one of the most prestigious ones in Seoul.

Out of all the parents you’ve met, none of them appeared youthful like him.

“Teacher (Y/N)?” Thanks to Minji, you moved your staring eyes away from him. This was another first, since meeting only the fathers of your students wasn’t your norm. Meeting young-looking fathers, to be specific.

“O-Oh,” You ate your words, suddenly blanking out. “You’re leaving me without saying goodbye, Minji? Not polite of you.”

“My father was rushing right after watching your performance, and I don’t know why.” She responded, her finger scratching the top of her head in confusion. Speaking of said father, his strong presence appeared right in front of you. The wrinkles of his forehead creased while his eyes barely looked at yours.

“Uhm,” His fingers toyed with his Rolex. “I apologize for my tardiness. I got caught up in work and all, plus her nanny le-”

“Mr. Seo.” You halted his rambling, already aware of the situation. Like father, like daughter. “It’s fine. Minji loved watching us practice while waiting, and she wasn’t a bother either. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Phew.” He swiped an imaginative bead of sweat from his forehead, displaying his relief with his playful nature.

At age 23, Johnny Seo started his own company in the fashion scene and it grew internationally in the coming years. Then when Minji unexpectedly joined the picture, he’s been multi-tasking to make ends meet. Lately, as a CEO, he has had meetings and conferences on a daily. So, his position as a single father was always tested. It worsened when he rarely has proper time to spend any time with Minji unless it’s the weekend or late in the evening. Breaking it down, it wasn’t because he didn’t want to meet you. It was more like he couldn’t when his schedules were packed from head to toe.

Having the guilt of taking your precious time, “Seriously though, I am sorry for being late. Her nanny resigned suddenly, and I have no time to find her replacement.”

“Mr. Seo, again, don’t worry about it. As her teacher and a company member, I am practically here 24/7 so it won’t be a nuisance at all if this happens again.”

“Thank you so much, Teacher (Y/N). That is your name, right?” He planted his palm on his forehead, stressed. “Being a single parent is hard. I am always forgetting things.”

A part of you couldn’t restrain from feeling sorry for his struggle. Taking care of a child should be the work of both the mother and father, not one of them being absent. You’ve feared this would harm Minji, but she’s a strong girl.

“The fact you didn’t forget to fetch Minji despite the late time is still something to be happy over. I’m not a parent or anything, but parenting, in general, is a challenge.” You added an insight, patting the head of the young girl beside you. “Cut yourself some slack, Mr. Seo. I’m sure Minji still loves you, right?”

Minji shouted a big yes, now clinging to the leg of her father. “It’s okay, dad. Really.”

Over the years, Johnny has been doubtful of his parenting skills. He was an only child, and he struggled to ask for guidance from his own parents due to the shame of having a kid at a young age. So, he’d ask for help from his other friends and co-workers. No matter how many times they’ve reassured him that he’s doing well, he’s an overthinker who always reflected on the bad scenarios. There’s also that pressure to find someone who can fill that absent position not just for Minji, but for himself too. No matter how many girls he’s asked out or been set up with, he failed in the love department badly.

It’s the soothing way you voiced out your truth that made all these negative thoughts running through his head freeze briefly. Over the past 3 years since Minji started ballet, she always had a great story about you to share. One of them was how ballet made her a lot happier because of your influence. If he had at least an hour of his day to meet any of his daughter’s mentors, it would’ve been you.

“Do feel free to call me Johnny instead.” He casually introduced himself, taking his hand out for you to shake. “Mr. Seo makes me feel like I’m at work right now.”

Despite his informal approach, you understood his intentions and returned the action with a promising smile. “Pleasure to finally meet you, Johnny.”

“Pleasure is all mine, Teacher (Y/N).”

Earlier, the nerves from performing in front of the artistic director died down fast. But for some reason, they rose back up when you’ve spoken to this man in a matter of minutes. As someone whose feelings don’t flourish in a single glance, why did this man specifically deliver you such a strong effect?

If it weren’t for Ten calling for your name by the door, you would’ve held on to Johnny’s hand longer, which would’ve been inappropriate. Letting go first, this was your cue to return to your class.

“I must head back inside, Johnny. Don’t sweat on fetching your daughter late, though she is still a student with school the following day. Right, Minji?”

Minji nodded as Johnny kept that mind, knowing where he has to improve next.  “Yes, Teacher (Y/N). Thank you again, sincerely. I’ll definitely see you again in the coming days until Minji has a new nanny.”

“That’s no problem with me at all, Johnny.”

Soon as Johnny held his daughter’s hand to exit the studio and you were re-entering the studio with an impatient Ten, he swerved swiftly as if he forgot something.

“Oh by the way Teacher (Y/N), I saw your whole performance awhile ago. I was blown away, you deserved the applause.”

Although you could only distinguish his silhouette, you didn’t suppose he watched you from head to toe. Most parents or nannies would’ve dragged their kids out of the studio once they find them like they were on a tight schedule, so this was novel to experience. That performance showed your prime too.

“Thank you, Johnny. See you again soon.”

Giving a final nod, you led yourself back to the studio, not bothering to acknowledge the erupting heat on your cheeks and entire body. Not to sound narcissistic, but compliments weren’t foreign to you. You’re conscious of the hard work that you put in your talent and if they pointed out your greatness, why would you deny it? However, receiving one from Johnny was like gearing your engine with new fuel.

Before you could try to reject these harboring feelings, Ten was fast to pick up on it. You cannot hide anything from this man at all because body language was like another language he’s fluent in (aside from the other 5). Unlucky for you, the saga continued.

“You’re so into dilfs, (Y/N)!” He shrieked in your ear, nudging your shoulder repetitively. He placed things in his own way, yet they always shocked you because it was so inappropriate. Typical Ten for you.

“Shut up, Ten!” You objected, watching the other performers. You’ve improved in ignoring his remarks over time. That was until Sicheng sat down beside you after his solo and got up in your business. That placed you in the middle of boys from the water sign clan of astrology. They just loved getting down to your love life, going raunchy and whatnot.

“Who’s into dilfs, Ten?”

“A Miss (Y/N) beside you, who met Minji’s dad awhile ago, was basically eye-fucking him.” Ten elaborated, planting his elbows on your leg and gave you a sneaky glare. “Minji’s dad is fine as fuck, guys! I’m telling you, like a literal god! I’m surprised this is the first time he showed up here after 2-3 years?”

“How come (Y/N) is always getting students with good-looking parents? Especially the single moms.” Sicheng slumped his shoulders, attempting to get your attention too. “Is he that hot, (Y/N)?”

“Yah.” Sighing with annoyance, you’ve given up trying to appreciate one of the corps dancers with her rendition of Dulcinea from Don Quixote. “Don’t speak of Johnny like that. You barely know the man, yet you talk about him so unprofessionally."

“Oh, Johnny is his name, huh?” Sicheng sing-songed, bobbing his head. He’s certainly going to stalk him later on social media, you felt it in your chest. Like it was ESPN or something.

“Talking about being unprofessional, yet you’re here referring him as Johnny, not Mr. Seo.” Ten barked back, his lips pursed and one eyebrow lifted.

Just as soon as you could retaliate, the artistic director’s velvety voice boomed the room.

“Alright, thank you to the performers. I will deliberate with the staff and principal dancers over the weekend, and let you know the results on Monday. Now please, let’s proceed to the center.”

Everyone began to spread out on the wide floor, snatching a good position so they could monitor themselves in the mirror. Maybe you’ll defend yourself later after class because now, you needed to beat everyone else and have a crystal-clear view of yourself doing these following exercises.

In the meantime, Johnny was in the middle of driving Minji home. He had a designated chauffeur, but he gave him the night off because he wanted to spend time with Minji. Around this time, she’d be sleeping soundly, but instead, she’s boosting with so much life. She hasn’t even eaten dinner yet, which was the first thing on Johnny’s agenda now.

Playing Coldplay in the car, Minji belted some lyrics from her favorite songs while Johnny smiled to himself while listening to her attentively. Taking a breath, her thoughts reverted to her fantastic ballet teacher and shared them with her father.

“Dad! Don’t you just think Teacher (Y/N) is so cool? Ugh, I want to be just like her when I grow up.”

“Oh, to become a ballerina like her, you have to work hard every day and memorize lessons fast. Are you up for it, Minji?”

“Absolutely, dad! I want to pull off perfect jumps and turns like her one day!”

In the other after-school activities Johnny enrolled Minji in the past, none of them compared to the passion she had for ballet. Her work ethic was alike to Johnny’s: if they want something, they’ll do whatever it takes to make it possible.

Aside from being a star student in her school, she’s aiming to be a star ballerina. Being the supportive father he is, Johnny was on board to do what it takes to make it happen. Unlike his parents trying to mold him into the next heir of their company, he’s all ears to the dreams of his daughter. His only dream for her was to be live long and happy, not to merely pass on anything.

Johnny lost so much in his young life, so he doesn’t want to lose Minji in any way. As much as he loves his profession, he wanted to be an active father as much as time allowed it. He mostly received complaints from others that he’s not prioritizing his time well, but after hearing your kind words, this heavy weight on his shoulders decreased. All this doubt started to vanish after meeting you for the first time.

“Dad! Isn’t Teacher (Y/N) so beautiful?” Minji honored whilst gazing at the twinkling night sky. “She loves what she does and shines at it.”

Johnny was accustomed to his female co-workers throwing themselves at him due to his attractiveness, more than flattered even to have them feeling weak for him. Yes, there were times he used it to his advantage, some he frankly turned down. 

However, the radiance you carried whether you’re dancing or not was something Johnny couldn’t cease wondering about. Unknown to him, he’s the one getting weak. Behold, an unlocked first for the confident CEO.

“Yes, Minji. I do think Teacher (Y/N) is absolutely beautiful.”

[lottiebagley]

Space Girl- George Weasley

Space Girl, show me the stars You know the galaxies of my heart

George Weasley was not excited for his first astronomy lesson of the year. He'd agreed to do the class simply because he needed to fill his timetable and it seemed more enjoyable than history of magic.

That's what he had told Fred at least.

In reality he had opted for astronomy for one specific reason. Y/N Y/L/N. She was a shy Hufflepuff girl and although he had never spoken to her George was absolutely enamoured with her.

So, as he dreaded the lecture ahead he tried to remember that this cloud had a silver lining, and it was a silver lining that was absolutely worth it. This was all confirmed when he walked into the astronomy classroom and saw her.

She was sat at a desk at the back of the room. Her hair twirling round her finger as she studied the open text book in front of her, seemingly unaware of the chaos around her. George noted happily, that none of her friends seemed to be in the class and rather than asking to sit with Angelina and Katie like he had been planning he figured what the hell and went for it.

"Hey, is it alright if I sit here?" He questions, willing his cheeks to not flush red when he looks up at him

"Oh, of course you can George," she nods, moving her stuff to the left to make room for him. He feels his heart leap at her knowing that it was him and not Fred.

"How did you know?" He questions, head cocking to the side to look at her better. He smiles slightly at the bright red flush on her cheeks.

"You aren't that hard to tell apart," she shrugs

"Our own mother can't always do it," he pesters, he's genuinely intrigued how she seemed to know so easily.

"Uh, okay then. You're slightly taller so when you are together I could always work out who was who. From there I just kind of noticed little things, you have two freckles on your neck, Fred has a scar above his eyebrow. Your face is slightly longer, your nose is a little longer and has that cute little bump in it, your hair falls completely differently and your lip has a little curl in it. But the easiest way is that you have a different vibe about you," She rambles like it's the most obvious thing in the world and George himself wouldn't haven't been able to explain the physical differences so well.

He's pretty sure his heart melted on the spot.

"You should tell my mum all of this," he smiles gently, not knowing how to respond and explain that he's never felt more seen in his life.

"Sorry, I'm not a creep or anything I swear. Just observant,"

"It was quite sweet actually," George smiles, biting back a chuckle when her face blushes a bright red. "So, you any good at Astronomy?" He questions politely

"I'm okay. It's probably my best class. I've always known about it so," she shrugs, cutting herself off. She knew that George was a pure blood and probably wouldn't want anything to do with her if he knew she was a muggle born.

"You're a muggle born right?" He questions, she's surprised his tone doesn't sound angry or accusatory like was often the way with pure bloods, instead genuinely interested.

"Yeah," she confirms "my older sister is obsessed with astrology so I knew a lot about it before I got here. It's probably the only subject I didn't fail first term," she admits, George smiles softly. He can only imagine how hard it would be to come to the school with no magical knowledge.

"Look at you now, you're top of the year in almost everything," he points out

"Yeah, Ced helped me find my feet and after I settled in it all made sense," she explains. George knew that her and Cedric were best friends, he was a lot more outgoing and George had never quite understood how their friendship worked but it was no secret wherever one was the other wasn't far behind.

Girl, are you a cancer? 'Cause you make me cry When we kiss or dance in the sky We're dancing in the sky

"Hey space girl," George grinned brightly as he dropped into his seat

"If you've forgotten my name you can just ask you know," she blushes a little, not thinking that the boy she had fancied since second year could actually have given her a cute pet name.

No. The only logical explanation is that he had forgotten her name but after being sat next to her for two weeks now was much too polite to ask for it.

She had told Cedric this and he had laughed loudly, ruffling her hair and telling her that she would do well to remember how beautiful she was.

"I know you're name. Y/N Y/L/N. You're a Hufflepuff, obviously," he gestures to her tie before carrying on "Your best friend is Cedric Diggory and you two are always together. You tutor my little sister in potions. You help Professor sprout with the plants in the green house on a Sunday morning. You like to study in the library, specifically the second table from the back left corner. You never eat carrots but you love peas and you always buy two chocolate frogs at Honeydukes one for the walk back and one for a treat that night. I'm not a creep. I'm just observant," He finishes his ramble with a reference to when she had proved just how well she knew him a few weeks prior.

She sits, slightly astounded as he looks at her like his ability to list off so much information about her that she had never specifically told him shouldn't be a shock.

Her heart melts on the spot and she's pretty sure her crush just became real feelings.

"Why?" She questions quietly, not really meaning for him to hear

"You're beautiful and I like looking at you," he shrugs, turning to the text book in front of him. He notices her eyes still staring at him and turns to look at her "hey, you wouldn't want to study together one night this week would you?" He questions, smiling at the blush that overtakes her cheeks

"Yeah. I'd love that,"

"Amazing, does Wednesday work for you? I could meet you at the library after classes end,"

"Sure," she nods shyly, biting her lip to stop a smile and having no clue the very action makes George want to kiss her senseless.

"I know the table," he grins, chuckling when she blushes bright red before turning back to his book.

Space girl, I saw a lunar eclipse Looked like how I feel 'bout your lips Space girl, the only way that we'd end Was if you were sucked into a black hole

'You'll be fine. Just be your self and if he doesn't love you he is stupid,' Cedric's words ran around her head as she remembered sitting in his dorm whilst he calmed her down and Cho did her hair. She had protested to the couple that it wasn't a date but they had still insisted on helping her get ready during their free period after lunch.

Now, sat in the library she tried to remind herself that George was a lovely boy and wouldn't do anything to make her uncomfortable, he probably didn't even think of her like that.

"There's my space girl, you're looking particularly beautiful today," George is beaming as he approaches the table she's sat at, taking the seat next to her.

"Hey George, good day?"

"It's better now i'm here. Fred hasn't shut up about Millie all day, I mean I know he fancies her and all but seriously you'd think she hung the stars in the sky herself," He complains, not admitting even to himself that Fred would say he was just as smitten for his astronomy partner. "How was yours?" he asks, opening his bag to pull out his astronomy text book

"It was okay, Ced managed to blow up our potion so we have detention tomorrow night," She shrugs

"I'll see you there," He grins

"Why am I not surprised?" she deadpans and he allows his laugh to fill the air around them

"You know me to well," he blushes a little as he says it and forces himself to not stare at the way she bites her lip to stop from grinning. Half wanting her to stop so he could see that beautiful smile that seemed to be all he thought about and half wanting her to bite that lip every time he sees her because something about it was so attractive to him. "Do you mind explaining the constellation we learned about last lesson to me because I won't lie I was very distracted?" He doesn't feel like admitting that it was her that he found so distracting.

"Of course," She grins, unfolding her star map and pointing out the constellation Lyra "So Lyra is latin for Lyre, it is like a stringed instrument basically a harp, and it's associated with the myth of Orpheus," She begins to explain

"The musician guy?"

"Yeah," She confirms, watching as he takes notes of what she is saying "Orpheus was given the harp by Apollo, and it’s said that his music was more beautiful than that of any mortal man. His music could soothe anger and bring joy to weary hearts. Wandering the land in depression after his wife died, he was killed and his lyre  was thrown into a river. Zeus sent an eagle to retrieve the lyre, and it was then placed in the night sky and that's the story behind the constellation Lyra. It's best seen in August, and, it kind of looks like a lopsided square with a tail to Vega, it's brightest star," She recites, pointing towards the star on the constellation.

George tries hard to remember to focus on what she's saying, listening intently but he can't help his mind from wondering, instead scanning her face, every small detail, the way her eyes lit up as she talked, the way her lips curl in a small smile when she stops talking and notices him staring at her.

"Distracted again," he admits

"Clearly, you find astrology boring," she teases

"No, I just find you distracting," He admits, his heart melting as she is unable to stop the bright grin on her face. She doesn't say anything, simply grabs her notebook and opens it to the right page

"Copy my notes so you can at least teach yourself the content, the textbook is confusing," she instructs before turning back to her own work. They work silently for the next hour, dutifully copying notes and planning for their essay that's due in next week but routinely stealing glances at each other, blushing when one catches the other.

But I'd still spend my days dreamin' 'bout you Dreamin' 'bout you Tell me how to Stop dreamin' 'bout you

"Were you listening to anything I just said?" Fred questions, waving his hand in front of his brother's face

"Sorry, what was it?" George questions, pulling his eyes away from the Hufflepuff table. Fred sighs, turning to look at what George has been staring at and is not surprised in the slightest.

She is sat amongst her large friend group, despite being shy around people she didn't know she was chatting happily to the group. Cedric on her right, is laughing at the story she seems to be telling and Archie Young, who George hated simply for his obvious crush on her, is clinging onto every word.

"You are so whipped,"

"I know, it's embarrassing. I can't stop thinking about her and she probably only sees me as a friend,"

"Hey, don't say that. She would be stupid to not like you Georgie, besides, she stares at you just as much," Fred reassures his brother, usually he would tease him but he knows that this girl is different, it means something. "I still don't believe that she would never get us mixed up," Fred ponders, in reality he didn't doubt it, if George said she could tell them apart then why doubt him, but Fred wanted a moment alone with the girl.

"I swear to you that she wouldn't,"

"Lets test her," Fred exclaims, jumping up and tugging his twin out of the hall and to their dorm.

They spend an hour getting ready, stealing Ginny's eyeshadow to draw two fake freckles on Fred's neck, stying his hair attempting to fix every minor detail to make them utterly identical.

When they find her, she's hugging Cho Chang before turning around on her own and walking towards the Hufflepuff common room.

"Go hide," Fred instructs, shoving George towards an empty classroom he can watch from.

"Hey space girl!" She turns immediately at the name, mildly confused when the person approaching isn't George.

She had never spoken to Fred before and immediately feels herself becoming a little shy.

"Uh, hi Fred," she smiles as politely as possible. Fred stands with a smirk on his face.

"You fancy my brother," he states, she blushes a furious red that seems to be the final confirmation Fred needs, his moment alone with her providing the answer he had wanted.  

"I-uh-he-that-it-" she stutters out, Fred's smirk only grows as she turns impossibly more flustered before sighing  "How did you know?"

"Telling us apart is hard, especially when we try, you must really like him to know so quickly. Besides that reaction alone was enough to let me know I'm right,"

"Does he know?"

"He's blind," Fred shrugs, eyeing her as he decides he likes her, she clearly cares for George and that's all that matters to him.

"Right," she nods awkwardly

"I'm sure I'll be seeing you around," Fred grins before turning on his heel and heading back up the corridor to where an oblivious George is waiting.

Girl, are you a Cancer? 'Cause you make me cry When we kiss or dance in the sky We're dancing in the sky

George can't help the wide smile on his face when he sees her. She, like all the other 6th year astronomy students, is sat in her robes on the astronomy tower despite it being 11:45. He picks up the star map from a pile and heads towards her.

She is sat around a corner, almost out of eye line from the class completely and if he hadn't been looking for her he probably wouldn't have even seen her.  He sits down next to her, pressing his back against the cold stone wall just as she was doing.

The task was simple, to draw a diagram of the constellations they could see that night with the correct names onto an unlabelled star map and then from 6am tomorrow they had 48 hours to write an essay explaining each constellation they had found, it was their final assignment for the first term of school. George thought that was stupid, why would they do the task that involved sitting outside at night in December and the written exam in the summer when it would have been warmer.

"Hi," she speaks softly, the moonlight made her glow and George could have sworn she was an angel. Her own map was already a quarter full and wordlessly she arranges it so George can copy the notes she's already made.

"Hey, you okay?" he questions, noticing the way she curls into herself

"Just cold," she nods, he flashes her a smile, digging into his bag and pulling out a spare sweater and a blanket, both knitted by Mrs Weasley. He passes her the jumper

"Are you sure? you have it with you so that you won't freeze. I can't take it," she blushes

"No, I'm already wearing a jumper," he points out "I figured I'd bring a spare cause I knew you wouldn't think too," He adds with a smile, she blushes but accepts the jumper from his hands.

"thanks," she smiles, he nods. Watching as she pulls the jumper over her head. Her heart somersaults at the smell of George that envelopes her, his does the same at the sight of her in his jumper that looks baggy and too big, the sleeves like paws on her hands, and the large 'G' sewn into the front making him blush a little.

He wraps the blanket round one of his shoulders holding the other side out for her

"I don't bite," he speaks softly, it's like he can read her mind and knows she's thinking about how close they will be to sit under his blanket together. She blushes and giggles a little and George could die happy having heard that sound.

She shuffles closer, wrapping the blanket around her shoulder and begins to point out the constellations she's already mapped for him, cocooned next to him in the blanket.

They work together for the next twenty or so minutes as she stifles yawns, eventually allowing her head to droop onto George's shoulder when he teases her for stifling yet another yawn.

"This blanket smells like you," she mumbles, he blushes madly but can't help the smile

"Are you warm enough?"

"Bit cold, I'm fine though," she admits, he rolls his eyes at her as she shivers a little and wraps an arm around her, pulling her close to him

"Better?"

"Better," she confirms. She didn't mean to fall asleep but all cozy and warm being held by her crush it was impossible not to.

Not wanting to wake her, George finishes both his star map and hers before dozing off, his head resting on hers. He knew he should have woken her to go back to her dorm but spending the night sleeping with her in his arms was just too tempting.

She wakes up before him, having slept better than she ever had before and feeling utterly blissful in George's arms. That is until she realises she hadn't finished her work, she can't help the beam when she sees George has done it for her. She wants to stay wrapped in his arms but feels it better to leave now so it isn't awkward. In return for completing her work she takes her astronomy notebook that has all the answers to the essay written simply and leaves it on top of his star map, she knew the answers from memory anyway. Not even sparing the doodles and comments in it a thought.

She slips out of his hold, sneaking through the other students who fell asleep and heading back down the tower stairs to the main school, forgetting to take off his jumper.

George wakes up disappointed to not find her in his arms but smiles when he sees her notebook.

I hope you play this song some day And think of Earth Girl who loves Space Girl

George can't help the sigh as he explains to Fred where he had been all night.

"That all sounds pretty good to me Georgie," Fred comments, wondering why his brother seems down after his night with the girl.

"It was, I'd just hoped she'd be there when I woke up," he admits

"Well think about it like this, when have you ever had the opportunity to be disappointed that she wasn't there when you woke up before?" It's Hermione Granger who speaks up, she'd been listening to the twins talk on the sofa next to her and Harry's without really meaning too. It was just more interesting than Harry and Ron's discussion.

"you're right. It's better than nothing. Thanks Granger," he nods in agreement. He begins to flick through her notebook, not to study but simply enjoying the little doodles and her comments.

And then his world stops.

"How many people can you think of with the initials GW?" his questions is almost under his breath but Fred hears, perking up from the puking pastel plans he had been working on

"Just you and Gin, why?"

With no explanation George leaps up, jogging out of the room. Fred look mildly baffled until he sees her open notebook, and sure enough written on a corner amongst drawings of stars and planets is a little 'gw' with a heart next to it. Fred smirks and closes the book, turning back to his notes with a feeling of glee for his brother.

When George Weasley arrives outside the Hufflepuff common room he suddenly realises he has no clue how to actually get in, he stops, slightly out of breath from his sprint staring at the barrels.

"Hey George," her voice makes him jump as he turns to see her and Cedric approaching

"Hi," he smiles, suddenly not really sure what to say

"Well, now I've walked you back I'm going to go and find Cho," Cedric smiles politely at George, wiggling his eyebrows at the girl as she blushes.

"You looking for someone?" she asks politely

"You, actually,"

"Oh, what can I help you with?" she asks, he has no idea what to say "Oh! your jumper, it's in my room. You can come with," she smiles, reaching out and tapping at a barrel and then climbing into the passage that opens.

He follows wordlessly, glancing around the large circular room that is filled with yellows and blacks. She walks a little more confidently than he's seen before and smiles happily to the people who call out to her but doesn't stop to chat with them. He decides he likes it here, not only because it's so cosy but because he likes seeing her so at ease.

He follows her into her circular dorm room and towards a fourposter covered in pillows and blankets, his jumper sitting folded on top of the trunk at the end.

"I actually wanted to talk to you," he admits, it's now or never.

"Of course, what's up?" she questions, sitting comfortably on her bed and gesturing for him to sit down next to her

"I- well- how many people do you know with the initials GW?" he questions curiously, she looks at him, clearly mildly confused.

"Springing to mind just you and Ginny," She answers, not really sure what the point of his question is.

Without thinking for even a second he pulls her face to his and plants his lips on hers, kissing delicately before pulling away. She stares at him, utter shock in her eyes and mouth agape.

"I-I am so sorry. I just- well there were the initials GW in your notebook and a little heart and well I thought maybe you liked me back and then I heard you only knew me and Ginny and I assumed, which was wrong of me- and- merlin- I'm so sorry-" he's rambling anxiously and his hands wring through his hair

"Back?" her question is a whisper and he snaps his head up to look at her

"Yeah. I like you. Kind of thought that was obvious," he admits. His heart flips at the wide smile on her lips before her hands grab his neck and pull his head down so his lips meet hers. She kisses him with passion and hunger and he finally gets to bite down gently on that lip he's watched her bite a million times.

Her arms stay wrapped around his neck as she lies back on her pillows behind her, pulling him with her and not breaking the kiss for a second. They only pull apart when she needs to for air. But the beam on her face and her flushed cheeks make George want nothing more than to kiss her again.

"Wanna go do the essay together?" he questions

"We have 48 hours, we could stay here and cuddle," she suggests, a little timidly but her nerves leave when George grins brightly, kicking his shoes off and rearranging himself on her bed. She takes her own shoes off before climbing into his open arms, her head on his chest as she leans up to press another kiss to his lips.

"I'm keeping that jumper by the way," she informs

"Whatever you want space girl,"

I hope you play this song some day And think of Earth Girl who loves Space Girl I hope you play this song some day...

**

Masterlist

[random-imagines-blog]

Teenage Queen {Viktor Krum x Reader}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 2835 Summary: Related to one Champion, ex of another and the budding love interest of a third. It’s one weird year.

Your final year at Hogwarts was not turning out to be as perfect as you had expected. You were just hoping that everything would go as normal; no deadly and dangerous adventures for your little brother Harry and his friends, no fighting with your boyfriend Cedric. Just a perfectly mediocre year where you focus on your studies, get good NEWTS and move on to train at your dream job. And then along came The Triwizard Tournament. Well, at least it was for Seventh Years only, and you had no intention of entering - and your fourth year brother certainly wouldn’t have a part to play in it, would he?

You couldn’t have one simple year at Hogwarts, could you? Not that you blamed your brother but ever since he had come along in his first year, things have been going wrong left, right and center. First, your boyfriend Cedric had been chosen as the Hogwarts champion, which he didn’t even tell you that he had entered. You were mad about that, but then when it came to the interviews and Rita Skeeter poking around, you had enough of it. Even his friends were coming along and asking questions about your personal life, since he was the only one of the FOUR champions to have a partner. This ended up in you breaking up with him, because he didn’t see the big deal about all of the intrusive questions. It was mutual, eventually, but you had to wear him down in order for him to see that it would be better if you spent some time apart.

And then Harry, sweet little Harry Potter who couldn’t catch a break, was chosen to be the Fourth Champion, which was entirely unheard of. You had charged into the room where the champions were and you gave Dumbledore a mouthful of words, as well as the Minister of Magic, but the rules were the rules and he had to compete. You tried throwing back that the rules had stated that it was only for Seventh Years, and that there was only to be one champion per school, but they claimed that their hands were tied. After that, you took Harry’s hand and pulled him out of there so the two of you could talk alone.

You were devastated. Especially in the coming days when it became apparent that a lot of people, including his best friend, thought that he had put his name in the Goblet of Fire. It was completely far away from Harry’s personality, and you vowed to help him through everything, studying your ass off on his tasks on top of your school work. He still had Hermione, though, and that was a relief. You were more worried about him than you had been about Cedric, whom you were convinced would do absolutely fine in the Tournament, and probably didn’t need your assistance.

-

You were sitting by the lake one day, doing your extra-curriculars. You took just the necessary classes this year, having dropped Divination and Arithmancy so you wouldn’t have to study as hard. But you were doing studies of your own, particularly in Russian. You wanted a job in which you got to travel the world, so you decided that taking languages, a course only done through talking books, was a good way to go. You were fluent in French, and learned more about pronunciation through the Beauxbatons students, but you didn’t know much Russian, so you decided to take that up so you could communicate with Durmstrang as well.

You were coming along pretty well, though your pronunciation needed some work. You were practicing in the weak sunlight of the Scottish Autumn, muttering to yourself. “Ya chuvstvuyu-” You started to pronounce, then realized it didn’t sound right, so you tried again. “Ya chuvstvuya,” You put more emphasis in, “-tvoyu lyubov segodnya.”

“Ochen khorosho!” The book praised back to you. You smiled, the romantic phases being something that you wanted to master. Okay, so maybe you weren’t entirely over the break-up with Cedric. It wasn’t him in particular, it was just having someone to care about, someone to care about you that you missed.

“Who var you talking to?” A puzzled voice said. You looked up from the speaking book to see that there was a student in front of you. You were so into your book that you hadn’t even noticed anyone approaching. The sun was behind him, casting his face in shadow, though the robes showed Durmstrang.

“Myself,” You said, then held up the book to show what you were doing. “Practicing Russian. I’m on the chapter of romantic phrases.”

The student looked delighted, and much to your surprise, he sat down with you, looking over the pages. It was only as he leaned over to take a closer look, his finger running across some of the words, which made the book giggle aloud, that you realized exactly who it was. You turned red at this realization - because it was nonother than celebrity champion Viktor Krum, who you had just seen at the World Cup. You remembered the way that Cedric had gushed over how good of a seeker he was, and how amazing his flying techniques were.

“This one good-” He said, pointing to a certain phrase and then said it out loud. You read along with it, your eyes following his finger, but he added more to the sentence, words that you weren’t sure of.

“What does that mean?” You asked, realizing that you were still as red as a rose at his close proximity. You tried to tell yourself to act natural, pretend that it wasn’t a celebrity - a very handsome celebrity - that was this close to you, but you found it impossible. It wasn’t everyday that someone came into your space like this. The last person had been Cedric, but the two of you didn’t spend any time together since the break up. Just nods in the hallways, and awkward grins if you had a class together. You haven’t tried to date anyone else since, though Rita kept coming up with stories about you cheating on him with other boys. You hoped she wasn’t snooping around now with that damn quill of hers.

“You var my paradise,” He said, in his heavily accented English. That part was in the book. “-My...” He looked around, as if having trouble with translation. He pointed up at the sky, and then did little flapping motions with his hands. When you gave him a puzzled look, he put his hands above his head, his index and thumbs together to make a circle.

“Heaven?” You asked. He shook his head so you took another guess after piecing it together. “Heaven?" He nodded, with a smile and then continued to look around. He then pointed straight towards the sun, which was hiding behind clouds. “Sun?” You guessed once more. He nodded again.

“You var my paradise - my heaven - my sun.” He said, looking quite proud of himself. And he was saying it while he was looking right at you, which just made you feel all the warmer. You hadn’t really given anyone attention since Cedric, and since most of Hogwarts thought you two were the dream couple, no one else had tried to hit on you. But here was Viktor Krum, reciting such lovely things for you in a language that you were only beginning to understand.

“Beautiful,” You muttered in his mother tongue, and he beamed as he recognized the word. Until it was no longer light enough to study, and you had to conjure up a light and keep it in a jar - thank you Hermione for that idea - in order to see anything, he helped you along with your studies. And yet, you never seemed to get past the chapter of romance. He introduced you to new phrases, and would practice with you until you had the pronunciation down perfectly. The book had been quiet for a while, having no critiques for you, you were doing so well. “Thank you so much - you taught me a lot,” You said, getting onto your feet.

“You’re velcome,” He said, bowing his head respectfully, jumping up effortlessly. You scrambled to put your book into your bag, and he helped you, holding your bag open for you. “Maybe you can help me,” He suggested. You tilted your head, questioning what this man could ever want help with. The first task had gone swimmingly for him, he was a Quidditch star, he was handsome to boot. “With een-glish.”

“Oh, of course!” You said with a grin. “I would love to help. Why don’t you meet me in the library on Saturday?”

-

Four different boys asked you to the Yule Ball, and you had said yes to only one of them - sort of. Unfortunately for Harry, it wasn’t his best friend Ron who just seemed desperate to go with anyone. When you told the two boys that you already had a date, your brother kept questioning who it was. He seemed to have a theory that you were back with Cedric, which couldn’t be further from the case. You just left them guessing, looking forward to seeing their faces when you appeared.

Thanks to the small fortune that your parents had left for you and Harry, you were able to afford a stunning dress. And with some small alterations, you could probably make it last forever. It was your favorite color, floor length with see-through sleeves and a pinched waist to really bring out your body shape.

That, along with your confident smile and you were ready to go.

Your date wasn’t in your house, in fact he wasn’t even from this school. You flushed as you remembered exactly what Viktor had done in order to ask you, and you had to applaud his trickiness. He had written out ‘Will you go to the ball with me’ in Russian, and asked you to translate it. You had done so, thinking that perhaps he wanted to ask out one of the many Hogwarts girls who had fawned after him throughout the hallways, but instead of repeating it back to you, he had said ‘Love to.’ It took you a minute to realize what he had done, and you couldn’t stop laughing once you had it figured out. You agreed with that, and your date was set.

You were going to the Yule Ball with a champion. That was what worried you the most. The attention that you were going to get since you and Viktor had to participate in a dance in front of the student body. He hadn’t had the time to practice, since his own Headmaster was keeping him busy with studying for the tasks, but you did have another willing partner. Your brother Harry. It was easiest with him since he had to do the same dance at the same time.

As you walked down the stairs with a couple of other girls who were meeting their dates, you were nervous to see if all of that practicing had paid off. You caught your brother’s eye as he went down the stairs and gave him a confident wink. He had asked out one of the Patil twins, you had heard, and you were very much looking forward to teasing him about it after all was said and done. Your date wasn’t at the bottom of the stairs in the herd like many of the other males, but further back, trying not to bring attention to himself. He stepped forward when you reached the foot of the staircase, maneuvering expertly through the people in his red suit, and held his hand out to you. You took hold of it, making many in the crowd gasp.

“Krum?” You heard your brother and his best friend say in unison.

You gave a teasing little wave to them as you were lead into the Great Hall, which had been transformed into a beautiful ballroom for the occasion. It looked like a winter wonderland in here, and it took your breath away. You were given a grand entrance, where Viktor, Fleur and Harry were also introduced, before taking part in the dance. You couldn’t help but notice that you were also getting looks from Cedric, who was here with Cho Chang, a pretty Ravenclaw.

You ignored all of those looks, focusing on Viktor, and Viktor alone. He remained the stiff, very concentrated man that you had gotten to know through your studies, though once in a while, when no one was looking, he smiled. The dance went off without a hitch, which was amazing considering he had to lift you. That’s the part that you were nervous about, but his strong arms managed to do the task and you felt safe throughout. You did feel a little better once both feet were on the ground.

Once the dance was over, and the band began playing something less traditional and upbeat, you were able to blend more into the crowd. “I get us drinks,” Viktor winked, giving you a thumbs up as he departed from your side for the first time of the night. You felt even more flushed by the wink than you did by the dance, so you leaned back against one of the columns and took a glance to see who had brought whom.

You smiled as you watched Harry and Ron sitting, refusing to dance with their dates. An older Gryffindor had asked Hermione, and the two of them were out on the dance floor. For the first time, it seemed like the school was entirely at peace. Houses with other houses and schools with other schools. You couldn’t help smiling as Hagrid danced with Madame Maxime. Even Dumbledore had a turn on the dance floor.

“May I have a dance?” A familiar voice said from next to you. You turned to look into those honey colored eyes that had made you swoon the year before, but now - now you just felt nothing. And it was great to just feel nothing.

“I don’t think so,” You said, smiling through your rejection. “Viktor will be back any minute with some drinks. I’m absolutely parched.”

“He wouldn’t let you dance with an old friend?” Cedric asked, raising an eyebrow. You saw through what he was doing, unfortunately. Playing the nice guy. You realized that him seeing you with Viktor must really have gotten under his skin.

“I’m sure he would,” You said, demurely. This was like something right out of a book for teenagers. A love triangle - but you weren’t going to let it be that way. That required feelings for the third person, and you no longer had that. Still, you felt like some sort of Queen with all of the attention that you were getting. “But I honestly just want to save every dance for him. He’s a wonderful dancer, must come with being a professional athlete. Did you see him out there?”

“I did,” Cedric conceded. “And I saw how happy you were - so I’m happy for you, y/n.”

“I’d hope so,” You said, spotting Viktor coming forward. You excused yourself from Cedric, and went to meet him, taking the glass of punch from his hands. You noticed that for the first time in the night, he wasn’t looking at you, but was scowling over at Cedric. You had told him about your past with Cedric, and about your brother being Harry. It hadn’t worried him at all that you were close with two of the other contestants, or at least it hadn’t until now. “Thank you,” You said, laying your hand upon his arm as you took a sip from the glass goblet.

“Vhat did he vant?” Viktor asked, pointing his chin towards Cedric, who was still standing by the column, looking at you solemnly. You shook your head as the ugly beast called jealousy made an appearance.

“He wanted to tell me that he’s happy for me, that I’m here with you,” You said, smiling, since it was a truth, though maybe not the whole truth. “And I must say, I share the feeling.”

The stoic look remained on Viktor’s face for a moment more. You didn’t like it. This was supposed to be a happy occasion. You leaned in and pressed a kiss onto his stubbled cheek, and grew excited as it seemed to light up. He was finally smiling once again, and you both turned so your backs were towards your ex. “Vant to dance?” He asked, draining his own cup.

“With you?” You said, leaning in so you could rest his head on his broad shoulder. “All night long.”

[justasparkwritings]

NoFacetober {19}

Previous: Day 18

Pairing: Wizard Kim Seokjin x Witch Reader

Genre: Witch/Wizard AU

Rating: PG13

Warnings: Swearing!

Word Count: 852

NOFACETOBER hosted by @bangtanbathhouse​

Day 19 : Mask

Master List 

           “On this night and in this space / Take us back to a moment we cannot replace,” You and Seokjin recite the spell, a simple enchantment where you must enunciate, cannot use contractions, and have to be completely in sync in your incantation, otherwise it won’t work. It’s nearly impossible, which is why memory spells are only reserved for higher letter magical folks. And – on top of it – Jin’s amplifying your memories so they’re playing out in Jungkook and Namjoon’s minds.

           “We always knew each other – Seokjin was in my brother’s class, they spent a lot of time together.” You start the tale – one that’s been rehearsed and practiced for many, many years.

           “But it wasn’t until Wizarding University, at the annual Masquerade that we met. It was hosted by the Charms, Enchantments and Transfiguration department, my major,” Jin takes over – the beginning of your back-and-forth narrative.

           “You had to pass two levels of Charms before you could be invited, and in order to actually be admitted you had to demonstrate that you could successfully enchant your appearance for a considerable amount of time. The party – always held around Valentine’s Day – was incredibly popular.”

           “I was the MC and had been for my second and third years, I was on track to be the MC for years four and five too. The theme was celebrity mélange, and the cleverest combination won a cash prize. There were at least two hundred magic students there, and somehow, we bumped into each other,” Seokjin finishes his part gracefully, and shockingly not adding the twenty adlibs he usually does.

           Th fact that he was MC, in a major of at least one hundred magical witches and wizards and warlocks, is a feat in and of itself. He had to be charming and funny, well regarded by his peers and sought after by his professors. Seokjin was the top of his class, working diligently to prove his worth, and he did. He was the MC for 3 years, the longest run possible.

           “I didn’t go the first year I was eligible, too busy studying,” You missed too much, your brother had scolded you for not meeting more people and enjoying your time at university. So you actively made the choice to be. Signing up for everything, joining clubs, bringing new people into your life. “But the second year, I was excited. Celebrity mélange? Sign me up. Seokjin was enchanted too – but kept his eyes. Why his eyes, I didn’t know. But I knew it was him.”

           “I went up to Y/N and asked her to dance… I’d had a crush since elementary school, when she accidentally enchanted my pencil, and it wrote Mr. & Mrs. Y/L/N all over my notebook. I thought, who is this girl, my friend’s sister, who bewitches my pencil to write her last name all over my notebook? And as we grew up, I fell harder and harder.”

           “I was completely in love with him – and Namjoon wanted nothing more than for sixteen-year-old me to confess to Seokjin. But I couldn’t. at the masquerade, I saw him, those eyes… those ears… and I knew it was my chance.”

           “We danced, and danced again, and sometime after the enchantments wore off, I kissed her, and that was it. I was hooked, it was love and there was nothing more to it except I loved her,” Seokjin’s enchantment plays your first kiss, romantic and sweet, chaste with his burning ears. It was everything you imagined it could be.

           “I loved you already, before that kiss, but that’s when I knew.”

           “Me too, it didn’t take us long before we exchanged those sentiments,” Seokjin takes hold of the memory and speeds the time up to allow for the moment he said he loved you first. Sitting in the middle of this clearing, with stars dancing above you, Seokjin had whispered those three little words before kissing you soundly.

           “It was perfect,” You whisper.

           “Still true,” Seokjin brings your hands to his lips, kissing your knuckles tenderly in the moonlight.

           “On this night and in this place / let us leave the memory we won’t erase,” Together you recite the end of the spell and it is broken. Jungkook and Namjoon take a moment to center themselves and gather their sight again. Their minds now free to think and feel whatever they so choose.

           “What is with our friend group and unrequited love?” Seokjin asks.

           “Us, then Jimin and Yoongi, now you two?” You connect the dots.

           “Does that just leave Tae?” Jungkook’s eyebrow rises.

           “And Hoseok,” Namjoon reminds him. “They aren’t interested in each other.”

           You agree. “No, I saw Tae talking to the art shop owner, Violette.”

           “Oh, he’s talked about her. Maybe we need to… give them a little push,” Seokjin winks.

           “No – we have to let them find their own way to each other. Like we all did,” You counter.

           “I didn’t – Jimin pushed me to,” Namjoon corrects. “It worked out, but I would’ve liked to have asked Jungkook out myself.”

           “If Jimin hadn’t pushed,” Jungkook begins. “Would you have made a move?”

Next: Day 20

[infinitelytheheartexpands]

Responses from the Opera Screencaps Captioning Quiz

Hello, everyone, and thank you for taking my quiz! I had SO MUCH fun reading your captions-- there were several times I literally started crying from laughing so hard at the amazingness of your work! With that in mind, the captions (which I will continue to add onto as more people take it):

(also, thank you to @dichterfuerstin​ for translating the German captions I got)

originally taken from: the Wiener Staatsoper’s 2020 production of Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart’s Die Entführung aus dem Serail, featuring Regula Mühlemann (center) as Blonde, Michael Laurenz (right) as Pedrillo, and an unnamed extra (left) as the Grim Reaper

Responses:

(Backstage warm-up) “ok so someone dropped the pulse”

me and my friends watching the fire burn after doing arson

Introducing the polycule to the parents

*boom* ... did...you guys hear that too?

Ma Signor !

Knight in whinging armour gone wrong, look at how he holds the egg. Polyamory with weird knight and death.

the father, son and the holy ghost are very gay

the gays meeting for brunch, 2021, colorized

chicken lady forces death and a very flamboyantly homosexual anthropomorphized pink bird to be parents of her egg (they dont want to be)

That’s just me and my friends on our night out (before covid rip)-- closest

A Good Friday night

good omens (2019)

["the pocket guide to boy/girl/mischief" meme] who's the boy and who's the mischief though????

Papageno and Papagena take their first-born egg trick-or-treating

Angry Birds - The Musical. A pig stole an egg and the bird unites with death to take revenge.

I love my bird wife

Someone got murdered during the funky chicken dance

throuple murders child and steals sibling of said child

When you and your friends have widely different tastes in literature

angel leading twink to his rightful place (hell)

draco malfoy from a very potter musical and a death eater are very much in the wrong show

What have I gotten myself into

Mlm/wlw solidarity but I’m not telling who is who

A woman stands with a pink dipshit with an egg and a reaper.

A bird-couple makes a pact with Death, sacrificing their first-born bird-child in order to bring good luck upon their unborn bird-baby

There are three types of people on Halloween:

Uh oh, I don’t think the mother hen is very happy about this...

oh god, they’ve invented seussical. It’s too early!

gay brunch

Three little maids from school are we

guys maybe if we dress gay enough we can distract everyone from the dead flapper bee in the back

those three killed a duck for her egg and are facing the conswquences.

Duck has egg with human, shocked and upset due to biological impossibility

When you bout to make a banging omelet so you invite your fellow queers

"No mortal man could pass that egg, but heaven shall repair your rectum."

originally taken from: the Salzburg Festival’s 2007 production of Hector Berlioz’s Benvenuto Cellini, featuring Maija Kovalevska (left) as Teresa Balducci, Laurent Naouri (center, in chimney) as Fieramosca, and Burkhard Fritz (right) as Benvenuto Cellini

Responses:

“In this same interlude it doth befall That I, one Snout by name, present a wall; And such a wall, as I would have you think, That had in it a crannied hole or chink, Through which the lovers, Pyramus and Thisby, Did whisper often very secretly. This loam, this rough-cast and this stone doth show That I am that same wall; the truth is so: And this the cranny is, right and sinister, Through which the fearful lovers are to whisper.” - a midsummer night’s dream, act v scene 1

"ah yes a prime specimen. see here, right in this box is our one of a kind hob goblin that can be all yours for the low low price of your soul"

what, YOU don't have a special eavesdropping chimney window?

Hänsel und Gretel plotting against the witch

man takes a wrong turn and ends up in a chimney, catches his girlfriend cheating-- closest

when you end up third wheeling the straight couple

lady cheats on her leather jacket wearing scummy boyfriend and when he unexpectedly comes home she hides the lover in the chimney

A straight girl and her gay best friend gossip about stuff idk

Idk Shakespeare?

experimental couples therapy feat. the chimney mf from mary poppins

Area Couple Inadvertently Traps Santa-in-Training in Chimney as they Attempt Rooftop Flirting

Landlords laugh over student renter's misfortune

I never asked for this

Ay yo lil mama lemme whisper in your ear

voyeurist listens to sandy and Danny from grease

Psssst! Did you hear about Susan? You won’t believe it!

lady and the tramp meets beauty and the beast?

human trafficking

And for just $30 you too could have your own tiny brick cage!

Psst I’m wearing assless chaps under this dress

A couple tortures a man in a box.

It's all fun and games being stuck in a chimney until your greasy uncle steals your crush from right above you-- okay ngl this could actually be a great Don Pasquale concept

Taking eavesdropping to the next level

Will you two stop being lovey dovey and let me out? SUMMER LOVIN, HAPPENED SO FAST— 

overhearing how people talk about you when they think they're alone puts you in the shithouse 

Does he know we can see him?

dear god, i am so fucking hungry, yall please just do whatever heterosexuals do so i can go eat a popsicle 

the human version of the trash man from sesame street is realizing that those two are going to fuck on his trash can 

Tmw you capture an angry short dude and start trashtalking him where he can hear 

Omg what if we kissed but we actually kissed the lil goblin man under us

"Remember, don't feed him after midnight"

originally taken from: the Théâtre de Capitole du Toulouse’s 2017 staging of Giacomo Meyerbeer’s Le prophète, featuring Leonardo Estevez (right, on fake horse) as Le Comte d’Oberthal

Responses:

“When I said we needed to drain the swamp I didn’t think there were people actually living there”

horse? what horse? no sir i dont know what horse youre referring to.

definitely don't have a napoleon complex going on

King stole La Scala‘s Lohengrin set

king breaks all his horses, has to use statue dragged by servants as transportation because he’s too kingly too walk

Emperor Söder and his subjects on a carnival procession

man on horse makes a big deal out of being on a horse

That’s not Zeffirelli because the horse is not alive

Who the fuck put a horse on the stage

isn't this that picture of napoleon on the horse

Area Count Thinks Citizens will be Intimidated by his Extremely Fake-looking Horse Statue-- closest

Everyone wants their turn on the giant plaster horse. Police are there to make sure everyone waits their turn.

Night out with the lads

Local royalty horrified at the state of his own damn kingdom

gay army fights different gay aesthetics-- hi author how does it feel to be the funniest fucking person on this quiz

Well at least I LOOK badass

ceasar if he hadn't gotten stabbed (colourised)

some soldiers jumped out of my kindergarten fairytale collection book to burn the don carlos flemish deputies at the stake

It’s just a model

Is that how you feel pulling up in your Honda Civic, Madge?

Someone rides a horse statue in public.

Just a normal party with the bros.

what is this, some kind of crossover episode? 

Terribly sorry for all the fuss, it’s just, that is, my horse is afraid of neck ruffles. I’ve tried to talk to him about it, but he’s—whoaaa there—he said he was a french courtier in a past life and he’s allergic to English fashion 

Horse seller, listen to me! I am riding into battle. I need your strongest horse. - We have horses at home. - The horses at home: 

All hail Incitatus the king 

we are not ripping off shakespeare’s henry viii. what the fuck. this is about lenny xi you uncultured swine, go drown in a pit of your own farts 

oh god is that hamilton 

Guy Removed From Art Museum For Sitting On Statue, more at eleven 

Gay <3

Officer: This horse... is a virgin! Crowd: *cheers*

originally taken from: the Parma Verdi Festival’s 2017 staging of Giuseppe Verdi’s Stiffelio, featuring Maria Katzarava (left) as Lina and Luciano Ganci (right) as Stiffelio

Responses:

That One kid in class

its a mEntAL BreAkDowN *final countdown but kazoo*

*record scratch* yeah, that's me. you're probably wondering how I got here-- closest

Dad keeps monologuing, teenager is done

left: all of my concerned friends, right: my emo ass having a very public mental breakdown

the demons in the corner of my room when im just trying to sleep

lady gets mansplained to (do i need to say more, we've all been there)

It’s probably an area baritone telling off an area soprano-- sorry; it’s a tenor. soprano is right though.

That was a fake horse in the last photo right?

child comes out as gay to father at a particularly bad time

dissociation solves everything

I can't believe it's not butter

Honey we talked about this

My sleep paralysis demon is Crowley from supernatural

child has nightmare of boring job

When you start dating a singer but he won’t stop practicing at night

just an average day in a hetero marriage

what do i do my wife's having period cramps again

Stop having an existential crisis. It’s time to sing!

“No son of mine will kin Gomez Addams under MY roof”

Crowley stares into space while a teen has post nut clarity.

When he wont stop reciting jordan peterson monologues!!

Do you realize how effed you are?

Ugh, not this lecture again! Dad’s Practicing For His Experimental Indie Band Again 

asking your parents for help with your own personal situation and them just ranting off about what they went through instead of helping in any way 

Will he shut up already!

no one tell him he’s yelling in the wrong direction, no one tell him plnsbdjddhdj 

this kid is tired of his dad listening to rush limbaugh (a man who claimed to be pro life but died anyway) 

Me internally vs externally 

Daddy issues

originally taken from: the Grand Théâtre de Genève’s 2020 staging of Giacomo Meyerbeer’s Les Huguenots, featuring several chorus members

Responses:

It’s the deadly eye Of Poogley-pie. Look away, look away, As you walk by, ‘Cause whoever looks right at it Surely will die. It’s a good thing you didn’t … You did? … Good-bye. - shel Silverstein

why the fuckith? my good sir, i beg of you to put your pants back on

I hate this itchy hat

Titanic Extras hear that they have to do extra hours

people waiting to board the titanic watch someone fall off the plank

pov: you’re a time traveler

guy in the flatcap is embarrassed by patriotism and pathos

No idea. For some reason Le Marseillaise comes to mind

Is this from Harry Potter?

disneyland main street usa workers on strike

local tries to hide behind Newsies cap to avoid unpleasant but inevitable conversations. meanwhile, some very fashionable ladies look on.

"Thank fuck, 2020 was just a dream after all"

“We gather here today because this bitch got exactly what she deserved” “heaven!” “Stfu Stephanie she’s going to hell and we all know it”-- not quite but this basically happens later on in the opera (and act) so yeah (except the person in question very much Did Not Deserve It)

dc movie filter on bridgerton

america?

looks like my history teacher paused the prohibition documentary again

Who still wears page boy hats bro?

Coming out to a room of people who Already Knew That

Bitches are relieved at some party.

Several drunk people exiting getting off the subway attempting to seem sober and rational but realizing they have somehow lost all of their possessions

How tf do I act natural in this situation-- closest

“do you think any of them noticed that I don’t know the pledge of allegiance” 

It's too fucking hot outside for this outfit 

?

when hyyh yoonkook ending just hits different 

pedestrians watch in horror as the triangle shirtwaist factory burns and the workers throw themselves out of the windows from a dozen stories up 

Starting the pledge of allegiance be like 

He's having a heart attack oh no oh god oh fuck

originally taken from: if I remember correctly, the Semperoper Dresden’s 2018 semi-staging of Johann Strauss II’s Die Fledermaus, with Jonas Kaufmann as Gabriel von Eisenstein

Responses:

“William Shakespeare wrote: "To thine own self be true And it must follow, as the night the day Thou canst not then be false to any man" I believe this wise statement best applies to a woman A blonde woman Over the past three years she taught me And showed us all That being true to yourself never goes out of style Ladies and gentlemen Our valedictorian: Elle Woods!” - legally blonde the musical

eat ass, suck a dick, and sell drugs

woooooorrrrd

Finally Jonas has graduated! It’s about time, considering he’s an international star.

what my professors think they look like

Prof. Dr. Dr. When someone tells him there are more than two genders

'and since you've now graduated high school, you'll be entering college etc. blablabla' .........meanwhile, there's a whole row of graduates daring each other to chug the cheap vodka one of them has brought in gallons (yes that happened at my graduation, lol)

Jonas darling baby <3-- can’t argue with that

I just realized I have no idea what the actual fuck happens in an opera

ok this one is just what jonas kaufmann always wears you can't fool me.

"as valedictorian i will share with you the importance of loving the floor"

"Yes, mother, my art degree will make me money!"

Graduation speakers are out, singers are in

Senior year takes a new meaninbg

mansplainer professor explains the concept of feminism to women

Your Prof when you finally turn in that missing assignment be like

younger boris johnson (derogatory)

jonas kaufmann retires from opera and takes up motivational speaking

What a fine graduation evening we’re having today

-70 points for slytherin you all have no swag

A man with a college hat sings.

An obviously greying actor trying to play a university student in a low-budget porn parody

How it feels to graduate high school after being held back for years

East High is a place where teachers encouraged us to break the status quo and define ourselves as we choose. Where a jock can cook up a mean crème brûlée, and a brainiac can break it down on the dance floor-

I may not have been "cool" in high school, but in ten years you will all be working for me!

I finally got my GED!

that one guy in ur intro to cultural anthropology class who mansplains to the professor somehow fucking graduated

he;s just graduating and taking his speech too serously idk

Graduation speeches with that one dude who got held back 3 times

Smrt

originally taken from: the Metropolitan Opera’s 2011 staging of Gioachino Rossini’s Le Comte Ory with Joyce DiDonato (left) as Isolier, Diana Damrau (center) as Countess Adèle, and Juan Diego Florez (right) as Le Comte Ory (disguised as a hermit)

Responses:

There is something very [disturbing grunts] About polyamorous couples - polyamorous, Chris Fleming

jinkies

femme fatale (including to herself)

I’ll have a threesome soon !

Hot guy walks by, everyone swoons.

thirdwheeling friend does not realize the other two are having sex

When your girlfriend had „just two beers“ again

jesus is exasperated about having to drag the two ladies towards doing what he needs them to do instead of purple dramatically declaring suicidal intent over the smallest trivial matters and red being equally dramatic about declaring that it's not the way! stay alive! i love you!!

The throuple is thriving

Get off the milf

orgy

my last three braincells because im a horny slut

countess receives too much love and is confused on how to react

Rasputin's lesser known romp with a much older czarina of russia

Woman's soul leaves body

Jesus and co. are worried after another woman gets pregnant without having sex

bisexual looks at photos of celebrity couples

When you go to the party to socialize with new people but your weirdo friend group starts getting clingy

Jesus cumming

one of those weird church christmas pageants but everybody's drunk

What have I done

Hozier??????????

Jesus assfucks some purple lady being hugged.

This time, the chick IS the magnet

An affair/threesome gone awry (2019 colorized)

What do you mean they canceled GLOW?

“I TOLD you it was cashmere!”

Are you wearing the - - The Gucci dress? Yes I am.

It's not what it looks like!

jesus is fucking that one cheerleader who grew up to be a suburban mom with one (1) super cool dress she stole from her kid who is desperately hugging her middle begging for it back because the spring fling is coming up and jason might actually make eye contact with her for more than three seconds.

jesus and mary magdaline and some other bitch

I’m at a bar and these drunk girls are flirting with me, do I lOOK GAY?!

Shrek 5, jesus's return

c. 2025 First attempt of an Officer and his Wife with a Handmaiden (colourized)

just about all of these are close lol

originally taken from: the Bolshoi Theater’s 1993 staging of Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky’s The Maid of Orléans, featuring Nina Rautio (left) as Joan of Arc and Vyacheslav Pochapsky (right) as Thibaut d’Arc

Responses:

Don’t look, I’m still pooping

yall, the audacity of this man. he fuckin talked to me

*i can't even tell you how wrong you are* *it would be insulting to ME*-- closest

Cospeto!

„No I’m not talking to you, you keep cracking bad jokes!“ - „But I got another!“

when you’re mad at him but he says he’ll buy you food if you cheer up

When I’m wallowing in self-pity but my friends won’t comfort me

right: wanna fuck ;) left: yeah, fuck OFF lmao

Her face is screaming “don’t tell me what to do”

Yeah I got nothing

gay man tries to hit on a lesbian bc he thinks she's a twink. she's not amused but she's watching this happen anyway

me tired of MET's bullshit and them organising a Netrebko, known blackface apologist, a recital during Black History Month. (sorry im still fucking salty lol)

"stop smiling at me like that I'm trying to pout over here"

"I got fleas, you got fleas... wanna fuck?"

I have the best idea!

Haha nooooo don’t hit me with that bat you’re so sexxyy

lesbian is bothered by dilf

Me trying to flirt

if call me by your name was hetero and set in america

how many more dad jokes can i take before i explode

So. You’ve gotten yourself in a little pickle again.

What if we fought in the Russian revolution together ✨???????... unless??

Two people flirt in a poor place of town/

"If you ask me what I've got under this dirty, shapeless tunic one more time I swear to god I will kick your rotting teeth in"

You look like ur gonna kill me but ok

Really? You again?

Okay, I’ve been sitting here for 20 minutes, do you think it’s safe to—oh god, he’s still there.

Have you seen Godot?

she is tired of everyone’s shit. she has done so many derivatives it physically pains her to see a variable. dont test her. ur icarus rn.

idk pick better pictures-- I HAVE DIED THE SHEER AUDACITY AND HUBRIS I LOVE THIS

200% done with your crap 

Homeless man has fucking legs of steel n is gonna show off his Russian dance moves

originally taken from: the Théâtre de Capitole du Toulouse’s 2019 staging of Paul Dukas’ Ariane et Barbe-bleue, featuring Sophie Koch (right) as Ariane and I don’t remember who the person on the left is rip me

Responses:

The knight who wore this into battle sure was swaggy

dear god its hiddeous

Capitalism

Knight in shining armour gone even more wrong.

ghost contemplates the safety of spiky motorcycle helmet

„Stop! He feels bullied!“

'this is my newest take for jesus's crucifixion crown ...... what do you mean they already put him up'

That’s probably a really expensive magic helmet idk. IDK-- closest

Omg I love the adventure zone!

minesweeper (windows xp)

"Okay whatever you do don't touch the shiny spiky ball" "It's so shiny I wanna touch it"

Taking down the trash way too late

IT'S NOT A PHASE MOM

Darth Vader got stuck in the freezer.... again. Leia isn’t happy

Star Wars 2030

“And here is the very latest in motorcycle helmet trends” “Look, I only came to the mall for a pair of socks “

futuristic kkk

long-suffering jewelry store attendant really wants to retire

Put it down put it down put it down

“Hmm no you should see a doctor about that”

A weird ass crown is presented

The creation of sars-cov-2: an experimental Eurotrance nightclub art piece gone horribly wrong

How it feels to want something that u cant have

AND WE WILL CALL IT—SPIKE MAN actually do you think that’s too obvious?? Because of the—yeah, because of the spikes?? See, that’s what I’m worried about. I want it to be SCARY

I know it's risky but... lube me up

?

use the force luke.

that is a weird fleshlight

When you get an ugly gift and need to find a way to get rid of it, so your family member/friend offers to smash it

Touch the orb

originally taken from: the Opera Vlaanderen’s 2019 staging of Fromental Halévy’s La Juive, with Nicole Chevalier (left, with bottle) as Princess Eudoxie, Enea Scala (center, under table) as Prince Léopold, and Roy Cornelius Smith (right) as Éléazar

Responses:

When no one comes to your birthday party :(

fantastic, day 487 of mischief and they have yet to find my masterful hiding spot

i really wonder who he thinks he's playing footsie with

Marriage crisis. Reason sits under the table-- closest but not in the way you think (after all, the man under the table IS a tenor).

the last supper afterparty after jesus left

When you order the last supper on wish

espionage at the Politischer Rosenmontag

Probably the wrong opera but is that Leporello under the table

Now THIS is a Good Friday night

this was every birthday party i went to between the ages of 5 and 11

that awkward moment when you drop your fork under the table but when you re-emerge everyone else has left except one drunk lady and the guy trying to deal with her

After the last supper

Tfw you arrive to the dinner party too early and have to hide until a more fashionable hour

When the cishets aren’t home

waiter hides from customers

Nobody: My dog every time I’m eating:

what's left of the homies Jesus had dinner with

university chem lab experiment gone terribly wrong

I’ve been under the table FOR 30 MINUTES

Set your friends up by tossing them off under the table, they’ll think it’s each other n fall in luv

Someone hids under a table

"You're about to see an surreptitious-under-the-table-dick-sucking master at work"

5 yr old me trying to eat the desert under the table without my parents finding out be like:

They never invite me to their parties!

Just another girl’s night in

Oops! Didn’t notice you the table.

dionysus - bts (2019, colorized)

just a normal episode of eric andre (eric is the one under the table)

Just a normal day with the boys

Thievery

originally taken from: the Théâtre de Capitole du Toulouse’s 2017 staging of Giacomo Meyerbeer’s Le prophète, featuring Kate Aldrich (left, surrounded by women in white) as Fidès and John Osborn (center, looking like a Jesus doppelganger) as Jean de Leyde

Responses:

Hold up, is that Eggman above Jesus?

holy disco

Looks like Tannhäuser. Our lord and saviour Richard Wagner. Now I need to be saved from that.

catholicism

me defending pineapple on pizza (THANK YOU)

jesus but hes about to be abducted by the alien ufo above him

Emmmmmmm Heaven? Idk

Lord of the rings?

ewww christianity gross

"behold, I am Important"

"Seriously?? It's not ACTUALLY pyjama day? Fuck you guys!"

Jesus at the Disco

Jesus Finds The Molerat People Who Live Under Bethlehem

disco is heaven

Want to join my new religion?

the kkk

church christmas pageant where everyone's sober but it's based on the director's fever dream

Am I the only one who sees the giant demon? Just me? Okay...

“Oh god I think I’m starting my period”

A party is held with a priest in the middle

"Let's get this secret Vatican sex party rolling!"

The new avengers endgame set is looking great!!

You know, guys, I try not to be a bother but...I can’t help but feel like I missed a dress code memo for this wedding??? It’s cocktail, right??”

Jesus visits Hogwarts

I must really stink if no one will even come close to me

the extra ass funeral i DESERVE

star wars life day

A cult at it’s best-- closest

Shrek 5, Jesus is still there I guess

originally taken from: the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden’s 2013 staging of Giuseppe Verdi’s Les vêpres siciliennes, featuring Bryan Hymel (left, standing) as Henri, Lianna Haroutounian (center, kneeling in the black gown) as Duchess Hélène, and Erwin Schrott (kneeling to her right) as Jean Procida

Responses:

When the director’s like “great rehearsal guys, just a few notes before I let you go” but it’s already 9:13 and your mom’s waiting in the parking lot

loyalist of subjects

bow before your queen

They forgot to take down the stage boxes after the Vienna opera ball but the show must go on.

somebody forgot to book chairs for this funeral

Me sharing God’s (Hayley koyoko) word on the discord server

mass execution bc the oboe solo sucked ass-- closest

That’s too many black suits I can’t see shit

I can’t even tell what’s going on here

8th grade school assembly about how it's uncool to shit on the walls at school

let's all get fancy so we can go to the opera and sit on the stage (idk this one's hard lol)

"Yes i am a time traveller, now don't freak out"

Tfw you forget to pay your lighting bills

White guys make decisions that will benefit them and screw someone that’s not a white guy over-- OUCH but that is too real (although not really in context here)

dead man gives speech at his own funeral

brotus and the boys ??? last meeting before the stabbing

high society social function ends in mass murder-- right opera, wrong scene

Someone walks into the talent show stage with a dog

Black-dressed bitches worship a man.

Worst school assembly of all time

POV:You're the window in the classroom and someone said "its snowing"

When the conductor shows up fashionably late to the orchestra concert

That's what you get for choosing the cheapest ticket option, get back in the mud where you belong

?

theyre just trying to jump into a grave at a funeral leabe them alone this is normal

oh my god he really whipped his dick out in front of everyone, this is just like in 1776 guys, except some women are actually in the room this time,

A funeral, stop wearing so much black

I want to slap their bald heads like rice

originally taken from: the Teatro Real Madrid’s 2018 staging of Gaetano Donizetti’s Lucia di Lammermoor, featuring Roberto Tagliavini (right) as Raimondo

Responses:

Crowd “haha!! Looks like someone missed the all-black memo!! Now it’s laugh-in-your-face time! / Guy on the floor (whispering to guy against wall): go, save yourself! I’ll hold them off...”

if i leave now i wont be a witness and can tell the police i had no idea

it was the best of times, it was the worst of times

Guy in the back pretends to help but is to far away to even know what’s going on.

priest walks in on beginning of an orgy, contemplated joining but is too scared-

when someone brings up capitalism but you’re just trying to play minecraft

lol lets trample this guy while the judge isnt looking

Again. Too many black costumes

Loved this Dostoevsky novel

i would know if opera directors were more creative with clothing choices ngl

me on parties lol

"imma just sneak out of here while everyone else is distracted"

"Where did he get this flooring!? Amazing!"

Everyone act normal!

The tell tale heart but they got REALLY drunk

man tposes to ward off vampires after being caught undercover

boys ???? night

the priest really shouldn't have visited the insane asylum-- closest

He’s FINE everyone’s been hit by a car before

Something happens in a room.

Perks of being a wallflower

There's always that one person in the fight whos trying not to get involved when they really wanna

Oh good, they’re all posing for a Rembrandt painting, I can just sneeeeaaak out the back here...

The gamer livestreaming Resident Evil + everyone watching the stream ? waiting for him to open the door just knowing it will trigger a chase scene

Quick!

the guy t posing in the back is regretting his every decision.-- also accurate

the us senate jumps ted cruz, some other wack ass gop senator is trying to sneak away

...I spoke too soon, however this is a James Bond mission

Queers help fellow queer do math but it's a struggle

[ghosttotheparty]

the serendipity of misspeaking

1/2

Abed isn’t in the kitchen when Troy comes out of the bathroom.

On any other day, he’d be sitting on the counter, his legs swinging, a glass of special drink or coffee in his hand, smiling as Troy enters, and Troy would say “Morning, Inspector,” in a bad English accent (that usually comes out more Australian than English) (Abed is better at accents than Troy is), and he’d grab a bowl of whatever Annie had concocted for breakfast, oatmeal or eggs or leftovers from dinner.

But Annie left early this morning (she popped into Troy’s room before leaving to meet Britta and Shirley for coffee before school). 

And Abed isn’t on the counter like usual. Troy stops in his tracks upon entering the kitchen, startled by his absence, staring at the space where Abed is supposed to be sitting, his hand pausing as it hikes his backpack over his shoulder. 

He glances around the kitchen, seeing if he missed Abed standing by the fridge, and steps out of the room when he doesn’t see him. 

“Abed?” he calls out lightly, getting no response,  and he sees Abed’s satchel on the floor outside the blanket fort, zipped up and seemingly ready to go. 

It’s dark in the fort as Troy pulls the front blanket aside, catching sight of Abed in his bunk, completely covered by his blankets. He shifts slightly as Troy lets the blanket fall behind him, and Troy is careful as he steps forward, brushing his feet along the carpet in front of him to avoid stepping on anything. 

“Abed?” 

Abed lets out a quiet hum, a gentle groan, and Troy’s heart lurches. He moves close enough to look over him, Abed’s face just peeking out from under the blankets. His eyes are squeezed shut. 

“Are you okay?” Troy whispers. 

Abed groans again and turns his face into his pillow 

“What’s wrong?” Troy asks, worried, wanting to sit on the bed and brush Abed’s hair out of his face. 

“I don’t feel well,” Abed mumbles after a few quiet seconds, and it takes another second for Troy to understand him, his voice muffled by the pillow.

“Do you really not feel well or is it just your brain telling you that you don’t?” he asks quietly, shifting on his feet, his brows turned up in concern, and Abed’s eyes open for a split second, shutting as his brow furrows and his lips pout as he thinks. 

“I don’t know,” he says finally, his voice nearly just a breath.

“What are you feeling?” Troy has a thought to pull his phone out and check the time, but he doesn’t. 

“Everything is too much,” Abed whispers, his eyes squeezed shut again. “Just… overwhelming.”

“Okay,” Troy says, as quietly as he can. “You can stay home, it’s okay.” 

“Okay,” Abed breaths, shifting in his bed, his hands coming up to under his chin with the end of the blanket clutched in them. 

“Do you want me to bring you anything? From the cafeteria, or…” Troy asks before stepping toward the entrance, stalling. Abed shakes his head. “Okay. I’ll bring you notes from class. I’ll see you later.”

“Troy?” Abed calls out weakly as Troy opens the blankets and steps out. 

“Yeah?”

“Have fun.”

“Won’t be half as fun without you, baby.” 

Troy carefully pulls the blankets closed behind himself and, after grabbing two granola bars from the kitchen (Annie’s addition to the stock of fruit roll-ups and Lucky Charms), shuts the front door as quietly as he can.

It’s not until he’s already out of the apartment building, halfway down the block and halfway through with the first granola bar, that he realises what the fuck he just said. 

He freezes, mid-chew, his eyes widening, and he turns around, facing the apartment building like he’s expecting Abed to be walking behind him. 

“Shit,” he mumbles, swallowing before taking a deep breath. And then another. And another, as he realises how fast his heart is pounding, how his breaths don’t seem to fill up his lungs. He closes his eyes, covering his face with his hands for a second, inhaling again and holding it for a few seconds before exhaling slowly. 

He starts to walk again when he feels steady, when his head is back on his neck instead of floating above his body. He finishes the granola bar too, even though he feels a little sick. 

He doesn’t even bother trying to think about something else, doesn’t bother trying to distract himself, because all that’s going through his mind as he walks down the endless sidewalk, listening as cars and bikes and people pass him, as he stops instinctively at crosswalks and waits for the lights to turn green, is baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby.

It’s still there when he gets to the study room, grinning and greeting the others, telling them Abed doesn’t feel well, pretending there isn’t complete rampage, chaos, pandemonium going on in his head, pretending just saying Abed’s name doesn’t make his heart twist. 

It’s still there as he goes to his first class, as he pulls out his notebooks and pencils (which aren’t in a pencil case, and are instead tossed to the bottom of his bag, much to Annie’s annoyance.). He glances at the clock often, his knee bouncing up and down, his pencil tapping his desk until Annie reaches over and snatches it from him and sets it down, his bottom lip between his teeth. Every second that passes is a second closer to going home to Abed, which normally he’d be excited about. On any other Friday, he’d be counting down the seconds happily, ready to go home and watch The Dark Night or something with Abed, with popcorn and chocolate.

When he thinks about going home to Abed, all that flows through his brain like waves on a coast, or rather like thunder clouds rolling over a sky, is baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby baby.

But every second that passes is another second closer to finding out if Abed heard him this morning. Troy tries to reassure himself, tries to tell himself that maybe Abed stopped listening, or maybe Troy was too far away, speaking too softly for him to hear, that maybe Abed misheard it for “buddy,” which Troy meant to say. 

If it weren’t today, and if he hadn’t said what he’d said, Troy would go home for lunch. He’d go and check on Abed, make him buttered noodles, make sure he’s okay. But today he stays in the cafeteria, staring at his phone on the table in front of him, only half-listening as Shirley and Jeff talk and laugh. Shirley asks if he’s okay when she sees him, and he assumes he looks sad. Or mad. Maybe both. He doesn’t even know what he’s feeling. 

“I’m fine,” he says, forcing a smile onto his face. “Just stayed up too late last night.” 

The only thing that manages to take his mind off it is his dance class, in the afternoon. It’s his last period and he worries that he may not be able to get into it today, that he may not be able to dance like he usually does (disappointing Madame LeClair crosses his mind), and he sullenly takes his jeans off in the corner, avoiding his classmates’ eyes as they look at him in wonder as to why he didn’t come in as enthusiastically as he usually does. 

But after just a few seconds of moving half-heartedly, his mind blanks, and if he knew how to read sheet music, he’s sure that’s what his head would be filled with. Treble clefs and whatnot, spinning and twirling and gliding and floating around, bouncing off his skull like a DVD screensaver as he spins and twirls and glides and floats. It’s almost effortless. He almost forgets where he is. He can’t even hear Madame LeClair’s loud, echoing voice saying “One, and two, and three, and four, and five, and six, and sev-en, eight! And one, and two, and three, and four, and five, and six, and sev-en, eight! And one, and two, and three, and four, and five, and six, and sev-en, eight!” as she claps in time with the music.

Sometimes he wonders which he likes more: dancing or football. If anyone asked, he’d say football, but part of him wonders if that’s because he’s supposed to like football more. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t love it, but football doesn’t make him feel the same way dancing does. Football puts him on edge, ready to be tackled at any given second, given a responsibility, a task to complete. It makes his heart beat fast, makes adrenaline rush through his veins. It gives him a rush and he ends up jumping whenever someone touches him after a game, laughing and messing around with his friends like he did in high school. (It’s different now, though. Here, he’s friends with them because he wants to be, not because he feels like he has to be.) 

Dance is similar, with the rush and adrenaline (especially after recitals). But it’s different too. Dancing makes him feel unstoppable, but not in the physical, aggressive way football does. When he finishes a dance, when he stops moving and relaxes his limbs and takes a deep breath, he feels real. Like he really really exists, by himself and for himself. 

It always takes him a second to ground himself before he starts moving normally after dancing.

“Nice work today, everyone,” Madame LeClair says when the music shuts off. “Good job Troy. So much emotion today!” she adds in that theatrical voice of hers.

“Thank you,” he says, looking down bashfully. 

He puts on his pants and jacket slowly, waiting for Britta like usual, and when he sees her, he throws his bag over his shoulder and steps forward. 

“Hey,” he says. 

“Hi!” She looks up from her phone. “You headed home?” He nods. “Text me how Abed is, will you? I’ve been worried about him today.” She twists her mouth. 

“Yeah, of course,” he says, ignoring the swoop of his stomach. “I’ll see you later.” 

She gives him a swift peck on his cheek and he leaves, his smile fading quickly. He feels sick again.

He counts every step on the way home, counts every time he can hear the sound of the rubber soles of his shoes crunching loose pebbles of gravel on the sidewalk. Every step, every crunch, every breath, 

baby

baby

baby

baby

baby.

---

When he gets home, Annie is in the kitchen, making a bowl of cereal. 

“Hey!” she calls, and he kicks off his shoes, not bothering to look where they land as he shuts the door behind him. 

“Hey.” He pauses at the counter, looking over as she gingerly pours milk in her bowl. “Have you talked to Abed?” He’s careful not to let his voice shake. 

“I stopped in the fort earlier, but he had his headphones on and I didn’t want to bother him.” She looks over her shoulder as she puts the carton back in the fridge. (She’s the only one that does.) “I think it’d be best if you checked on him.”

“Okay, yeah,” he says after a brief pause. “Yeah, I-- I’ll do that.” He shoots her a quick smile as she lifts her spoon to her mouth and she smiles back, catching a dribble of milk on her chin. His stomach flips again as he turns away, to the blanket fort.

The fort is still a little dim inside, but bright enough from the light streaming through the sheets for Troy to see Abed clearly, sitting on the floor with his back against the bunk bed. His headphones are on (Noise-cancelling, a Christmas gift from Jeff), but he lifts his head when Troy steps in, and lifts his hand, pulling them off so they hang around his neck.

“Hey, buddy,” Troy says softly, smiling to the best of his ability. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Abed replies, his voice low and gravelly from disuse. “Still kind of… Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Troy shuffles his feet on the ground, unsure of what to do or say. Abed’s eyes are still on him, but it’s just like normal. His eyes always look so soft.

Troy’s heart rate slows down as Abed gazes at him. Maybe he forgot. Or didn’t hear it. 

“What can I do?” Troy asks abruptly, after looking back into his eyes. Abed blinks, his face blank, and his head tilts, like it does when he gets lost in his mind and Troy brings him back to the ground. 

“What?”

“How can I help you? What can I do?” Troy repeats, and Abed blinks again. It takes a second for him to answer, and Troy waits. 

“Can you sit with me?”

“I-- Yeah, I can do that.” He shifts on his feet, taking a breath. “Let me put my bag down in my room. I’ll be right back, okay?” 

Abed nods. 

Troy pulls his phone out of his pocket as he leaves the blanket fort, feeling Abed’s eyes still on him. He sends a quick text to Britta (Abed’s good. He’s having a rough day but he’s better than this morning.) and then tosses it onto his bed before dropping his backpack to the floor. He leaves before it buzzes with Britta’s reply. 

He stops by Annie’s room, knocking gently on her open door.

“Hey!” she says, turning and dropping her spoon in her bowl as she chews. “How’s Abed?”

“Better than this morning, but…” She nods, twisting her mouth into a sympathetic frown. 

“Uh…” He leans his chest against the doorframe, holding it with his hands. “Do you think you can make buttered noodles for dinner? That might make him happy.” 

She beams, straightening her back and brightening. 

“Yeah! It’s still pretty early, but I can make it when I’m done with my homework.” 

“Awesome.” He smiles back. “Thanks, Annie.” He taps the doorframe gently before leaving. 

He opens the blanket fort slowly and peeks in before entering. Abed is still on the floor, his back to the bunk bed, but his headphones are on the floor next to him instead of around his neck. Now, he has a blanket draped over his shoulders, a dark blue one with the Inspector Spacetime logo printed across it. Abed doesn’t look up when he comes in, so Troy lets a small smile spread across his face as he sits cross-legged in front of him. 

“Okay?” he whispers, and Abed glances up, smiling back and nodding before dropping his head back to his knees. 

Troy sighs, looking at him fondly.  Baby baby baby baby baby baby is still somewhere in the back of his head, but it’s a little quieter now. In the dim light, he can see Abed’s shoulders rise and fall as he breaths, and when he closes his eyes, he can hear it too, can sync his own breaths with Abed’s. 

“Can I touch you?” he whispers almost inaudibly after a few minutes, opening his eyes to see Abed nodding against his legs. So he does, finally. He’s missed touching him all day, though he did his best not to think about it. He’s missed grabbing his hand as they navigate through the crowded hallway of the second floor between class, Troy leading him as Abed’s eyes remain trained on the ground, and slapping their hands together after something awesome. 

Troy scoots forward a little bit, keeping his legs crossed in front of him, and reaches out, gently brushing his fingers over the top of Abed’s head. Abed sighs.

“Okay?” Troy asks again. 

“Mm-hmm.” 

Troy smiles, threading his fingers in Abed’s hair and combing through to the back of his head. 

“Do you wanna talk?” Troy whispers as he does it again. 

“Sure.”

“What did you do today?” he asks, carefully, pushing Abed’s hair back. It’s so soft. Smooth. 

“I started getting ready this morning but it was too…” He takes a short breath. “Bright. And loud.” 

Troy hums, glancing down and noting that under the blanket, he can spot a graphic t-shirt, and further down, a pair of dark sweatpants. 

 “Have you eaten at all?” he asks, and there’s a pause before Abed shakes his head. 

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Troy reprimands gently, pausing before brushing through his hair again. “That’s okay. Do you think you can eat dinner later?”

“Mm… maybe.”

“That’s good enough right now.” 

Abed lifts his head, his brow furrowed, focused, and Troy lifts his hand, watching as Abed’s hand lands on Troy’s shin, pulling until Troy gets the message, uncrossing his legs and letting Abed move himself forward, away from the bed, until he’s sitting between Troy’s legs, his own wrapped around Troy’s waist. Troy waits as Abed gets situated in his arms, placing his own between them, his hands curled. 

Abed leans forward, pressing his forehead to Troy’s chest, breathing in deeply, and Troy wraps his arms around him tightly, revelling in the way Abed’s head turns, nuzzling his face in Troy’s hoodie.

“You smell nice,” Abed whispers, and Troy giggles lightly, adjusting his arms around Abed until he tangles his fingers in Abed’s hair, combing through it again. 

“Not too strong?’’ 

Abed shakes his head slightly. 

“No. You smell like you.” 

Troy hums again, smiling softly. He rests his elbows on Abed’s shoulders, sighing. He thinks he could fall asleep right here. He closes his eyes. 

He can feel Abed’s breath against the skin of his neck, and a chill goes up his spine. He shifts, opening his eyes for a second. He probably shouldn’t be enjoying this as much as he is, enjoying the feeling of Abed’s legs around him, of his fingers against his chest, fiddling with the strings of his hoodie. The slight, subtle brush of Abed’s hair touching his neck when Abed moves. 

But this is just them. This is how they are. So Troy closes his eyes again, pushing his fingers through Abed’s hair and running his hand down Abed’s back, his heart thumping happily at the quiet, almost inaudible hum that comes from Abed. After a few minutes Abed pulls his head away and leans back down, turning so his other cheek is pressed to Troy’s shoulder, and Troy pauses before coming through his hair again.

“I heard what you said this morning,” Abed says softly, and Troy is pretty sure his heart stops beating. His eyes fly open and his fingers freeze, pausing in his hair before Troy swallows (hoping Abed can’t hear his gulp) and pushing through again, though his hands might just be shaking now. 

“That I’d… bring you notes today?”

“You know what I’m talking about,” Abed says evenly, and Troy’s hand stops again, dropping to Abed’s shoulder gently as he looks down, at the ground, at the small crack in the sheets that a slim beam of light shines through. He takes a deep breath, resigning, and he knows Abed can hear his heart because it’s fucking pounding. The queen of England could probably hear it at this point.

“I know,” he chokes out, and the words break on their way out, filling his mouth like sand. “I’m sorry.” 

He half expects Abed to pull away and look at him with his deep, serious eyes, and to tell him it’s fine, just that Abed doesn’t feel the same way. That’s how it always plays out in Troy’s mind. But Abed is quiet, his fingers still fidgeting with the strings of Troy’s hoodie, flipping them and curling them and unintentionally pressing to Troy’s chest for just a second. 

“I liked it,” Abed says finally, after a silent, strained, desperate minute, and Troy blinks.

“...What?”

Troy’s brows furrow and he pulls his head back, looking down at Abed even though all he sees is the top of his head. 

“I liked it,” Abed repeats, lifting his head and looking at Troy. His eyes flicker back and forth between Troy’s, and before Troy can let out a confused “Huh?” Abed leans forward and presses his mouth to Troy’s.

Troy’s eyes widen, and he gasps, his mouth dropping open under the pressure of Abed’s soft lips.

Abed pulls away before Troy can really react, just as his hand is lifting to touch the side of his face, to press against his skin and pull him closer, like he’s wanted to for years, because holy fucking shit.  Abed Nadir just kissed him, and they aren’t in character, or in the Dreamatorium, or role-playing. And it feels so unreal, and so perfect, and so amazingly fantastic that Troy almost wants to hit himself to see if he’s dreaming.  He has no idea how long he’s wanted this. He supposes maybe he always has, but just didn’t realise it for a long while. Not until Britta told Troy that Toby was stealing Abed from him. “That dude is stealing your boyfriend,” she’d said, and Troy was struck with a lightning bolt of oh. But he pushed it away. Ignored it. Didn’t allow himself to think about it. 

Of course, the thought still crept back in whenever his mind wasn’t occupied. Late at night, when he was lying alone with a pillow clutched to his chest, listening to Abed’s slow, steady breath below him, and then late at night with a pillow clutched to his chest, missing the sound of Abed’s breathing below him when he moved into what was the Dreamatorium. In class, as a teacher droned on about equations, or some old white guy’s book. Waking up in the morning to Abed’s light footsteps passing Troy’s door. In the shower. 

It was so good. Even though it lasted just a few seconds, and it ended before Troy could kiss him back, before he could pull him as close as possible and run his hands through his hair, and press a hand against the small of his back, and run a hand over his chest and shoulders and neck, and tug at his shirt and hair, and listen to his breath catch in his throat, and maybe hear him hum into Troy’s mouth, or feel his throat vibrate under Troy’s lips. Troy realises he’s thought about this a lot more than he thought.

“Troy?”

Troy startles, his eyes snapping from Abed’s mouth to his eyes, and Abed’s brows are turned in, the way they do when Abed is worried he missed a social cue. 

“I…” Troy stares at him, unsure of what to say. Finally? Thank you? Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease do it again? If Abed could hear what’s going on in his mind he would just hear static.

“Did I misread that?” Abed says, worry painting his voice like a canvas. “I thought-- I’m so sorry.” His shoulders slump and his hands fall from Troy’s chest.

“No--” 

“It’s just-- I’ve wanted to do that practically since we met but I never did because I didn’t want to ruin anything,” Abed says, his voice almost too fast for Troy to understand him, his eyes jumping away from Troy around the fort. “Because I thought you were straight, and I actually thought you were homophobic for a while because you were so cool and that’s how all the cool kids were at my high school, but I also just liked you so much I didn’t want to mess anything up, and I thought kissing you would absolutely mess things up. But I also just don’t want to lose you because you’re the best friend I’ve ever had and probably the best friend I will ever have, because there’s no one else like you, and I’m just so in love with you, I--”

Abed’s voice cuts off abruptly and his eyes cut to Troy’s wider than Troy’s ever seen them, except the time a repairman fixed the clock for daylight savings, and the time Abed accidentally walked in on Annie changing. 

“What?” Troy says softly, his mouth still ajar and just beginning to spread into a smile, but Abed doesn’t notice. 

“I’m so sorry,” Abed says, exhaling the words. “I don’t want to lie. I am. But I’m just-- You’re---” He stops and gasps, his hands curling at his chest, his shoulder hunched. 

“Abed, it’s--”

“I don’t want to lose you,” Abed interrupts. 

“You’re--” 

“You’re my best friend, you understand me better than anyone else, and I don’t know--” Troy lunges forward, his palms to Abed’s face, pressing his mouth against Abed’s, squeezing his eyes shut, and Abed lets out a small whimper. Abed responds almost immediately, his hands jumping to hold Troy’s face, pulling him in and sliding his hands around to bury his fingers in Troy’s hair. 

Troy hums, pulling away before licking his lips and leaning in again, trapping Abed’s bottom lip between his own, letting himself do all the things he’s wanted to for so long, all the things he didn’t allow himself to think about unless he was absolutely positive he was alone, just in case someone can read minds. He can feel his heart hammering his chest like it’s trying to escape, and he pulls away with a gasp, shivering at the slick sound of them separating, remembering suddenly that if he wants to keep doing this he needs oxygen.

Abed doesn’t let go of Troy’s head, running his hands over his hair until he clutches at the back of his neck, holding him close as Abed breathes heavily, his eyes shut. Troy pulls him in, brushing his thumbs across his cheeks, under his eyes, over his jaw. 

“I’m in love with you too, baby,” he breathes. 

Abed lets out a sound, a choking, whimpering “Oh,” and he pulls at Troy’s neck, crashing their mouths together, and then their lips are sliding across each other, and their hands are moving, over each other’s hair, and neck, and shoulders, and as Abed tentatively slips his tongue across Troy’s lower lip, Troy’s hands pull at him, tugging desperately at the small of his back until they’re completely pressed together.

A small part of Troy, a cynical, scared part of Troy, expects Abed to pull away, for Troy to open his eyes to see that where Abed is supposed to be is just air. He expects to wake up in the middle of a final he wasn’t prepared for.

But that doesn’t happen.

Abed’s arms slide across his shoulders, wrapping around his neck, and Troy wraps his arms around Abed’s waist, sighing as Abed tilts his head, gently, carefully biting Troy’s lip, and Troy wonders how the hell Abed got to be so good at this. How the hell Abed got to be so good at Troy, because every single thing he does, every gentle bite, every subtle push of his jaw, every swipe of his tongue, is so indescribably perfect. 

This wouldn’t happen in a movie, Troy thinks, because it’s going on too long, because Abed’s tongue finally pushes into his mouth and he hums in response, his fists gathering the fabric of Abed’s t-shirt, instead of grimacing and pulling away to half-heartedly mouth down his neck the way he did with every girl he ever dated, and because a boy like him would never get the one he really wants. But he doesn’t care that it’s unrealistic, cinematically speaking. And he supposes Abed doesn’t care either. 

Abed slides his hands over Troy’s neck again, up over his jaw, and brushes his thumbs over Troy’s cheekbones, and it’s soft, and warm, and so tender, that Troy is sure his legs would give out if he was standing up. They part after a while (Troy has never had a good internal clock), Abed pulls away to look at him, his eyes gleaming at him.

“This is so cool,” Abed murmurs, caressing Troy’s face, and Troy scoffs tearfully, nodding. After another soft kiss, Abed lays his head on Troy’s shoulder again, sighing, his fingers playing with the strings of his hoodie, twisting and rolling them before he stops, pressing his palm to Troy’s chest, and Troy is sure he can feel his heart. Troy closes his eyes, smiling as he runs his hands over Abed’s legs, hips, waist, to the small of his back. He’s warm, even through the t-shirt. 

“So now what?” Abed asks after a quiet minute. 

“Hm.” Troy opens his eyes blearily and nudges his cheek against the top of Abed’s head. “We can watch a movie or something if you think it would be okay.” 

“No, I mean like…” Abed lifts his head and looks at Troy again. “Like with us. Do we tell the group that we’re together?”

Troy grins, happiness overtaking him at we’re together, and leans in, kissing him. 

“We can,” he says when they separate, after taking a moment to admire how wistful Abed’s expression became. “Or… Secret relationship trope?”

Abed’s face lights up, his brows raising and his eyes widening and his mouth grinning, and Troy almost giggles. 

“Oh, I would like that,” Abed says breathily, pulling Troy in from the back of his neck and kissing him again. Troy still feels like there are swarms of butterflies trying to escape him. “We can just let them figure it out,” he adds when they part and their foreheads press together.

“Mm. I mean, we probably won’t be much different than how we always are.” “We are kissing much more, now.”

Troy lets out a giddy snicker, pressing his mouth to  Abed quickly and watching as Abed leans in while Troy pulls away, his eyes locked on Troy’s mouth. 

“I’m very happy right now,” Abed says softly. 

“Me too, baby.”

Abed beams before burying his face in Troy’s neck.

---

Troy doesn’t know how long it is before Annie pulls open the blanket and finds them there, still sitting on the floor, wrapped around each other. Abed looks up first, lifting his head off Troy’s shoulder, and Troy smiles softly before looking over Abed’s head at her. It’s brighter outside the fort, and he can’t see her face clearly because of how bright it is behind her. He thinks briefly that she looks like an angel. 

“Hey, guys,” she says softly, and Troy’s heart swells. “I’m gonna make dinner, but I could use a little help in the kitchen, if either of you…” She trails off, twisting her mouth to the side. 

“I can do the dishes,” Troy says, resting his head on Abed’s for a second before lifting it, and she nods. “Do you wanna stay in here a little longer?” he asks Abed. 

“Uh…” Abed leans back, letting his arms slide back from his neck. “I was thinking I might pray. I usually go to the mosque on Fridays but I don’t think I’m really up for going out. Is that okay?” “Yeah, of course,” Troy says as Annie says, “Of course, you don’t need to ask about that.”

“Okay,” he says quietly, a small smile on his face. Troy gives him a little nod with a quirk of his eyebrows. Okay?

Abed nods, glancing down at Troy’s lips before looking back up. Troy lets his hands slide off of Abed’s waist, letting his fingertips linger for a moment, trailing off of him, and he leans in to press a chaste kiss to his forehead (he can’t help it) before pushing himself up to stand, following Annie out of the fort. 

He turns back to pull the blankets shut, seeing Abed crawl across the floor to when his prayer rug is stored, carefully placed between the bunk bed and the wall, and when he turns back to go to the kitchen, Annie is looking at him, a small, knowing smile on her face. 

“What?” he asks, trying to act natural, like she didn’t totally see them cuddling on the floor, like she didn’t totally see Troy not wanting to let go of Abed, like she didn’t totally see Abed look directly at Troy’s mouth, like she didn’t totally see Troy kiss Abed’s forehead about as lovingly as humanly possible.

She shrugs nonchalantly, turning to the kitchen.

And he lets himself smile.

[e-milieeee]

what if we already are (what we’ve been dying to become)—Marichat

Summary: Hawkmoth’s defeat should mark a joyous occasion for Paris’ superheroes, but instead, Chat Noir finds his entire world breaking apart.

(Marinette’s determined to help him build it back together, piece by piece.)

Notes: i... forgot to post this? reveal fic with uH angst and some healing and tears ahHAHAha whoops 

Or read on AO3

The whole world was made of fire—suffocating, terrifying fire—yet Adrien was drowning.

He couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Even as the rest of them apprehended Hawkmoth (no, not Hawkmoth: Gabriel Agreste, his father), Adrien didn’t help. Pieces of glass from the battle littered the ground, chaos spread all around, unfurling inside him, and the yawning pit of horror and fear and disbelief opened wider.

Hawkmoth was his father.  

He watched as the butterfly pin was taken, watched as Hawkmoth was led away, watched as his father’s lips moved, addressing him in words that didn’t reach Adrien’s ears. Plagg, who had hovered a little ways away after he had released his transformation, flew up to Adrien and nestled in his hair. If he offered any words of comfort, Adrien didn't hear them.

He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, drowning and drowning and drowning like there was no end to how deep the water could drag him down. The only breath of air was when the familiar sight of red and black dropped into his line of vision and Ladybug’s hand rested on his shoulder.

“Adrien,” she said.

Adrien. His name seemed to ring in his ears, growing louder until his head felt like it was going to burst. Adrien Agreste. She knew. Ladybug knew who he was.

Adrien Agreste, son of Gabriel Agreste—son of Hawkmoth.

The water once again dragged him under, and Adrien felt himself whisper the words of transformation before he was fleeing as fast as he could. Glass cracked under his feet like bones. Ladybug’s shouts for him to stay only made him run faster, and then Chat Noir was scrambling blindly through Paris, wind tearing at his face and guilt tearing even more viciously at his heart. He didn’t know where he was going, but all he knew was that he needed to get away.

For a very long time, the city blurred for Chat. Something seemed to carry him along, kept him going until he reached his destination.

There. The school. Perched on the roof, Chat looked down. Ladybug’s magic had fixed everything, it seemed, because not a brick was out of place. The crack that ran through the courtyard was gone. Everything was the same, even if nothing was anymore.

Inside him, a hurricane of emotions continued to swirl, each demanding their own share of his misery. They mixed and danced until Chat couldn’t tell them apart, but it didn’t matter. After all, they were only there to serve as a reminder of who his father was. And, as an extension, who he was.

Chat blinked, expecting to feel a prickling in his eyes—anything—but no tears came. Gabriel Agreste had always been a quiet, driven man, even when Emilie was still alive. But there had always been memories of better days, when his father had put aside his work to lift him up on his shoulders, running around the house and laughing while his mother chased them with a broom. There was the time his father had attended his piano recital, watching fondly with his mother tucked in the crook of his arm, standing up to clap when Adrien finished. There was the time they had decided to bake together as a family and eight-year-old Adrien splashed a bowl of melted butter over Gabriel by accident and received a bowl of flour over his head as revenge.

Such warm memories, once treasured pieces Adrien clung onto. Now they were tainted with new ones: seeing his mother in the glass coffin; Hawkmoth’s detransformation falling to reveal his father; the way he had attacked Ladybug, his friends and him.

A soft zing sounded behind him, and Chat whirled around in fright and surprise. Ladybug stood, blue eyes like the sky, even though the sky today was covered in a dark, angry grey.

A wave of terror swept over Chat. What did she think of him now that she knew the boy underneath the suit? It had always been Chat Noir which he favoured over Adrien Agreste. Who would she see when she looked at him? Her partner Chat Noir, or Adrien the son of Hawkmoth? Or maybe Chat Noir, son of Hawkmoth?

“Stay away,” he managed to croak, scrambling to his feet. Above their heads, thunder clapped and lightning streaked. A storm was on its way. “I’m—I’m—” The words caught in his throat, refusing to come out.

Ladybug raised her hands in a placating gesture. “Adrien,” she ventured, and he flinched back violently. She tried again. “Chat. It’s okay.”

“You know who I am.” The words were shameful, and he wished desperately they weren’t true.

Ladybug’s blue eyes remained locked with his, anchoring his feet to the ground, not letting him flee again. Then, without looking away, she whispered, “Tikki, spots off.”

As the bright pink light of her transformation faded, the first drops of rain began to fall as well. Before him stood Ladybug—no, not Ladybug. Before him was Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

Chat’s breath caught in his throat. His father momentarily forgotten, he took in the sight of her: black hair tied by red ribbons, brilliant blue eyes. The shape of her face. The sweep of her bangs, which were beginning to get soaked by the rain. Everything about her was so, so familiar.

How had he been so blind? Marinette, bringing the class pastries from her family’s bakery. Ladybug’s kind smile as she spoke gently, softly to akuma victims. Marinette, laughing as she kicked his ass once more in Ultimate Mecha Strike. Ladybug, whooping as they raced across Paris. Marinette, full of warmth and love and determination and a kindness that extended to everyone. Ladybug, always selfless and brave and beautiful.  

Of course. Who else could Ladybug be but Marinette?

And how vast the chasm between them. Marinette Dupain-Cheng didn’t deserve Adrien Agreste as her partner.

The thought swept through him and seized hold of his heart. With all the willpower he had left, he ripped his gaze from hers and turned to run again.

He only managed a single step forward before a hand latched onto his wrist. Before Chat could go anywhere, Marinette was tugging him back, rain streaking down her cheeks like tears. She said, “Stay.”

A choked gasp left him, and with it, all the struggle dissipated. Chat let Marinette tug him towards her, collapsing into her arms as she wrapped them around his body, tight and unrelenting. The storm threatened to tear him away, but she clung to him so strongly that he was anchored.

“Chat,” she repeated. “Adrien. It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he told her. “It’s not. You—you know who I am. I’m—my father—Hawkmoth’s my father.”  

Marinette didn’t let go of him. The smell of apples and vanilla all around her—it was Ladybug’s scent; Marinette’s scent.

“And you,” he continued. “You’re Marinette. How was I so stupid?”  

“You’re not stupid,” she replied. Slowly, she removed his hands around her, only to put him at arm's length so she could meet his eyes. “You are every bit the person I would want you to be, chaton.”  

“You don’t need to say that to make me feel better.”

A laugh left Marinette as well, but it was quieter, maybe a little sad. She gave his shoulder a little push down, and Chat sat at her command. His body felt too numb, too out of control to resist. “Let me tell you a story. About you.”

About me. What good story could there to be tell about him? What a tale they could spin; Paris’ protector finding out the person Paris needed protection from was his own flesh and blood.

“When I first met you,” she began, “as Adrien Agreste, I hated you.”

The rain continued to splash down, and Chat felt his heart grow cold. Of course she did. Because how could Marinette, light incarnate, love somebody like him? All those days of pining after Ladybug, and he had never realized just how far apart they truly were.

“Then,” Marinette continued, “you gave me your umbrella when it was raining, and I fell in love with you.”

His breath caught in his throat. When he looked at Marinette’s eyes, they were wide and serious.

She fell in love with me.

“Why?” he whispered.

Marinette placed a hand on his cheek, letting the rain gather on her palms as it streaked down both their faces. “Because you were kind,” she replied. “Because you were generous enough to give a stranger your umbrella when it was raining. I began to notice you more after that, and I realized that you were so… you shined so bright. Even though you were famous, you were still humble. Even though you had the best grades in the class, you never bragged about it. There’s never a person you’ve been unkind to, even though they were unkind to you. The more I knew you, the more I loved you.”

The words repeated in Chat’s head like a broken record. “You loved me,” he echoed. “You loved me. As Adrien.”

“Yes,” Marinette agreed. “I loved you as Adrien. And I loved you as Chat Noir, as my partner and my other half. Except I didn’t want to admit it because I thought that I could only be in love with Adrien Agreste. Now that I see you, I don’t know how I could ever have imagined it to be anybody else.”

Chat continued to stare at her. Marinette met his gaze squarely, determination written all over her face. Every word she had said was the truth, no matter how ludicrous and outlandish and surreal it sounded. Just like the truth that his father was Hawkmoth, but this—this truth spoke of a kinder, more hopeful reality.

“Do you love me still?” he finally asked. “After you know who my father is?”

“I don’t care who your father is,” Marinette replied immediately, firmly, before he could even start fearing her answer. “You are not your father, and you’ve more than proven that to me. You’ve more than proven that to everyone. Especially yourself, Adrien.”

He breathed. For the first time since he had found out Hawkmoth’s identity, he truly, deeply, breathed. Then, “Plagg, claws in.”

A flash of light later, it was Adrien standing in front of Marinette. He searched her face for any signs of regret, any disgust, but all he could see was understanding and kindness.

“Adrien.” Marinette’s voice was barely above a whisper. She raised a hand to his face again, wiping at the water that kept on dripping down, drenching his clothing. “You have no idea how happy I am that it’s you.”

She pulled him into another hug and this time, Adrien let himself fall right into it. Her arms remained tight around him, and even as the storm around them raged, the one inside seemed to quiet down ever so slightly.

“None of us care that Hawkmoth’s your father,” she breathed. “It doesn’t matter. It won’t change the fact that you’re loved, Adrien. Just know that.”

Loved. The word pierced through him, finally breaking the dam he had been labouring so hard to hold up. He wept into Marinette’s shoulder out of pain and fright and relief and happiness all at once. Loved. It shattered something inside him, something already broken, and broke it so completely, so wonderfully. And Adrien realized that he believed Marinette—believed wholly with all of his bruised, fractured heart that what she said was true. That she loved him, as Adrien Agreste, as Chat Noir, as Gabriel Agreste’s son.

“It’s okay,” Marinette repeated yet again. “And it’s okay if you’re not okay.”

He sobbed until the tears ran out altogether and even after that, Adrien clung to Marinette like a lifeline. She didn’t let go either, hands soothing against his back, whispering quiet words that Adrien could finally believe.

Adrien was the one who pulled back that time. Marinette smiled at him, her face radiant, and he tried to mirror it. “Look,” he said. “I got your clothing all drenched with my tears.”

She wiped wet hair out of her face and laughed. “Looks like I did the same to you. Seems to me that we’re even on this one, kitty.”

Surprised delight unfurled in him hearing her call him that nickname. Then Adrien was smiling wider, more genuinely. His father was still a weight on his heart, but Marinette was there, holding his hand and not letting him carry it alone.

“I’m glad it was you,” Adrien admitted at last. Thunder rumbled, directly above their heads. “But at the same time, of course it was you.”

“Yes,” Marinette agreed. “Although look at how dumb we were. We couldn’t look past our own crushes to see the person we loved loved us right back.”

The person we loved. Adrien’s heart still stammered at that, leaped and soared and sang to hear such words from her. He wasn’t sure he would ever, ever hear it enough.

Marinette’s laugh suddenly cut through the air. It chimed like bells. “I would get so nervous around you,” she recalled. “I would stammer, freeze up, and could never look you in the eye. To think you were Chat Noir the whole time, and I was turning down the same boy I couldn’t even form a coherent sentence around because how hopelessly in love I was. Isn’t it ridiculous?”

“I can do you one better. I spent so much time convincing myself that you were just a friend and I couldn’t be in love with you because I loved Ladybug, but you were Ladybug all along.” Then he paused. ���Wait. That means those pictures in your room…”

Adrien watched as Marinette’s face turned a dark shade of pink. “... they weren’t for your so called designer purposes, were they?” He feigned surprise. “Why, did you have a crush on me, m’lady?”

She smacked his arm. “Shut up.”

He sighed. “I guess all the times I professed my love to you might’ve not actually been for vain. It’s truly touching.”

“Shut up,” Marinette growled, now crimson. “You insufferable cat—”

She broke off, seemed to remember something, then scrunched her face into an expression of determination. Before Adrien could figure out what was happening, Marinette snatched a handful of his shirt and tugged him down to her height, lips brushing over his.

It was all over in a second. Adrien gaped at her like a fish out of water and Marinette tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a shy smile spreading across her face. “For what it’s worth,” she murmured. “Maybe it’s—maybe it’s too early to say this, and it’s okay if you don’t return the sentiment, but I want to spend my life with you. With Adrien and Chat Noir. As Marinette and Ladybug.”

This time, it was joy that bloomed through his chest, full and bright. “Yes,” he breathed. “Yes. Me too.”

Marinette’s smile was the sun, her eyes the sky, and Adrien’s world was bright and clear despite the rain. She held out a hand to him, and he took it.

It’s okay if you’re not okay. The road to healing was a long one, and Adrien knew that it wasn’t overnight that he could finally come to peace with the fact that his father had been Hawkmoth. It wasn’t overnight that he could understand the reasons, to forgive and let go. But that was okay.

Broken, he might be. But broken could be fixed, and if anyone could help him do so, it was Marinette.

End notes: This is part of a set of three loosely connected drabbles (that all work as standalones). Here’s part one.

Fics masterlist here!

[kumeko]

Prompt: School!AU SasuIno, fighting for the place of “main bitch of the school” (love/hate, slow burn)

A/N: For @im-a-friend-you-need for the @narutosecretsanta ! Ahaha, Sasuke was a little hard to twist into this AU until I remembered Kare Kano and then BAM, idea.

…

…

…

…

Ino knew how to handle fame. Ever since preschool, she’d always been the most popular kid in her year and sometimes even her whole school. And why wouldn’t she be? She was gorgeous, with her cheerleader figure, long blonde hair, and bright blue eyes. With a charming smile, witty attitude, and the generosity to help her classmates, it was little wonder she was the center of every party, play, or even music recital. Every club named her an honorary member, and she’d saved the student council more than few times. Her classmates loved and admired her. Her teachers adored her. People lined up to confess their love. Fanclubs watched her every move.

 In short? Ino was used to attention and knew how to handle the spotlight.

 “Ino-chan!” A girl waved eagerly as Ino stepped on the schoolgrounds. Her ponytail bobbed as she bounced on the balls of her feet. “You look as amazing as ever.”

 And in high school, that hadn’t changed in the least. Smiling graciously, Ino waved back. “Thanks!”

A senior approached her from her left, several papers in his hand. “I know that you wanted to help the student council only occasionally, but something—”

 “I’ll stop by at lunch.” Ino carefully took the papers, making sure not to crinkle them. “We’ll figure it out.”

 “Oh, thank you.” He slouched slightly, relieved.

 Ino hummed as she continued to greet her loving fans. Honestly, what would they do without her?

 A loud squeal behind her answered her question and Ino stopped stock-still at the infuriating sound. She didn’t have to turn around to know why people’s eyes slid past her, why she was suddenly the moon to someone else’s sun.

 She pivoted anyway, fighting the urge to scowl as Sasuke Uchiha walked onto the school grounds, utterly uninterested in the attention he was getting.

 One of these days, she was going to kill the bastard for doing this to her.

 -x-

 “He doesn’t even care!” Ino whined, lying on a bench in the school’s greenhouse. There were very few places where she could fully relax here, the chief too being the greenhouse and the roof. Unfortunately, the teachers kept the key to both.

 Fortunately, her best friend and somewhat nerd, Sakura Haruno, was in charge of watering the plants in the greenhouse. With her key, it was easy for the pair to slip in for a private lunch, away from prying eyes and ears. Finished eating, Ino rested her head on Sakura’s lap as she ran through her daily rant.

 “Like if he wanted it or even cared for it, I could respect that. I’d hate it, but I get it.” Ino crossed her arms, scowling as she remembered this morning. Sasuke had walked past the throngs without so much as looking at them. “But he doesn’t care! And no one is bothered by this.”

 “You are,” Sakura replied absentmindedly, flipping through her science textbook as she listened.

 “No one else is bothered by it,” Ino amended grumpily. “He doesn’t put in any effort and they all just eat out of his hands.”

 “They eat out of your hands too,” Sakura reminded.

 “Not as much they eat out of his!” Ino crossed her arms. “I mean, I get it. He’s hot. He’s smart. He’s a jock. He’s a freakin’ triple threat. But doesn’t anyone care about how he acts?”

 Sakura flipped another page, her response automatic. “I don’t know, he doesn’t seem that bad.”

 “No one looks at me when he’s around.” Ino glared up at Sakura. When her friend just scanned the page, she reached up and tugged her soft pink hair. “You’re not even looking at me now.”

 Sighing, Sakura put down her book. “There. Happy? I’m looking at you now. Why do you even care so much about how popular Sasuke is? You’re still top in the school.”

 “I’m second!” Ino hissed.

 Sakura raised a brow, bemused. “That’s still really popular.”

 “I know you’re a nerd and think you’re above all this,” Ino growled, “But you’re second smartest to Shikamaru and you bitch about that all the time.”

 Immediately, Sakura stiffened. “That’s different!” She scowled, pouting childishly as she thought of their classmate. “He doesn’t even study and he gets perfect grades. I don’t think he even knows what we do in class.”

 “Well, it’s the same thing here!” Ino retorted. “I bet Sasuke doesn’t even have a skincare routine! And he’s so goddamn gruff and abrasive and everyone still likes him.”

 Calming down, Sakura smirked and leaned forward. “You used to.”

 “That was before he stole my position,” Ino grumbled. Suspicious, she squinted up at her best friend. “You still like him.”

 Sakura flushed, her face matching her hair. “Okay, but in my defense, he is really hot.”

 “That’s why you don’t care, you’re on his side!” Ino poked Sakura’s stomach. “Traitor.”

 “Bitch, you used to oogle him with me.” Sakura swatted Ino’s hand away, shaking her head. “Honestly, if anyone saw the real you…”

 “Well, that’s why we eat alone.” The bell rang and Ino sighed, getting up. “We’re going to crush him.”

 Sakura picked up her bento and wiped her skirt as she stood. “We’re?”

 “We’re,” Ino repeated firmly, smirking. “You’re smart, think of something.”

 -x-

 If Ino really wanted to, she could have been the student president. It was a popularity contest, no matter what anyone else said, and it would have been a cinch for her to win it and take the top spot. It was also entirely too much work for her and she was more than fine with letting other people handle the menial tasks while helping out with some of the more visible promotions.

 Actually, she would have been vice president if Sasuke had applied.

 She could feel her brow furrow at the thought and she forced herself to smile. Frowns made wrinkles and she refused to sabotage her skin regime because of that douche. Even worse, she was standing in the school foyer, handing out flyers for the school festival—she couldn’t let her adoring fans see her as anything but their bubbly idol.

 “The school festival’s in a month!” she called out, forcing a cheeriness in her voice. Recognizing a brunette passing by—Tenten, from her math class—she pressed a flyer in her hands. “You should sign up.”

 “Huh?” Tenten looked at her quizzically, then at the flyer. She grimaced. “You know I can’t dance, right?”

 “That’s fine! There’s other things to do.” Ino grinned, slipping into a martial arts stance. “I hear you’re pretty good at fighting.”

 “More than good,” Tenten corrected with a wolfish smile.

 “Well, we’re thinking of having a martial arts demonstration, and it’d be great to have someone who really knows what they’re doing.” Ino tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear and sighed. “But if you can’t, we’ll just have to find someone else…maybe Neji…”

 Tenten bristled immediately. Good. It seemed that the rumours were true—she couldn’t handle being second to Neji. “It’s fine. I can do it.”

 “Great! Thanks!” Ino internally pumped her fist. Now all she had to do was lure Rock Lee in by using Sakura as bait, and they were all set. As she watched Tenten leave, she heard a set of footsteps behind her. “Hi! The cultural festival is looking for…volunteers…”

 She trailed off as she stared at Sasuke. Judging by the gym bag slung around his shoulders, he must have been heading to basketball practice. A small part of her had to begrudgingly admit that he at least worked at keeping his body in shape; there was a reason girls tried to sneak into the gym when he trained.

 Ino had seen his abs in person a few times and well…if he hadn’t been her (self-appointed) rival, she’d be all over him. He raised a brow as he looked at her impassively and Ino flushed. She’d been staring.

 Stupid.

 “Yeah, uh…volunteers.” Gathering her wits, she pressed the flyer on his chest. If she was lucky, he’d treat this like he treated everything else: dismissively. Maybe he’d even forget that she’d been staring or just shrug it off. “If you have the free time.”

 “I don’t,” he replied bluntly, though he did take the flyer. She tried not to shiver when his hand brushed hers.

 “Oh, that’s too bad.” He was far too close, but she couldn’t take a step back. It’d be showing weakness. “I guess you’re too busy with the team.”

 “Yeah.” Oddly, he didn’t leave. Instead, he lazily scanned the paper. “You’re on this too?”

 Ino blinked. She hadn’t thought she’d even registered on his radar; he showed almost no interest in anyone outside of his teammates. “Uh, yeah. Just helping out a bit.”

 “Cool.” Sasuke looked at her now, and she fought back her blush. His stare was even more intense this close. “You shouldn’t.”

 It was like a bucket of cold water washed over her. Unable to stop herself, she glared at him. “Why?”

 Sasuke shrugged dropping the pamphlet on the ground. “It won’t work.”

 Despite the angry flooding through her, she fought back the urge to yell at him. People were watching. She was in the middle of the school. He was not going to best her. Forcing her smile back, she asked, “Why? You think I won’t do a good job?”

 Okay, maybe she hissed more than asked, but at least her voice was low enough that no one else could have heard.

 Sasuke raised a brow, clearly not expecting this reaction. Maybe everyone else took his insults without arguing, but Ino refused to. “You’d do a good job.”

 “What?” Ino resisted the urge to tear out her hair. What was with this contradictory bastard? “Then why shouldn’t I do it?”

 “You have even less time than me.” Sasuke shrugged. Clearly done with the conversation, he side-stepped her and continued down the hall.

 Ready for an argument, Ino dug her heels, opened her mouth, and—

 “Huh?”

 He glanced at her over his shoulder. “You’re overworking yourself.”

 “Huh?”

 -x-

 For once, Sakura didn’t read her textbook, do her homework, or anything else really as she listened. Instead, she thoughtfully tapped her chin with her pencil. “That’s good, right?”

 Ino shot her an incredulous look. “I thought you were listening. How is that good?”

 “Well,” Sakura slung an arm around Ino’s shoulder with a shit-eating grin, “That means he’s been paying attention to you, right? He couldn’t have known how much you do otherwise.”

 She couldn’t argue with that. Reluctantly, she nodded. “Yeah…but how is that good?”

 “He’s looking at you.” When Ino stared at her blankly, Sakura groaned and ran a hand through her hair. “I swear to god you are so dense sometimes. Isn’t half the reason you keep bitching about him because he didn’t know you existed? Well, he clearly does know.”

 Ino’s jaw dropped. Hackles raised, she punched Sakura in the arm. “What are you talking about? And here I thought you were smart.”

 “Nah, you’re just dumb.” Sakura snorted, rubbing her arm. “I don’t get why you’re complaining. He’s right, you know. You’re in waaaay too many things. You’re going to burn out.”

 “You’re just taking his side cause you like him,” Ino growled, crossing her arms and looking away in a huff. And here she thought she could rely on her best friend. Clearly not.

 “Ino.” Sakura rolled her eyes and got up. “I’m going to toss my trash…just think about it, okay?”

 Ino grunted undignifiedly, refusing to look as Sakura left the greenhouse. She should have expected this, really. Sasuke was a triple threat after all. Even Sakura wasn’t immune to his charms. No one in the school was, really, which was why she had this problem in the first place.

 So what if Sasuke had been a little concerned? Was that even concern? The entire conversation had been confusing and infuriating as hell—did he even know how to speak properly? All it had proved was that she’d been right.

 Sasuke clearly had to get knocked down from the most popular position. Maybe then he’d learn how to talk to people properly. At the very least, she’d be able to oogle him in peace. Hearing footsteps, she stubbornly looked away as Sakura returned. “I’ll forgive you if you come up with a plan to take him down.”

 Sakura didn’t respond.

 Apparently Sakura was just as mule-headed as she was. Ino frowned. “Come on, it’s not that hard. You know Naruto, right? Just use him to get some of Sasuke’s weaknesses and I’ll figure out the rest.”

 Still, Sakura didn’t respond.

 “What, are you angry?” Ino rolled her eyes, turning around. “It’s not like—”

 Sasuke stood behind her, his expression unreadable. In the distance, Ino spotted a panicked Sakura poking her head in through the door.

 How this happened, Ino had no idea.

 “How long were you here?” Ino asked weakly.

  “Long enough.” Even his tone didn’t give anything away.

 Shit. Ino felt the blood drain form her face. Shit shit shit. There was no way she could wiggle her way out of this one. “…what’re you going to do about that.”

 He didn’t reply, only smirked, and she shivered.

 Silently, she prayed that they got struck by a meteor. The end of the world didn’t sound half to so bad compared to whatever he had in store.

[takerfoxx]

Now I'm wondering how the Walpurgis Nights girls would react to watching the Rebellion Story. ESPECIALLY Charlotte.

You...really need to stop putting ideas in my head that I can’t stop thinking about.

Fine. Okay. Here’s a rough draft of that very scenario, but mostly unedited and only up through the opening. I’ll hit up the rest when I have the time.

Note that this takes place some time after the story’s wrapped up, so the Hitomi arc is canon.

G=Gretchen

H=Homulilly

Op=Ophelia

Ok=Oktavia

Ca=Candeloro/Mami

Ch=Charlotte

...

Ch: Okay, this is basically us if we didn’t turn into witches and die, am I getting that right?

Ca: That does seem to be the case.

Op: So worst possible scenario.

G: Oh, I think it’ll be okay. I’m actually really excited about this!

Ok: I hope we get to see our outfits. I’ve always wondered about those.

…

Ok: Who’s narrating?

Ch: Sounds like a really grumpy Homulilly.

H: I don’t sound like that. Do I sound like that?

Ch: A little…

Op: Oooh, ominous!

Ok: “Disappear…” Do they mean turn into witches?

Ca, reading the description: No, apparently this take place in an alternate world where magical girls just…disappear instead of turning into witches.

Everyone: What?

Op: Who let that happen?

Ca: Um, Gretchen, apparently.

G: I did what? How?

Ch: I’m sure it’ll explain things. Eventually.

…

Ok: That sure is a lot of bubbles.

Op: Sounding a little cynical there, Lilly-Billy. Something you want to tell the rest of the class?

H: It’s not me!

Ok: Familiar smile…Oh, I know who she’s talking about!

Op: No matter the world, Homulilly stays loyal!

G: Why can’t she see me though? Am I dead?

H: Seriously, we don’t know if that’s even me.

…

Ch: Nice city.

Ok: I feel like I’m watching a tourism ad.

G: Is that where we lived?

…

Op: Uh, okay. This is new.

Ch: As far as we know.

G: I thought there weren’t any witches in this version.

…

Ch: City’s leaking.

Ok: That’s what happens if you don’t housetrain your skyscrapers.

Op: Looks like cum.

=Homulilly has to cover her mouth and turn away to keep from laughing=

Ca: Ophelia!

Op: Well, it does.

Ok: And now it turned into a ballerina. Okay.

Op: Cumberlina.

Ca: Stop saying cum!

…

Ch: These animators were on drugs.

Ok: Music’s nice, though.

H: “Welcome to cinema”?

…

Ok: Okay, what the hell is this fever dream? What’s with the demon teddy bear?

H: Maybe it’s a witch?

G: There aren’t supposed to be witches though!

Ch: What are we supposed to fight then?

Op: Maybe each other?

G: Oh, I really hope not.

Op: Gang war! Gang war!

Ok: Who is this thing even performing for?

…

Ca: Are those…teddy bear bombs?

Ok: Looks like.

Ca: And are those…are those marshmallows or pillows?

Op: Okay, following a clumsy dance recital with indiscriminate acts of terrorism. You know what? I get it. I’ve been there.

…

Ok: Holy crap, that’s Gretchen!

H: What? Where?

Ok: There! To the left with the cumberlinas!

Ca: Stop! Saying! Cumberlina!

H: Pause it! Pause it!

G: Is that what I looked like? I’m so…

Op: Pink!

Ch: Honestly, it’s kind of adorable.

G: Why am I with the cumberlinas though?

Ca: =indistinct noises of irritation and defeat=

…

Ch: What, is it judging them now?

Op, to the TV: Oh, like you could do better! Asshole…

Ch: You okay?

Op: I’m fine. It just reminded me of someone I know.

Ca: Oh, that’s Gretchen all right!

Ok: So many frills!

H: You’re so cute!

G: It’s not that…WHOA!

Op: Holy shit, Gretch is packing!

Ok: Death from above!

Ch: Maybe you should have cleared out first.

G: Whoops.

…

Ok: Oh my God, it’s me!

Op: Hell yeah!

Ca: Holy shit, it is you!

G: Look at that outfit! It’s so cool!

Ca: There’s even a cape!

Ok: Forget the cape, I’ve got legs!

G: “Madoka.” Still sounds weird to me.

Op: Heh. “Bingo.”

…

Op: AAAAHHHH! THAT’S ME!

Ok: Okay, I was sort of worried, but c’mon. Our outfits look totally badass.

H: Look at that hair.

Op: I know, right?!

Ok: And we’re working together!

Op: Damn right! Tag team that musty bitch!

=high five=

Ca: Where are we, though? We’re in this, right?

Ch: Movie’s just started. I guess we show up later.

…

Ch: Uh…okay.

G: That was a lot of windows.

H: Was this sort of thing…normal?

Ok: Did anyone else see the bleeding goat?

…

=stunned silence=

Ch: Well, this is happening now.

Op: What the hell is going on?

G: Well, we obviously invited the monster teddy bear over for dinner!

Ok: As one does.

H: Is this a musical?

Ok: Oh, that would be so awesome.

…

Op: See? There you are, Candy!

Ca: Wow.

Ok: Oh, my God. That outfit is so hot.

Ch: Where am I, though? Am I even…What hell is that thing?

G: Um, Charlotte? I think that’s you.

Ch: What?!

Op: And the obligatory tit shot…

Ca: Yeah, they really did zoom right in on them, didn’t they?

H: Dead center.

Ch: I’m not really that creepy doll thing, am I?

H: Maybe you’re the teddy bear.

…

Ok: Building’s on fire.

Op: Not my fault.

Ok: It’s at least one-fourth your fault.

G: Is no one going to bring up the skyscrapers that the teddy bear blew up?

Ok: Guess not.

G: But what if there were people in there?

Ok: Yeah, we’re kind of lousy at the whole “save the city” thing, aren’t we?

H: Why haven’t I shown up yet?

Ok: Maybe you’re the teddy bear!

…

Ok: And she’s awake!

G: Oh, we’re following me! Am I the main character?

Ca: It did kind of lead with you.

Ok: Homulilly was narrating, though.

Op: Maybe she’s the wise old mentor that gets killed off in a flashback.

H: =belabored sigh=

Ch: WHY AM I A CREEPY DOLL THING?!

…

Op: Wait, is that a fucking Incubator?

Ok: Well, this just got dark.

G: Why am I petting…Oh! Is that my mom?

Ok: Close!

G: It’s my dad! That’s my dad!

Ok: Oh, wow.

Op: Gretch, you gonna be okay?

G: Tatsuya…

=Homulilly hugs her=

Ok: That is a lot of chairs.

…

Ch: Looks like it runs in the family.

G: What does.

Ch: Being a sweetheart.

G, blushing: Oh, uh, thank you.

Ok: Hey, Candy. Did you ever meet Gretch’s family?

Ca: No, I didn’t. Actually, the only parents I was introduced to were Ophelia’s, and, well…

Op: Say no more.

Ca: Thank you.

…

Ch: And the classic schoolgirl, off to class with toast in her mouth and an alien abomination on her shoulder.

Ok: As one does.

Op: Why is it always toast? They’re not hard to eat. Just eat it with the rest of breakfast!

H: Does anyone else feel a strange, almost irresistible desire to strangle that little white rodent every time it shows up on screen?

Everyone: Yup!

Op: If someone doesn’t shoot that thing at least once before the end of the film, then I’m going to be very disappointed.

…

Ch: I guess this is the opening.

G: I thought the song where we were all feeding the creepy teddy bear until it blew up was the opening.

Ch: I don’t think that was an anything. That was just…there.

Ca: I really like the animation though.

Ok: Song’s pretty.

G: Oh, look! I am the main character!

Op: Oh, look! Look! There we are!

Ok: Yes! Spin that teacup!

H: Oh!

Ok: Hey, there you are!

Op: Looking all depressed and dramatic in that spotlight, but there you are.

H: Am I like…the rival or something?

Ch: Honestly, the rival is always the best character.

…

Ca: I like this part.

Op: Look at us all go! This is pretty adorable.

Ok: Candy, was it actually like that when we were, well, alive?

Ca: Actually, it’s not too far off.

Op: Neat.

H: Oh, that stupid clock. I’m always stuck in a clock!

…

Ok: Heh. Hip bump.

Op: See? Even Gretchen wants the old you to cheer up.

=Gretchen playfully bumps Homulilly with her hip, who smiles=

Ok: I don’t think you’re the rival. More of Gretchen’s mopey girlfriend. You know, to balance out her ray of sunshine vibes!

Ch: So…basically like it is now.

H: I’m not that mopey.

Ok: Well, this is teenage you.

H: True...

…

H: Again with the clocks, and-WHOA!

Ok: What’s up with the wings?

H: Could I fly? Was that something I could do?

Ca: No, the wings are new.

…

Op: Okay, this part rules.

Ok: Dance break! Come on, Homulilly! Join in!

G: What’s with all the close-ups of our hips?

Op: Well, they’re cute!

Ok: Hey, did we really break out into dance whenever Homulilly needed cheering up?

Ca: No, the dancing is new too. And I wouldn’t say that she was really all that mopey, just very…serious-minded and focused. Very mysterious too.

H: I wonder why.

G: Because it’s sexy.

Op: Can’t really argue with that.

…

Ch: Well, there’s some foreshadowing if I’ve ever seen it.

G: Why did I turn into sand?

Ok: It’s probably symbolic for something.

H: And why was it focusing so much on me? Am I the main character? I haven’t even shown up yet!

Ch: At least you got to be in the opening and mostly looked like yourself. Me? I get to be a creepy doll thing!

Op: At least you’re merchandisable.

Ch: Oh, like a bunch of cute girls in showy outfits can’t be merchandised. There’s probably like hundreds of little figurines and…uh…

G: What are you…oh.

Ch: Probably best not to think about it.

Op: Speak for yourself. I find a swimsuit version of us, I’m getting the whole set.

Ch: I will literally break your arms.

Ok: What if they have one of you? But, the doll version?

Ch: Oh, God! I just pictured it, and oh God! No!

Ok: Personally I’m hoping for body pillows.

Op: Oh, those they definitely have. You have to go to some shady places to get the nudy kind though.

Ok: Charlotte’s are probably sold official.

Ch: Stop! I am begging you to stop!

[miss-choco-chips]

Worshiping at your altar

“He confesses how long he’s looked

for a place to worship

and, oh, you put him on his knees.”

PROFANE by Ashe Vernon

A Paladin and an artificer fall in love.

Or- how Langa learns that worship comes in more than one form.

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30430242

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

One of his earliest memories is this:

He sits by his father’s feet. They are in their living room, in his childhood home back in Canada. There’s a fire crackling behind him, the warmth of the flames licking his back even from the distance. His mother’s steps could be heard in the kitchen, but he can barely focus on that, utterly entranced by Dad’s stories, by the hand softly combing his hair back. He feels safe, comfortable and probably the most at peace he’s ever been. 

“A lot of people are going to get hurt tomorrow. All we can do is stand in the way of that and say, 'Not them. Me. If you need to hurt someone, hurt me'”, Dad reads. Langa’s tired eyes look up, eyes tracing the golden letters on the spine of his father’s favorite book, the tale of  ‘How the Paladin Got His Scar’. “Because the alternative is to look at someone else, someone weaker and more vulnerable, and tell them that you want them to be hurt instead of you.”

He squirms a bit in place, and Dad waits, just like every time they reach this part. He’s heard this story hundreds of times, could probably recite it himself from memory alone, but this passage is one that never fails to make him feel off. Weird, uncomfortable. As if he’s failing in some way, because…

“I don’t get it”, he says, like clockwork. Dad’s stopped reading, a single finger keeping the page bookmarked, in preparation for Langa’s usual interruption. Back in the kitchen, his mother’s footsteps fade away, as if she, too, is waiting for her son to ask. “Why do I have to hurt in someone else’s place? I don’t like to be in pain...”

As always, Dad smiles. He’s never mad about Langa’s selfishness, but, again, a five year old can’t really be expected to understand self sacrifice like this, no matter his Class. He never stops patting Langa’s head on his lap.

“It’s not about our pain. It’s about others’ joy.”

There’s usually where it stops, his curiosity sated, and lets Dad go back to his reading and Mom to her cooking. But Langa remembers something else, a new question bubbling up from him. He was in that age, Mom would say, where children stop taking everything their parents say at face value.

“But I thought us paladins were supposed to only serve a God? Why should we care about other people?”

It sounds awfully mean, he knows, but his father only laughs.

“We are not Clerics, son. As much as divine beings love us, we’re not bound to them. That’s why we have our Vow, remember? We can choose. I wasn’t forced to serve the Snow Deities, I wanted to do it. And I never regretted it.”

Langa’s frustration only grows more.

“But I don’t want to do that! To… to give...me-self…”

“Myself”, he remembers Mom calling softly from the doorway, but never how or when she got there. Only his father’s patience as Langa tried again:

“I don’t want to give myself away like that.”

“That’s because you haven't found your Worship yet, Langa. You’ll know, when you do. Because taking your Vow…”

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Moving to Okinawa feels strange, in more than one way. 

For starters, it's weird to adore the Snow Deities with no snow in sight. But, to be completely honest (as he tends to be), he hadn’t felt any real pull in his nightly adoration. Not ever since his father died.

(How could he offer sincere praise to the beings that sent dad to his death?)

Still, he kept up with it. As a Paladin with no Vow, he’s taken to adoring the Snow Deities the same way a chronic smoker would use an e-cig.  Not the same, not nearly as invested, but it scratches the itch he can feel building inside him (his divinity begging for release, for reverence, for him to fall to the ground in awe) just well enough that he doesn’t go insane. It’ll be different, once he’s worshipping for real, his mom tells him. He’s not overly enthusiastic about the idea.

Something else that’s different is the quests. Official ones are offered in schools or extracurricular centers, just like back home, but he can’t even begin to imagine himself fighting his way through forests instead of frozen mountaintops. And just what creatures would he even be fighting? Snow Wassets, Kamaitachis, Wendigos… They were all born from ice, and darkness, and cold. Not exactly your native Okinawan monster.

He sighs, head resting against the car window. Watching the trees fly past as mom drives them to their new place, he starts to feel the itch under his skin again. Moving so far away had helped, the deities’ reach weak against the warmth of this land, but still notable enough to demand attention. 

It’s annoying, painful at times, and the last thing he wants to do after losing his dad- but he closes his eyes, spite burning at his core like acid, and adores.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He’s laying on the floor- no sword in sight, vulnerable, helpless to this person approaching him at high speed, unrelenting- but the pain never comes.

Opening his eyes, he looks up. And time stops, just like it did every time Langa interrupted his father during story time for a question. The world itself holds its breath, waiting for him to catch up.

And he stares at this boy, suspended above him. He sees his red hair, contrast jarring against blue skies. Sees golden eyes, bright and open and full of a life that seems to be avoiding him.

His senses are telling him- he’s a human. There’s no divinity in him, no godliness.

But his heart beats hard, almost pushing his chest open, and he’s breathing the air this boy left behind when he jumped over him. And he feels a spark catching fire behind his eyes, travelling down to his stomach, and nesting there in a way that suggests ‘I’m in no rush to leave’.

And he thinks, briefly- no one ever told me that Fire Deities liked to skate in Okinawa.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He learns the boy’s Class before his name. He’s an artificer, and he’s called Reki.

He thinks it means something, that he introduces himself like that, but Langa isn’t sure what, because all he can hear is an echo of his voice and the afterglow of the smile he shoots his way.

Reki becomes too much, too fast. He shows Langa his favorite invention, a magic skateboard, and he himself feels instantly charmed by the simple genius he exudes. He’s helpless as he follows Reki to the shop he works on, where he finds himself employed as well before he can even catch his bearings. Something about his divinity being harnessed for potions, and protecting the store. He’s not hearing very faithfully, but it sounds good enough that he nods. Without his weekly quests to the mountains, there’s few other ways for him to earn his own money and help support his mother. Though he can’t deny he’ll miss the thrill of it...

Then Reki takes his hand again, and he solves that problem as well.

The S circuit, an illegal quest spot. A rocky mounting, with its surrounding forest littered with abandoned buildings, chock full of all sorts of creatures to hunt, or other adventurers to spar; not for the money, or the honor, but for fun.

Fun is a weird concept for Langa, these days, but he can’t deny the thrill he feels when he burrows Reki’s sword (it's not like the other boy can use it, with his hand hurt as it is) and forces the man that wanted to bring pain to his new friend to the ground. When he’s standing up, looking down at this Rouge, hearing Reki’s excited screams getting closer and closer until the boy is near enough to jump to Langa’s arms, he thinks… that if this is what Dad felt on his quests, it’s no wonder he gave up his life in one of them.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He’s never met an artificer before, and Reki has never encountered a Paladin either. It's an experience for both of them.

Reki seems determined to make Langa a new sword, one that adapts to the training he received back in Canada but that he can use here, in S. It’s a challenge for him, he says, and Langa doesn’t mind the long hours spent in Reki’s workshop, as the boy tries new materials, different welding techniques and a wide variety of spells, exchanging questions back and forth.

Learning about Reki feels a little like when Dad taught him how to fight, everything new, shiny, a little scary but at the same time so safe. He finds out that his friend still hasn’t decided on a specialty, and that choosing one is in a way a little like a Paladin taking a Vow, and at the same time, nothing at all. They focus on a single path, do their best to become masters of it, but once it's perfected, they are free to pursue a different one. He’s secretly enchanted by the idea- the freedom of it. Or maybe it’s just Reki that makes him feel like that.

“I thought you guys just… fought for good? You know, to save people, end wars, stuff like that?”

Langa lays back, weight resting on his arms as he looks up to the stars . They are outside for a change, as Reki is trying to cast a few attack spells on the sword (as in, writes runes and splashes potions over the blade, occasionally cutting himself on it; Langa longs to take it away from him before he loses a finger), and refuses to do so in the relative fragility of indoors. The night sky is very pretty, the company is good, and he feels too comfortable for someone sitting on the ground.

“That’s what’s told in schools and stories, but reality is different”, he answers, eyes dancing between the stars and Reki’s eyes (just as bright, just as pretty). “‘Good’ and ‘bad’ are very subjective terms. What’s alright in some cultures is a sin in others.”

“One man’s heaven is another man’s hell”, Reki murmurs, stopping his motions as he thinks Langa’s words through. 

Langa nods. “Paladins- we do have a connection to the Gods, in a way. So it’s very common for us to give our Vows to them. But, unlinke Clerics, we’re not irredeemably bound, so there’s more of a choice factor. A Paladin can give their Vow once in their life, and then has to commit to it, but that we can decide who or what to Vow to is our form of freedom.”

Reki looks back at Langa then, sword almost forgotten in his lap. They were sitting quite close, now that he thinks about it, barely enough space between them to fill with a whisper. His entire right side felt scalding hot, like when he was a child back home and sat a little too close to the fireplace.

That heat spreads to the rest of his body when Reki throws his head back and laughs.

“That’s the longest I’ve ever heard you talk, dude!”

Time resumes, the night moves on, Langa walks home. But the warmth never leaves his body.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Reki being an artificer doesn’t stop him from participating in quests and spars. He throws himself into them, headfirst, like he’s desperate to prove something to himself. He only ever seems to take it easy when he takes Langa with him; when he holds his hand as he walks him through the differences and similarities of adventures back home and here. Rattles out information about monsters jumping them in the woods, and statistics about the adventurers they stumble upon. He seems like a never ending fountain of information, and oh is Langa thirsty. 

He doesn't think he’ll ever get tired of hearing Reki speak. And even when he slowly becomes better at it, when the newness of the creatures crawling the forest stops scaring him and he feels comfortable enough to set loose and have fun, he still clutches Reki’s hand in his. And together, they brave whatever the fates throw their way.

It's more fun, that way.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He spends the night over at Reki’s place a lot in the following weeks. They both seemed full of excuses for him to stay, to fall asleep side by side, skin on skin. Reki’s hands, always twitching for his tools to tinker with, slowly stilling, peaceful, when Langa holds them between his.

He doesn’t realize until after many, many nights together like this- that, distracted as he was with his friend, he’d totally forgotten to praise and adore. The itch of murmuring in awe about the Deities has all but vanished from him, and its- it's a freedom he had never known before.

(Reki’s hands are smaller than his, so even when he holds them, folded and sweet, the tips of his fingers meet, like a small roof over Reki’s knuckles.

It looks like he’s praying, and he wonders if that’s why the Snow Deities had left him alone. If it’s because they see these sleeping boys, see the peace in the young Paladin’s resting face, and think- ‘this one is already lost in adoration’.)

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

This must be what a role reversal feels like, he thinks. Paladins are supposed to be this- this paragon of goodness, righteousness. 

But Reki is the one that, after Langa had defeated the young Sorcerer in combat, offers a hand and a smile. Even when the kid has thrown nothing but insults his way, Reki still stands straight and proud in front of him when a new enemy appears. Challenges this newcomer to a spar, to protect someone he should not be giving a fuck about.

And when the Warlock crushes him to the ground, his artifacts destroyed and blood painting the arena, he still looks Langa’s way with an apology in his eyes. 

Langa remembers when he was younger, when he wondered how someone would choose pain to protect others from it. He still can’t understand the desire to do so for a complete stranger, but for Reki-

He would brave way worse dangers than an obsessed Warlock for Reki.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He’s drowning- 

He’s drowning for days on end. The flame eating at his flesh from the inside has been burning bright ever since his interrupted combat with Adam, the press of his steel armor- Reki’s armor- against his chest worsening the pain. It fills his lungs, his core- doesn’t let him breath. He didn’t know that it was possible to suffocate in fire.

-but it's not until Reki walks away from him under the pouring rain, that he understands that the pain of drowning is nothing compared to the emptiness of death. That the itch to fight Adam pales in comparison to the all-encompassing desperation of his yearning for Reki.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

He holds Reki’s hands under the stars again, and painful fire becomes soft warmth. It takes him back to his childhood, to sitting by his dad’s feet, head on his lap, hearth at his back, mom moving around in the kitchen.

He’s on his knees in front of Reki, but it’s the other boy the one who whispers words of reverence. He’s looking down at Langa, washed in moonlight and surrounded by divinity, and there’s defeat and victory in his face all at once.

He looks like he’s fallen, but he’s happy about it.

Langa is-

“I’ve decided about my specialization”, Reki confesses. His eyes don’t wander, his hands aren’t twitching. He looks the most secure in himself Langa has ever seen him. It fills his chest with a warm sort of pride. “I’ll become a Battle Smith. They are experts at defending others and repairing both materiel and personnel”, he continues, one hand dislodging itself from within the protective cocoon of Langa’s hold to trace the contours of his face. Langa feels it when he finds the thin scar in his cheek, from his latest spar in S. His fingertips tremble a bit as they touch it.

“Why?” he asks, because he knows Reki longs, too, for the thrill of a quest, for the joy of surviving the dangers thrown his way.

“I can always make my own weapons, there’s no need for me to make a specialty out of it”, he shrugs, as if reading Langa’s mind, “so I’m good to participate in quests myself. But if you’re gonna insist on throwing yourself headfirst into unprecedented danger, the least I can do is make sure you’ll be damn well protected against everything you can’t kill on sight.”

All air leaves Langa’s lungs, but at the same time, it’s like he’s never really breathed before this exact moment. He imagines being a worshipped Deity can’t feel all that different.

And he remembers his Dad again, his words when he first told him about Vows. 

‘Taking your Vow isn't subjecting yourself to a leash; it's not about servitude. To Worship is to feel the highest you've ever been, even while down on your knees’

Kneeling before Reki, holding one of his hands between his, feeling the other one caressing his cheek, looking up at his face outlined by the moon... it’s like he has stars at his fingertips and fire in his veins. He’s flying with it, touching the sky but standing straight and firm as well.

He’s never felt this way. He doesn’t want it to ever stop.

So he bends his head down over Reki’s hand, eyes closing in reverence and lips touching rough, calloused skin. And in the silence of the night, the words of his Vow sound as loud as if he’d shouted them.

Reki’s hand is in his hair now, like benediction, and he thinks- If falling is this sweet, it’s no wonder so many angels changed their wings for horns, their clouds for fire. 

It's just divine luck that he’s now sworn to someone who can give him both.

[addysonsophia]

Pressed Coffee

Pairing: Johnny x Reader (gender-neutral terms were used, but I had a fem!reader in mind when writing this).

Genre: Fluff, angst, some suggestive situations (not really).

Word Count: 9.1K

Summary: This is difficult to explain. I had to write this for a college lit class following the form of David Levithan’s Lover’s Dictionary, which twists the “normal” way of defining words. Told through the lens of a man we learn about his relationship, the reader doesn’t know the sequence of the events that are taking place before our very eyes, through the words that he has chosen to define with tableaus of his love life. I did this with Johnny, and I think I did a good job. Wow, this was a bad summary. Let’s try: How coffee can lead to a beautiful romance. Yeah that’s ok.

Warnings: None, some angst near the end. 

Caffeine n.

           I was late, like always.

           I woke up a whole hour later than normal, and that caused me to do a speed-run version of my morning routine. Good thing I shower at night—a great time saver. I left my apartment in twenty minutes; as I stepped out the door the noises of the morning surrounded me: cars bumper to bumper through the city making their way to work: morning joggers with their dogs and strollers zooming past the seemingly frozen vehicles; birds swooping down from the sky to the land, hopping, and hoping for some food.

           I quicken my pace as I head to the subway station on 48th Street; my shoes just a tiny bit too tight today, barely allowing me to keep my speed. Closer, I get to the orange sign, the faster time moves, never letting me get ahead, leaving me two steps behind. Down the stairs with a quick hop in my step, and a swipe of my subway card, I wait on the platform for my train. I looked to my watch, then to the board above the tunnel—the train was seven minutes way.

           “Crap.” Was what I said out loud but, in my head, I was breaking down. It takes a lot to make me stressed but being late was suspect number one. Being late, is like a mortal sin that has been ingrained into my psyche from a young age: all my after-school activities in high school emphasized how important being on time was. “If you’re early, you’re on time. If you’re on time, you’re late. If you’re late, you’re dead.” That is what many band teachers, drama directors, and coaches have said to me. In college, there were consequences to being late, the beginning of practices would be spent running for every person not there (if they didn’t inform the coach that they would be late), then when the offender would arrive, they would run. Being on time shows that you are respectful, aware of other people and their time that they are giving up to also be there.

           With the rising levels of stress, I shot my boss a quick text:

           “I’m running a bit late. I’ll be in soon. Would you like me to pick anything up for you?”

           A minute later, she responded with:

           “That’s fine, you don’t have tons of work like normal. Can you get me a coffee? You know my order ;)” A sigh of relief fell from my mouth at the message, and the growing squealing sounds from the tunnel. I send back a thumbs up and slip my phone back into my pocket.

          The wind of the underground picks up as a silver train flew by, slowly coming to a halt. As the doors open, people being to push their way into their spots—I take mine towards the front of the car, another hand joining the many others on the rail overhead. Swaying back and forth, the lights flicker above me as the air conditioning blows; a baby sits on their parents’ lap in front of me with the biggest smile on their chubby face. A small wave is all it takes to grab the baby’s attention, smiling back, I make a funny face at them, and now they’re bubbling with the cutest laughter. They reach out to take my hand, their ravioli sized fist wraps around my pointer finger, and the last of my stress melts away with this little angel in front of me. The parent, also has a smile on their face, appeased with the behavior of their child—any form of travel with a baby is hard, so I try and make it a little easier for them.

          Sadly, my stop was up, and I waved bye to my new friend. I stepped off the train and headed up the stairs to 110th street. I already knew what coffee shop I was going to: there is a small café down the block from my office that has the best drinks and snacks—which was prefect because I had to skip breakfast. Hauling ass through the streets towards Papaya Acres Café, I mentally prepared my order.

           “One large, caramel swirl ice coffee, two and two liquid sugar; one medium hot coffee with regular cream and sugar; and a croissant with butter, warmed.” The bell chimed as I pulled the glass door open and was immediately bathed in the scent of coffee and sweets. I inched forwards in line towards the cash register, when I made it, I recited my order perfectly, paid, then waited at the pick-up counter. The bell above the door twinkling when more customers came in, the melodic music coming from the speakers, and the whining from the espresso machine. I pulled my phone out to kill time before my order was ready, I opened Twitter and started scrolling through my feed.

           “Dude, you can’t just, like, look at someone like that and not expect to get punched in the face.”

           “I didn’t mean too! There was a-a-I don’t even remember, but she didn’t have to punch me.” What did this guy do? I know that I shouldn’t, but I couldn’t help it, I had to listen in.

           “I don’t know, I saw your face, and I would have punched it too if you were looking at me like that.” The man, that was facing me, had brown hair that was styled away from his face, leaving his brown eyes on display—they were light and full of mischief. He wore a grey sweatshirt that looked comfy as hell, and he had a smile stretched across his face.

           “Well, he seems nice.” I whisper to myself, my lips dancing into a smile. I turned my back to them, deciding it better to not listen in anymore.

           “I don’t know any—”

           “Miss, here’s your order.” Two coffees sat in a carrying tray and a bag—hopefully containing my croissant—in between the drinks.

           “Thank you, have a great day.” My smile grew as I picked up my order. Turning back to the door, I began texting my boss that I was on my way. I made it a few steps when my hands were knocked towards me.

          He was early, like always.

 Frustrated adj.

           Today, out of any day, today was the day that I was going to cry in public. Now, I never usually cry, not at movies (sometimes I do, I’m not heartless), not at sad songs, not when I’m stressed, and definitely not in public. But this just broke the dam.

           There I stood, in the middle of a coffee shop, with both boiling and freezing coffee down the front of my white sweater—well, my now, brown sweater—and cute black pants. The clear plastic cup sat crushed next to the paper cup, the rest of the hot coffee melting the ice on the floor. A pair of faded, black converse faced my black shoes. Tears begin to pool in my eyes, the tiled floor becoming blurry, hands clasp my shoulders and my head snaps up.

           “Are you okay?” Deep brown eyes stare back at mine. The tears being to race down my face.

           “Yeah.” I nod slowly.

           “Then why are you crying?” A soft hand comes to my cheek, his thumb brushes a tear away. After that I just completely broke down, like big ugly sobs, snot—everything. His hands shift, moving from my face and shoulder to caressing my head and holding my back.

           “I woke up late, then my train was late, but my boss said it was fine and wanted me to get her a coffee, and then I split it all over me. But this is the fifth time I’ve been late this month, and my supervisor said that if I was late one more time, I have to meet with her.” With a heaving chest and choked sobs, I managed to explain my short morning. Sinking further, I wrapped my arms around the kind man and just let it out. I probably shouldn’t have done that, but he was so warm, and I was so tired—sometimes you just need a hug.

           “That was my fault, I’m sorry.” He whispered into my hair, a hand running up and down my back. Slowly, I began to calm down, savoring the hug for a few more moments before I pulled away. I looked at his grey sweatshirt and saw dark marks from where my face was and the remnants of the coffee.

           “It’s okay, I’m sorry that I got tears and snot on your sweatshirt.” Dabbing at my tears to dry my face, I turned away, getting mascara on my sleeve—the sweater was already ruined so it couldn’t get any worse. I pulled myself from his arms sighing, I bent down to grab my phone (thankful undamaged) and texted my boss what happened. I turned to the counter to reorder, and the worker already has my order ready.

           “Oh, you didn’t have to do that.” I begin to pull my wallet out to pay, but she was just shaking her head at me.

           “After what I just saw, you are fine. Don’t worry about it.” Her smile was kind. I went back up to the counter and put a couple of bills in the tip jar.

           “Thank you so much.” I turn back around and see the man still standing were I left him.

           “Hi, my name is Johnny. Can we start over again?”

Gilded adj.

           Being with Johnny was like being in a world of sunlight. Everything was filled with loud laughs, quiet whispers, longing glances, quick kisses, and loving touches. Of course, there were arguments and disagreements, we were a normal couple in a not so normal world. His job is demanding, long hours and weeks spent with the only kinds of communication are texts and FaceTime calls. At first, this arrangement was strange: dates spent at hole in the wall restaurants in a back-corner way from the other patrons; dinner and movies—at home; late (like 1 a.m.) walks in the park, and food from convenient stores. It was easy to get used to, and I get why it had to be that way. When your boyfriend is part of a world-known group, you can’t really go outside in broad daylight and be seen together—it would most likely ruin his career, and some of the fans go too far.

           I rolled over, a mess of blankets and sheet caught between us, and I just look at him. The sun streamed in through the curtains, filling the room with a warm glow. His hair turning a rich golden brown, the light doesn’t stop there, bathing his skin a shimmering yellow. The sight making me gasp, because in that moment, he looked ethereal—in that moment I knew I loved him.

           Soft breathes fell in the space between, I moved my hand and started tracing his face. Thick eyebrows, long lashes, strong nose, full lips, sharp jaw; this man looked like he was carved from the Gods themselves, and he was all mine.

           He groaned when I stopped my movements; arms moving, coming to pull me closer to his chest.

           “Morning.” Eyes still closed.

           “Morning.” Eyes opened, the brown catching the light and turned gold. I leaned in and placed a quick kiss to his lips, then tried to get up. But he wasn’t budging.

           “Where do you think you’re going?” He raised himself up on one arm, holding me with the other.

           “Bathroom.” He shook his head, I moved away again. Then he lifted himself up, arms coming to either side of me, only to lay himself on top of me, effectively stopping any attempts to start the day.

           “You’re not going anywhere.” His lips tickled my neck as he spoke. I sighed out and began to run my hands through his hair, and his breathing slowed. Shortly after, the snores started, and there was no way I was getting up for about an hour. I wrapped my arms around him and started to fall back to sleep.

           Perfect, it was perfect.

Hostile adj.

           It was a rare date night out, and I was brimming with excitement. Tonight, we went to our favorite restaurant then headed for a movie at my place. On the walk back to my apartment, something felt off. Footsteps and whispering followed every step of our own. I pulled my face mask higher up on my face as I looked around—to not cause suspicion. With a glance behind us, I saw a group of girls, and my heart sank. This was it; this is where the relationship ended; they were going to find out and tell everyone.

          See when you date a celebrity, there are rules because there are consequences. The fans of most groups are wonderful, the kindest people you will ever meet, but then there are a few that are not. These fans think that they are entitled to the artist: they stalk them; find their phone number, and call them constantly; they send death threats to anyone who gets close to their favorite artist—or worse to the artist themselves. To say I was scared would be an understatement.

           “John, there’s a group of girls behind us. They’ve been following us for a while.” I lean my head on his shoulder to not cause alarm.

           “John? Wha—Oh. Ok. Ah, let me think.” He became serious: eyebrows furrowed under his black cap; lips pursed behind his face mask. I don’t know how they found us; we were so careful.

          Steps grew closer, and I could hear some of what they were feverishly whispering about.

           “Do you think it’s him?”

           “It has to be. I mean, look at him.”

           “If it is him, who is that?”

           “I don’t know, but I think if I can get close enough I can—” With that they dared more steps, for every two we took, they took three. This was getting serious.

           “Ok, after we reach this corner, we are going to enter that store—see it? The bookstore? —then we are going to walk around inside until they follow us in, then after a few seconds we are going to leave, then make a break for it down the block. Sound like a plan?” It was a stupid plan, but it was the only one we had right now.

           “I guess, this better work.” My grip tightens on is arm, trying to ground myself in the situation.

           “Wait!” One of the girl’s screech behind me, I slightly turn my head to hear better.

           “—said that she spotted him on 1st and 3rd Street. Let’s go.” They all crossed the street and headed in down the block—away from us.

           “I think we are going to have to stop with the dates outside for a little while.” With a sigh, he nodded.

Lend v.

           It was a cool day, in October, and I forgot my jacket. Walking through the streets at night would have been fine if it were summer, but it wasn’t. I had been in such a hurry to get out of the apartment to meet up with him, that I just completely forgot to grab the jacket sitting on the hook by the door. I didn’t notice until I had made it to the restaurant.

           “Did you walk all the way here without a jacket?” I scooched my chair closer to the table, grabbing my glass to sip some water.

           “Uh, I forgot it to grab it when I left.” A chuckle falls from his mouth, his eyes curving to crescent moons, then he reached across the table to take my hand, his larger one encompassing my own.

           “You’re a freakin’ loser.” An often-used term of endearment. Eyes rolling, I squeezed his warm hand.

           “Takes one to know one.” His face breaks into a wide smile.

           The waiter came to take our order, and when he left, we just sat in each other’s gaze, content with the moment. The food came, bites were shared, and when the bill was paid, he offered to walk me home.

           With the moon rising higher in the sky, the temperatures dropped. Lights from shops, apartments, and streetlights created a world of color, drenching us in greens, blues, reds, and yellows. A gust of wind came from behind us, and in a moment of silence after—he dropped his jacket onto my shoulders. I laughed.

           “Thank you.” I looked at his profile, a strand of hair fell into his eyes, and he just left it. Lips were curved into a small smile—proud of the smoothness of the execution; a black turtleneck was the only thing shielding him from the weather, and from the looks of it, he was winning.

           “Always. Can’t have you freezing on me.”

           “I’m not going to freeze, Johnny.”

           “Not when I’m here, duh.”

           “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

           “I’m lucky you’re mine.” Not only was my body warm, but my face was too.

           He was smooth.

Loneliness adj.

           He was gone. Days had turned into weeks, and the bed had grown cold as nights were spent hoping for his return. Time seemed to move slower without him by my side; the sun and it’s jovial rays never seem to set, and when they do the moon and its frigid compassion surround me in an endless longing for the light. I know that I shouldn’t be acting like this, but he was my world.

           I made my way to the kitchen, the cold floors numbing my bare feet. The blanket wrapped over my frame providing little warmth. The rising sun casted an orange glow in the room. I slowly set my mug into the sink, washing the rings of coffee from the inside wall, my movements becoming sluggish as the world caught up with me.

           The lock beeps from the front door, gradually opening. Shuffling could be heard in the entryway: keys being placed on their hook, bags being set down, shoes being kicked onto the rug, and jackets being placed on the rack. Water running down the drain was the only thing that filled my ears—deaf, I was to the footsteps drawing closer. Mug in one hand and scrubber brush in the other, I gazed to the beginning of the day: lights flicking on room by room in the building across from me, people making their way of from their homes, cars starting to head towards their destination. Vibrations come from behind me as warm hands snake around my blanket, hands turning into arms and a chest pressed into my back. It does not shake me from my trace, still I gazed out the window—until warm lips press onto the top of my head. By the time I had set down the mug and scrubber, I was turned around, facing him. As I looked into his eyes, my own began filling with tears. Like the play button had been pressed, my hands shot out to grab his arms, pulling him closer.

           “You’re back?” uncertainty filling the room.

           “I’m back.”

           My world had returned. He pulled me from the sink, taking one of my hands and his other sliding to my back, he begun to sway. There we stood, dancing in the kitchen at 6 in the morning—revolving around each other, for we were the centers of our universe.

Nervous adj.

           The energy in the venue was high, everything was buzzing: the lights, the speaker, the crowd, and my heart. This was the first time that I saw Johnny’s group in person, I’ve seen concert videos, fan-cams, and their online concerts, but never in real life. He has been on tour for two months—which is a long time to only talk through FaceTime and texts, but it was well worth the wait. I managed to get tickets to their last show, shortly after followed plane tickets and a hotel reservation.

           The beginning of my day was spent sleeping in to get rid of the jet lag, once I was up and ready, I headed to the venue; the concert may start at 8 p.m., but you also have to get there early so you can get fan-made stuff and merch. I arrived at 4 p.m., and began to wait, making friends along the way, excitedly talking with them about the members, songs, moments, and theories for the next comeback.

           I made it to my seat, light stick, and fan banner in hand as I pulled my phone out to text him good luck—as I did for every concert. I went on Twitter to see that the concert was trending, a smile on my lips as I liked the groups’ pre-concert posts. The fan sitting next to me saw my fan banner.

           “Ooh, you like Johnny?” Their eyes sparkling in the bright fluorescent lights overhead.

           “Yeah, as much as I love them all, he’s my favorite. Who’s you’re favorite?”

           “Haechan, he’s so cute. But I also love all of them members too.” After that we got more friendly, names were swapped, and then we started talking about everything about the group. As time for the concert began grew closer the more my heart began to race, my palms became sweaty, and my stomach was in knots. Soon the lights dimmed, and the crowd thrummed with energy, light sticks turning on and the space changed into a green ocean.

           The screens on the stage flickered to life, beginning the VCR introduction. The lights flashed and there he was in all his glory, standing before me. The music played and the members came to life, moving as one before the crowd.

But he always stood out to me.

Smitten v.

              He had seen me during the concert and had someone come get me when it finished. Going through some ‘STAFF ONLY’ doors, and many turns later, I was in the dressing room waiting for the guys to finish going over the concert.

           Sitting, on my phone, still going through the concert tag on Twitter, I heard them coming from a mile away with their excited yells and laughs. The door opens and they all flood into the room, the sound following them in. He was the last one, of course. Eyes scanning the room, going from person to person trying to find something, someone—me.

           When our eyes met, it was as if the world going on around us had melted away, it was only him and me. It was perfect. Slowly, I rose from my seat and started to make my way to him, he was pushing through the people blocking us. When we got to the middle, he slowly, but surely, wrapped his arms around me. It was warm and whole, and I accepted it—eagerly. I buried my face into his chest—slightly heaving from the two-hour long concert, the sweat was felt on my cheek— and I smiled into it.

           “Hi, I missed you.” Quiet, we were, afraid that this moment could end in the next breath.

           “I missed you too.”  He kissed the top of my head, then rested his cheek there, I wanted him to stay there forever. But our reunion was stopped when the others joined in on the hug—turning into a dog-pile. I let it happen for a little while, but then it started to get hot, and they were all sweaty—so, so sweaty.

           “Guys…I can’t breathe anymore.”

           “You let Johnny hug you, so why can’t we.” Mark said from somewhere from the outside of the pile.

           “Because he’s my boyfriend, and ya’ll are gross and sweaty.” I squirm in Johnny’s arms, but none of them budged. “I’m going to die in here, aren’t I?” I whisper.

           “Probably, but at least I’ll die with you.” He whispers back.

           “No, you’re not, you Giraffe. You get fresh air and everything, while I’m down here in the depths of gross boy stank.” I resorted to whining, I’m not proud but I needed out of my prison.

           “Guys, you heard them, give ‘em some space. They’re right, you do stink.” He started pushing them away, chuckling.

           “Is that better, Baby?” He brushed my hair out of my face when I looked up at him.

           “Yes, Handsome. I can only handle one stinky boy right now.” His hug became crushing as he lifted me a few inches off the ground that left me squealing.

           “Stinky?!” Eyes wide. “I’m stinky?” He asked, voice raising a few decibels.

           “Big time.” Then, my life flashed before my eyes as he starts to rub his head all over my face. Gagging, I push his nasty ass away from me, but with his grip around me, he wasn’t going anywhere. A hidden smile on my face turns into a frown when he lifts his head up to look at me.

           “You’re gross. I don’t want to hug you anymore.” I push again, but that only encourages him. His hands shift from my back to my sides, then he starts to wiggle them over the covered skin.

           “Stop it! No, Johnny! Stop!” Forced laughs escaped as tears start to run down my face.

           “Then, take it back! Say you want to hug me!” He wasn’t letting up, if anything, he was picking up the pace.

           “Never! I told you that I don’t want to hug stinky boys!” My chest began to rise and fall at a rapid speed, air rushed into my lungs only for it to be ripped back out. There was no end in sight as one of his hands grasped my side to stop me from trying to twist out of his attack.

           “I’m not stopping until you say it AND give me a kiss!” A huge smile and crescent eyes are all I saw as he brought his face closer to mine, smile slinking into a smirk. “Be good, and listen, Baby.” Time to bring in the big guns.

           “Jaehyun! Help me! Please!” I whip my head around to not only look for my hopeful savior, but to hide my flushed cheeks from his comment. As fast as I called his name, two more arms wrapped around me, and pulled me from Johnny’s ruthless hold. I push off from Jaehyun; finally, away from the constant contact, I slowed my breathing down. Smoothing my hair down and running my sweaty hands down the front of my jeans, I stood up straight and looked at Johnny.

           “That was mean.” Lips: full on pout mode, Eyes: puppy dog mode engaged, Arms: crossed over one another. I was the picture-perfect example of how to get an apology. With his jaw dropped and eyes wide, Johnny was the perfect example of forming an apology.

           “Mean?! You said that you didn’t want to hug me anymore!” True.

           “But I was just joking. You didn’t have to rub your sweaty head on me, then tickle me.” Jaw snapped close, and eyes turning into soft brown ones, we were at a standstill. The others were lightly laughing at the scene going on in front of them, one seen many times before, but always with a different victor.

           “You hurt my feelings.” One step closer.

           “You hurt my nose and lungs” One step.

           “You were mean.” One step.

           “You were meaner.” Last step. We met in another hug; the winner was obvious.

           “God, they’re so whipped for each other.” Mark whisper to Jaehyun with an eye roll.

Telephone n.

           “I love you.”

           “I love you more.”

           “Not possible.”

           “I think it is, Johnny. I love you so much more than you love me. You fill up, like, 54% of my heart.” With a slight nod, I won this time.

           “Only 54%? Are you loving other people on the side?” A dramatic gasp and a flared hand placed on his chest caused me to laugh.

           “Of course, Loser. The rest of the boys take up about 6%, My mom has 10%, Ms. Jenkins and her cat has 7%, and I have the other 23% saved for a rainy day.” My cheeks began to hurt from smiling so much; one thing that I love about him is that no matter what, he can always make me smile.

           “Well, I’ll let you in on a little secret, Baby.” I slightly leaned forward, even though it did little to minimize the actual distance between us. My breath caught, as I strained my ears to hear him as he whispered.

           “I love you, 3000.” My face dropped, a chuckle bubbled out, turning into a laugh, then into a cackle, and finally, I was in bed with tears streaming down my face and I couldn’t catch my breath. Once I finally calm down, I looked at him with a serious face.

           “You are the love of my life.”

           “And you are the love of mine.”

           “I miss you.” Sigh.

           “I’ll be home soon.”

           “You’ll always come back, right? Back home? Back to me?”

           “Always.”

           That night, neither one of us hung up, content to still in a comfortable silence until he fell asleep. Then I soon followed, the sound of his breathing lulling me to sleep with one word on my mind.

           Always.

Voyage n.

           I watched the sun sink beneath the tall buildings. The sky had been graying all day and with the dark clouds rolling in, all the signs pointed to a storm.

           But there was going to be more than one storm tonight.

           Hours over the stove, wasted as the meal sits in the oven waiting to be eaten. Slowly, they lose their heat, mine steadily rose. The cars filter through the street below, reds, blues, blacks, but not the car I was waiting for. The rain falling on the street, coloring it dark; the hum of electricity fresh in the air as a flash of lightening lit up my face in the window. I looked around my dark apartment and felt empty. With a huff, I head to the bathroom, limbs stiff from sitting folded up on the couch, waiting. I looked at the mirror, sighed, turned, and left. Walking through the dark apartment, I heard thunder booming overhead, followed by a crack of lightening, brightening the room for a second, before being shrouded again.

           Four times. Now, five times, he had missed our date. There was no text, no call, no note. Nothing, there was nothing.

There was one thing: loneness.

There were two things: loneness and anger. Two things that don’t work well together. One eats at the mind, and the other eats at the soul.

           Hours passed, and I was still alone, sitting on the couch. Still waiting. That’s what this relationship was, waiting: waiting up for him to come back after practice, waiting for him to come home after months of being away, waiting for him to show up to dates, waiting for love. That was the hardest part, the love. Being away from each other as often as we are, you don’t feel loved—I don’t feel loved. Nights spent lying in bed waiting for him to hold me. Days spent waiting for any sign of life on his end. And the in between spent always waiting.

           It was a moonless night because of the storm, still pounding away. They say thunderstorms are caused by the Greek God, Zeus, king of the sky, when he’s angry. How I shared his rage tonight. How I wanted to scream at him, but no sound came out. Nothing came out. The door beeped, then opened; shoes kicked to the floor, and keys hung up on the rack. A sigh fell from the doorway. I looked at my watch, the glow threw shadows around the living room as it read: 11:23 p.m. Steps heard, a light clicked on, a name is called—my name. I didn’t answer. I couldn’t.

           My named echoed through the apartment, he wondered into the living room—light still off.

           “Baby, what are you doing sitting in the dark?” A chuckle falls from his lips, a sigh from mine.

           “Waiting.” My mouth too dry to put power behind it, so it came out as a whisper.

           “What?” He made his way closer to me, only halfway to the couch I was curled on.

           “Waiting.” It was a little louder this time.

           “Honey, speak up. You’re whispering.” He was almost in front of me know, I could smell his sweat mixing with his deodorant.

           “WAITING! I SAID I WAS WAITING FOR YOU!” A crash of thunder boomed in time with my declaration. He stood, staring at me like I had grown another head.

           “I’m sorry.” With my chest heaving, I pulled myself off the couch, making my way to leave the room to cool down. I passed him and he grabbed my arm, halting me. I turned to face him, his eyes moving quickly over me—searching for the reason of my outburst. A crack of lightening spilt the sky and lit his brown eyes that were wide with worry.

           “W-What’s wrong? What happened, Angel?” He grasped my hands and held them in between us. I scoffed, head shaking. Did he really forget? Something so important—a date—and he doesn’t even know what he did wrong? I let it go the first few times, but this—this tipped the scales.

           “You forgot.” I spoke, words filled with a venom that I could feel the burning at my tongue and throat, itching to get out. I stared at our connected hands, frustration filling me up, I could see it collect in the corner of my eyes. The wind started to slam against the windows, as another clap of thunder sounded.

            “Oh, Sweetheart. I am so sorry. I got hel—”

           “You got held up at practice.” I laughed, because of course he did. He always did. I was beginning to feel hot; I dropped his hands and crossed mine. He reached out for me, but I stepped away—needing space.

           “Darling—”

           “Stop with the nicknames, Johnny! Stop trying to defuse the situation!” I paced around the living room—still in the dark—trying to ease the anger. Johnny walked away to turn the light on; the room bathed in a hue of gold. He was wearing those sweatpants that fit him just right, and a black long sleeve; a tired look on his face, but his eyes were guarded—trying to read my fire-filled ones.  

           “There is no situation, I don’t see why it is such a big deal if I miss a date.” Annoyed—that’s what he was, he was annoyed with me. But the feelings I had, were worse.

“Oh? So, that’s how you feel about it? You don’t care about our dates? The only thing you seem to care about is work.” My back was turned, I didn’t want him to see me cry.

           “Are you fucking kidding me? The only—Wow. What is wrong with you?!” The level of his voice was rising—so was mine.

           “What’s wrong with me?! You have missed five dates, Johnny!” I turned around in time to see his eyes rolling. “No calls, no text, no heads up! I would have been fine, but I stood for hours over the stove cooking your favorite meal! I had set the table all nice, I got your favorite wine, your favorite candles, and your favorite music! But you just didn’t show up—too busy dancing with your friends—leaving me alone!” Hands thrown up in the air, I moved into a corner of the room.

           “Do you want to know what you sound like right now? You sound like a brat.” The word being spat out of his mouth. “You think I’m just singing and dancing all day?! I am working my ass off to make people happy! I work all day, and I just want to come home and sleep!” There it was, the guilt, beginning to build in my gut. “You knew what you signed up for going into this relationship, you knew that things weren’t going to be easy! But here you are, whining like a little bitch because I missed some dates!” The storm outside matched the storm inside, the loud rage was inescapable.

           “What did you just call me? A Bitch? I—Ok.” I ran my hands through my hair, I was boiling now, nothing was going to stop the war he just laid out. “I do know what I signed up for! But when you’re in a relationship, things go both ways, Johnny! I don’t think you recognize that! When was the last time you planned a date? When was the last time you went out of your way to do something nice? When was the last time you showed me you cared? I don’t remember, and after all of this, I doubt you do.”

           “Are we serious arguing over this?”

           “Don’t change the subject!”

           “We are seriously fighting over a date?! A DATE?!”

           “ANSWER THE DAMN QUESTION!” The windows rattled from the thunderous boom. The storm or the shout? That is something that will be unknown for the rest of time.

           “What is this really about? Are you jealous? Are you jealous at the fact that I do something I love? Are you jealous because you work a meaningless desk job?” My mouth dropped. One of my biggest regrets was not pursuing what I wanted to in college, I did what my parents wanted and that was shared in secret with him. Late night talks, quiet whispers so no one in the world could hear our confessions.

           “I can’t believe that’s what you think this is about! I know you love your job! I love seeing you happy because of it! I-I just can’t keep this up.” Tiredness just rolled over me as I was sitting down on the couch, and holding my head in my hands. The storm still raging outside.

           “This?” He sneered.

           “This! You! Coming here late every time you stay over! Dates spent here, your place, or some random restaurant at 10 at night! Not seeing you for weeks at a time! You’re never here anymore, Johnny! There’s always some excuse as to why you can’t come over. And sometimes there’s nothing at all!” The rain on the windows matched the tears on my face. “I’M SO LONELY, AND YOU DON’T EVEN CARE!” My chest heaves for a different reason as sobs echoed through the apartment. I spared a glance at him, the anger was gone, replaced with realization and sadness. His hands shook, eyes searching around the room, mouth slightly open, trying to find something—anything—to say. But the damage was done.

           An eternity had passed, but only mere minutes had. One question weighed on my mine. One that needed to be said. One that could change everything.

           “Do you even want this anymore?” My eyes shut, waiting for his response. But none came. When I opened them, he was standing in the doorway, mouth open, eyes frantic. With a sigh, I rose from the couch and headed to the door. I walked by him and when he didn’t say anything, I scoffed. I slipped my shoes on and unlocked the door.

           “Wh-Where are you going?” He sounded so small. My baby—no, not anymore. He may not have answered the question, but his silence did.

           “I don’t know.” It was like I took a backseat to the situation and I was now only watching it.

           “When are you coming back?” Opening the door was the easiest and hardest thing I had done all night.

           “I don’t know.”

           “I’m sorry.” I hummed in response, slipping out the door.

           I don’t know how long I walked for, but the moment I had stepped outside, I was soaked by the rain and guilt. It wasn’t cold though; it was surprisingly warm. I had shut my phone off after Johnny had left his 6th voicemail. I want to be alone, but my thoughts kept me company. The mind likes to bring up memories, I found, after a something like this. Mornings spent waking up to breakfast in bed with a loving kiss in between bites, soft pouts led to a forkful of food, and warm gazes fueled breakfast being forgotten for a little while. Beautiful flowers placed on my desk at work, with a dorky note attached to it; doorbells rang with deliveries of even more flowers when he was gone for months at a time. Date nights that came to an end with a slow dance in the living room as music circled us from some random playlist on his phone in his pocket, after a while, hands, and lips begin to wander, one pulling the other down the hall to the bedroom. Late nights shared in bed, hair slighted messed, hands tracing shapes onto skin, lips moving in hushed whispers, and eyes full of love. Sleepless, nightmare filled nights, glasses of water at my beckoned call, hugs were endless, and a soft voice always lulling me back to sleep.

           As I sat on the curb of some random street, crying, these memories showed me that he did care. Love is shown and spoken in different ways, and I was so focused on the verbal, rather than the actions. God, I was so stupid. Last week, he had made me lunch for work, he even took the time to cut the fruits into hearts.

           I raised my head up and looked towards the sky, rain hitting me in the face. I sighed, then reached into my pocket, and tried to turn on my phone, but a black screen stared back at me. This night couldn’t possibly even get worse. So, I stood up and tried to find a street sign to figure out where in the hell I was. I spotted one above a bookstore and figured that I was about a 30-minute walk away from my apartment. From the love of my life. Walking in soaking wet clothes and shoes in the rain is very much uncomfortable, but it had to be done to get back to my life.

           Street after street I grew closer, after some wrong turns and a very nice lady who gave me directions, I was almost home. As I waited at a crosswalk, I heard something being called from across the street. But I ignored it, it was most likely nothing, just a random noise from the city. When the light changed, I heard it again, this time sounding like my name, growing louder. I made it across the street when I heard it clearly, this time I looked to where the sound was coming from. Combing the streets, I saw brown hair, a black long-sleeve, and track pants that fit just right. I started down the sidewalk, tears forming in my eyes, and a smile on my face. His back was to me when I met him, so I ran into him at full force engulfing him in a hug, starting to sob.

           “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I was dumb and I know you love me.” He turned in my arms and wrapped his own around me. I looked up, his hair was wet, and his shirt was soaked. Tears fall down his face, his eyes sparkling. I raised a hand to his cheek, he pressed into the warmth, and I wiped away a tear, only for it to be replaced by the rain.

           “I’m so, so sorry, Johnny.” He took my hand and kissed my palm. “I-I was being selfish and I didn’t see all that you did for me. Can you forgive me?”

           “Always, Baby. I’m sorry that I made you feel like you weren’t loved, because I love you so much, and my heart broke when you said that.” He dropped his head into my neck as his shoulders shook with tears, his hands gripping the back of my shirt like I was going to disappear from his hold. “I let you down, you didn’t feel loved when all you were doing was giving me love. I wasn’t doing-I wasn’t being enough for you. I’m sorry.” He broke down, he’s sobs echoing into the night. We stayed like that, in the rain, until he started to hiccup, my hands soothing up and down his back when he calmed down. I took his face back into my hands and raised him so he could face me.

           “Look at me, Handsome. Please look at me.” When he opened his eyes, they were sparkling and red. I brushed his wet hair out of his face and put a smile on mine.

           “Johnny, you are enough for me. Mornings with breakfast in bed, surprise flowers when you’re away, lunches when your home, dances in the living room. You show me your love, and I appreciate everything you do for me.” I reach up to place kisses all over his face, making sure to cover every inch, I wanted him to feel my love.

           Here we stood, in the rain, in the middle of the city, staring into each other’s eyes. His hand raises up to hold my face, and I hold my breath. He leans in, slowly I close the gap. I melt into him; his lips were soft against mine—there was no rush. We broke apart, with rain falling onto us, I break away from his arms, grabbed his hand and walked towards the apartment. In the light of the city, hand in hand, we felt the love for each other again—in that moment he became my everything, and I wouldn’t have traded it for the world.

Wander v.

           The night was full of life during the walk we took in through the city. Lights glowing, shinning onto his beautiful face; with our hands entwined we made our way to some unknown destination. Papaya Acres Café. I laughed as I saw the café.

           “Do you remember that day? The one where we met? I was a mess; I was surprised that you even had the balls to ask me out on a date after I rubbed my snot into your sweatshirt.” In the moment, it was probably one of the most embarrassing times of my life. Now, it is a funny memory that gets laughs when we tell people how we met.

           “Of course, I did! It’s not every day you bump into an angel and make them cry, so I had to do something to make you smile again.” His hand squeezed mine as we entered the café, the bell chimed as he held the door open.

           “Why, thank you, kind sir.” A curtsy.

           “The pleasure is mine, my lady.” A bow. Followed by giggles.

           “Welcome to Papaya Acres. What can I get for you?”

           “Handsome, I’m going to the bathroom. Order for me?” With a nod, I turned and went into the bathroom. Soft jazz played through the green tiled room as I entered a stall. I wrung my hands into a paper towel and headed back into the café. Johnny was sitting at a table near the pick-up counter. My chaired squeaked when I pulled it back; wincing, I sat down.

           “I missed you.” His lips pouted, face sitting in his hands, eyes soft.

           “I was gone for like three minutes, Loser.” I laughed out.

           “I always miss you when you aren’t around.” I pulled one of his hands from his face and held it in my own, comparing the size difference. I hummed as I laced our fingers together.

           “I missed you too.” A playful smile appeared on my lips.

           “Here is your order.” I looked over and saw three cups? Huh, that’s weird. Maybe Johnny wanted to try a new drink or something.

           “Thank you. Have a good night.” He got up to pick up the drink tray, and I waited for him in the middle of the café. My hand got cold when he passed me my drink—I drink iced coffee, no matter the seasons—and his were now full with his two drinks. Putting my drink near his face, he took a sip from the yellow straw, humming in delight when he pulled away.

           “You got two drinks? What kind did you get?” When he told me, neither of which was something that I was going to try; when one of us orders something, the other automatically gets to have a taste of it, it’s a rule we made after many meals were pouted over because no one would share.

           Walking through the park down the street from the café, arms bumping as our laughs reverberated on the trees and buildings around us.

           “My dad knew I liked beans. So, he was like playing with beans. Then he dropped it, and then he dropped a rock. And then it slid, and then hot water started falling. And then, coffee.”

           “You actually think I believe that? Johnny, I’m not Mark.” I chuckled.

           “Hey, don’t be mean to Mark.” He chuckled back. He walked over to a trash can and tossed mine and the cup he had been nursing away, leaving the untouched cup in his grasp. He, now having a free hand, connected in the middle, brought our clasped hands to his face and placed a gentle kiss on my knuckles, his fingers running over my ring finger—something he had only started doing recently, but I paid no mind. I looked at his face, and he wore a serious expression—his thinking face: eyebrows furrowed, and lips pursed.

           “What are you thinking about, my love?” My free hand brushing away some hair that had fallen into his eyes. He sighed; a small smile played on his lips.

           “I was thinking about how it would look if you had a ring right here.” He pressed on my ring finger. I laughed with a smile. He looked at me with wide eyes; I looked at the cup in his hand, he was shaking.

           “Johnny? Honey, you’re shaking. Are you ok?” My hands cupping his face now, I searched for the reason for his sudden nerves. His eyes snap to mine as he takes my hands off his face, and he steps away. My heart is now in my throat, as my mind races to find out what was causing his anxiety. My hand, acting on its own, reaches out for him, but he only laughs with his head down.

           “You are truly something different, you know? You are the reason I get out of bed now; there are days when I don’t want to go to work, days were I just want to give up, but then there you are with your cute little texts, cheering me on, notes left from the last time you were at the dorm. When practice runs long and I can’t give anymore, you pop into my head, and then I remember that tonight you are waiting for me to come home—so I push ten times harder.” He cleared his throat, and shook the cup in his hands, a dull rattle followed. He swallowed. “I know it isn’t easy being in a relationship with me, the dates, the secrecy, but you are always there.” He brought his hand up to push away hair that wasn’t there. “God, this is hard.” He whispered, his hand moving to run down his face.

           “What’s hard?” He looks at me. He shook the cup again; the same rattle came from within it.

           “I want you to be there.”

           “What? I’m right here, Baby.” Now it was my turn to furrow my brows—in confusion.

           “I want you to be with me. For as long as you’ll let me. I want to grow old with you; have kids, have a family—maybe a dog. I want to dance with you in our home when we have gray hair and wrinkles.” I get it now. He chuckles. “You are so beautiful, and I just want to wake up next to you every morning. I want to make breakfast with you, I want to go grocery shopping with you, I want to do puzzles with you—”

           “I hate puzzles, Loser.”

           “That’s beside the point, don’t interrupt—it’s rude. Where was I?” The rattle started again.

           “You were listing things you wanted to do with me.”

           “Oh, thank you.” He cleared his throat. “I want to sit with you in the living room and just spend the day reading, I want to take you out and have photoshoots that I can post for everyone to see. I want you, Baby. I’ve never wanted anything so much.” I smile and move to close the distance.

            “Johnny Suh, are you asking me to marry you?” A rattle.

            “Well, duh. But now you ruined it.” He whined.

            “I didn’t ruin anything. Now, go ahead and ask me. Should I practice my surprised face first? Hold on, I need to warm up.” I started pulling faces with different sound effects and hand motions. He let out a long whine and stamped his feet a little.

           “Stop,” He drug out, “This is serious.” I cleared my throat, wiped my hands on my legs, and pushed my hair out of my face.

           “Of course,” Serious face, “Continue.”

           “I love you with my whole heart, you never stop running through my mind, you are magnetic. And I can’t help but to be draw to you.” He popped the lid on the coffee cup and stuck his hand in, pulling something into his fist. Then he got down on one knee. “My love. Will you marry me?”

           Remember when I said I don’t cry in public? Not only has this man made me a liar not once, or twice, but now three times. I guess, you could say that I wanted to make him sweat a little bit.

           “Let me see…” I tapped a finger on my chin as I began to walk around him. Adding to the act, I hummed and muttered, nodding, and shaking my head. When I got in front of him, I covered his hands in mine and stared into his eyes.

           “Of course.” I whispered. He jumped up, picked me up and spun me around. When he set me down, he took my hand and slipped the ring onto my finger. He kissed the ring, then me. There we were, in the park at 10 p.m., with our love in the air.

           “I love you.” Were the words we whispered for the rest of our lives.

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Thank you for reading! I hope that you enjoyed it! Let me know what you thought!

I could possibly be interested in writing more of these if you guys like, doesn’t matter the length, member, or group. Just send in a word or words, member/group, and if you want it angsty or fluffly!

Thank you again!