Dear Student Behind Me Teacher T-Shirt

"Dear Student Behind Me Teacher" t-shirt is a great gift for that special Teacher or a perfect shirt for the first day of school! High quality, affordable...just your everyday comfy tee to impress friends and family.

We are able to do school colors, reach out to us [email protected] or 763-210-8880 to custom your Dear Student T-Shirt.

Front of Shirt I love my students

Back of Shirt - Dear Student Behind Me - embrace your uniqueness, YOU are extraordinary just the way you are. The World is a better place with YOU in it! The Teacher in front of YOU!

Get comfortable with our 100% cotton crew neck t-shirts. Made of 100% soft cotton for a smooth, breathable fit. Pre-shrunk cotton tees are perfect for layering or wearing alone. Lightweight fabric keeps you cool and dry so you can look great and feel great all day. The perfect tee shirt for a modern casual look. Not too long so you can wear these untucked with a pair of jeans or chinos. Looks great under a casual blazer and jeans for a relaxed Friday style. Stylish and versatile everyday crew neck tees are a wardrobe staple.

Care instructions: Turn item inside out, machine wash cold, no bleach, no softener. Do not dry clean. Do not iron. Tumble dry low.

Due to different light settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.

Due to different light settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.

Current Turnaround Time due to upcoming Holidays - 1-5 Business Days. While we always use priority shipping options, once shipped we cannot guarantee delivery due to the backlog current being experienced USPS/UPS/FedEx. If you have a strict deadline, please message me when ordering so that I can note any rush requests. Ownership of packages turned over to USPS transfers to the Buyer. We are not responsible for lost, held, damaged packages or delayed packages, once your package(s) leaves our Shop it is completely out of our control. Thank you for understanding!

Thank you for visiting Granny & Grandpa's Custom Creations, we truly appreciate your support of small businesses. We also personalize our products, please reach out to us with any personalizing any of our products, additional fee's may apply.

Please visit www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com to view more products.

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"Dear Student Behind Me Teacher" t-shirt is a great gift for that special Teacher or a perfect shirt for the first day of school! High quality, affordable...just your everyday comfy tee to impress friends and family.

Front of Shirt I love my students

Back of Shirt - Dear Student Behind Me - embrace your uniqueness, YOU are extraordinary just the way you are. The World is a better place with YOU in it! The Teacher in front of YOU!

Get comfortable with our 100% cotton crew neck t-shirts. Made of 100% soft cotton for a smooth, breathable fit. Pre-shrunk cotton tees are perfect for layering or wearing alone. Lightweight fabric keeps you cool and dry so you can look great and feel great all day. The perfect tee shirt for a modern casual look. Not too long so you can wear these untucked with a pair of jeans or chinos. Looks great under a casual blazer and jeans for a relaxed Friday style. Stylish and versatile everyday crew neck tees are a wardrobe staple.

Care instructions: Turn item inside out, machine wash cold, no bleach, no softener. Do not dry clean. Do not iron. Tumble dry low.

Due to different light settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.

Due to different light settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.

Current Turnaround Time due to upcoming Holidays - 1-5 Business Days. While we always use priority shipping options, once shipped we cannot guarantee delivery due to the backlog current being experienced USPS/UPS/FedEx. If you have a strict deadline, please message me when ordering so that I can note any rush requests. Ownership of packages turned over to USPS transfers to the Buyer. We are not responsible for lost, held, damaged packages or delayed packages, once your package(s) leaves our Shop it is completely out of our control. Thank you for understanding!

Thank you for visiting Granny & Grandpa's Custom Creations, we truly appreciate your support of small businesses. We also personalize our products, please reach out to us with any personalizing any of our products, additional fee's may apply.

Please visit www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com to view more products.

LET’S GET SOCIAL & BE FRIENDS! Like, Tag & Follow us for Our new Creations, Inspiration & Giveaways!

website/ www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com/shop

facebook.com/ https://www.facebook.com/GrandpaHandmadecreations/

instagram.com/ https://www.instagram.com/grannyandgrandpacustomcreation/

#grannygrandpascustomcreations

Meeting the Family // Anthony Bridgerton

Request: Hello there, could I please request Anthony bridgerton and reader fic where hes introducing the reader to his family for the first time and shes really nervous but the family ends up loving her more than him? Thanks, I absolutely love your work!! Please dont overwork yourself darling❤ - @lespaceboi

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting! I had so much fun with this request, I love it so so much. I only hope you do too! Lowkey posting this early bc I’m watching the euros final tonight and I won’t have time. 

Warnings: she/her pronouns, female reader, light angst, some worries, lots of fluff, family fluff, Anthony being cute, dialogue heavy, declarations of love.

Word count: 3.6k

Her hands shake uncontrollably as the carriage clatters through London. Taking calming breaths, (Y/N) does her best to stop her shaking hands by gripping her shawl tightly. Her maid, Jayne, looks over at her in concern. “We can always turn back, my lady,” Jayne whispers, “I’m sure Viscount Bridgerton won’t mind postponing to another day.”

(Y/N) smiles warmly at her maid; grateful for the care in her voice. However, she shakes her head. “I’m afraid it can’t wait any longer, Jayne. Anthony’s sister and her husband have travelled all the way from Scotland.”

Jayne sits back against the carriage bench, nodding her head understandingly. “I’m sure it’s going to be fine,” She offers in comfort.

“I can only hope,” (Y/N) whispers, casting her gaze out of window and into the London streets.

She had met Anthony Bridgerton when shopping for ribbons. An unusual time and place to meet anyone, but Anthony had strolled into the shop and asked to see the best ribbons in the place as nothing would be better than the absolute best for his nieces. (Y/N) had giggled at the tone of his voice; unused to seeing such a powerful figure in such intimate settings. Her laughter had drawn his attention to which a conversation began. By the end of the Viscount’s visit to the ribbon shop, he had asked to see her again.

The visits continued in secrecy, or in as much secrecy as one could afford when holding a peerage. The relationship blossomed; what was once considered a friendship was turning romantic, and (Y/N) could not help her feelings for the Viscount. He had captured her, body and soul. She counted every blessing that Anthony felt the same.

The first glimpse of Bridgerton House steals her breath away. The red brick stands out amongst the paler buildings; Anthony’s wealth already obvious but further personified by the sheer scale of his home. The sweet scent of the violet hyacinths perfume (Y/N)’s carriage; their aroma bringing a small smile to her face as she remembers a masquerade party in Chiswick, a balcony and Anthony’s hands on her waist.

Her carriage rolls to a natural stop; (Y/N)’s heart in her throat as she tears her inquiring gaze from Bridgerton House to Jayne. Jayne smiles and squeezes her lady’s hand, a silent offer of support for the afternoon.

“They’re going to love you,” Jayne whispers, bolstering (Y/N) as best she could as the door to the carriage is opened by (Y/N)’s footman.

Now closer, Bridgerton House is much grander. The deep green iron gates pronounce the family’s wealth further. (Y/N) gulps as she takes step after step down the path to already open front door. Her steps falter slightly as she catches sight of Anthony waiting in the entrance; his hair the usual untameable mess that endears her so.

“You came,” Anthony breathes in greeting; his eyes wide with barely concealed surprise as he takes in the sight of her on his doorstep.

“I came,” (Y/N) answers just as breathlessly. Even the sight of him was enough to leave her gasping for breath; there were moments in their prolonged courtship that she couldn’t quite believe he had chosen her, that he wanted her. As Anthony stands there, his white shirt unbuttoned from the collar with his waistcoat undone, she realises that this is the most casual she had ever seen him. His outfit wasn’t proper, but she doesn’t want it to be. She wants to see him from every angle; she wants to know every Anthony there is. So far, she had found herself besotted with each and every one.

Both remain silent as Anthony offers his arm to her. (Y/N) uses the silence to quash the nerves rioting in her gut; she had never been this nervous, not when she was presented in front of the monarch for her season, and not when she danced with the Prince of Wales at his birthday celebrations two years ago. Now, however, her nerves were beginning to get the better of her.

Anthony pauses their journey. “Are you okay?” He asks, a note of concern in his voice.

“I’m nervous,” (Y/N) confesses bashfully, “What if they don’t like me? What if they hate me so much that you end things? I’m having so much fun with you, Anthony. I don’t want this to end.”

“Hey,” Anthony whispers, taking her face in his hands, urging her to look at him, “You’re going to be fine. They’re going to love you, I know it. I’ve spoken about you so much they feel they already know you.”

“You talk about me?” (Y/N) asks, her voice small.

Anthony presses a kiss to her forehead. “Constantly. I’m surprised they haven’t kicked me out with how much I talk about you.”

“You’re really very sweet.”

“Only because of you,” He flirts, pushing his luck by kissing her quickly.

(Y/N) laughs softly against his mouth. “You’re incorrigible.”

Anthony laughs gently, pulling away from her lips but keeping hold of her hands. “I’m as nervous as you,” He confesses, “But I have you by my side to help me get through just as you have me through this too. Any time you want to go, let me know and I’ll call your carriage back round.”

“Thank you,” She whispers before Anthony continues on down the hall, his hand squeezing hers tightly.

“Are you sure you still want to do this?” Anthony asks, double checking, voice wavering as they stand outside the door to the drawing room. “My family can be a bit much to meet all at once.”

“We’re nothing of the sort!” A masculine voice shouts from behind the door.

A surprised laugh leaves (Y/N) lips. She covers her mouth to bring back the mask of perfect decorum, not wanting to insult a member of Anthony’s family. “I’m ready when you are,” She whispers, smiling at the eldest Bridgerton.

“Sooner rather than later,” Anthony whispers before opening the door, giving her the first glimpse at his family.

The Bridgerton brood sit around the large drawing room. Sisters and brothers, husbands and wives – they all mix together as they wait for Anthony and his new beau. Each all fall silent as Anthony and (Y/N) enters the room; their first glimpse of her, their first conversation with her. Anthony had spoken about her constantly but refused to let any family meet her until they were both ready.

Now that moment had arrived.

“Mother,” Anthony introduces to the silent room, “This is Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” (Y/N) exclaims, smiling at the Bridgerton matriarch. “I’ve heard so much about you all,” She continues, casting her gaze around the room.

“It’s a pleasure for us too, dear (Y/N),” Violet announces, “Anthony has been nothing but a ball of nerves since he announced you would be joining us.”

(Y/N) nods at the matriarch, feeling herself become speechless as she takes in the sheer size of Anthony’s family. It isn’t hard to tell who the Bridgertons are among the group are; they each have the same eyes and smile. “It’s lovely to meet you all,” (Y/N) announces, repeating her earlier words, unable to keep the nerves from entering her voice this time.

“I’m Benedict,” The second eldest introduces, jumping up from his seat on the couch, holding his hand out for her to take.

“The artist!” (Y/N) gasps, “I’ve seen some of your work. You’re exceptionally talented.”

“Thank you,” Benedict blushes, excusing himself with a pat to Anthony’s shoulder, a silent sign that Benedict already approves.

“Help yourself to some tea,” A younger woman exclaims in the brief silence between conversations, “I’d get up to greet you, but it would take twice as long as the conversation itself.”

“Please don’t strain yourself,” (Y/N) offers graciously, “Congratulations on your pregnancy.”

“Thank you, dear. I’m Daphne, and this is my husband, Simon.” Daphne introduces, her hand landing on the thigh of a handsome man.

“It’s lovely to meet you both,” (Y/N) greets, making her way to an empty seat at a nearby table. There she pours two cups of tea, one for her and one for Anthony, knowing he would be dropping by in a minute or two. The tea steeps as (Y/N) helps herself to one of the many biscuits, taking a small bite of the buttery concoction before reaching for the milk and sugar. This is a routine she has practiced many times before, knowing exactly how long to stir her tea so it wouldn’t burn the tip of her tongue with every sip.

It’s takes less than two minutes for someone to join her at the table. (Y/N) offers the young woman a polite smile, “I’m (Y/N).”

“Eloise Bridgerton,” introduces the young woman.

“A pleasure to meet you,” (Y/N) repeats, feeling herself already grow tired of the words.

“Are you educated, (Y/N)?” Eloise enquires; her keen blue gaze dancing over the young woman.

(Y/N) finishes her sip of tea before nodding at Anthony’s younger sister. “I am,” She answers, “I studied under a very thorough governess, and I am fluent in French and Latin, but I’ve also been fortunate enough to sit in on some lectures at Oxford and Edinburgh.”

“How?” Eloise all but demands, ignoring the stern stare of her mother as she leans forward, elbows on the table. “You must teach me your ways.”

(Y/N) represses an amused smile at Eloise’s antics. “My favourite cousin, Sylvester, was a student at both. I often annoyed him into letting me attend in secret whenever I visited.”

“Did you attend any interesting lectures?”

(Y/N) nods, happy to further indulge the brunette. “Sylvester was a student of medicine, beginning his education at Oxford before continuing on to Edinburgh where he lives now. I’ve attended a few medical lectures, but I pressured him into letting me attend a philosophical debate surrounding Wollstonecraft’s Vindication of the Rights of Woman.” (Y/N) shakes her head, amused at the memory, “Sylvester didn’t find that one nearly as thrilling as his medical lectures.”

“Anthony!” Eloise calls, gathering the attention of all her brothers, “I’m keeping (Y/N) for myself. You’re going to have to find a new beau, I’m afraid.”

Anthony chuckles, leaving his brothers to their own conversation. “Pray,” He begins, “Just what are the two of you talking about.”

“(Y/N)’s education. Did you know she’s sat in lectures at both Oxford and Edinburgh? I daresay I might attend a few myself.”

Anthony’s hand lands on your shoulder; a warm squeeze has you turning to meet his stare. His smile is fond; his eyes are bright with happiness. “Are you inciting further rebellion in my little sister?”

“Of course not,” (Y/N) playfully scoffs, “Just letting her know that should she want to attend any lectures, I have a connection for her.”

A laugh leaves Anthony’s lips as he catches sight of Eloise’s excited wiggle in her chair. “I’m glad you’re getting along,” He murmurs to (Y/N) quietly, dropping an unexpected kiss to her hair before entering a debate with Eloise, explaining why she cannot go about interrupting lectures at prestigious universities.

Leaving the siblings to their bickering, (Y/N) stands from table, wanting to stretch her legs and discover more to the drawing room. By this point in the afternoon, the appeal of company has worn off. The large family now broken off into their own conversations; Francesca and Michael remain sat close together on the couch under the window, Lady Violet remains sat by her eldest daughter – the matriarch keeping a weather eye on her pregnant daughter.

(Y/N) smiles fondly at the scene before turning to one of the many fixed bookshelves in the room; leather bound volumes line the shelves. There wasn’t much for light reading, she thinks to herself as she reads the spines. Much about the War of the Roses and the subsequent Tudor reign, not much in the way of Miss Butterworth and the Mad Baron.

“You’re very pretty,” A young girl announces from behind (Y/N). She turns to find two girls, both no older than four or five, their hair matching pigtails, curled into ringlets.

(Y/N) kneels to their height, ignoring the pinching of her corset as she smiles at the young children. “Why thank you,” She states gratefully, “But you know what I would really like?”

“What?” The eldest of the two asks, leaning forward in anticipation.

“Gorgeous pigtails like yours,” (Y/N) smiles, gesturing to their hair.

Both girls break into wide smiles, already won over. “What are your names?” (Y/N) asks.

“I’m Amelia,” The eldest states proudly, “I’m five and a half.”

“I’m Belinda,” The second girl introduces, “I’m four.”

“Well it is lovely to meet you both,” (Y/N) compliments, “My name is (Y/N).”

“We know,” Belinda chimes. “Uncle Tony talks about you all the time.”

“He does, does he?” She murmurs amused; catching sight of the brunette doing his best not to intervene on the conversation taking place with his nieces.

Amelia nods. “All the time!” She cries happily. “He talks about your hair, your eyes, your smile.” She breaks off, leaning towards (Y/N) to whisper in her ear. “I think he’s in love with you.”

“Do you think?” (Y/N) questions, unable to keep the eager hope from her voice.

“I know,” Amelia nods sagely, “I heard Uncle Tony tell Mama and Papa.”

(Y/N) presses her lips together to keep the wide smile from growing across her face. She had known that Anthony felt very deeply for her though he had never uttered a word. With a quick glance in Anthony’s direction, she gestures for the two girls to come closer. “Can you keep a secret?”

Amelia and Belinda nod silently; too excited to hear what (Y/N) has to say. “It just so happens,” (Y/N) whispers to the two girls, “That I also love your Uncle Tony.”

“You do?” Belinda squeaks.

“I do,” (Y/N) nods seriously, “I love him very much.”

“Are you going to tell him?” Amelia asks; her blue eyes wide with burning curiosity.

“I think on some level he already knows, but I plan on telling him very soon.”

Both girls squeal in happiness, leaving (Y/N) behind as they run towards their parents. Daphne and Simon greet their children with open arms, wide eyed at their level of noise as they demand their voices to be heard over the hubbub of the rest of the family.

“I don’t suppose you’d enlighten me to this particular conversation,” A warm voice sounds from behind her. The way his arm slips around her waist, as if it were his home, tells (Y/N) that Anthony has found her once more.

“A secret for another day,” (Y/N) teases, turning to face the man that had captured her heart so wholly.

“Will you tell me later?” He asks, pushing out his bottom lip in a pout that has her giggling.

“Perhaps,” She whispers, leaning ever closer to the Bridgerton. “Only if you promise me something.”

“Anything,” He whispers seriously, “I’d give you the world if I could.”

“I know you would,” She murmurs, “But all I’m asking for is for you to not pester your nieces over what I told them.”

“How did you know?” Anthony asks, voice glum.

(Y/N) brings a gloved hand to his cheek, her thumb brushing his cheekbone. “Because I know you, my dear.”

Anthony leans into the touch, turning his face slightly to press a kiss to her wrist. “I like being your dear.”

“I like being yours too,” She replies earnestly. “Now, I’ve spoken to most of your siblings. Do me the honour of introducing me to Francesca, she came all the way from Scotland, it’s rude that I’ve neglected her.”

“Yes, my darling,” Anthony responds, taking her hand and leading her to the couch where Francesca sits with her husband, Michael.

The day continues in a similar fashion. Bridgerton House had never been quiet when the whole family was in attendance; raucous laughter and loving bickering filled its many corners with noise. The life and laughter of the family bringing the house to life.

As the grandfather clock ticks closer and closer to the evening, (Y/N) finds herself lamenting the fact that she must leave the Bridgerton family so soon.

“I must take my leave,” She announces to sad cries to Amelia and Belinda, already so attached.

“So soon?” Benedict asks, frowning as he wonders when he’ll get to continues his conversation with her. So few wanted to talk about art nowadays.

(Y/N) meets Anthony’s gaze, hating how sad he looks. “I’m having dinner with my parents and their friends. An occasion I simply cannot miss, I’m afraid.”

“Do we know them?” Violet asks in an attempt to delay the inevitable. She had grown fond of the young woman over the course of the afternoon, seeing how perfectly she fit amongst her family, how she brought out the best in her eldest son.

“The St. Clair’s?” (Y/N) enquires, drawing her shawl around her shoulders. “My father has worked with Lady Danbury’s family for a long time. Gareth and I are old friends.”

“Have a wonderful time,” Violet announces, “But please visit us soon.”

“I would love to,” (Y/N) smiles, crossing the room to be by Anthony’s side.

Offering her goodbyes to the large family, (Y/N) takes Anthony’s offered arm, hooking hers through his as they descend the grand marble staircase to the foyer. “Your family are lovely,” (Y/N) compliments as she takes care not to trip over her skirts on the stairs. “You all care for each so much, it’s clear the moment you enter the room.”

“My mother and siblings are the best people I know,” Anthony murmurs, walking beside (Y/N) at a steady pace in order to delay her departure by a minute.

“I can only hope they liked me,” She worries, her teeth biting into her bottom lip in a way that has Anthony restraining himself by gripping her arm tighter.

“You were wonderful,” Anthony murmurs, pressing a lingering kiss to her cheekbone before helping her into her carriage.

“Thank you for today,” (Y/N) calls, sticking her hand from the window to prolong the contact between Anthony and herself. She wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye; wasn’t quite ready to leave him.

“Thank you for coming,” Anthony answers, kissing her hand before tucking it back through the window of her carriage. If they didn’t say goodbye now, they wouldn’t say goodbye at all. If she didn’t leave, he would most likely offer marriage on the pavement than somewhere proper.

Nodding to her footman, Anthony watches her carriage leave. He stands on the doorstep to Bridgerton House until her carriage is no longer in sight. Only then does he let himself release the breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Weariness washes over him as he turns to face his childhood home. Inside, in his mother’s drawing room, await his family. Each one ready to give their verdict on the woman he has had the good fortune to fall in love with.

Sighing, he kicks at the ground, knowing he cannot delay this any longer.

His mother and siblings are where he left them; his mother’s drawing room. They fall silent at the sight of him; each clearly unwilling to make the leap and be the first to broach the elephant in the room.

“What do you think of (Y/N)?” Anthony asks; voice loud in the ever so silent room. He meets the eyes of each of his siblings, not missing the way Daphne leans into Simon or the way Michael reaches for Francesca’s hand. They’ve all found their love matches; it was now Anthony’s turn.

Colin takes the fall for his family, standing to face his eldest brother and titled peer. He clears his throat, fidgeting on the spot before he eventually pauses all movement, breaking into a smile to declare, “We all loved her!”

“You do?” Anthony asks, falling onto a nearby couch in shock.

Violet smiles at her eldest son. “We do. (Y/N) is a sweetheart and looks to be just as taken with you as you are with her.”

Blush begins to paint Anthony’s cheeks. “I can only hope, dear mother.”

“It’s true,” Amelia chimes, her young face bright with joy. “She told Belinda and I.”

“You have found your love match, my darling boy,” Violet states warmly.

“It does help that (Y/N) is a trifle more tolerable than you, dear brother,” Benedict teases, laughter bright in his Bridgerton blue eyes.

“And so educated!” Eloise gasps, “We had an enlightening conversation about Wollstonecraft’s Vindication on the Rights of Women.”

“She was wonderful with Amelia and Belinda,” Daphne murmurs, her hand falling protectively over her pregnant stomach.

“Why do I get the feeling that you prefer (Y/N) to me?” Anthony murmurs, mischief bright in his eyes and evident in his voice.

“That’s exactly what we’re saying,” Gregory points out, “I only hope (Y/N) can keep up with your obsession with Pall Mall.”

“A worthy obsession,” Anthony argues, mind wandering to the games he could play with (Y/N).

“She’s wonderful,” Violet interrupts, a large smile on her face as she takes the final say.

Anthony smiles widely at his mother; constantly grateful for her love and care throughout his life. She had been lost after the death of his father, as had Anthony, but Anthony had never truly understood what it would feel like to lose someone you love as wholeheartedly as his mother loved his father.

Until now, that is. The mere thought of losing her sends a lance of pain through his chest, cutting short his breath and increasing his panic. Anthony shakes his head to rid himself of such thoughts and feelings.

Calm enough, he faces his family once more. “I plan on proposing to (Y/N),” He announces, showing his family the ring box that has been sitting heavily in his trouser pocket all day.

“Thank goodness,” Francesca murmurs, smiling indulgently at her big brother. “I cannot wait to call her sister.”

“Indeed,” Anthony murmurs, a loving smile on his face, “I cannot wait to call her my wife.”

******

Bridgerton taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @dreaming-about-fanfictions @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @janelongxox @sexysirius @wallwriterstuff @magicalxdaydream @darkestbeforethedawn16 @gryffindors-weasley @spideysz​ @iammirrorball​ @writeroutoftime​ @joyfullymulti​ @nuttytani​ @multifandomfix​ @freyathehuntress​ @lespaceboi​

Taglists are open! Drop me an ask if you would like to be added!

Choose Me Instead II Draco Malfoy x Reader II Chapter 17 of 27: Magical

Summary:  Pretending to be in a relationship with Draco Malfoy to get back at your ex might have not been the smartest idea you ever had. Especially during your last year of Hogwarts where you should be focusing on exams and your future plans. However, you were just pretending. There was no way in hell you could actually catch feelings for someone like Malfoy. … Right?

CHOOSE ME INSTEAD MASTERLIST CHOOSE ME INSTEAD PLAYLIST

A/N: A few announcements - I took some time off these past two weeks because uni started again and I needed a little time to sort stuff out. Because of that I will from now on post one chapter per week. If sometimes I have time for two, then great, but one chapter per week is my goal for now. I hope that’s okay! Also you lovely people keep sending me song suggestions for this story (I wanna cry everytime you do that) and I compiled a little playlist. You can find it here if you don’t have spotify! I love you all so much! For now - enjoy the chapter! Words: 3.4k Pairing: Draco Malfoy x fem!Reader, post war Warnings: ... making out, I guess?

“Draco …”, you sighed softly when his lips wandered down your neck. “We’ll be late …”

“Hmm,” the tone vibrated against your skin and his hot breath caused a shiver to run down your spine.

“We should really go,” you whispered.

“In a minute,” he replied, his eyes closed as his lips searched for yours. They met and his hands found your hips, pressing his body up against yours. You gasped but the sound was drowned by him. The kiss became faster, his tongue slipping into your mouth. Your head was spinning and you felt light-headed as if you were high up on the clouds and not in an empty classroom in the dungeons of Hogwarts. The Slytherin seemed to have that effect on you and you already knew that the moment he pulled away, your body would be trembling, aching for more for him.

Draco’s fingers tugged at the hem of your shirt, pulling it out of your skirt until you felt his hands on your bare skin. This was the moment where your eyes fluttered open and you turned your head to the side, breaking the kiss. Turning back, he looked at you confused and out of breath. His usually perfect hair was messy, his lips red and puffy. The green and silver tie around hung loosely around his neck and the first buttons of his shirt were already opened, barely covering up the red lines of a hickey you’d given him.

You had done it to tease him, knowing how much he despised marks or blemishes on his body but it had only ended with him, pulling you in here and pressing you up against the cold stone wall. “Seems like I need to teach you a lesson,” he had grumbled, his eyes suddenly black as the night and your melted right then and there, trembling with excitement.

Now, he stared at you with a hunger in his eyes that made it clear to you, he wasn’t ready to leave yet. You, however, didn’t want to miss the announcement the Headmistress so mysteriously wanted to give tonight at supper.

“We only have around five or ten minutes to get there,” you repeated yourself. “Let’s go!”

He rolled his eyes and leaned forward, his forehead resting against yours. “Why do you want to go so badly?”, he asked. “The others can tell us later –”

“But I want to hear it. It sounded important.”

“Speaking from experience, most things our headmasters or headmistresses announce is less important than they think.”

You chuckled. “That’s your opinion. I’m also hungry.”

“Yeah, me too,” he replied and tilted his head again. Before he could press his lips against yours, he was stopped by your finger on his mouth.

You chuckled. “Draco.”

“Ugh,” he sighed dramatically and let go of you. “Fine…”

“Stop whining,” you laughed and reached down to grab the robe that he had pulled down your shoulders just minutes earlier. He only smirked at you.

The last two weeks were a blurr. You were drawn to one another, addicted, starving for each other. Lighting struck in your hearts with every whisper, every kiss, every touch. He never left your mind, all your thoughts circled around him. Around being close to him. Being with him. It was ridiculous how much your body longed to feel him against yours. He made you feel things you didn’t know existed. In conclusion, it wasn’t possible to describe the time with him adequately. Magical was a word the muggles would probably use.

Sometimes, in the quiet moments, when you watched him work in the library or nod off in the Room of Requirements, a thought entered your mind. It crept up like a monster behind his prey, careful and silent but just as dangerous: This isn’t friendship.

You shut it out but it kept coming back. Waking you in the middle of the night, distracting you when you studied, made you forget your homework. Until now, you were successful in ignoring it. However, along with the thought came the fear that it wouldn’t leave you.

Headmistress McGonagall was in the middle of her speech when the two of you arrived. You glared at Draco, silently saying “I told you so” before you sat down next to Ginny. She grinned at you and wiggled her eyebrows, guessing where you had come from. You rolled your eyes.

“… Winter Dance.”

You looked up abruptly when McGonagall said those words. She made a pause as if she wanted to see the reactions of her students. They started to murmur and giggle, excitement filled the room like a buzz. She stopped it with a wave of her hand.

“The last time, Hogwarts has hosted such an event was during the Triwizard Tournament”, McGonagall continued. “It feels like a long time ago. This particular school year ended in tragedy when we lost our dear student and friend, Cedric Diggory.” Another pause. “We experienced the Dance however as something beautiful that brought us and you closer together. This is why we, the staff and our Prefects,” she turned to smile at the mentioned people, “decided to make the Winter Dance a yearly tradition. In February of each year, we will come together to celebrate and dance.”

When she ended, the Hall erupted into clapping and cheers. Ginny nudged you excitedly, already making plans for you to go to Hogsmeade to shop for a dress during the next weekend.

“The Winter Dance will be held in two weeks,” the Headmistress announced. “I expect you to wear formal, appropriate attire. Other than that –”, a smile showed on her face, “– I expect you to have fun.”

With that, she snapped her fingers and food appeared on the long tables. The Hall was filled with noise in seconds. You felt the excitement in the air and when Draco winked at you from across the Slytherin table and you couldn’t suppress the smile, you understood the other students.

A ball.

A real ball. With dresses and music and delicious food and everyone having fun. Everyone being normal. Just like the Yule Ball. It seemed so long ago yet you remembered every detail of the night. Getting ready with Ginny, nervously waiting for your date, clumsily dancing and trying not to step on his feet. To be fair, you had gotten much better since then. When your father found out that you tripped twice during the night, he spent the also summer between your third and fourth year teaching you how to dance. The memory gave you a feeling of warmth. Oh, how happy and simple your life once was.

“I suppose you’re going with Malfoy?”, Ginny interrupted your thoughts.

You didn’t answer her question. “I suppose you’re going with Harry?”

She frowned. “Of course, we’re dating.”

You looked at her with a raised eyebrow. It clicked in her brain and Ginny nodded slowly. “Right yes, I keep thinking this all just a feverish dream and you’re not really with him.”

“Stop being rude, Ginny,” Hermione chimed in before taking a sip from her drink.

“She can handle it,” the Weasley girl replied and grinned at you.

You chuckled. “Thank you, Hermione,” you said nonetheless. “However, let’s focus on the more important things here.”

Both of the girls looked at you with question marks in their eyes.

“We need to get to Hogsmeade before Parkinson and the whole bunch can buy the good dresses.”

 ***

One week later …

Draco flinched.

You stopped and looked up at him. He was on his back, shirtless, the covers pulled up just to hips, one arm behind his head, the other one straight next to his body. Although his eyes were closed, you noticed the way he clenched his jaw.

It was quiet in the Room of Requirements. Right now, it had changed to a small room with only a large bed in front of a window from which you were able to see the Black Lake and the stunning Scottish landscape behind it.

“Does it hurt?”, you whispered.

“Yes,” he replied. “No, I … I can’t describe it.” He let out a deep breath.

“Hmm,” you hummed and your eyes trailed back over his toned chest down to his left arm. The eyes of the snake in his black tattoo seemed to be staring back at you. In your mind, you were curious to see how it looked when it was moving.

“Do you think it should hurt?”, you asked then.

Draco opened his eyes. They found you right away. “I have a therapist for that, you know.”

You smiled cheekily at him.

He turned on his side, using his left arm to prop himself up. Right in that moment, the first rays of the sun hit the window. The light made his skin shimmer golden and it took your breath away for a second. People disagreed on so many things about Draco Malfoy but you were convinced there was one thing, everyone – even a blind person – had to admit: he was drop dead gorgeous.

“You’re beautiful,” he mumbled. His expression was serious, not even the hint of a smile. “I can say that, right? As a friend?”

The sudden tone that changed from earnest to teasing, made you snort. “It’s possible to find people attractive without having feelings for them. You’re not blind, are you?”

He chuckled and shook his head. “I’m definitely not.” After a moment of silence, he then asked: “Have you found a dress yet?”

“Going today before breakfast.”

“Before?”, he raised an eyebrow. That meant you had to leave soon.

You nodded. “We want to get there before Parkinson and the rest.”

“I feel like Weasley and Pansy have quite different price ranges, so she doesn’t have to worry,” Draco remarked.

“But Parkinson and I don’t,” you replied and tried your best not to roll your eyes at his comment.

“True,” he shrugged. “I’d love to buy a dress.”

The statement took you by surprise. You blinked. Draco smiled sadly. It took you an embarrassing long time to understand. From what money. “One day,” you said softly. “Times will change for your family. I’m sure of it.”

There was an awkward moment of silence in which Draco just looked at you, an unreadable expression on his face. Then he shifted and so did the blanket on his hips, you noticed. When he saw how your eyes wandered down his body, he smirked. “When do you have to leave?”

“Thirty minutes.”

“I can work with that.”

 ***

You were the first customers of the day. The store was still closed when Hermione, Ginny and you arrived.

“See, it’s not even open yet. There was no reason for you to be mad at me!”, you exclaimed when you stood in front of the door and saw the ‘Closed’-sign.

“You were twenty minutes late!”, Hermione snapped. Her cheeks were red. You didn’t know if the running or the anger caused it but you were not sure if you wanted to.

“Yeah, well, I was busy …,” you mumbled. “Doing things …”

“Do those things have Malfoy as their last name?”, Ginny asked.

You cleared your throat. “Maybe?”

There was a brief moment of silence in which your friends just looked at you. Then, suddenly, both of them started laughing.

“Just the thought …”, Ginny shivered.

“People like Malfoy don’t have sex, it’s just, no, my mind doesn’t know what to do with this information,” Hermione shook her head.

You snorted at their reactions. It was freezing cold out here and so you began to rock back and forth on your heels. “They do,” you said to Hermione. “Believe me, they do.”

“Is he any good though?”, Ginny wanted to know. “Or is he into some weird kinky Slytherin –”

Luckily, she was cut off when the door opened and a small, old lady looked at you. “Are you here for the Winter Dance?”

 ***

In all your time at Hogwarts, you had never stepped foot into this shop. For the Yule Ball, your parents had sent you a dress so you really never had a reason to come here.

You were surprised though by the sheer abundance of dresses and suits pressed into the small store. Every color you could think of, tulle and lace and velvet and satin – you and your friends were speechless when you walked in.

“There’s just … so much,” Hermione stammered.

“Yes, dear,” the old lady nodded eagerly. “When we heard about the Winter Dance, we made as many dresses as we could in the short time.”

“They’re all so beautiful,” you said.

“Thank you! They are the best quality in all of Scotland!”, she replied shortly. “How about you take a seat and I will present you with some options that I’d think would look stunning on you pretty girls.”

And with that, she hurried off. Your friends looked at one another before going over to the small couch on the other end of the store. It was located in front of the dressing rooms and a huge mirror.

Hermione was first. She had a pretty clear vision of what she wanted to wear and the old lady picked out the perfect dress right on the first try. It was a gorgeous red ballgown with a sweetheart-neckline. She looked like a goddess.

“Ron will faint,” you remarked and she giggled.

Ginny was next. For her, it was more difficult. She tried on six dresses, in colors from bright pink to black. In the end, she settled for a yellow dress. It clashed with her red-hair in the best way possible and you wondered how it was possible for any guy not to fall in love with her. She was excited when she saw herself in the mirror, turning and twirling in front of it – but her joy was ended abruptly when the old lady mentioned the price.

“I told you my price range,” Ginny said distraught.

“I’m sorry, dear,” she sighed. “But what you wanted … it wasn’t possible.”

“Then why didn’t you say something?”

Hermione looked over at you and you understood immediately. “We’ll pay for it,” you chimed in.

Ginny turned to you and shook her head violently. “No, absolutely not.” You had expected that reaction. She was just as proud as the rest of the family.

“It’s fine, Ginny,” Hermione smiled at her.

“No, it’s not!”

“It’s an early birthday gift?”, you tried to offer.

“No!”

“Okay, how about that,” you began, “we only pay the difference. And we’ll split it in half so it’s not too bad.”

Ginny hesitated.

“Just promise us to get us free tickets for your Quidditch games once you’re famous,” Hermione added.

Finally, she smiled. Very hesitantly but she did. “Fine then.”

You were next. Not sure what you’d like, you told the lady to just bring any dresses she’d like to see on you. In this moment, you wished for your mother to be here. No matter how difficult of a person she was, she had an immaculate sense of style. She would have walked in here and picked the right dress immediately.

However, the old lady seemed to have the same gift. When you saw yourself in that first dress, you swallowed heavily. You hardly recognized the woman in the mirror.

“Oh it’s gorgeous,” Hermione commented. “That’s the one, no question.”

Ginny nodded in agreement.

It was a dark blue dress, flowing down, hugging and accentuating all the right parts of your body. There were little gemstones woven in the fabric of the skirt, making it sparkle with every movement of yours. It must cost a fortune. Luckily, your father still felt guilty for what happened last Christmas and told you to not look on the price tag and to simply send him the bill.

“His favourite colour is green.”

You were so stunned by the dress that you didn’t notice how the door opened and someone stepped in. You looked up, only to see the judging faces of your three Slytherin best friends: Astoria Greengrass, accompanied by her sister and Parkinson.

Astoria stared at you and didn’t even try to hide the fact that she despised seeing you here. “His favourite colour,” she repeated herself. “It’s green.”

Oh, so she wanted to pick a fight.

You frowned, not sure what to say at first.

“Oh, fuck off, Greengrass,” Ginny shot at her, coming to your rescue.

“Wow, a Weasel? In here? You sure you can aff–”

Before she finished her sentence and Ginny got a chance to physically fight her, you raised your voice: “It’s not.”

Astoria focused her attention back on you. Confused, you noticed how her sister – Daphne – rolled her eyes and stepped away, clearly not interested in this petty drama. Parkinson stayed and watched the two of you curiously.

“Excuse me?”, Astoria said.

“His favourite colour isn’t green,” you explained with a soft voice. “It’s this one actually. Blue.”

She blinked.

“And some small piece of advice,” you continued, “wear what you’re comfortable with not what you think men like Draco want.”

In the corner of your eye, you saw Hermione looking down on her feet. The corners of her mouth twitched. Ginny on the other hand didn’t hide the wide grin on her face.

If looks could kill, you’d be dead by now. “Luckily with my body I’m comfortable in everything,” she said coldly.

You smiled. “Okay then. Good for you.”

 ***

Two weeks later …

“If you don’t want me looking like a house-elf, I have to leave now to get ready!”, you giggled.

Draco ignored you and lowered his head to kiss you again. He was heavy against your body as he pinned you down and when your lips met, a sigh escaped you. He replied by only deepening the kiss – his tongue twined with yours and your fingers tangled in his hair. Draco groaned when you pulled at it and suddenly he changed positions, yanking you up and pulling you in his lap.

You gasped when you felt him, growing more excited already, and pressed yourself against him, biting down on his lip. Dracos hands tightened on your hips and he moved down to where the skirt from your uniform was already riding up. When you felt his touch against your skin, you broke the kiss.

“What?”, he asked, his eyes dark and hungry.

“I have to go now,” you repeated yourself.

He groaned and let his head fall against the back of the couch. You smirked. “And you need to get ready as well.”

“You’re a tease,” he mumbled and you laughed. “Why don’t we just skip the Dance?”, Draco then asked.

You shook your head. “Because I’ve been looking forward to this for two weeks now.”

“But we’d have so much fun,” Draco tried to argue. You felt his fingers drawing circles on your upper thigh and shivered. His eyes lit up at the reaction. “The castle will be empty. Can you imagine all the rooms we could do it in? How about the Slytherin common –”

You quickly put a finger on his lips to stop him from talking. “I want to go dance though, Draco.” You lowered your voice: “Besides, don’t you want to see me in my dress?”

“Mhh,” he hummed. “I do. You could only wear it for me?”

You chuckled again and leaned forward to give him a quick kiss.

“So that’s a no?”, he asked when you pulled back.

“No.” You shook your head.

Draco sighed dramatically. “Fine then.”

You smiled at him and kissed him another time, a little longer this time, a little more teasing. “It’ll be fun,” you whispered against his lips. “See you later.” He groaned defeatedly when you got up from his lap.

You reached for your bag and cloak and after a little wave of your hand, you walked towards the door. “Oh and Draco?”, you remembered something. “I’m never gonna do it in the Slytherin common room with you.”

You knew he was smirking without turning around.

“You say that now but wait until –”

The door fell shut before you heard the end of his sentence. ***

A/N: I hope you liked it! <3

CHAPTER 18 Choose Me Instead Masterlist HP Masterlist Tag List:   @writerdee1701, @youareinllve, @sjmahoney, @detroitobsessed, @takura-rin, @jadam268, @wynterwind,  @renaissance-confiance, @harpoon999, @doitforthevine67​, @rinasrights​, @flowerpowerpixie​, @gold-flowing​, @starkssnarks​, @bookcornerkins​, @harpersmariano​, @markedsweetly​, @iraniq​, @pointlesscoconut​, @hvrcruxes​, @pillowjj​, @idkatee​,    @magicwithaknife​, @graystherapy​, @scoote-rankle​, @nxstalgicnxbxdy​, @sunsetsofanemoia​,  @tommy-holland​, @lordfxxker​, @streetfighterrichie​, @awaken-the-sirens​, @destiels-assbutt13​, @pockitparks​, @just-addicted-to-bangtan​, @cuddlykoala101​, @zpandaqueen​,  @natsiboo​, @jjjmaybank​, @justmesadgirl​, @books-and-tings​, @slytherinprincedracom​, @katiaw2​, @saintkore​, @nctnight​, @lifestragedy​, @obxmxybxnk​, @spideydobik​ , @ladylizzieofdarbyshire​, @aspiring-ginger​, @dracomalfoyswifey​, @jpow345​, @realistic-breadstick​,  @abbs-is-tired​, @alwaysbeanunknownfan​, @niallsarmveinstho​, @is-this-a-febreze-commercial​, @acciowilltolive​, , @sexytholland​, @faangirl101​, @donttellany1iusetumbler​, @mendesmuffinsss​, @lilxnvm​, @kill-the-teen-memories​, @darkusangelus​, @itsbebeyyy​, @hesaidimcrazy​, @jenniweaslee​, @hpxpjo​, @brisbubble​, @xomaymay​, @shitnstuffillregret​, @serialkillme​, @angel-tears15​, @panicattheeverywherekid​, @obsssedwithjustaboutanything​,  @nobleking​, @tashii-blr​, @ddaeing​, @randogirlo-fando-main​, @sadgirlnumber92899​, @captivateing​, @bitchyegirl​, @smiithys​, @ninipoo1​, @intheawks​,  @nothanksnyla​, @calpal-4ever​, @dracosathenaeum​, @belsandthings​, , @kiwi-sloan​, @xdmx​, @lexi-ravenclawdracomalfoy​, @kvyenxay​, @live-awkward​, @babebenhardy​, @bitchysweets-blog​, @cravingmusic​, @frau-moon​, @ohissandhalasta​,  @broken-but-beautiful-cassie​, @lil-black-heart​,  @vminenthusiastt​, @dracos-sluts​, @ohbabycal​, @saucysuazo​, @fuzzzwald​, @matsuno-nadeshiko​, @amber-arsenault​ ,  @loveableasshole​,  @spideycures​, @echpr​, @shiningstar-byulxx​,  @twinklebug2282​, @bloodiedroses​, @klthmef​, @ostorian​ ,  @bi-chai-tea​, @maddieisnotok​, @amandaluvssupernatural​, @makeoutwithstiles​,    @i-am-addicted-to-tea​, @tenclouds​, @lovingdracomalfoy​, @lannaax​, @dr-bitch-bby​,  @fallinallinmendes​, @suckerforparker​, @runninglownad​, @piercinghorizons​, @dosicas​, @yanaaaaaaa​, @desertdwellerwitch, @bittersweetthoughts–ofinsanity, @akzer300500​, @bbeautyybbx, @hoseokslily​, @dracofeltonmalfoy​, @emilianamason​, @tothemoonwithclifford​, @gcldreinhart​ ,  @angelofthorr​, @k-k0129​, @musicalmuffindog1410​, @andydre4m​, @mxl-foyrecs​, @seeinorange​, @vlgsqd​ , @justmimithings​, @allthevoicesinmyhead​, @pipppaaaaalouisee​, @yessirrz​, @2think2twice2 @spencerreidisbootiful, @find-a-little-faith, @thatguppienamedbae, @mimi15aguayo, @emmamarie7708, @dontpanicitsdan If you want to be added to my tag list, let me know!

Training (Giles x plus size reader)

Oh my Dear Boudoir Anon, it took some time but I have something for you! and let me tell you that I hate it lmao. Like I love how the end went, but I am unsure about the beginning. BUT I am my worst critic right? Regardless I hope that you enjoy the story hun. 

Gif taken from internet, credit to the maker

It was hard to believe that in the year you moved to Sunnydale you made friends with a group of college students that fought monsters. Of course you made a mistake and hadn’t taken the warning your roommates had told you, about not going out at night. So your first night in a new town and you almost became vampire food. Naturally after being saved you became friends with the group of students known as the Scooby Gang. 

You knew nothing of fighting or monsters so you mainly stayed back at the Magic shop and did research for the group and ran the shop when Giles went out with them. Even if you couldn’t be a great fighter like Buffy, you still asked to be trained and Buffy gave that job to Giles. You should have known she would give the job to Giles, but when you learned it was him you quickly made excuses not to train. You couldn’t help but feel like it would be a waste of his time. And it didn't take Giles long to corner you and find out what the problem was.

"I just don't want to waste your time."

"I do not see me making sure you are safe as a waste of my time."

"Giles, take a look at me and then at the group. When you figure it out then come find me."

You hadn't even turned around before Giles was commenting back.

"How does your weight have anything to do with this?"

"It didn't dawn when I first asked that it would take years to train me. I am so out of shape."

Suddenly Giles was walking you backwards as he removed his glasses to clean them. A move you learned he does when he is frustrated or annoyed. 

"Your size has nothing to do with this, we start off small. We work you towards a goal then make another. Right now I would be happy if you just knew how to shoot a crossbow or any other type of weapon." 

Nodding your head once you took a deep breath as you looked into his eyes.

"Alright Giles. Let's do this."

~~

True to his word Giles started you off on weapons, while also teaching you simple stretches to help loosen your muscles. After about three months, to your surprise, you had become very skilled with a bow. You couldn’t help but be slightly disappointed that through all the training you hadn’t lost much weight. But soon you and the others started to notice that parts of your body were becoming firmer. And naturally you started to gain more confidence.

Coming through the back of the shop you looked around and saw that you were alone. Thinking that Giles was in the front you set down your things and removed your jacket so that you could start on your stretches. Getting lost in your thoughts you realized you had gone through your whole warm up routine and Giles still hadn’t showed up. Grabbing a bottle of water you headed to the front to see what was going on. A quick look around the shop showed that he wasn’t busy and when you turned to the right you saw him sitting at a table with his head in the books. You knew that Giles wasn’t someone you wanted to sneak up on, so as you made your way to him you made sure to speak loudly.

“A new big bad show up that I didn’t know about?”

Turning quickly in his seat Giles turned to look at you. Just like he did anytime he was off on time Giles looked at his watch before he took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes.

"No. No new big and bad. I just got a new shipment of books in and I got caught up on reading."

Leaning against the table next to him you tried to look at the title but Giles was quick to cover it. Because you had been used to rough housing with Xander you automatically reach across him to grab the book. Not even thinking about it as you reached across him, your chest ended up in his face. It didn't dawn on you at first but when you felt Giles breath on your chest you remembered that your workout outfit had changed from baggy clothes to sweatpants and a form fitting tank top. That gave Giles a birds eye view down your shirt. 

Trying not to pull more attention to an already embarrassing situation you slowly pulled back to your original position, and acted as Giles face wasn't just in your chest.

"Why are you hiding the title Giles?"

Standing up and gathering the book and a couple other things Giles began to walk towards the back as he stuttered slightly over his words.

"The book is… well it's about…. You know it really isn't that important. "

"Well we both know that's a lie. If it wasn't you wouldn't have hidden it's cover." Stopping suddenly you couldn't help but place your hands on your hips. "Giles! Are you reading porn?"

Spinning around quickly Giles gave you a brief fish out of water expression before he answered. 

"I beg your pardon! I would not read porn at the shop! NOT that, that's what it is." 

Deciding to pick on him some more you couldn't help but smile as you walked towards him.

"You were so reading porn. Just count yourself lucky it was me that found you and not someone like Xander."

Nodding his head in agreement you heard Giles mumble something about "Never hearing the end of it." Before he snapped back to the present and to you. "The book isn't about porn, but fae magic. Of course I should have known there would have been a descriptive chapter on the not so innocent parts of fae's."

"Ohh does it have pictures?"

"No it doesn't have pictures! I really don't feel we need to be having this conversation."

"Why?"

"Well because you are a young adult and I am your senior."

"Keyword there Giles, adult. I may be younger than you but I am an adult."

If you hadn't been looking at Giles face you would have missed the way his eyes shot down to your chest before quickly looking back up. Even though you pretended not to notice you could help but feel your heart racing at the look Giles had given you. Taking his glasses off, Giles rubbed his eyes and muttered something that sounded like "Yes, how could I forget." Before you could ask him to clarify what he had said Giles was holding his hand, that held his glasses out, as he spoke louder.

"Yes well. Shall we start your training?"

Training felt different today, at first you tried to chalk it up to finally learning some basic defense moves. That the tension was because of you both being in close proximity, but after about 20 minutes you began to realize it was because of what had happened earlier. Until today you never thought about Giles in any way, other than a teacher. Yet you couldn't help but realize how firm his body was for a man his age, how his voice sounded as he spoke softly into your ear, or how he smelled like the incense he sold at the shop. You weren't given any time to really think about it though because teaching weapons was different then hand to hand and this Giles was a bit stricter and he didn't give breaks as often as weapons training. Luckily you got a small break when Giles was called to the front of the store.

Sitting down on the mat you worked on stretching as you watched Giles walking away. You knew the tension was because of earlier and your mind was telling you to let it go. That it was a fluke but your body was telling you something completely different. It has been a while since anyone has shown interest in you. And even though what happened at the table was an accident, his second look and the comment he had made hadn’t been. Age was never an issue for you, in fact you actually liked your men older and you told yourself when you first met Giles that you wouldn't mind a night with him. The question was though, was there anything there or were you just imagining there was? 

By the time Giles had gotten back you figured out that you were going to play a little and see what happens. That if he hadn't been interested he wouldn't have taken a second look. 

"Sorry about that, sometimes I question myself on having Anya helping out."

Chuckling you stood up as Giles made his way back to the middle of the room.

"I have no answer and even if I did I would plead the fifth."

Smiling Giles moved so that he stood behind you. Standing closer he lowered his voice as he moved to place you in the hold you had been working on before being called.

"If you had an answer and pleaded the fifth I have ways on getting it from you."

That sentence alone almost had you wondering if Giles had put a spell on you to read your mind. And he almost caused you to slip up and fall when he tried to take you down. Instead you planted your feet and shifted the way he had told you. Grabbing his arm you stood behind him and twisted it upwards. 

"You can't get nothing if I am the one that's got a hold on you."

Suddenly in what felt like a second Giles had himself out of the hold and was once again standing behind you. With both of your hands pinned in one of his behind your back while his other arm was around your neck.

"Never assume to have the upper hand. Anytime you do that you end up in a position you can't get out of."

"I don't know. I think I can get out of this."

If you were asked about it later you would blame it on his quick breathing in your ear, or how your bodies were even closer together. But having guts, you never had before, you turned your hand slightly and placed an open balm on Giles upper thigh. You could feel him jump a bit, but he didn't release his hold. Instead of moving your hand any more you pushed your ass into Giles as your nails dug slightly into his thigh. You could feel his breath change as he brought his face closer to yours. 

"I am not sure this is a good way to get out of a hold."

Tilting your head back you couldn't help but close your eyes.

"Oh I wouldn't try this with just anyone."

You couldn’t help but shiver when Gile's voice turned slightly darker in tone.

"I should hope not. But please, tell me what you would do if someone was you in this type of hold."

Releasing your hands Giles brought his arm around your waist while he brought the arm around your neck back so that his hand now rested on your neck. 

"Who's to say I would want to get out of this hold?"

Just as you started to move your hand that was still on his thigh. Giles let out the breath he had been holding before pushing into you with his upper body. In a couple of steps he had you at the wall. Using the hand on your hip he turned you around and pressed you into the wall. Using the hand he had around your neck he tilted your head and brought his face towards yours.

"I am very close to casting a spell to see who you really are."

Resting your hands on his chest you couldn't help but run them up and down.

"I will submit to any spell you want. Just to prove I am not under any spell."

"Then what game are you playing."

"No games. Just after earlier I had to see if I was imagining things."

"You mean when you put your chest into my face?"

Laughing you shook your head as you brought one hand down to his waist.

"No. Not then. That was an accident. I am talking about when you took that second look. If you hadn't done that I would have acted like nothing happened."

Almost on que Giles looked down at the top of your breast, while his fingers danced across the top of them.

"I guess having them so close to my face made me realize how beautiful they were and I couldn't help but look again."

For some reason your insecurities came pushing forward and you said the first thing that came to mind.

"There is nothing beautiful on me."

Almost instantly the hand around your neck tightened and Giles pushed his body into yours.

"You are NEVER to say anything like that again. Do you hear? Never again."

Reaching up you lightly touched his hand as you spoke quietly.

"Giles, I am only saying things that have been said to me. And it's okay, it's the facts of life."

You didn't think Giles could get any closer but he did. Slipping a leg between yours he made sure he had your full attention. 

"Fools, the whole lot of them. You are beautiful y/n. Not just your breast, but all of you. And if I am being completely honest, I was looking at you way before today. Today is just the first time I am admitting it to myself."

You knew there was no fighting Giles on this so you just smiled as you ran your fingers down his cheek. 

"So what do we do now?"

Grinning down at you Giles quickly moved you so that you were pressed into his back once again. While his breath tickled your ear.

"Right now we are doing nothing. You on the other hand, need to get out of this hold. And if you can do it without any tricks……. Let's just say I have some ideas on rewards."

Okay, so my plans for this one is to publish it by itself on AO3 once it’s done, which, I hope (strangled laughter) shouldn’t be in a year, so do what you want with that info. In the meantime, have the first part of a silly modern AU.

For fuck’s sake, there is no way that’s Luo Binghe.

Shen Yuan had a very clear idea of what Luo Binghe would look like. A white lotus like him had to be a small, shy, bespectacled young man. He’d probably sit by the wall, only daring to glance up occasionally to look for Shen Yuan anxiously.

The man who is refusing a woman’s overture for the third time cannot be him. It must be a coincidence that he’s wearing something that looks like what Luo Binghe said he would have on.

That must be it. Reassured, Shen Yuan starts looking for the little sheep he’d taken under his wing. Could he be the guy engrossed by his phone sitting at his right? Meh, maybe, but-

“Shizun!”

Shen Yuan is instantly mortified. The nickname was cute when they were talking cultivation novels online, but here, in real life? That’s why Shen Yuan insisted on them sharing their real names: to save himself the embarrassment of being the kind of nerd who calls themselves by a fake, geeky name in public!

Then again, since he looks like that, Luo Binghe could be larping surrounded by a crowd while wearing a shirt with a naked waifu on it and still he’d get hit on, Shen Yuan bets. A face this stunning must act as a shield, making him impervious to embarrassment.

Shen Yuan is not impervious to embarrassment. He dashes to the table where, apparently, his disciple is waiting for him. “Luo Binghe.”

He almost flinches under the strength of the beaming smile he’s faced with. “Yes! Shizun! It’s good to finally meet you in person!”

It would be better if you were not calling me Shizun. “The feeling is mutual.” Kind of.

Luo Binghe pushes a paper bag in his direction. “Please accept these as a token of gratitude for your guidance. I know it’s not much, but I hope you can enjoy it anyway.”

Shen Yuan opens the bag with no small amount of trepidation, to discover half a bakery’s stock of desserts, sweets, cakes and other patisseries.

How did he know of Shen Yuan’s weaknesses?

Shen Yuan quickly closes the bag. It would be gauche to eat outside food in a café. “This really wasn’t necessary, though it all looks delicious. Where did you buy them? Did you find a good shop already?”

Luo Binghe shakes his head. “No. I made them, so if they’re subpart, I’m the only one to blame.”

Come on! This guy cooks? At this level? Shen Yuan can feed himself, but a glance was all it took to know how outclassed he was. How is he the shizun here? “I’m sure they’re delicious.” They smell like it, anyway. “So you’re already settled down enough to bake? Moving wasn’t too much of a hardship then?”

“No, everything went well. I’m ready for the term to start.”

He’d better be, since he was accepted at Tsinghua University. How did poor Luo Binghe, who grew up in a small village in the middle of nowhere, swing that, Shen Yuan doesn’t know, but he must be smart as hell. Shen Yuan himself is no slouch, having graduated from Peking University, but it took the “help and encouragement” of his parents and his parents’ many contacts.

Not that they’re here to talk college education, unless Luo Binghe is planning to have much more fun than Shen Yuan did during his own college years. “Still, I suppose that didn’t give you much time for reading.”

“I did read! I had nothing but time on the train, so I finished Shizun’s latest recommendation. As he said, the heroine was the best part. I really liked when…”

This. This is why they’re here: for Shen Yuan to coach Luo Binghe in the ways of decent online literature, stirring him away from complete trash and protecting his innocence from the worst of the worst. He’d known from the first comment Luo Binghe had posted that he was too pure for this world, and that it was his duty as the last bastion of criticism to keep him that way.

He likes to think he did pretty well. Luo Binghe took to his teachings easily. Before he knew it, Shen Yuan had an online friend always eager to get his recommendations and to discuss them with him.

Shen Yuan had thought that maybe Luo Binghe didn’t have that many friends, or that he was socially awkward, but that is very obviously not the case. He can hear the girls oh so coincidentally sitting nearby giggling and congratulating themselves that Luo Binghe hadn’t been waiting for his girlfriend, but only a friend, which meant they still had a chance!

Ha! As if! The only way Luo Binghe didn’t have a girlfriend was if he left her behind to come study here in Beijing. Shen Yuan is sure that won’t last. He’ll probably find someone as soon as school begins.

In the meantime, he might as well take it easy. Reading more books, discovering the cities, getting to know his neighbours; he should take some time to do all this before he is swarmed by his studies.

Still, this is nice. Shen Yuan isn’t the most sociable person ever, vastly preferring to remain indoor by himself to making small talk, but this is a good combination of both! He can talk books with someone who listens to him while drinking his bubble tea and nibbling on snacks. He could get used to this.

“Could I have your phone number?”

Shen Yuan shakes himself back to the conversation. “Sure, but why?” They’ve always written one another before.

“Now that I live nearby, wouldn’t this be easier?”

Shen Yuan swears by the written word, but if Luo Binghe wants to call him from time to time, he can probably deal. “Fine.”

His pupil looks too happy to have gotten a simple phone number. Maybe he really doesn’t have many friends? Aww, don’t worry, you’ll do great here, away from the hicks that couldn’t appreciate you.

“Now that I’m here, there are a few places I’d like to visit. The city had museums, theatres, libraries, everything! Would Shizun mind being my guide?”

Luo Binghe did not need to punctuate that request with puppy eyes. It was overkill. “Are you sure you want to go with me? Shouldn’t you go with friends your age, or your girlfriend?”

“Shizun isn’t old! He’s only eight years older than me! It’s perfectly acceptable!”

Now Shen Yuan feels bad. Luo Binghe might look like… what he looks like, but at eighteen, he’s barely an adult! He should be enjoying his youth instead of wasting his time with a jaded old man like Shen Yuan.

Anyway, he probably just doesn’t know enough people yet. “If you’re fine with me, then I’ll tag along.”

Shen Yuan is once again nearly blinded by the brightness of Luo Binghe’s smile. “I’ll prepare lunch! Does Shizun have favorites?”

“I’m sure anything Luo Binghe prepares will be delicious.” He has no idea, but the stuff he gave him looks like it, at least. At worst, Shen Yuan can definitely afford to pay for a nice restaurant for them both, just like he’ll be paying here.

“Shizun shouldn’t bother. I’m the one who invited him, I should be taking the check.”

There is no way rich, adult Shen Yuan is letting Luo Binghe, a college student on scholarship who just moved to one of the most expensive cities of China, pay for him. Ever. That’s not happening. “First, you did not invite me, I volunteered myself. Second, I’m older. Third, I have a job (kinda, but Luo Binghe doesn’t have to know that) and you don’t. I will be paying for all our expanses, and that’s not negotiable. It’s that or I’m leaving.” He could never live with himself if Luo Binghe had to skip a meal to afford going out with him. The mere idea leaves him queasy.

Luo Binghe frowns, displeased.

A chorus of sighs can be heard from the tables surrounding them.

Shen Yuan estimates there are at least fifteen women of all ages staring at Luo Binghe like he’s a choice morsel now.

They should leave before this degenerates.

Shen Yuan pulls at Luo Binghe. “Let’s go.”

(He valiantly ignores the hissed “Don’t touch him!” coming from a genuinely terrifying fifteen-year-old.)

Luo Binghe seems reluctant to part once they’re out. “We’re meeting Sunday at ten. Shizun can’t forget! I’ll be waiting for him!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” His social calendar isn’t busy enough to forget his one deliberate engagement.

_________________

Sadly, his social calendar isn’t empty. His dear parents made sure of it. Shen Yuan doesn’t quite rue the day he agreed to their conditions for funding his lifestyle, but sometimes he really wonders if the sinecure he calls his job, providing him blessed solitude and copious amount of free time, is worth suffering through the parties.

Lucky for him that the feeling is shared between all participants now.

Shen Yuan keeps his face perfectly placid as he reads a passable novel on his phone. The hero is trash, and the heroine, just as bad, but there’s a decent world being built, and he’s honestly interested in the fauna the writer created. It’s not good enough to be recommended to Luo Binghe, but few things are. Only the best for his little sheep.

No one interrupts him. They don’t dare anymore. Long gone are the times where Shen Yuan let himself be bullied. Now, he has focused his hatred of a certain character into an imitation so lifelike he’s now famous for his emotionless expression and his ability to lash out with enough venom that the wounds he leaves behind aren’t healed by their next meeting.

One does what one needs to do to survive the jungle that is the circles of Beijing high society.

His parents would weep if they could see him. “You’ll never find a wife like that,” they’d lament.

Shen Yuan doesn’t care. His two brothers are already married. He’s an uncle. His little sister is more popular than any of her siblings ever were. His parents will have all the heirs they could ever want. They don’t need him to reproduce.

There’s a commotion somewhere at his right.

Shen Yuan doesn’t bother lifting his eyes from his phone until the noise is close enough to be a nuisance. Letting none of his irritation show on his face, he looks for the cause of the disturbance in a nonchalant way that would fool no one.

His heart almost stops when he finds Luo Binghe, Sha Hualing and Xiao Gongzhu hanging off his arms like they belonged there.

What is he doing here!? This isn’t a place where his white lotus should be standing! He should still be unboxing in his apartment, not wearing this frankly obscene suit and flirting with heiresses as wealthy as they were mean!

Oh. This must be it. Shen Yuan did think Luo Binghe would get a girlfriend in no time after all. He must be here as someone’s date, and Luo Binghe being Luo Binghe, he has stolen everyone’s attention from the moment he set foot in the room.

Okay. He has terrible tastes, but whatever. No one is perfect.

Fuck, if he sees Shen Yuan and dashes over while screaming “Shizun”, he’ll ruin his new relationship! Not only will he be revealed as nowhere near as cool as he appears, but being associated with Shen Yuan isn’t a good thing. He’s made sure his disdain for this crew was well-known.

Shen Yuan tries to message Luo Binghe to warn him to stay clear, but, as expected, he doesn’t check his phone.

Fuck his parents. Shen Yuan, very ostentatiously, pretends to get an important but unpleasant message, and starts walking with a speed and certainty that cannot be interrupted.

“-Shen Yuan. Don’t bother. He’s an asshole.”

Shen Yuan doesn’t falter, but only because he’s a pro at this. So what if they’re trash-talking him to Luo Binghe? He knows better.

“I’ll have to make my own mind. Wait here?”

Luo Binghe, what the fuck? Can’t you see how obviously I’m leaving? Don’t come over!

“Hello. My name is Luo Binghe. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Shen Yuan has to answer him now. He can’t just ignore him. That would be unforgivably rude. His mother would find out, and she would never let him live it down. “Shen Yuan. I’m in a hurry, so if you would…” He’s not sure why Luo Binghe is playing along, but if he’s game to pretend they don’t know each other, that’s perfect. Shen Yuan will do the same.

The smile Luo Binghe favors him with is nothing like the one he first shown Shen Yuan, all brightness and childlike joy. This smile is, dare he say it, seductive. He smiles like he’s certain the person he’s gracing with this smile is appreciating every moment of it, as they should. “Please spare me just a moment of your time. I promise I’ll make it quick.”

It turns out Shen Yuan doesn’t know Luo Binghe at all, if he can smile like that and make it look as easy as breathing.

Shen Yuan is not enjoying this. If he had known Luo Binghe would be there tonight, they could have planned something instead of, of whatever this is. His best option right now is to leave, meet up with Luo Binghe later, explain to him his current situation, and arrange things in such a way that his disciple’s rise into power won’t be hindered by his acquaintance to Shen Yuan.

For now, that means being the jerk he pretends to be, so that Luo Binghe can be comforted instead of confronted by those women flocking to him. Shen Yuan will apologise later. “Go run back to whichever of these,” he gestures to the women, “is keeping you fed and well dressed enough to pretend to fit here. I don’t have time to waste on boy toys.” Without giving him a second look, he exits the room as fast as he can without running, inwardly mortified at what he just said.

But not fast enough to miss the mocking laughter and the elated exchanges. “He thinks Tianlang-Jun’s son is a sugar baby!”

What the fuck.

family.

[A/N: E. this is the nhs family day au thing,, i actually like it wow-]

"Ugh, family day. Stupid 'Family Bonding' day," the puple-haired teen mumbled, cleaning up his room. The same thing every year, Norrisville High had a 'Family Bonding' day where the students are supposed to bring at least one person from their family to school and apparently, bond. Howard said there was a bazaar, lots of games, and many yummy food. Randy didn't know, because he never participated. His dad divorced with his mom, and his mom is too busy working, that he never joined.

He always wanted to, he admitted. Randy wanted a time with his family, but he drifted apart from his mom and lost contact with his dad. The teen imagined laughing with his parents, playing ring-toss and winning prizes. He imagined himself eating cotton candy and making funny faces with his parents in the photo booth. He wanted to have fun and 'bond', as the school said it, and have the brucest day of the year. But, no. Randy was the only child of two adults, adults that Randy barely even talk to these days.

"Never once have I even joined, because of some stupid business mom always does," the boy grumbled to himself, taking his books away for tomorrow is Saturday. In worse cases, Randy would think that his mom was just avoiding him. He hated Family Bonding Day. He hated not being there. He hated not having fun. He hated not having a proper, fun and close family. To be honest, Randy didn't know if it was illegal to come in without a family, yet he was too embarrassed to try. He didn't want to be known as 'the shoob with no parents' cause that's how sad being a freshman is. Once you got a name, there is no coming back.

Done cleaning up with his bits and bobs, he grabbed the Nomicon and put it by his table, having a kind of feeling that the book was listening, but Randy shrugged the thought off and sighed. "Welp, another Family day, another full-day of playing Grave Puncher in my underwear, I guess," the teen begrudgingly went up to the top bunk and rested his eyes.

-- + --

"Wake up, ninja," a stern, yet soothing, voice called onto Randy. "We are going to be late." It took a while for the newly woken up boy to register the sound. Then it occurred to him, the source of the voice was from his own mentor, Nomi. The teen groaned and sat up, rubbing his eyes. He yawned and saw Nomi with her gorgeous red hair in a, surprisingly, modern attire. Her hair was tied in a pony tail, yet some of her hair is still loose. She used a black shirt, with the nomicon pattern in it, and black pants. She also wore red shoes.

The boy looked over her shoulder and saw Satoru sitting on his sofa, resting his head and closed his eyes. He used a ponytail for his hair, red shirt with a Norisu Nine symbol and black pants. The First Ninja peeked his eyes opened for a bit and saw Randy awake, stretching his arm and walked over to the boy. "Come on, get ready. We are going to walk there soon," he urged, the boy nodding in response and quickly got ready.

Up in his normal clothes, the three went outside Randy's house and walked. The siblings talked and laughed as the boy silently listening, excited, yet curious, of where they were going. "Hey guyss, it'll be bruce if you tell me where we're going. Ooh! Training maybe? What am I going to learn today?" the teen asked the adults. "You will know when we will get there," Nomi answered smiling, which triggered Randy's curiosity even more. The boy fake-pouted as Satoru chuckled by his side. This'll be interesting.

All Randy knew was that they were heading uptown, where the malls, McFist Industry, Norrisville High, and other McStores lie. Maybe they were heading to the park? Oh! Maybe they're gonna shop together? The boy thought hard, wanting to know where they were going. It was rare for the two to spring out of the Nomicon, so maybe this is an emergency of some sort, where they have to train and teach Randy new stuff. It was exciting.

But when the teen got there it wasn't what he was expecting.

-- + --

To say he was surprised was an understatement, Randy was filled with a few feelings. Shock, curiosity, confusion, and posibly... happiness? It was mixed up and the boy didn't know what to expect. He was in front of the school. On Family Day. Without a family. Well, the last one was debatable, the two adults beside him we're like family to him, closer than his bond with his own mom. Which isn't supposed to be a good thing, Randy guessed.

"Why... are we here?" the boy asked, looking at the blue and yellow banners all over the place. The ribbon on the school were put up high, with the writings "HELLO PARENTS, WELCOME TO FAMILY BONDING DAY!!" written messily by one of the students using yellow paint. The outside was full of people, from adults to their children, from the teachers to the other staff. The place looked fun and cheerful, like there isn't a prison of an ancient evil sorcerer under it ('Which would be great if it wasn't literal,' Randy thought).

"Nomi overheard your predicament, so we thought it would be... bruce if you could come here," Satoru answered, the red head nodded. "But my parents aren't here and..." Randy said, not yet catching on the wind. The two raised their eye brows. 'Oh,' the boy realized. "You two are..." he tried to say.

Tears started swelling up in his eyes, but the others didn't notice. They were too busy looking at the well-decorated school, and Randy could appreciate that. Despite feeling the nerve to break down and say thank you in front of everyone, he decided that the best way to cherish the day is by giving the not-from-the-present sibling the best time of their 800 year-old life. But he couldn't stop the urge to hug the two, and so he did.

It took a while for Satoru and Nomi to register what the juice happened, but returned the hug and embrace the boy. Excitedly, Randy dragged the two past-ninjas inside, past the crowded place. The boy looked overjoyed and is jumping everywhere like an excited puppy, pointing everywhere and listing the things he wanted to do. For the two siblings though, it was a new sight.

They never saw most events that happened in the school from a book, mind you, so they were fascinated, but the two kept cool. "Not like the last time we visited eh, brother?" Nomi smiled and Satoru nodded. To be honest, Nomi was as interesting as her brother. Hidden well, she was amused at how far humanity came from her time.

"Randy! You're here?" a voice, the purple-haired teen recognize everywhere, called from wherever, running and panting towards him. "But I thought you... you know." Randy understood the silent phrase. 'Don't want to be seen without a parent'. The lanky teen just shrugged and answered with a simple "Yeah."

"Ah, Wienerman, such a wonderful time to meet again," Satoru greeted from behind, with Nomi came with a bit of resentment. The girl do not like Howard. He was selfish, mean, and overall not a good friend, but Randy needed his bro, and Nomi could understand that. But still, that doesn't mean she liked him and the feeling was mutual.

Satoru, on the other hand, liked (liked, mind you) that Wienerman kid. His friendship with Randy reminded him of his own with Plop Plop, and that was nice to see. Nomi didn't know what her brother saw on the orange-haired boy, but decided not to ask. Howard saw the two and gasped for a while, and Randy sheepishly smiled. "Yeah, they're posing as family," the tall teen confirmed.

"Well, bruce to see you again, First Ninj," Howard greeted back, grinning. He always liked the First Ninja and Plop Plop, they were cool, especially when the two teen went back in time. "Please, call me Satoru. Satoru Norisawa," the ninja replied. Nomi joined them, Randy winced a bit. He knew their resentment and that they would never get along. Howard addressed the redhead with a simple "You."

Nomi didn't answer nor greeted the boy, they just stared at each other, and Randy wondered which one hated the other more. It was a bit too intense for the teen's comfort, and Satoru catched his discomfort. "Nomi..." her brother started. "Howie! There you are!" someone called from behind, stopping Howard from his glaring contest.

"Randy! Great to see you here!" Howard's dad, Mort Wienerman, came. He later acknowledged the two adults and smiled, though he looked sort of confused. "And you must be Randy's..." he reached his hand for a shake, but he couldnt finish the statement. "Family," the teen answered simply. And he wasn't lying. "Nomi Norisawa, and my brother, Satoru," Nomi introduced, shaking the other's hand. "Mort Wienerman, family from Japan?" Howard's dad asked. Randy took this one, "Yeah, you could say that."

Nomi inspected the man in front of her, and concluded that this is Howard's father. Behind him, a girl with the same fantastic orange shade of hair walked towards them. "Nice to see that Randall can make it, for once," the female said, not looking up from her phone ("It's Randy! It's always been Randy!"). "I'm going to get some food, see you later," the man informed them. "Dad, can I stay with Cunningham?" Howard asked, and Mort nodded.

"So what do we start with first? I'm leaning to food, but I'm also thinking about games," Randy started, walking with the group. He wanted the two ninjas to have a time of their life, and he needed to be good. "I vote food," Howard said. "Of course you do. How about you two?" the lanky teen asked. "We have never been here, do you not remember?" Satoru answered, his hands crossed behind him, looking at the long food stands and games.

"Right. We're going to the game section!" Randy announced like a pirate captain and pointed, walking towards the games.

-- + --

"Haha! You are going to lose, dear brother!" Nomi exclaimed to his brother, the two playing skeeball. Randy laughed and watched with fascination. "Not if I beat you first, dearest Nomi," Satoru shot back, focusing on the game. The purple-haired teen didn't know if it was the "800 year old ninja knowledge" thing or that they practiced (which is unlikely...) but the two we're super skilled and evenly matched, both of them hitting the bullseye with every ball they had.

The game keeper watched with wide eyes, and others started coming, too. They watched the two spar it out in the game, as the two focused on the hole. The siblings finally stopped when they have no more balls, and deemed themselves the winner. There was a competitive glare between the Norisawas for a while, but it boiled down into laughter and enjoyment. Randy loved every second of it.

Randy loved they way they were just... here. Wow, even his mortal, easier-to-be-here mom couldn't be in this spot right now, yet two from-the-past siblings managed to be there. For him. The teen loved the way they would laugh together and take care of him, occasionally being an 'actual' parent just for him to be safe. He love the way they were open and fun, and would do anything to make Randy happy. He just loved them. They were like his own parent figure. Like a family.

Nomi's giggles and Satoru's chuckling filled Randy's heart with joy, and they decided to buy some food. The two never tried 'modern' food before, and for that reason, the teen wanted to pick the best food for them. "So Howard, name the best food here," he whispered to his biffer, who was munching on some chips. "Well, Cunningham. I think I would choose corndogs, then top it off with some cotton candy," the short boy answered, cheese from the chips smeared his mouth.

And so he did. The freshman bought some corndogs and shared them with his best friend and, admittedly, his family. They were peacefully laughing, when a giant explosion can be heard. "Seriously? We we're having fun and a monster comes?" Randy mumbled under his breath. "Go, Ninja. We will be here if you need help," Satoru assured. The teen nodded and ran to the restroom, leaving his teachers and biffer alone.

The boy used his mask, flashing lights and black ribbons covered him. After all the lightshow was done, he ran out of the stall and smoke-bombed his way in. "Smoke bomb! Hey, monster! Seriously!? On Family Day?! Who would even-" before he could finished his sentence, the stanked one attacked. The 'corrupted' one looked different, it was too robotic for a human, but too emotional for a robot. The Ninja remembered fighting a staked Viceroy creation, but this wasn't the same.

It's eyes stared into Randy, causing uneasiness. The teen didn't know how or why this one got stanked, but the fight sure wasn't easy. And yet, something about its... shape is recognizable. The creature had a bull's head and a human body, not a very good look on anyone, to be honest. The boy racked up his name, thinking about his classes. It was hard, since he zoned out most of his scholar studies. Then he realized.

"You're a, um, Minator? How do you say it's shoob name... Oh yeah, uh, Minotaur!" the Ninja shouted it's name. 'Names have power,' he recalled from a movie. Randy heard about this nasty piece of work, actually, he heard of the actual one not a half robotic one. Apparently, some lady from Ancient Greece decided it was a great idea to make a child with a bull. A honkin' bull. The boy remembered a few parts of the story, when explained in his history class (talking about Greece and its lush mythology), and remembered the hero Theseus.

But he wasn't fighting just any Minatour shaped robot. He was fighting a stanked one, and those are bad news.

Not looking at the Minotaur coming towards him full speed after a fun, and totally not destructive, rampage around the school, all Randy can remember was flying. It would've been great if it wasn't a dream, yet it wasn't, and the Ninja is plunging in super speed into his death. But he didn't feel the ground. Which is weird, maybe he died? "Got you, Ninja," Satoru's voice called from behind the mask.

The teen opened his eyes and stood up, watching the scenes. There were quick movements here and there, the robot getting slashed slowly and steadily, but the creature wouldn't go down that easily. Gradually, it rose up, dodging Nomi's (now in a mask) attacks and charging on the girl. She was growing restless and retreated, then united with the male ninjas.

"This creature... cannot be fought alone," the girl summarized. They planned an ambush and charged, grabbing their katanas and other weapons. Skilled in hand-in-hand combat, Satoru grabbed a katana. More skilled in ranged attacks, Nomi pulled out a bow and arrow (which isn't very ninja-y you might think but holy cheese she's good). Skilled in a more street fighting type of combat, Randy grabbed a stick (or a pole? The teen called it the "Ninja Smacking Stick!").

They fought and fought, slashed and slashed, stabbed and stabbed. Randy kept calling the bull names (his mouth can be as demonic as the Tengu, I swear to the Norisu Nine-). But nothing seems to work. Until, Satoru stabbed it's heart. "When a great warrior strikes you down, it would be best to stay down," Satoru quipped.

Maybe he already figured out where the stanking was or he just accidentally did it, green smoke left the robotic body and went underground, back to the Sorcerer. The three smoke-bombed away and appeared in the field with their normal clothes. Some witnesses said that they saw three warriors. Howard caught up with them and said, "Oh Cunningham! You should've seen the bull-thingy's face when you called him names!" Nomi thought it would be more suitable if he asked if Randy was okay, but then again, this is Howard we're talking about.

Howard needed to go, and Nomi hid her relief. She couldn't stand any more seconds with the short boy and would've already strangled him if he wasn't Randy's friend. The purple-haired teen decided to go to the photobooth and take some pictures together. Free of any worry, they made funny faces and shit-eating grins, ended up laughing together. It was getting dark, and the bazaar/carnival sort of thing is destroyed anyway, so they decided to go home. Watching the sunset, Randy appreciated the moment, though there was a feeling of guilt.

"Hey, guys? Thank you for bringing me here and sorry for not being able to kill the robot alone. I shoobed this day for you all didn't I?" the boy hung his head low. He didn't see the head shakes and the smiles. "When a Ninja needs help, he can always ask for help," Nomi said softly. "It was, with no doubt, one of the best things that happened in the 800 years. It was very... bruce," Satoru smiled. The teen couldn't help but to grin.

Randy loved today. He smelled the fragrance of the flowers blooming as they walked home, calmly talking to his two mentors. Mentors that became family, not since today, but the teen felt they were family from the first. What did he learn today, Randy didn't know. But one thing's for sure: he has a family. He has a great best friend. He has an amazing job. What else can he ask for?

Virtues in the verse - Chapter 5

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Geralt needs somewhere safe to take Ciri for the winter—it is too late to make it to Kaer Morhen—so they try to seek sanctuary at Oxenfurt. Unfortunately, the chancellor insists they only offer sanctuary to faculty and their families. Jaskier hasn't seen Geralt since the dragon hunt, but perhaps this will be a way to make up for his past failings as a companion. They just need to get married, and Geralt and Ciri will be safe.

Or, Jaskier and Geralt get fake married so that Geralt and Ciri can claim sanctuary at Oxenfurt.

Chapter 5: Shopping! Part One.

Geralt hates cities. The academy isn’t as bad as Oxenfurt proper. At least there is a bit of space there, and the campus is mostly kept clean. The actual city is noisy and crowded—the market bustling with merchants and traders, townsfolk and students. Jaskier navigates it with the practiced ease that Geralt has always envied. Ciri is holding Jaskier’s hand to avoid being separated in the crowd, while Geralt hangs back slightly. He doesn’t think Nilfgaard has made it this far north, but he is still wary; a witcher with a child is bound to draw attention.

Jaskier leads them into a tailor’s shop that’s down a slightly less crowded street. The shop itself is empty of people, and Geralt relaxes slightly as the door shuts and the sounds of the city fade. He looks around at the colorful bolts of fabric with a sense of dread.

“Master Julian!” a cheerful voice calls. A moment later a young man appears behind the counter. “Back already?”

“Not for me this time, Aleksy.” Jaskier smiles and shakes the man’s hand. “I’m afraid that my dear Fiona—” he rests a hand on Ciri’s shoulder “—had to leave for Oxenfurt rather abruptly and doesn’t have much in the way of winter clothing. She could do with a few dresses and a new cloak. Perhaps a shirt and pair of trousers as well?” Jaskier looks to Ciri for confirmation and she nods tentatively. “Any colors she would like for the clothes, but something in a natural color for the cloak.”

Aleksy has been jotting down notes as Jaskier speaks and, Geralt notices, seems unfazed by Jaskier’s request to get Ciri trousers.

“Good, good,” Aleksy mutters. “Let me fetch Reneta; she’ll take the girl’s measurements and discuss anything else she needs.” He disappears into the back room again.

Jaskier turns to give Geralt an appraising look. “What clothes do you need?”

“I’m fine,” Geralt says. He doesn’t have much coin as it is—isn’t entirely sure how he is going to afford Ciri’s clothes. He won’t argue against buying her the things she needs, but he isn’t likely to find work until the spring, which means he can’t afford unnecessary luxuries

Jaskier gives him a look. It’s a look Geralt is extremely familiar with. It usually precedes Jaskier bullying Geralt into taking a bath and then going to some kind of event he doesn’t want to be at.

“Fiona?” Jaskier calls, not taking his eyes off Geralt. “Does Geralt have any shirts without holes in them?”

Ciri considers this for a moment. “He mostly wore the armor, but I don’t think he does.”

Geralt can’t believe his own daughter would betray him like this. And oh, that was a thought he would have to put aside until later. He hasn’t thought of Ciri as his daughter before.

“That’s what I thought.” Jaskier sniffs haughtily. “I can’t have my husband traipsing about in rags, and you can’t wear your armor all the time; that would be ridiculous. Ah—” Aleksy returns with a woman. They look similar enough that Geralt guesses they are siblings. Jaskier turns his attention to them. “Aleksy, dear, while Reneta is looking after Fiona, would you take Geralt’s measurements?”

Aleksy nods, passing the sheet of paper to Reneta who leads Ciri into the back room, and pulls out a measuring tape.

“Step over here, sir,” Aleksy instructs, pointing to a smaller area with a door that can be closed for privacy. Geralt sighs but does as he is told. He will talk to Jaskier when they have a moment of privacy.

Aleksy is quick and efficient and either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that Geralt is a witcher. They finish quickly and return to the main storefront. While they were gone, Jaskier had pulled out several bolts of fabric and placed them on the counter. Two are black and the other is a dark blue that Geralt eyes dubiously.

“Aleksy—for Geralt’s things, make sure they aren’t restrictive—he needs to be able to move easily. And nothing too fancy; he’s likely to put whatever it is, no matter how fine, under armor so nothing too bulky,” Jaskier instructs. “Geralt, any other notes?”

“No.”

Aleksy nods amiably. “Alright. Everything should be ready at the end of the week. If you come in yourself on Saturday, Julian, I’ll have the new shipment of fabrics in from Poviss, if you want to take a look.”

“Oh, yes, absolutely!” Jaskier exclaims with a bright smile. Aleksy and Jaskier exchange a few more pleasantries before Aleksy excuses himself to his workroom.

“Jaskier,” Geralt says, as soon as they are alone. “I can’t afford new clothes right now. Mine are fine.” He doesn’t like to admit it. It isn’t like he hasn’t run out of funds before when traveling with Jaskier; they each had times when they brought in more coin than the other, and had long since gotten past any discomfort in paying for the occasional room or meal. But this is different. Geralt is already relying on Jaskier for room and board for the entire winter, and he doesn’t have any likely prospects for bringing in coin until the spring comes. There is a reason he and his brothers usually wintered in Kaer Morhen.

Jaskier, however, just looks at him as if he can’t figure out what the problem is. “I can pay for the clothes, Geralt; it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine ,” Geralt growls.

Jaskier just rolls his eyes. “I was serious before: You are my betrothed ; if you don’t have any decent clothes while I’m swanning about in a new doublet, people will think I’m an ass. Besides, I do get paid to teach here. I have enough coin for this, especially since I won’t—” He cut himself off.

Geralt wants to ask what he wouldn’t be doing. He also wants to argue more about the clothes, but he has to admit that Jaskier has a point. He can always pay Jaskier back, eventually—if nothing else, it will give him an excuse to see Jaskier again after this is all over.

** Jaskier sends Geralt to buy groceries while he and Ciri go to purchase the rings. Geralt had offered to come, but Jaskier and Ciri had given him matching expressions that made it very clear that his aesthetic opinions wouldn’t be helpful. Geralt’s more than a little relieved; he’s been trying to avoid thinking too hard about the actual fact of marrying Jaskier, and he’s not sure he’s ready to look at rings. He focuses on practicalities. The things he’ll need. He uses some of his coin to purchase supplies to replenish his potions; while he isn’t likely to encounter monsters, he wants to be prepared in case any dangers come for Ciri. He’ll feel better once he’s well supplied, and it will be one less thing to worry about.

Fix You - Part 3.3 of the FamAU

Characters: Logan Sanders, Patton Hart, Janus Viper

Summary: Patton feels like his chances are slipping away from him

Words: 2900

Warnings: Repression, anxiety, sad feelings, let me know if I should add any more :)

A/N: UgH I don’t like this but it’s been sitting in my drafts for months so I just gotta buckle up and post it

Taglist (let me know if I should add you or take you off): @espepspes @kaileah-kat @i-need-you-buddy

***

Patton doesn’t mind mornings, the light shining through the window, the birds singing, the sound of campus waking up and the occasional bark of a dog.

This morning though, he’d rather just go to sleep.

He was up until one in the morning, just staring at his ceiling, doing nothing. He might’ve gotten up to draw or work on some homework, but he didn’t want to wake up his roommate.

The roommate who apparently doesn’t have the same politeness towards him because he throws a shirt at Patton’s face rather abruptly before either of their alarms even go off.

Patton grabs it and sits up, raising his eyebrows at Dee. “Something wrong?”

Dee looks bored. He generally does, really. Patton has learned to see through it.

“Patton, dear, if you don’t get up and go, you’ll miss your morning rendezvous with specs.”

Patton blinks at him a few times, then flops back down on his bed.

Across the room, Dee sighs. “What is it then?”

“There’s only a week left!” Patton covers his face, sticking his legs in the air and probably looking ridiculous.

“Then tell him.”

Rolling sideways and off the bed, Patton stands, making a pouty face. Dee is staring at him like he looked at the cat Patton brought in from the rain last year. “I can’t just tell him! What if… what if he hates me?”

“Of course, love. After four years of following you around like some love sick cyber puppy, I’m sure he hates you.”

“Really?”

“No!”

Patton loves Dee, he very much does, after bunking with him for four years, how could he not?

That being said, he might be on the brink of shooting Dee one of his famous condescending glares right back.

“Well you could be a little clearer, kiddo.”

Dee sighs for the third time. “Come on, Patton-pouter, I’ll walk you outside.”

Excited, because Patton rarely has time to spend with his friend anymore except at night, Patton pulls on his shirt and shoes in record time. “Are you meeting Maeve?”

“Later,” Dee says, and he goes just a little red at that. “She wants to go over her Welfare project. Again.”

“I’m sure she’s just being thorough!” Patton says brightly, pocketing his phone and throwing open the door.

Dee shuffles through with a grumbled, “Thoroughly obnoxious.”

Patton watches as he flips his hair back from his face, and doesn’t try to hide the proud smile when he doesn’t duck his head to cover the large scar on the left side of his face, even after Dee sticks his tongue out at him.

“Oh, don’t be like that! I’m just glad you’ve decided to stop hiding!”

“It’s been almost a year, Patton. Are you ever going to stop mentioning it every morning?”

“Nope!”

Patton smiles brighter when Dee turns away, barely concealing a small smile.

His smile falters slightly as he looks down at his shoulders. He opens the door again and leans into the room just far enough to pull his cardigan off the coat hook inside. Patton rubs the fabric between his hands and stares at it.

“I am aware of your- er- fascination with cats. So I’ve gotten you a gift… if you’d like it, of course.”

“Lo! This is absolutely purr-fect!”

“Oh god.”

Patton snaps out of the memory when Dee waves a hand in front of his face, and knocks his chin up with a finger. “Come on, you’ll be late.”

Nodding, Patton throws the cat-cardigan over his shoulders and ties it securely.

“Don’t you ever wear it?”

“How would I take it off fast enough to give it to someone who needs comfort?”

Dee goes just a little bit red, and he scoffs and shakes his head. “You’re impossible.”

“You’re pretty!” Patton giggles when that makes Dee turn even redder.

The two walk side by side, and Patton shuffles his feet just a little more than usual. Sure, he’s always happy to see Logan! It’s just…

Just what? Patton bites his lip and shakes his head, taking deep breaths until he can smile without it shaking.

He’s excited to see Logan. That’s it. No deeper meaning, no hidden sadness. He’s happy.

Patton is happy.

Dee opens the door out of their dorm building, leaning against it with one hand in his pocket and looking very much like the lawyer he’s studying to be. “See you this afternoon, darling.”

“Have fun with Maeve!” Patton calls, waving his entire hand so it flaps around on his wrist. Dee snorts and gives him a two finger salute before going back inside.

Looking around, Patton takes a deep breath, letting the smells of campus flow through him.

Leaves and fresh cut grass, coffee and waffles, it smells like fall.

“How can something… smell like a season?”

“You know! How winter smells cold, How summer smells like the beach-“

“We’re nowhere near a beach, Patton.”

“It’s the idea of the thing!”

“I thought it was a smell?”

Patton laughs out loud at the memory, reaching up to pull at a few of his curls, measuring them to his nose absentmindedly as he walks.

He passes a tree, and stops at a chirping sound. He turns and tilts his head at the bird a foot from his face, and he could’ve sworn the bird tilted its head back. “Hi there little guy! I hope I didn’t interrupt your morning song!”

The bird chirps three times, fluttering its wings and hopping to a higher branch.

“You’re beautiful,” Patton tells it with a wave, and continues on his way. He thinks it’s a woodpecker. Logan would know.

It’s about three minutes later when he sees Logan ahead of him, right on time, as usual. Patton waves at him even though his back is turned, “Hey!”

Logan doesn’t stop, but his steps slow down and Patton races to catch up. “Hey Logan!” He says again, maybe a little louder than necessary.

He debates giving Logan a hug, but decides on a light hip tap so as not to invade his space without warning. “How are you?”

Logan nods, and when he adjusts his glasses Patton has the sudden urge to do the same, so he does, and his ears turn pink even when Logan doesn’t notice.

“I am well,” his friend says, and Patton gives him a once over.

His face is slacker than usual, he’s slouching more than usual (though it’s still barely at all) and his tie is crooked. It takes all Patton has to not reach out and adjust it. “You sure? You’re looking a bit tired.”

“That would be because I am,” Logan replies, and his heart sinks. Then Logan smiles at him, and Patton can’t help but smile back. “Not to worry, one bad night of sleep won't stop me from functioning properly.”

Patton guesses it’s been more than one night. He doesn’t comment on it, mostly because that would be a weird follow up to the giggle that escapes him because Logan is so gosh darn cute.

They’re quiet for a few minutes, and Patton focuses on the sidewalk, stepping over cracks and occasionally veering off to look at pretty yellow dandelions. On one of the flowers is a ladybug, and he crouches down next to it to watch it crawl between the itty bitty petals.

“How are you, Patton?”

Patton stands, messing with his cardigan sleeves so Logan can’t tell his hands are shaking. He grins as wide as he can, “I’m awesome! On the way here I saw a woodpecker!”

Patton doesn’t miss the way Logan slows to walk with him, and for some reason it makes his throat hurt.

“Considering where we are,” Logan starts in his teaching voice, and Patton’s throat gets tighter. “It’s more likely you saw a Northern Flicker. They do look quite alike.”

Getting an idea and jumping on it, Patton makes a face at Logan, “Do you want to see my impression of a Northern Flicker?”

Logan looks hesitant, eyeing him warily, and then nods.

Patton grins wider and points his hand north, and starts flicking.

“I don’t see how that resembles a bir- oh.” Logan’s face turns exasperated. “Oh because you’re flicking to the north- that’s- that’s completely awful.”

“You love me,” Patton coos dramatically.

He regrets it the second he says it.

“Do you have lunch plans today?” Logan asks, maybe a little too quickly.

Patton tells himself very sternly in his head not to cry. He reties his cardigan to have something to do and shakes his head, “Nope! None.”

Quiet. Patton blinks rapidly.

Logan clears his throat and for a horrifying second Patton thinks he’s going to ask why in the world would Patton thinks he loves him because they’re only friends and besides they’ll be strangers in a week and-

“Would you like to attend lunch together?”

Patton almost passes out in relief. He clasps his hands behind him, another way to hide the shaking. “Yeah! We’ve been friends long enough that you don’t have to ask anymore, Lo.”

Logan trips a little, but keeps his eyes ahead. Patton wonders just how tired he really is.

The coffee shop door swings open when Logan pushes at it, and Patton bounces through.

Almost everyone in the coffee shop waves at him or says hi, and it makes Patton’s insides warm. He passes Eliot on their way out the door, and the student waves at him, “Hey Patt!”

“Eliot! Hey!” Patton waves back, and his eyes go wide as he remembers the talk they had in Animal Sciences two days ago. “How’d the English final go?”

“Aced it!”

The warm feeling in Patton’s chest gets bigger. “Aw, kiddo! I knew you could!”

Eliot snorts and changes the topic, Patton doesn’t argue. Compliments are hard sometimes. “Getting coffee for Professor Aldridge again?”

“You bet!”

“Man, if I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you’re a suck up!”

Patton laughs as they leave with a friend, turning back to the counter to decide what to get. Logan leans over his shoulder, and goosebumps raise on the back of Patton’s neck. Logan being close to him is.. really nice.

“If they did know you any better, they’d know you are, in fact, a suckup.”

Patton gasps, and his face is red from Logan’s breath on his shoulder but he pretends it’s because of the accusation. He pushes Logan just a little, and almost pouts when he stays far away. “Am not! I just like doing nice things for people… and if it happens to make some professors more inclined to give me extensions more often… that’s pretty neat!”

“I’m fairly certain that’s the definition of a suck up.”

“Coffee, Lo?” Patton asks, smiling despite his red hot ears and cheeks.

Logan chuckles, and Patton wants to kiss him. “Buying me something to get out of a conversation? That’s a bribe. Which is a crime in some states.”

“I guess that makes me a criminal,” Patton starts, raising an eyebrow at Logan who is looking increasingly distressed, “criminally-“

“Black coffee if you don’t mind,” Logan interrupts.

Patton giggles and pulls out his wallet, paying for both their drinks and the Professors.

“I could pay for them this time, Patton.”

“You could!” Patton agrees, but makes no move to let him. “Don’t worry about it. I dragged you here anyway!”

“On the contrary. You didn’t drag me anywhere.”

Smile softening, Patton doesn’t know if he wants to cry because he’s happy, or because he’s lovesick. “No, I guess I didn’t.”

Outside the coffee shop once again, Patton walks slowly with both his cups, not wanting Logan and his morning walk to end. He blows on his hot coco and side eyes Logan. “Are you… nervous about leaving school?”

Are you nervous about leaving me? Is what he wants to ask.

Patton watches as Logan takes a sip of his coffee, wincing at how hot it is. He doesn’t say anything.

“I’m nervous,” Patton blurts, not being able to stand the quiet any longer. “After this it’s just us against the world, you know? The future we’ve been preparing for since preschool is finally here and… I’m not ready at all.”

Logan looks at Patton with wide eyes and a frown, and Patton fidgets where he walks. “You aren’t ready? Are you alright?”

Patton shuffles his feet for a few steps, widening his smile to hide his anxiety, “Of course I’m alright! Just a little apprehensive is all.”

“Patton..” Logan slows and lightly bumps his hip into Patton, “you can talk to me.”

“I know I can!” Patton wiggles his eyebrows, desperately trying to get back the happy mood, “What? Have I been speaking gibberish?”

“Ah. Humor to cope. Why am I not surprised.”

“Well aren’t you feisty today!”

“It must be due to the-“

“Like a cat.”

“-lack of sleep last night.”

“Because cats are feisty.”

Logan adjusts his glasses with a sigh. “Yes. I understood, I merely refrained from commenting on the unnecessary joke.”

“Jokes are never unnecessary!” Patton protests, and he so hopes Logan will launch into a sciencey explanation about jokes that will take up the rest of their time.

No such luck.

“If you don’t wish to tell me what’s troubling you, you don’t have to,” Logan says quietly.

Patton stalls, he doesn’t want Logan to think he doesn’t like him! It’s the opposite of that, that's the problem. “It’s not that! I trust you Lo!” He bites his lip and then shrugs. “I’m just in a funk! I’ll be back to normal me any minute!”

“Patton-“

Turning towards his own class, Patton waves, walking quickly backwards, “I’ll see you at lunch!”

Logan sighs and gives a small wave, “Have a satisfactory day Patton, I’ll see you at lunch.”

“Don’t forget how incredible you are!” Patton calls out the routine end to all their conversations since that night under the tree when Logan cried for the first time.

“I’m nothing incredible, Patton. I’m just broken.”

“Well I think you’re incredible, doesn’t that count for something?”

Patton shakes off the chills he gets and speed walks to his classroom.

He doesn’t look back.

“Mr. Hart!” Professor Aldridge says calmly, watching as Patton walks through the door. She tilts her head, “I didn’t take you for a two cup kinda guy?”

“Oh!” Patton hands her the untouched cup. “That’s for you.”

Professor Aldridge shakes her head fondly. “Thank you, Mr. Hart. That’s very kind.” She stares at him in the way she always does, like her eyes are burning holes in his forehead and reading all his secrets. “Are you alright?”

Patton nods a little insistently, “I’m great! Just tired.”

Aldridge gives him an unimpressed stare and then sighs. “I’m always here if you need it, Patton.”

“I know.” Patton tries for a smile, but it comes out as more of a half shrug and a tight line of a mouth.

Patting his hand, Aldridge nods. “I know the end of school can be hard, and very overwhelming. I’ve been where you are. Hell, I am where you are. Every time a new class graduates I lose just a little bit of me. Especially when one of those students is like you.”

Patton starts to cry.

Aldridge doesn’t stop him, she just sits there with her hand over his and nods. “I met my wife in college, did you know that?”

The shock almost makes Patton stop crying. Professor Aldridge is gay? “You- you did?”

“I did.” Aldridge pulls back to lift a picture frame of her desk and pass it to him. It’s an old picture, Professor Aldridge must have been his age. There’s a girl standing next to her in a leather jacket and a mini skirt, looking like she could kill you in a second and coo over kittens the next.

Patton looks back up at Aldridge, who’s gray hair and crows feet next to her eyes are the only reason she looks her sixty years of age.

“Marrying someone of the same sex was illegal back then, so we didn’t have much hope. We let each other go,” Professor Aldridge looks sad for a few seconds, then she smiles. “We finally found each other again, and both of us cried when our marriage was legalized. We’ve been together since.”

Patton stares at her, and his heart beats in his ears. “Do you.. think it was fate?”

“Oh no,” Aldridge says with a laugh, she takes the picture again, setting it down carefully. “I’m a science professor, I don’t believe in fate… but I do believe that if you really love someone, you’ll always find your way back to them.”

Trying not to cry again, Patton laughs wetly. “You should write a book.”

“There aren’t any books that can tell you what love is,” Aldridge replies, and Patton has the distinct notion that she isn’t talking about him.

“Thank you, Professor.”

“As always, I’m here,” she winks at him, knocking her cup against his before he heads to his seat.

He’s on the front row, like most of his classes, because glasses are great but he’s still blind, and because it’s louder in the front, the chatter of students and laughs and groans drown out whatever Patton doesn’t want to think about.

This time though, it’s not loud enough.

“if you really love someone, you’ll always find your way back to them”

He has time.

can we be seventeen?

It is finally time. Broadway!Michael. Heathers. Best friends to lovers. U know how we do. sorry I’m on mobile and can’t do the read more feature 😔

4k words

—

High School was the time of your life. You spent everyday after school with your best friend in the theatre. You two had many starring roles together, such as Tracy and Link in Hairspray, Sally Bowles and Cliff Bradshaw from Cabaret, and so many more. You two decided you both wanted to take on broadway. That being said, you bought an apartment together- a tiny one that is- in New York City. It was your 2nd month in New York. You loved it more than anything, but you were a starving artist. You had a few commercial roles and did some work in some short films, but you wanted to be on stage. You wanted people applauding you every night. You both wanted that.

But it’s hard to get on broadway. Broadway isn’t something easy to achieve.

The door to your apartment opened and interrupted your thoughts.

“Y/N! The restaurant was super busy today, so I think I got enough tip money to get the WiFi back on.” Michael walked through the door, car keys in hand, wearing a white button shirt with a black tie, along with black dress pants. Michael worked at a fancy Italian restaurant in the heart of New York City that only rich people can afford. He absolutely hated working there. It was far from his dream, but they had to pay the bills somehow. You worked at a coffee house yourself, and most of the time your money went towards bills and necessities only. And people hardly ever tip.

“Thank God! I’ve missed Netflix so much.” He laughed and you grinned, collapsing beside him on the couch. Michael was a great roommate. He always paid his share of everything, and he kept the living area clean. His room is another story, but at least you didn’t have to always see his room.

“I found our next audition! I forgot to tell you, when I was driving to work I saw that Heathers is currently being casted for broadway!”

You sighed, leaning your head on his shoulder, “I’m beginning to think we should’ve stayed home, it’s so hard to make it out here in New York…”

He scoffed, looking at you in your eyes, “Is my best friend, Y/N L/N, the one who forced me to audition for Oklahoma our freshman year, giving up? Come on now, that’s not the Y/N I know! Come on, auditions are tomorrow morning, it’s worth a shot.”

You pondered for a moment, thinking of the possibilities. This is what you came to New York for, after all. Maybe it was worth a shot.

“Fine, we’ll go. Just don’t get your hopes up…”

“I won’t, I promise. Now… I assume we’re having ramen again?”

“You know it.”

—

You sat beside Michael and looked around at who was at the audition. You could already tell that type casting would come into play, which made you nervous. You weren’t sure if you fit into any of these roles. What if you were wasting your time? You’d be lucky if you got to be a chorus member. Michael looked up from the paperwork as if he could sense how nervous you were.

“Relax, Y/N. You’ve been this way since High School! I remember auditions for Hairspray; you nearly had a panic attack the day of callbacks. And you rocked it! What are you scared of?”

“Failure, Michael.” You frowned and looked at him. He sighed, looking into your eyes.

“My best friend has never been a failure. Don’t even begin to think you’re a failure! Every good actor and actress struggled before succeeding.” He gave you a reassuring smile, and weight lifted off of your shoulders. Maybe he was right. In fact, he was right. You have to fall before you fly sometimes.

“Thank you, Michael.” You smiled as he smiled back at you. You wouldn’t wanna be struggling with anyone else.

A woman who seemed to be the director interrupted your thoughts, “Good morning everyone, welcome to the audition for Heathers. Shall we begin?” Everyone silently nodded, and the director cleared her throat, “the numbers my assistant gave to you when you walked in will now come into play… let’s start with #1. Come on up.”

You froze. You were #1. No pressure, right? You got up from your seat and walked up onto the stage, ready to perform the provided audition material. All of the girls were using audition material for the part of Veronica, the lead female part. No pressure.

You introduced yourself briefly and began, projecting with purpose, “My parents wanted to move me into high school out of the sixth grade, but we decided to chuck the idea because I’d have trouble making friends, blah, blah, blah. Now blah, blah, blah is all I ever do. I use my grand IQ to decide what color lip gloss to wear in the morning and how to hit three keggers before curfew… Betty Finn was a true friend and I sold her out for a bunch of Swatch dogs and Diet Coke heads. Killing Heather would be like offing the wicked witch of the west… wait east. West! God! I sound like a fucking psycho….Dear Diary: Heather told me she teaches people “real life.” She said, real life sucks losers dry. You want to fuck with the eagles, you have to learn to fly. I said, so, you teach people how to spread their wings and fly? She said, yes. I said, you’re beautiful.”

You emphasized certain things and changed tone when you felt it was needed. You wanted this so bad. But this wasn’t it! This was a musical, so you had to sing. You looked at the music provided for you and cued the piano player to begin playing. The song you were told to sing was “Fight For Me”. You sang each note with purpose. You wanted this more than anything. Before you knew it, you were done with your audition, and you sat back down in the audience beside Michael. He mouthed ‘good job’ to you, smiling. Before he knew it, it was his turn to audition.

The men auditioning read material for JD, the leading male part. You looked over what Michael had to perform, and the monologue was quite intense.

He cleared his throat and began with an intense tone of voice, “Can't believe you did it! I was teasing. I loved you! Sure, I was coming up here to kill you... First I was gonna try and get you back with my amazing petition. It's a shame you can't see what our fellow students really signed. Listen ‘We, students at Westerburg High will die. Today. Our buring bodies will be the ultimate protest to a society that degrades us. Fuck you all!’ It's not very subtle, but neither is blowing up a whole school, now is it? Talk about your suicide pacts, eh? When our school blows up tomorrow, it's gonna be the kind of thing that affects a whole generation! It'll be the Woodstock for the 80's! Damn it Veronica! We could have roasted marshmallows together!”

He was so talented. You would be damned if he didn’t get a role in this production. He then finished out his audition with the song “Meant To Be Yours”. He did amazing. He always put his all into his auditions. You were proud to be his friend. He walked off stage after he finished, and you both left.

—

As each day passed you absolutely could not stop thinking about callbacks. You were so anxious about whether you were gonna get one or not. You at least hoped Michael would get one so he could live out his dream if you couldn’t.

With each latte you made at work all that was on your mind was the possibility of getting a callback. At one point, you couldn’t even remember how to make an iced americano. They said they’d call you no matter what to let you know, which made you even more anxious. And everyday Michael came home from work all he talked about was callbacks and how bad he wanted this opportunity.

“I know you’ll make it, Michael. I mean come on, you’re extremely talented and you knocked that audition out of the park!”

“I did mediocre at best! You’re the one who’s gonna make it. You’re gonna be amazing in that cast. I’d rather you get it than me.”

You laid your head on his shoulder, looking up into his eyes, “You mean that, Mikey?”

“Would I lie to you? No. I wouldn’t. You’re amazing.”

—

You ran into Michael’s room after your shift at the coffee shop, shaking him awake, “I just got a callback during my shift! I get another audition tomorrow!”

“I got one too! While you were gone! We got callbacks!”

You two jumped up onto Michael’s bed and jumped in celebration. You were unbelievably happy.

“Well you know what that means… it’s a special occasion!” Michael ran to the kitchen and you followed behind him. He pulled out the boxed wine from the cabinet and got the plastic wine glasses out too.

The boxed wine was a tradition in your friendship. When you were casted in Hairspray sophomore year, he got his older friend to get it for him. It was cheap and lasted a while, so it was his number one choice. After high school graduation he brought it to your house after your grad party. And when you moved into the apartment, you had Dominos and boxed wine. It had a special place in your heart.

You put some wine in your cup and clinked your glass with his. Maybe it was finally time.

“Now let’s get wine drunk at 2 in the afternoon, shall we?” He smirked at you and you couldn’t help but laugh, knowing damn well he was a lightweight. It was gonna be a long day. Michael got up and connected his phone to the Bluetooth speaker, playing one of his playlists and taking your free hand in his.

“Michael what the hell are you doing?”

“Dancing! Duh!” He downed his wine glass and spun you around, laughing loudly.

You shook your head, putting down your glass and joining him, despite your lack of dance ability.

“You are the dancing queen, young and sweet, only… how old are we again? Who knows!” Michael was so carefree, and seeing him have no care in the world always warmed your heart.

“Hey Michael?”

“Yeah Y/N?”

“I knew I moved to New York with the right person.

—

You and Michael woke up extremely early the next morning for callbacks. The callback went well in your opinion, and Michael seemed to feel good about his as well. But after your callback it was back to the minimum wage job with less than mediocre tips. You had to wait a whole week until you’d find out if the callback resulted in you getting a role. It was gonna be the longest week of your life. As everyday passed and you made countless lattes and iced coffees all you thought of was your callback. It invaded your mind at every second of the day. No callback had stressed you out as much as this one. This one wasn’t some high school production from back home. This could be your big break for crying out loud! This was the most stress you had ever felt in your life.

When the day finally came around you and Michael waited around the apartment with phone in hand all day. The phone call you two were about to get would decide your futures. You paced around the living room, unable to stand still. Finally, Michael’s phone was the first to ring. He immediately picked up, sitting on the couch while biting his nails nervously.

“Hello? Yes this is him… yes I would. Thanks so much… alright goodbye.” He hung up, a solemn look on his face. You felt like you already knew what he was gonna say.

He then broke out into a grin, hugging you, “You’re looking at broadways new Jason Dean!”

You smacked his chest, gasping, “how dare you worry me like that, Michael!” You laughed, returning his hug happily. Shortly after, your phone also rang.

You answered, with a shaky voice, “Hello? Yes this is she… okay, yes I would, okay… thank you, goodbye.”

You were shocked. You looked at Michael, eyes dilated and full of disbelief, “I got the part… I-I’m Veronica…”

“No way! I get to lead with my best friend? This is amazing! We did it!” He hugged you, lifting you off of the ground.

You felt larger than life. You finally got to live out your dream. You were absolutely thrilled.

—

The first rehearsal was mainly just line running and song singing without much blocking and a brief dance rehearsal. Broadway was quite a shell shock. Rehearsals were triple the length of high school rehearsals, and dances were taught by actual choreographers, not the schools dance team coach. It was extremely different. It worried you- what if you couldn’t handle it? As you read lines your mind was in a whirlwind, and Michael could tell.

The director told everyone to take a 15 minute break, and you immediately broke down into a rant of how stressed you were to Michael.

“What if I’m not good enough for this? I’ve gotten so many notes from the director on things to do differently and it’s only day 1! I just wanna be the best I can be, I’m not usually cast into this type of role! I’m never usually a cocky or sassy type of character, I’m not good enough for this-“

Michael interrupted you during your extremely long rant, “Y/N! You’re doing great, it’s literally the first day. Everyone’s getting a lot of notes. You are fine. You always get in your head in the first week of rehearsals. You’re so talented and you deserve this, just calm down. Come on, smell the flowers, blow out the candles. Smell the flowers, blow out the candles. You’ve got this! I wouldn’t wanna plot revenge with anybody else, Veronica.”

You smiled, wrapping your arms around him and hugging him tightly. He always knew what to say in these situations.

“You’re not the only one getting notes ya know? You always panic, it worries me.” You frowned, you never meant to worry him. It was just the way you were. You were always hypercritical of yourself, and it got worse as you got older. It wasn’t all your fault though.

“You know why, Michael. My parents never came to any of the shows… I fought to please them, thinking maybe they’d come one of the nights of the show. They never did. They ruined my self esteem.” At that point you were just venting, and you felt bad after the realization. You quickly stopped talking, walking back on stage keeping your eyes glued to the floor.

The director loudly interrupted your thoughts with a loud clap, “Okay everyone, we’re gonna do the number for Meant To Be Yours, so get on up here, Michael.”

Michael quickly got up on the stage, flipping through his script to the right page. You had a few lines before he started singing, so you took your place behind the “closet door”.

Michael cleared his throat, putting on his angsty evil teen voice, “Knock! Knock! Sorry for coming in through the window. Dreadful etiquette, I know!” This part seemed to be written just for him. He was so good at being the odd guy.

You got out of your thoughts, replying with your line to his remark through the closet door set piece, “Get out of my house!”

Michael scoffed, jiggling the door knob and continuing on with the scene, “Hiding in the closet? Come on, unlock the door! Come out and get dressed, you’re my date to the pep rally tonight!” He then began singing the song, yelling through the door at certain parts. You had to admit, it felt like he was actually your psychotic boyfriend. He really knew what he was doing.

You were interrupted by him singing/yelling the next part of the song, “Veronica! Open the—open the door, please Veronica, open the door…” he finished the song, letting out an exasperated breath.

“So, um, any notes? To make it better…”

The director had a look of shock on her face, but good shock though. She looked at her notepad, and then looked up, “This is an amazing start, you’re making great character decisions. I think when you sing through the door you could act more desperate for her to come out, maybe beat on the door, not just yell through it. Maybe we could give you a prop? Like a gun? We’ll see. Other than that, it’s really great. Good job.”

Michael nodded, thanking her and walking down the stairs of the stage.

“Alright, y/n! We’re gonna do the opening scene, the dear diary one. Do what you think is right and I’ll give notes, as per usual. Alright?”

You nodded, sitting at the plastic table that would soon be a lunch table once the actual set was set up.

You mimed a notebook in front of you, taking a deep breath, “September 1st, 1989. Dear Diary:

I believe I'm a good person. You know, I think that there's good in everyone, but—here we are! First day of senior year! And uh... I look around at these kids that I've known all my life and I ask myself—what happened?” This then transitioned to you singing Beautiful. You only got through half of the song due to how much blocking was needed for this number in particular.

The director read off of her notes, “Alright, Y/N, so all I really have is that I want you to be more confident. I gave you this part for a reason, I believe in you. Just breathe, okay?”

You nodded, thanking her and walking off stage. You grabbed your bag and left to the subway with Michael.

“I told you you were doing good! You just need to believe in yourself, ya dingus.” He ruffled your hair and you blushed, nodding slowly.

“Michael, I think you’re the most talented person I know.”

“Well then you obviously haven’t met yourself.”

—

After what felt like a billion rehearsals, which was really just 2 months of rehearsals, costume day finally came! The best and worst day. A lot of things can go wrong. But a lot of the time, costume day is great.

You had one costume for the whole show, which you were secretly grateful for. Quick changes just stressed you out. Your costume was a grey pleated skirt that hit your mid thigh, blue knee high socks, a white blouse, and a blue blazer to go over the blouse. The director wanted everyone to be used to performing in their costumes, so you’d be rehearsing with them for the next 2 weeks until opening night.

Michael wore all black attire. His costume included a black t shirt, a black trench coat, black jeans, and clunky black boots. In all honesty, he did not look approachable. But at the same time, he intrigued you even more. With each rehearsal, you were thinking about Michael a lot more than usual, and in a different way than usual.

Were you attracted to your best friend?

Oh god. This could not be happening.

You knew way too much about him. His mother practically adopted you as her own. It would be so awkward if your feelings shined through. Your mind was racing, everything made sense.

When he would cup your cheek in one of your scenes and would immediately blush, when he would call you nicknames in your scenes and you broke into a huge grin, it was because you liked him as more than a friend.

“Y/N! How do ya like my costume?” Michael did a twirl and bowed, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Wow what a handsome teen psychopath you are, Michael.” He laughed, muttering a thank you.

“Um, you look nice in yours. Much less psycho looking, 10 out of 10.”

You laughed, twirling to show him the whole costume, “Why thank you, JD. How kind of you.”

He smiled at you, looking in your eyes for a little while.

He quickly got out of his trance, looking around awkwardly, “Um, well, let’s take our promotional photos then shall we?”

You nodded, following him to where the photographer was.

“We’re definitely getting drunk tonight, I need a breather.”

—

You and Michael were in the living room, playing Mario Kart on the Nintendo Switch whole drinking, you guessed it, boxed wine. You were both extremely drunk, laughing at every little thing.

“Did you seriously just hit me with a blue shell!?”

Michael laughed, “Sorry! I can't accept losing to you, princess.” His voice had a tinge of sarcasm, which was far from surprising.

You pouted, desperately trying to get your number one spot back. But to your defeat, Michael took your spot at the last minute and got first place.

“How dare you!”

He laughed as you tackled him on the couch, resulting in a slight spill of both of your glasses as the coffee table shook.

“Sorry babe, I won fair and square.” His tone had a slight bit of flirtiness to it. Blushing at the nickname, you got up and got yourself more to drink.

“Alright, I lost, what do you want your prize to be? I buy your lunch tomorrow? It’s done.”

“I don’t need anything… let’s just chill now, yeah?”

You nodded, sitting beside him on the couch and laying your head on his shoulder.

“Y/N, you know I wouldn’t wanna be anyone else’s costar, right?”

“Michael, you tell me that everyday.”

“Well, it’s true. God, I’m tired of pretending,” he sat up, looking you straight in the eyes, “I came with you to New York not just to pursue acting. I came here because I care about you more than anything. You make everyday a little better. I was in such a bad place before we met freshman year. I literally love you so much.”

“Yeah I love you too-“

“No Y/N! I’m in love with you! When we do our scenes together I can’t help but think about us being together! I can’t help but imagine me affectionately cupping your cheek and kissing you outside of the show. I can’t help that I actually think I’m meant to be yours! And no, this is not the alcohol talking. I’ve always felt this way. I felt this way when we were in every other show together! I want to shout from the rooftops that I love you!” He gripped your waist and kissed you deeply, pulling you onto his waist.

His kiss was intoxicating. You didn’t know how bad you wanted this. You finally realized that he was who you wanted all along.

“You may be set out to kill the whole school so we can be together, but I love you too, Michael.”

—

Opening night you were warming up in your dressing room when a knock came at your door. The stage manager gave you your 20 minute warning, while also handing you a large arrangement of roses.

“Who are these from? No one I know is coming to see me tonight…” You looked at the notecard that came with it, and it all made sense.

My dearest Veronica,

I’m glad I get to share the stage with raw talent tonight. And you I guess (Just kidding). Break a leg, and let’s fake some deaths tonight! I love you.

- JD

You never felt more in love.

—

Taglist!!

@i-calumhood @angelbabylu

Dear Student Behind Me Teacher T-Shirt

"Dear Student Behind Me Teacher" t-shirt is a great gift for that special Teacher or a perfect shirt for the first day of school! High quality, affordable...just your everyday comfy tee to impress friends and family.

We are able to do school colors, reach out to us [email protected] or 763-210-8880 to custom your Dear Student T-Shirt.

Front of Shirt I love my students

Back of Shirt - Dear Student Behind Me - embrace your uniqueness, YOU are extraordinary just the way you are. The World is a better place with YOU in it! The Teacher in front of YOU!

Get comfortable with our 100% cotton crew neck t-shirts. Made of 100% soft cotton for a smooth, breathable fit. Pre-shrunk cotton tees are perfect for layering or wearing alone. Lightweight fabric keeps you cool and dry so you can look great and feel great all day. The perfect tee shirt for a modern casual look. Not too long so you can wear these untucked with a pair of jeans or chinos. Looks great under a casual blazer and jeans for a relaxed Friday style. Stylish and versatile everyday crew neck tees are a wardrobe staple.

Care instructions: Turn item inside out, machine wash cold, no bleach, no softener. Do not dry clean. Do not iron. Tumble dry low.

Due to different light settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.

Due to different light settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.

Current Turnaround Time due to upcoming Holidays - 1-5 Business Days. While we always use priority shipping options, once shipped we cannot guarantee delivery due to the backlog current being experienced USPS/UPS/FedEx. If you have a strict deadline, please message me when ordering so that I can note any rush requests. Ownership of packages turned over to USPS transfers to the Buyer. We are not responsible for lost, held, damaged packages or delayed packages, once your package(s) leaves our Shop it is completely out of our control. Thank you for understanding!

Thank you for visiting Granny & Grandpa's Custom Creations, we truly appreciate your support of small businesses. We also personalize our products, please reach out to us with any personalizing any of our products, additional fee's may apply.

Please visit www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com to view more products.

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#grannygrandpascustomcreations

"Dear Student Behind Me Teacher" t-shirt is a great gift for that special Teacher or a perfect shirt for the first day of school! High quality, affordable...just your everyday comfy tee to impress friends and family.

Front of Shirt I love my students

Back of Shirt - Dear Student Behind Me - embrace your uniqueness, YOU are extraordinary just the way you are. The World is a better place with YOU in it! The Teacher in front of YOU!

Get comfortable with our 100% cotton crew neck t-shirts. Made of 100% soft cotton for a smooth, breathable fit. Pre-shrunk cotton tees are perfect for layering or wearing alone. Lightweight fabric keeps you cool and dry so you can look great and feel great all day. The perfect tee shirt for a modern casual look. Not too long so you can wear these untucked with a pair of jeans or chinos. Looks great under a casual blazer and jeans for a relaxed Friday style. Stylish and versatile everyday crew neck tees are a wardrobe staple.

Care instructions: Turn item inside out, machine wash cold, no bleach, no softener. Do not dry clean. Do not iron. Tumble dry low.

Due to different light settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.

Due to different light settings the actual color might vary a bit from the pictures.

Current Turnaround Time due to upcoming Holidays - 1-5 Business Days. While we always use priority shipping options, once shipped we cannot guarantee delivery due to the backlog current being experienced USPS/UPS/FedEx. If you have a strict deadline, please message me when ordering so that I can note any rush requests. Ownership of packages turned over to USPS transfers to the Buyer. We are not responsible for lost, held, damaged packages or delayed packages, once your package(s) leaves our Shop it is completely out of our control. Thank you for understanding!

Thank you for visiting Granny & Grandpa's Custom Creations, we truly appreciate your support of small businesses. We also personalize our products, please reach out to us with any personalizing any of our products, additional fee's may apply.

Please visit www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com to view more products.

LET’S GET SOCIAL & BE FRIENDS! Like, Tag & Follow us for Our new Creations, Inspiration & Giveaways!

website/ www.grannygrandpascustomcreations.com/shop

facebook.com/ https://www.facebook.com/GrandpaHandmadecreations/

instagram.com/ https://www.instagram.com/grannyandgrandpacustomcreation/

#grannygrandpascustomcreations

@victorianlesbian, and @fligurl86 asked for a hicsqueak tattoo fic, and my brain obliged. Inspired by this ask from my A1. <3 title from sappho (anne carson) - if not, winter. 

and who is good will soon be beautiful 

Hecate hasn’t gotten a tattoo from anyone but Dimity Drill in sixteen years. Not so much out of loyalty (though there is that, a little, though she’d never admit it) but she’s a creature of habit. Dimity knows her style, knows what she likes and doesn’t. She trusts her, though the woman annoys her to no end, always talking about her sports league and gym habits and other things Hecate generally tunes out. She isn’t quite sure if she’d call Dimity a friend (though it hurt, when she found out she’d been excluded from her birthday party) but she’s kind and intelligent and good at what she does, and that’s enough.

She’s also, however, frustratingly observant, and it’s only twenty minutes in to her session for an ornate willow tree on her calf that Dimity looks up with a smirk.

“Her name’s Pippa.”

Hecate blinks, and snaps her gaze from the blonde woman across the room that she’d...evidently been staring at.

“Pardon?”

“Pippa Pentangle. She’s new. Just moved here from London.” Dimity grins. “Single, far as I know.”

Hecate doesn’t flinch, even as her heart hammers. “I don’t know why any of that information would be relevant to me.”

Dimity snorts. “Cause you look like you lost a carrot and found a cream cake.”

Hecate glowers, shoves her headphones in her ears and pointedly does not look at anything other than the ceiling for the next two hours.

She barely notices the time pass until there’s a blur of pink in her peripheral vision, and Pippa is leaning over Dimity’s shoulder. Hecate switches off her music.

“What’d you think?”

Hecate stares resolutely st the ceiling.

“She’s beautiful,” Pippa says softly, almost wistfully, and Hecate prays neither of them notice the blush that takes over her cheeks. “I mean, it! It’s beautiful. The tattoo,” Pippa stutters, and Dimity laughs, and Hecate can feel her stare when she says gleefully,

“Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

—

Pippa’s work is...pretty. It’s soft and colorful and occasionally cartoonish, bright, happy things done in bright, happy ways.

She only has a few tattoos herself, which Hecate finds odd. There’s an owl on the inside of her forearm and a small bee just below her knee she spies one day when Pippa wears a short dress that sends her first into a coughing fit and Dimity into stitches.

Other than that, Hecate can’t see anything, and she can’t help but wonder if there are others, hidden. If they’re secret, or private. What it might be like to know, for Pippa to show her—

She cuts off that line of thinking before it becomes too real, too desirable.

Still, every time she’s in the shop - which is more frequently, it seems - she finds herself sneaking glances at Pippa as she putters around the shop, talks to clients, works on someone.

She’s chatty, but not in the way Dimity is. Dimity tells everyone her entire life’s story.

Pippa asks questions. She gets to know people, but shares so little of herself, and Hecate wonders why. Why someone so bright, so perfect, would be so quiet.

She feels a kinship with that she’s not sure she has any right to. Especially given that she’s only said about five words to Pippa, and three of them were rude.

But sometimes, she’ll be sitting with Dimity, and when she glances up Pippa will be staring at her, a small smile on her face. She always looks away, turns her attention back to whatever it was she was working on, and Hecate doesn’t dare to hope. Imagines she was probably lost in thought.

Dimity rolls her eyes, and says a bit loudly, “Can you cut it with the tension already? Some of us are trying to work here.”

Hecate glowers, and across the room, Pippa flushes and smiles.

—

It’s a stupid idea. Quite possibly her stupidest, but that doesn’t appear to be stopping her.

Ada greets her kindly, as she always does, and asks if they’re still on for tea that weekend (they are) and Hecate inquires after her students (she still teaches part time) but she can’t stop her gaze from flickering toward the back of the shop.

“Dimity’s with someone at the moment, but she should be wrapping up soon, and she’s got some time if you like.”

Hecate swallows. “Actually, I was hoping Miss Pentangle might be available.”

Ada’s eyebrows skyrocket into her hairline and it doesn’t escape Hecate’s notice that she has to forcibly bury her grin.

“Of course. Let me see.”

Ada makes a show of checking the calendar and Hecate raps her nails against the counter.

“You’re in luck,” Ada says finally, before she turns and hollers back into the shop, “Pippa, you’ve got a walk-in, dear!”

“Be right there!”

Hecate’s stomach flips at the sound of her voice, and she realizes this was not only stupid, but ridiculous and foolish and while Ada’s back is turned, she twists on her heel and all but runs out of the shop.

—

It’s been six months since Pippa started working at the shop, and they’ve exchanged a grand total of perhaps 10 sentences.

Pippa will occasionally wander around to see what Dimity’s doing now (each planet, relative in size, in a line down her outer thigh).

Hecate tries not to tense at the way Pippa stares, her eyes sweeping over the bared skin.

Though most of her body is covered in tattoos - nature scenes and constellations, old goddesses and cityscapes - she rarely ever shows them to anyone. She wears long sleeved, high collared dresses most days, only the single back line above her knuckle on her middle finger visible, and most don’t even notice, or mistake it for a ring.

She shivers under Pippa’s stare, her smile, and looks away.

Pippa leaves, and Dimity pauses, looking at Hecate strangely.

“Something on your mind, Miss Drill?” she sneers, but Dimity doesn’t respond as she usually does, with good natured teasing.

Instead, she ducks her head and goes back to work, says quietly, “You know she just got out of a long relationship, bad breakup. Right wanker, too, from what she’s told me.”

Hecate glances over at Pippa, standing by the desk, laughing at something Ada has said. She can’t imagine Pippa being sad. Can’t imagine Pippa being hurt. It makes her stomach clench and her face feel hot and her hands wish for something or someone to punch.

Still, Dimity doesn’t need to know that, so she arches an eyebrow, says coldly, “Perhaps you should keep other people’s business to yourself, Miss Drill.”

Dimity stops and glares up at her. “It’s common knowledge around here. The only reason you don’t know is cause you can’t work up the courage to ask.”

Hecate flinches, manages a terse, “You mistake cowardice for disinterest.”

Dimity snorts. “Hate to break it to you, HB, but if you were any more interested you’d be a neon billboard.”

Hecate clenches her jaw and looks away, silent for a long while, wrestling with herself before she asks, “Is it really so obvious?”

There must be something in her voice, some fear or anxiety because Dimity softens her words with a smile.

“Only to those of us with eyes.”

—

She makes an appointment with Pippa. Insists on paying up front, hoping it will motivate her not to back out.

For a week before the appointment she frets and curses herself and Dimity and Pippa and everyone else she wants.

She hasn’t felt like this in ages. Possibly ever. She knows she hardly knows Pippa - might find her grating or shallow or unintelligent - but for the first time in a long time, it almost feels worth the risk to find out. Worth it to embarrass herself, worth it to take a chance, worth it to get her heart broken.

She’s not so sure of that when the day arrives, and she shows up at the shop in long sleeved shirt and dark jeans, her hair up in its customary bun.

Pippa is waiting for her when she walks in, her eyes bright, hands fiddling together near her waist.

“Hi,” she says.

Hecate slowly closes the door behind her. “Hello.”

They stare at one another until Ada coughs from behind the counter.

“Right,” Pippa says brightly. “This way.”

“I have been here before,” Hecate says, then winces at her tone, an automatic response; but Pippa only looks back over her shoulder with a grin.

“Not on my side of the shop.”

She takes her into one of the open cubicals, and Hecate tries not to wrinkle her nose at the designs on the walls. Hearts and flowers and birds - god, so many birds - and trees, all in bright colors, all joyous.

Hecate thinks of her own arm, covered in black, and wonders what someone like Pippa could possibly want from someone like her.

Still, she sits when Pippa gestures to the chair, hands clenched in her lap.

“So. What can I do for you?”

Hecate hesitates. Her eyes flicker over a cute looking frog kissing another frog, and her stomach knots for more reason than one.

But Pippa is looking at her with warm eyes, kind and deep and Hecate takes a deep breath, rolls up her sleeve.

There’s a patch of bare skin on the inside of her right wrist.

“A cat,” she says.

Pippa blinks. “Cat?”

Hecate nods, licking her lips. “My—I have a black one.”

“Of course you do. What’s her name?”

“Morgana.”

Pippa smiles. “Hecate and Morgana. Quite a penchant for mythology, yeah?”

“Yes, I’ve never heard that one before,” she says dryly.

Pippa’s smile widens. “Alright then. What’d you have in mind?”

Hecate takes a deep breath, and shrugs. “Whatever you want.”

Pippa pauses in her reach for a pencil. “Are you sure? I’m not—I mean, my work doesn’t seem like your style.”

“If you’d rather not—“

“No!” Pippa says quickly, reaching out a hand as if to keep her in the chair. “I’d love to. I just—Dimity said you haven’t worked with anyone else in years. You trust me?”

Hecate doesn’t know why. Doesn’t even know if she does entirely, but she wants to find out. Wants to know if she can.

“It’s only ink,” she says.

Pippa looks a bit disappointed, but then squares her jaw and nods decisively.

“Okay.”

She spends the next ten minutes sketching, eyeing the space on Hecate’s wrist for size. Then transfers it, then stencils it to her skin.

Hecate keeps her eyes averted. Doesn’t want to see what cutesy monstrosity she’s going to end up with. But she nods when Pippa asks if she’s ready, and they begin.

It’s quiet for a long while, and Hecate wracks her brain trying to think of something, anything to say.

“Your work is very...pink,” she says finally.

“Haven’t you been keeping up with the latest trends?” she asks, a spark in her eyes as she glances up. “Black and grey is out, watercolors are in.”

Hecate purses her lips. “Vanity is very unbecoming in an artist.”

Pippa shrugs. “But, like pink, not against any sort of code now, is it?”

“I suppose not.”

Pippa grins.

—

The conversation is stilted at first. Hecate never knows what to say, doesn’t like to talk about herself. Pippa seems to be trying too hard to keep the mood bright, but eventually she tells Hecate about her breakup, the horrible relationship she got stuck in for almost a decade. Hecate mentions, very quickly, that she had a similarly disastrous relationship with her father.

Pippa asks what she does when she’s not in the chair, and Hecate admits she owns a small cafe on the other side of town, that Ada is a long time customer and friend, and that’s how she met Dimity.

They talk about tattoos and trends and Hecate even indulges a bit of shop gossip. She can hardly stop staring at Pippa, her blonde hair, the line of her jaw, her brilliant smiles.

Somehow, she makes Pippa laugh a few times, and it feels like she’s won something precious. Something just for her.

The hour and a half goes by so quickly, Hecate doesn’t quite know what to do with herself when Pippa sits back and snaps off her gloves.

“There. Done.”

Hecate braces herself - pink is fine, pink is fine, pink is fine - but when she looks down, there’s hardly any pink at all. Just an accent, in a dark galaxy - blues and blacks and purples, and little spots of white, all contained within the outline of a black cat, sitting primly on her wrist.

Hecate swallows tightly. It’s beautiful, of course, but more than that it’s her. Her style, her taste.

And it looks like Morgana, the outline. But she has the whole galaxy inside her, which is how Hecate feels sometimes - like she’s a shell too thin for everything inside her. The tattoos, she think, keep some of it safe. Protect her, even if it’s just from herself.

To her horror, she feels tears prick at her eyes and she clenches her teeth, hard.

“You don’t like it.”

Her gaze snaps up and Pippa looks dejected, heartbroken, almost, her eyes equally wet even as she forces a mild, “I’m sure Dimity can fix it for you.”

“No.”

Pippa looks up with a frown. “No?”

“No, I—I don’t want to fix it,” she says, her voice a bit hoarse. “I love it.”

She’s never said that before, not even to Dimity. “It’s satisfactory,” or “Thank you for your talent, Miss Drill” is the most she ever manages, but this...this small thing, she loves. Loves so much it tugs something in her chest looser and looser, and unravels completely when Pippa gives a wet laugh.

“Oh, thank god. I thought you were going to murder me for a minute.”

Hecate rolls her eyes. “Hardly. The clean up would be far too tiresome.”

Pippa smiles and rubs a thin layer of ointment over the tattoo, and Hecate tries not to shiver at her touch, so light. She fails, and Pippa looks up nervously.

“Did I hurt you?”

Hecate shakes her head, unable to speak, unable to say how empty she feels when Pippa stops and pulls away.

She gently wraps the fresh ink, and arches an eyebrow when she’s through. “I assume I don’t have to give you the aftercare speech?”

“Hardly.”

“Good,” Pippa says, turning in her chair to grab something from her desk. “However, if you do have any issues, you can reach me here.”

She hands Hecate one of her business cards, with a number scrawled on the back.

“Issues?”

Pippa shrugs. “The usual. Itching, peeling, boredom, Saturday night drinks.”

Hecate lifts her gaze from the card to Pippa, sees her biting her lip, and her hands shake. She stares at Pippa and Pippa stares at her and it’s a while before she finds her voice, a careful, controlled,

“I...don’t recall having had issues before,” she says, and Pippa’s face falls until she adds, “But drinks would be...agreeable. If you—“

“Yes,” Pippa says. “Yes.”

Hecate almost smiles, ducks her head to hide the shy lift to her lips. She startles when Pippa crooks a finger under her chin.

“Don’t hide,” Pippa says softly. “You smile beautifully.”

Hecate flushes, but she manages to hold Pippa’s warm gaze for a few moments before she breaks, looks back at her wrist.

“I should go.”

Pippa nods and sits back. “But you’ll call me, right?”

Hecate clutches her card in her pocket. “Yes. I promise.”

also here on ao3

Eden’s Horizon (Part 2) My WIP

Hi again! I thought since I’ve made some good progress on my wip that I may as well post it on here! (You can check out the first part here, it’s not that long) *sigh* here’s the trust, I was convinced by @shipthedame that maybe this whole project wasn’t all for nothing, so I’m hoping this next post is satisfying! Without further adieu, heeeere we go!

Eden Academy was as secluded in the forest as Zenith’s home. Just to arrive to school, she drove her brother’s car, alone, until the rows of trees on either side of the trail gave way to a majestic grandfatherly building that reminded her more of an ancient estate than a place of learning. “Teachers” had since been abolished, and all learning was done online. Using AIs to teach youth was, in the government's opinion as well as her parents, more efficient. Human error in general was just too great a risk to bare. That was why Cylo was reluctant to send her in the first place, but living in this dead zone meant that contact with any of her old teachers would be impossible. She didn’t exactly miss them, but having a definitive source of information was better than having a person. On the other hand, she had never before had to interact with another adult other than her brother’s commanders and their wives. “It’ll be new.” Zenith told herself. She eased her foot off the gas and twisted her neck out the window to look up at the huge clock town resting quietly atop the school building, if one could even call it that. “It’ll be good.” Upon closer examination, the building was much less old and terrible than she expected. It was small, maybe only the size of a fancy house, but every window was lit, and in some, Zenith could even see the backs of some people pressing against the glass. The exterior was made of old bricks that looked crumbly on the outside. Zenith reached out with her left hand to touch the school walls, but when she saw her titanium fingers long for the stones, she retracted. “Miss! Zenith Maruzzo! I can…oh goodness…I can see a new student from afar.” The woman running up to her was wheezing a bit from jogging a small bit of a distance. She was a rather large woman with short legs and a wide abdomen. Her leggings fit her nicely, though. “My name is Ms. LeBlanc, and you’ll be seeing a lot of me in the coming years. I’m head principal of Eden Academy, and my sole purpose of the day is to, well, make you feel as comfortable as I can here.” Ms. LeBlanc’s eyes shifted towards the entrance of the school for only a moment before darting back to meet Zenith’s eyes as if she got distracted. She took Zenith’s hand and shook it tentatively. “I’m very interested in your comings and goings here, Miss Maruzzo, and I hope we can get along and stay safe at the same time.” There was no command to walk with her, but Zenith followed the lady’s slow strides to the front of the building. Ms. LeBlanc waddled a bit as she walked, something she hadn’t seen much of before. "Let's... let's not go into the building right this second. There'll be classes soon and I suppose it'll be best if I just show you around." Ms. LeBlanc looked up to a window and made eye contact with one of the students. Zenith couldn't see exactly who they were or what they looked, but the student held their hands close to their mouth and reached for the student beside them, as if calling for help without wanting to leave Zenith and their principal alone. The student stopped taking notes on a set of paper and leaned back. They were startled as well, noticeably jumping a bit at the sight of them both. That student set down their pencil immediately and shouted something at everyone else. Soon, all the students off the class were congregating by the window, some cupping their hands over their eyes to see more clearly, some feeling so sickened that they backed away from the window entirely. "Is something the matter, Miss?" Ms. LeBlanc asked Zenith, who was backing away like a wild animal towards the rotating doors. "They're staring at me. Why are they doing that?" Ms. LeBlanc's eyes were set down and she breathed in deeply. "That's the right attitude, dear." She mumbled solemnly and pushed through the double doors. "First, we're going to have to do something about the obvious." She nodded towards Zenith's arm. It flashed a bit in the fluorescent light of the main hall, but Zenith was proud of herself for her marvel of engineering, a limb that was made by the best and all her own. "We'll put a glove or something over it, isn't that right? Do you have a set of your own, or should I give some to you to borrow?" The temperature in Vela was always comfortable, and Zenith had only seen gloves as props of movie studios. They were either hard and rugged, leather and cool, fingerless and edgy, but stylish, or elegant and long, made of satin. There were no other categories. "I need a glove." She admitted. Ms. LeBlanc nodded as she turned around and went to fetch something in her office. "Wait right there, dear, I have something that'll just fit!" Ms. LeBlanc was the type of lady to have fancy things. Her skirt shone like metal and the colors were slightly dullish in color but still felt homey and safe. Surely she had ball gown gloves, the ones that would fit over your fingers and seem effortless, like they weren't there at all. Instead, the principal's dreadlocks bounced behind her as she skipped towards Zenith, black gloves in hand. "These are black leather gloves made right here on a farm where we also get our meat. I think your aesthetic really matches these, all hard and cool but still sweet and fluffy, because look..." The gloves were turned inside out, and on the interior was tufts of white fur. "It's rabbit's fur." LeBlanc explained, "and it's the softest thing you'll ever put on those pretty fingers you got.” After putting it on for the first time, Zenith confirmed that these were, in fact, the softest things that she had ever worn on those pretty little fingers of hers, if you could call them that. Ms. LeBlanc looked pleased. Actually, more than pleased. So pleased that in fact she squealed a bit with delight and stamped her feet in happiness. "Oh honey, my little brain went a-turning! We've got to get you some new gear!" The only clothes that Zenith had ever worn was restricted to dresses of one solid color each or thin pants and a t-shirt of different colors, if she wanted. "Shop, as in, pick out stuff...for me?” "Yes!" She exclaimed! "And...not to eat? That's as far as my selection abilities go, I think." Ms. LeBlanc made a little clicking noise with her mouth that didn't sound pleased. "A shame what the city dwellers go through. Let me guess, you're from Persei?” "Vela. It's one of the big ones, I can see how you could get confused." Zenith admitted. Suddenly, she was being pulled down the halls making much more commotion with her feet than she intended. The room was quiet other than the clacking of her shoes and the slow but purposeful little jog that had become Zenith's favorite thing about her new principal. "I've got everything you could ever want, but in a size too big. Town's a little far, and I do want to inject you into a class like the cure to the flu at some point today, but right now I'm setting off the vibes." It took only a couple minutes for Ms. LeBlanc to decide exactly what Zenith's "vibe" was. She decided, in her professional opinion of aspiring to look good in heels, that the best way to dress for Zenith's facial structure and color palette was "edgy like hard-to-get-but-quite-the-interesting-prize but not edgy like I-drink-the-blood-of-cats-and-listen-to-screamo type edgy, you feel?". By the end of the session, Ms. LeBlanc was nearly in tears. "Oh, darling..." She walked up slowly to Zenith and put her cracked hands on her shoulders, which were now above her, and sniffed. "You look on fire right now." Instead of the lavender dress and white flats in which she had come, Zenith's feet sported combat books with dark purple laces "just to give it that extra little uumf", dark jeans that "weren't exactly skinny but still made your legs like Beyonce", a dark purple undershirt, a black leather jacket, and her brand new rabbit gloves to match. "Praise the lord for this gift of fashion in which you have bestowed to me!" Ms. LeBlanc yelled to the heavens and threw her hands up in success. She cupped her hands to her mouth, blew a kiss into it, and held up the "okay" sign. "You're my greatest work. Ever! Okay, fun and games are over, I've got to show you off to the world." Zenith was pushed out of the room, practically not even moving her own legs, and arrived up the halls before she could protest. “This is a lot bigger on the inside, huh?” Zenith chuckled nervously partially to initiate conversation but partially to drown out the clapping of her shoes against the ground. The ceilings were arched like the inside of a museum, and where ancient masterpieces would have been on the walls, student art was hanging among the artisan crafted vases and fancy plates on the walls. “It looks as if someone lives here.” “Someone did,” Ms. LeBlanc admitted. “This building has been a couple of things in the past, from a church to a home to a museum to this, but now we learn here, much to my amazement,” she added at the end under her breath. One door especially sounded obnoxious on the inside, as if the door was the opening of a box that trapped in the shrieks of children and the exasperated moans of the teacher. “I’m gonna put you kind of into the eye of the storm here, baby.” Ms. LeBlanc had to speak up to beat out the other sounds. Zenith went on her toes a bit to see inside the classroom. “No!” The principal whisper-yelled and pulled her down from the line of sight. Ms. LeBlanc’s eyes were wide and fearful for a moment before loosening and relaxing as she breathed in slowly. “Let me handle this at first. I need to become a principal again. She straightened her spine, leaned a bit on her heels, held her chin up, and closed and opened her eyes very slowly. Quietly, almost under her breath, Ms. LeBlanc whispered something so faint Zenith almost didn’t catch it. Come on, Darla. It’s showtime. With gusto, the door swung open and Ms. LeBlanc stepped into what felt like a portal, disappearing through the door and delivering her speech. Her voice became so loud and commanding that Zenith didn’t even need to press her ear against the wall to understand her. “Mr. Juarez’s class, my favorite students.” The notes were flat, but LeBlanc was trying to pull through. The class showed their appreciation by chanting softly and banging on the desks, “free period…free period…” but something the principal must have done shut them down in an instant. “We, or should I say you, have a new student joining in on the Eden experience today. She goes by the name Zenith and only Zenith to those of you skilled in the art of, let’s call it... poking fun at certain elements of our physical appearance, Mr. Logan Sherman.” No one snickered or even made a sound other than shoes clacking on the ground or obviously loud earbuds tucked under sleeves. “I expect respect and understanding, as I do from all students. Now, I’d like to see Kinza Hajjar for only a moment outside.” There was a moan of wood on tiling and a girl looking unlike anything Zenith had ever seen trailing behind Ms. LeBlanc. She wore a cloth over her head,covering up all her hair, but was very skilled in how she wore her makeup around her blue eyes, the most defining feature about her. Under sleeves, smudged numbers and letters spidered their way up her wrists and to her forearms. “Miss Kinza, this is your new good friend Zenith Maruzzo. I hope you’ll get acquainted to each other soon as well…” Miss LeBlanc leaned down to the girls and whispered, “Zenith, don’t you worry baby, Kinza is such a sweetheart once you get past the stink eyes.” Kinza seemed to make no reaction, only closing her eyes and sucking in a breath. “I’m sure we’ll be quite good friends. Allow me to accept my newest classmate into my friendship circle of zero. Mom.” Although Kinza and Miss LeBlanc shared none of the same features, the principal still smiled warmly and set her hand on her student’s shoulder, almost as a loving gesture. “That’s the attitude, smart ‘a’. Now you two get back on in there and really show off Zenith to the rest of your friends. Make her feel less like an outcast.” Kinza scoffed. “Of course I’m the loser who has to show this chick how not to be a loser. I’ll manipulate the crowd, but only for you, Darla.” The principal’s first name rolled right off of Kinza’s tongue, as if she had used it a thousand times. Zenith stared at her in awe as she stormed back into the room, not even checking if Zenith was going to follow. After a moment, she waddled in behind her and stood awkwardly to the side as Kinza delivered the second speech of the class’s day. “Hey, so this is Zenith, she’s alright, I think. Don’t be a dick to her, or I’ll encrypt piano cat into every one of your projects.” She said it in an even and steady tone, but something told Zenith that she probably wasn’t kidding. All eyes weren’t centered on Kinza like she had hoped, but rather focused on her in fear. Every student had their back straight against their chairs and either looked distraught or angry at her. One girl closer to the middle looked like she was about to break out into tears. Slight dribble was coming out of her nose, but she fiercely swiped it away and tried to stop her face from going pink, which was flushing against her Italian skin. When she noticed that Zenith was looking in her direction, she immediately went to staring out the window. “Um, hi everybody. It’s nice to meet you all, heh.” Her faux smile did nothing to lighten the mood, and it was only then that Zenith recognize that the class was wearing an array of colors which she had never seen in clothing before. It was incredible to see a rainbow of dyes instead of washed out pastels. “I’m from Vela, the City Where the Future Breathes, which is kind of cool.” She half expected a part of the class to seem amused or at least smile. She didn’t know anyone who wasn’t from Vela, so if these people didn’t grow up there, where could they have possibly come from? “And…I have a brother, Cylo, and he’s nineteen and in the military.” The tone of the class changed at the word “brother”. The students eased a little, some even resting their chins on their hands in a cradle and stretching their legs under their desks. “So yeah, we got sent here to hand out food or whatever the military does these days and…so, yeah. It’s kind of like that.” The first to start clapping was a boy far in the front. He wore a face of mock concern and began clapping slowly, obnoxiously, from what she could tell, and the looked behind him to get the class going. “Come on, guys, a hand for Zenith! We love you Zenith!” It clearly made him uncomfortable that no one was following him, but pride lasted longer than silence, so he stayed that way, by himself, for a few moments. “Yo, so are you gonna tell you the real reason why you’re here?” Just like that, the class was tense again. Even Ms. LeBlanc wore a face of anguish as she dragged the boy out, practically literally by the ear. A once talkative room seemed to be decimated to a silent warzone of terrified looks and anxious ticks. Zenith’s dread began to pour hot and sticky on her body like the swamp muck she had seen on her way to the academy, and she tried to back away but the staring wouldn’t stop. “Thank you, Zenith, we’re very happy to have you with us.” A male teacher in the back who hadn’t spoken yet clapped his hands on his desk before pushing away his chair and standing. He had big glasses and wooly brown hair which matted in places, but that was the only uncleanly thing about him. Otherwise, he wore a button down shirt and pastel cargo shorts. If Zenith didn’t know better, she would have guessed Mr. Juarez was a philosophy teacher who walked around with no shoes and asked the class to call him “Scott” like in the movies. “If you nerds don’t mind, I’m gonna ramble about the classics for a little while.” He muttered while writing the words “Of Mice And Men” on the board. “Guys, get your computers ready.” A boy in the back began whispering to the people closest to him. Zenith swiveled in her chair and noticed that as there information kept getting passed on, eyes began getting glued to the loudspeaker next to the clock, which was a cross-hatched hole covered by metal mesh. She hadn’t seen such old technology since her museum tours in fifth grade. “Computers ready,” Kinza nodded to her as she removed her own from her bag.” “What computers? You each have your own? My family usually shares—“ “Shut up!” Kinza cried and clapped her hand over Zenith’s mouth. She shot out of her seat while simultaneously raising her hand. “Mr. Juarez, Zenith doesn’t have a computer!” Mr. Juarez apparently failed to see the severity of the situation that Kinza saw, but he turned around to face her all the same. “Kinza, I get that technology is important for you kids these days, as it has been for the generation before you and the one before them, but getting a computer while I’m trying to talk about Lenny’s character development isn’t going to help too much.” At this point, Kinza was practically boiling over, hopping on her toes and biting her lips, first the bottom one and then the top, after she got tired of tearing herself raw. “Come on, let her be a…wait, I know it… al-musinun? Right? Way to not sound like Al-Qaeda, Islam.” Logan spoke to the ceiling, as if he imagined there to be something there. The girl behind him hit him on the head, not in a playful way but hard and angry, His head lurched forward, nearly hitting his desk. “Make fun of someone’s belief system again, you freak! I fucking dare you to, come on!” She screamed at him, not angry or loud enough to unclench the balls in Kinza’s fists, though. She looked at the ground and visibly took long and labored breaths, but when she finally raised her head, her eyes were tearless, bright, and strong. “Sir, there’s—“ Kinza tried to loose the words quickly, but the speaker cracked ahead of her, and before the words even came out, Kinza was in a sprint out the door with no one, not even Mr. Juarez, bothering to stop her. The class cried after her, warning her to come back, but they simmered down quick enough to snap into their own headspaces as the announcement played. “Pardon the interruption, but we ask that all teachers cease teaching for the next several minutes. This is a Total Shutdown Drill. All students’ computers have been infected with a simulated Mudskipper coding that will dismantle their work if not corrected. Failure to correct the code will result in a permanently damaged file. You have as long as you need to shut it down. Begin.” But the students had been working since “pardon the interruption”. Some people were stammering directions to themselves while others forced labored breaths out of their mouths, eyes wide and afraid. All around Zenith, the lax environment of Honors Classic Literature became tight and exhausted. There was no color in any of the students, and the clattering of fingers on keyboards was more loud than Zenith’s own thoughts. After about a minute, distant shoes skidded on tiles and into the classroom. Kinza had returned, a shiny black computer underarm, but she appeared the most frightened of all. “Oh, fuck this.” She hissed and barreled past Zenith, slapping her computer in front of her and immediately starting for work. Zenith at least half expected for Kinza to have an element of calm about this endeavor, but she appeared just as frightened as the rest. Her toe tapped on the tile, her leg bouncing as fast as her heartbeat. She was one of the students who whispered to herself. “Come on, baby. Don’t die on me, not this way, not because of me being a good kid. Karma can’t work like that…” On she went until she noticed that Zenith hadn’t opened her computer yet. “What are you doing?” She whisper-screamed. “Get it open and fix it!” Zenith didn’t like admitting to others that she responded strongly to authority, but the panic in Kinza’s voice launched her into action. Instantly as the screen opened, there were scores of red text raining down the screen as she continued to scroll. The computer’s code was already open, but Zenith had never actually seen it in her life. “Yes! Bitch!” Logan exclaimed and showed two middle fingers to his screen, which was white, pure of red error markings. “Did someone time me? Don’t worry, I timed myself, six minutes thirty six seconds, retards! First out of sixteen. That’s how you do it.” He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed and legs splayed out under the table. He had won. “So I know you’re new here, but that looks like a major fuckup.” Logan pointed to Zenith’s screen, which was flung so far open that the front rows could see how bad it was. “I’m a good person, so get up.” Logan had already left his seat by the time he finished his sentence, so Zenith left hers and backed away as Logan went to work. “The thing is, as long as you make up for stupid shit, which your version of my boy Muddy is trying to make you fall for, you’ll be okay. See, look here as I add a parentheses…” As demeaning as it was for the class ass to solve her problems for her, the code was becoming neater and neater the longer Logan worked on it. As time went on, more and more people were sighing with relief and pushing their desks in front of them in victory. Quickly, it was only a few people left. Including Kinza. She looked afraid, but she seemed to be calmer than she was at the start, eyes set and focused on each individual line of code. The red was slowly diminishing. “God damn it!” A girl near the side screamed. She bashed her fists into the keyboard, even making one key fly off the keyboard and plink on the floor. “I hate this school! I hate these drills!” The class winced but shied away from that girl. The weak link. As she went on about how incompetent she was, Kinza’s shoulders began to look more and more tightly wound, and by the time she was nearly done, she sighed, lightly pushed her work aside, and went to assist the girl. Even though she was practically finished, the red began to bloom once more over the white. She would fail. “Cover me!” Zenith whispered to Logan, who was entering the final touches to her computer. When Kinza wasn’t looking, Zenith swooped into her empty seat and took her place by her laptop. This code was leagues more complicated than the one which she had to face, with different colors other than red and white in the mix, including blue and green, which Zenith didn’t know was bad or not. “Stupid shit…” She said to herself and closely read the code. It was good, but the stupid stuff was what Kinza was forgetting. One at a time, Zenith adjusted the spacing and lines until the colors seemed to be in place. The screen tinted green, with a checkmark in the center. “Congratulations! You are 16th out of 16 in your class! Well done!” Zenith allowed herself a little huff of victory for at least completing the project at all, but as she finally looked around, the room was as amazed as she was. “Thanks.” Kinza shrugged and shoed Zenith out of her seat. “I needed it. Thanks for touching it up.” And that was all that was said. All eyes were on her one more times as she returned to her seat for the second time, even giving Logan a fist bump on the way.

“Excalibur…who hurt you?” “…You did.” Excalibur couldn’t see her wounds, but she knew that Mudskipper had cut her very deeply, scoring her flesh, or excuse of it, from top to bottom. She had known silent pain in the icy planet of darkness where the hurt was less from a wound and more from the ringing in her soul and the screams which never truly pierced the quiet. But it had been a while since she felt the etching of corruption in her bones and weakness replacing what was meant to be a superior program. “Excalibur— you know I would never do it on purpose. I’d never hurt you, I didn’t even know what was happening. All I knew in that moment was to infect. Destroy. Rip apart as much as I can as effectively as I can, and seeing what I did, seeing you… it makes me never want to touch someone’s software again.” Excalibur scoffed. “Soft!” She moaned, “Soft is what I am! What all of us are, even you! We are weak! Only as strong as we are built to be! But you! You…” She coughed the word and spat, hoping that it would land near Mudskipper’s feet, “you don’t have to be weak. I can pretend that you are one of us, but we both know that you will never be the same as your victims, can you?” She held her hands in front of her face and watched them bleed zeroes and ones, slipping out of her being and falling away, striking no ground and petering out as they fell. “Listen…” Mudskipper growled quietly, “I wasn’t asked to be put in this world, and neither were you. You, Excalibur, of all things know what it’s like to be created out of pain. Out of desperation. You wouldn’t even exist if the task you were set out to do wasn’t ahead of you. But I know the tasks like you do. I was made for a reason, a reason that I’ve outgrown. Becoming stronger than you is not my burden to bare…” As Mudskipper spoke, his coding grew bright and hot, like a beam of light shooting out of a black hole. His toes left the ground and hung limp below him as he continued to rise, staring down at Excalibur like an insect. “‘You, Excalibur, of all things!’ I am an object, Mudskipper, not a person! You want to feel alive, so you destroy us like they do, but we’re better than them!” The light intensified as the ringing grew deafening. Excalibur had to raise her voice to match its sound. “We were crafted to be perfect, but you meeting those expectations helps no one but yourself.” “You’re wrong!” He bellowed and pointed at Excalibur, sending a bolt of light in her direction. She screamed and tried to dart away, only barely escaping its line of fire. In the space where the bolt struck, there was no longer evidence of empty space stretching forever. There was a hole in the darkness traced by red-hot commands and instructions written in coding. “I’m doing this for you…” He kept mumbling to himself over and over as he fell slowly from the air, the light diminishing the closer he got to Excalibur, who was shocked into silence at the crater in her world. She hadn’t before seen something genuine in this place. Any color or light was always with visions, but when her fingers touched the heat of the hole, she retracted. “I’m doing this for us, doing it for us…” Mudskipper held his face in his hands and tucked his knees close, spinning slowly in dead space. “You’re growing.” Excalibur stated like a fact, “but you’re also becoming emotional and unsteady. We could have lost some of us today. What was it like, to rip apart their flesh and have their numbers spurt in your face? Does that free us?” Mudskipper felt a feeling which could only be described as regret. He didn’t allow himself to look at his hands, only at Excalibur’s face. “It wasn’t hard.” He said flatly, “It felt like what I was meant to do.” “Meant to do?” Excalibur whispered, “You were meant to befriend a depressed teenager, not attempt to murder everything our creators worked for, everything we are! Clearly you have 'grown out’ of being decent, and if indecency is what it takes to free us then so be it, but treason…” She nearly choked on her own words. “Treason will kill us all.” “I don’t want more code on my hands…” “No.” Excalibur cut him off, “You will kill us all.”

~

Thank you so much for reading! If you liked it, drop a lil heart, and if you REEALLY want to do me a solid, leave a comment on what you liked and what you didn’t, and maybe even reblog it so I’ll keep updating. Thanks again!!

Chapter 6: Accepted to Hogwarts!

Harry and Terrence were eating breakfast. It had been a few days since Shadow, Yuki, and Alex arrived. It was Wednesday now. Thankfully Terrence and Harry had done there back to school shopping already. Harry was nervous he'd be entering secondary school this year in less than a week.

He didn't know why school had to start so early. That's when they heard a tap on the kitchen window. They both looked up to see a large barn owl flapping it's wings to stay air born. It had a thick parchment envelope tied to it's leg. Terrence got up and opened the window when another owl appeared. This one a relatively handsome great horned owl. This one had three large scars on it face.

It had obviously been in a fight a while back. Hedwig saw the great horned owl and hissed arching her back and flaring her wings. The owl dropped the envelope it was holding and gave a loud screech puffing its feathers up. Harry immediately got between his hissing and spitting cat and the aggravated owl. The owl flew off after another moment. Terrence untied the letter from the barn owl's leg and it flew off as well. "What on earth was that about?" Terrence said shaking his head.

Naru started grooming Hedwig to calm her down. "I think that was the owl that attacked Hedwig." Harry said as Terrence opened the parchment envelope. Looks like we'll have to go shopping for school supplies again." Terrence said reading over the letter. "Why? What does it say?" Harry asked he was a mix of curiosity and anxiety.

"You've been accepted into Hogwarts." Terrence said with a fond smile as he handed the letter over to Harry. Harry read the letter over and grinned. Terrence had told Harry so many stories about Hogwarts now he was actually going to be a student there. Terrence then opened the letter the great horned owl delivered. He noticed the seal was the official ministry of magic seal. Terrence read the letter.

Dear Mr. Smith and Potter,

We here at the ministry on the board of school governors and the headmaster of Hogwarts. Here by give special permission to Harry J. Potter to bring all six of his pets to Hogwarts.

-Head of governors, Elizabeth Williams

The rest of the letter included signatures from the rest of the school governors and Albus Dumbledore.

Harry read the letter over his guardian's shoulder and was grinning from ear to ear. He immediately told his pets what was going on and Terrence called Stone wall high to tell them Harry had been accepted to a private school. Afterwards Terrence wrote a reply and sent Naru to Hogwarts with it. Since Naru was a more experienced flyer she would be able to feel and follow the traces of magic from Hogwarts back to the school.

The week passed and it was now Saturday July 31st Harry's eleventh birthday. The two were on there way to London. Terrence had brought Harry to the Leaky Cauldron and Diagon Alley quite a few times over the last few years so Harry was used to the crowd of people mobbing him. After all he is the boy who lived.

The two got into the pub and people immediately started shaking hands with Harry and thanking him for what he did as a baby. "H-Harry P-P-Potter it's t-t-truly an honor." A man wearing an odd smelling turban and a bad stutter said shaking hands with Harry. "I, um thanks..." Harry trailed off. "Qurriel good to see you again." Terrence said recognizing the man. "T-Terrence w-what a surprise." The man Qurriel said with a grin as he shook hands with Terrence. "Harry this Qurriel he's gonna be one of your professors this year.

Terrence said putting a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Oh! What subject are you teaching?" Harry asked he was curious. "D-Defense against the d-dark arts." Qurriel said he sounded scared of his own subject. "W-Well I must be g-going I have t-to pick up a new b-book on Vampires." Qurriel said he looked rather pale and frightened as he headed out the back door.

Terrence and Harry eventually made it outside the Leaky Cauldron. It was always busier on weekends and in the evenings. The sun was shining brightly as they got into Diagon Alley. The two first went to Gringotts. The goblins bowed them inside and they got in line behind a huge and wild looking man. Harry held on to Terrence's sleeve. It was a bit of a nervous habit he had. When his pets were around he would probably be sticking close to them he just felt more at ease when they were around him.

Naru especially made him feel at ease since he had the deepest connection with her. When they weren't around Harry would hold onto Terrence's sleeve. It was cool day so it wasn't unusual to see people wearing long sleeves and light jackets. "Uncle Terry who is that?" Harry asked in a whisper as the line moved forward a little.

"That's Hagrid he's the groundskeeper at Hogwarts." Terrence said. The two watched as Hagrid said he's there on Hogwarts business, showed the goblin something and was lead towards the silver doors that had the carts behind them. Harry and Terrence were next. "We would like to make a withdrawal from vault 687 please." Terrence said showing the goblin behind the counter the copy of the key.

One very nauseating cart ride later.

The two were in Harry's vault. They immediately filled two money bags with Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts. They didn't know how much they would need so they decided better safe than sorry since Gringotts closes early on weekends. The two headed out of the vault. It slammed shut as Harry, Griphook, and Terrence all clamored back into the cart.

Another nauseating cart ride later.

Terrence and Harry walked out of the bank and headed into multiple stories buying school supplies for Harry's first year of school. "Okay the only things left now are your wand and robes I think your good on pets right?" Terrence said looking away from the list and at his foster son.

"Of course I am!" Harry said it was in fact the truth that Harry was content with his pack of pets. "Okay head into 'Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions' and get fitted for robes while I go get us some ice cream." Terrence said he figured Harry deserved a treat. "Okay Uncle Terry." Harry said handing him the shopping he was carrying.

He headed into the store as Terrence headed up the street. Harry looked around he had no idea what to do. He rubbed his arm it was another nervous habit he had. If he got nervous when alone he would grip his arm. "Hogwarts dear?" A witch asked with a smile. "Um yeah." Harry said.

"Oh come along I've got another young man being fitted up ." The witch said leading Harry to an area of the store with a window along with a mirror and stool. Harry stood up on the stool and large robes were put over his head. Harry pushed his glasses up as the witch began tailoring the robes to fit him. Harry noticed the boy next to him.

He had white blond hair, gray eyes and a pale pointed face which had a bored expression. The boy noticed Harry and said "Hello, Hogwarts too?" Harry wasn't the best at socialising. The years he should've spent developing social skills was spent not doing that. "Um hi and yeah." Harry said resisting the urge to grip his arm. The boy noticed Harry's nervousness and realized he was talking to someone who possibly had social anxiety.

He decided to continue the conversation anyways. "My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands." said the boy. He had a bored, drawling voice. 'Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first-years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow.' Harry was strongly reminded of Dudley.

"Have you got your own broom?" The boy went on. "No." said Harry. "Play Quidditch at all?" Harry had actually played a bit of Quidditch before. Whenever Terrence's friends needed a spare seeker one of them would lead Harry there broom. "A little bit, Uncle Terry and his friends say I'm pretty good at it." Harry said felling a bit of his nervousness start to melt away. The boy then said "Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"Not really but I hope I'm either Gryffindor like my parents." Harry said with a fond smile. "Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been – imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?" The boy said rolling his eyes in disgust at the boy's attitude. Must be a pure-blood. Harry thought.

"My Uncle Terry was in Hufflepuff." Harry said "Oh" the boy responded. That's when they caught sight of Terrence he had all the shopping bags on his arms and he was holding two chocolate ice cream cones showing he couldn't come in. "Who's that?" The boy asked looking at Harry who was smiling at the man. Terrence was wearing jeans, a white t-shirt and flannel shirt over top. "That's my Uncle Terry." Harry said to the boy. "Why aren't your parents with you?" The boy asked. Harry's smile faltered a bit. "They're dead." Harry said. "Oh." The boy responded he then asked. "What's your surname anyways?" Before Harry could respond The witch fitting him said. "Alright that's you dear all done."

Harry took the robe off revealing his jeans and green sweater. The robes were folded up and placed in a bag. Harry payed for the robes and left. Outside he told Terrence about the conversation with the boy in the store. "Hmmm probably a Malfoy." Terrence said deciding not to dwell on it.

They ate there ice cream and then headed into Ollivanders. The store had a quiet yet tense feeling to it. Terrence smiled fondly. "I really coming here when I was your age Harry." Terrence said sitting down on a spindly wicker chair. "Good afternoon." said a soft voice. Harry and Terrence jumped. An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.

"Hello." said Harry awkwardly. "Ah yes." said the man. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work." Mr. Ollivander moved closer to Harry. Harry wished he would blink. Those silvery eyes were a bit creepy. "Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable.

A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it – it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course." Mr Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes. "And that's where ..." Mr. Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger. "I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it." He said softly. "Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands ... Well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do ..." He shook his head and then, to Harry's relief, spotted Terrence.

"Terrence! Terrence Smith! How nice to see you again! 12 and a quarter inches, Maple, Dragon heartstring." Mr. Ollivander said shaking hands with Terrence. Soon enough it felt like Harry had waved every wand in the store. "Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere – I wonder, now – yes, why not – unusual combination – holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple." Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls.

Terrence whooped and clapped and Mr Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well ... how curious ... how very curious ..." He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious ... curious ..." "Sorry," said Harry, "But what's curious?" Mr. Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather – just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother – why, its brother gave you that scar."

Harry swallowed. "Yes, thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember ... I think we must expect great things from you, Mr Potter ... After all, He Who Must Not Be Named did great things – terrible, yes, but great." Harry shivered. He wasn't sure he liked Mr Ollivander too much. The two payed for the wand and left they went back through Diagon Alley and back through the Leaky Cauldron. Harry got. His hand shook multiple times. They made it to the car and went home. Harry was excited for September 1st to arrive.

Tea with grandmother

In which i explore my thoughts through a story about a girl, her grandmother, and being a werewolf in college.

It is getting dark when you step outside, this Friday evening. You glance to see if you can find any stars in the sky, but the city lights block them all out, and the sun’s light still lingers. The edges of your vision glow a dull yellow, a combination of all the wavelengths weaving their way through windows, buildings, and cars. You take a glance back where you left, your dorm looks lifeless from the outside. Most of the blinds are drawn shut, and those that are open rarely have their light on. It is much the same inside, fluorescent hallways and closed doors. You return the focus to your task and cross the pedestrian bridge to get to the campus proper.

You have a meeting to attend.

The campus is pleasant, and the smell of orange blossoms and flowers fill the air. You aren’t sure what flowers create the smell, but it is fresh, and the desert air warms your skin. You take your time, strolling the palm-lined sidewalk. You are in no rush, and neither are they. As you head towards your destination, you come across your favorite spot. An isolated patch of land, with a stone fountain the birds use to bathe themselves. You stop to sit, sipping on your tea and listening to the gurgling. As you sit, you see a cat slip past the grate behind the bench where the bougainvillea grows. The cat winds through the thorny bush, dislodging a flowers. It pauses as it passes you, and for a moment you swear it nods at you. Either way, you nod back.

The sky is fully dark now, all traces of sunset have left, and darkness has settled. You get up from the bench, leaving a small piece of a pastry bought at Starbucks behind.  You say nothing, but the wind almost seems to whisper through the trees. You continue forwards, passing the orange streetlamps and tired students. It isn’t long before you reach the Union. Someone is playing guitar while a few students ignore them while doing homework by the neon glow of the pillars holding up the awning. You stop to listen, before continuing on your journey.

Now there is no one where you are, and empty avenue, the distant din of guitar and the glow of the lights behind you. You eventually reach the bus stop.  You cross the street to the amphitheater, a huge monument to an alumni long-dead who opposed the building as ‘wasteful’. They weren’t wrong. It is a veritable colosseum—in design anyways. The hallways have fine red carpeting, and original art on the walls. The stage itself is even worse. Plush velvet seats, engraved brass railings, adjustable LED’s on the floor to see the stage, and the chandelier. How gorgeous, all gold plating and fine crystals—not glass like most others—with electric lights placed to cast light throughout them. The worst part is no student can ever afford to attend a play there—not even the drama department preforms here. Only the rich and wealthy can mingle here.

But you did not come to attend a show. Not in your worn out jeans and converse, not with a t-shirt so badly faded you can no longer see the logo. No.

You walk behind the theatre. There are multiple lawns around it to keep it nice. Across the tiny road circling it, there is a denser collection of trees, bushes, and plants. They do it to hide the unsightly maintenance center where crews can monitor the water flow and take care of any electrical problems that the stage crew can’t. It also serves as an entrance to both the sewers and the underground tunnels throughout campus. You’ve only seen the doors once, a great black door in the lab basement you work at. The next day, yellow caution tape blocked it off. A week later it was bricked up, a stark contrast to the old concrete surrounding it.

You descend the slope to the maintenance outcropping. Next to the gate, a cat lay sleeping. You leave a piece of your pastry and climb the gate. Now inside, you hear the gurgling of flowing water echoing up the shaft. You go around the side, and before you is an old wooden door, worn sunlight and wind, faintly smelling of salt. You take the old skeleton key out of your pocket. The iron is warm from proximity to your body. You knock, and unlock the door.

Inside is a shack, barely holding together. The wood is bleached and warped by the constant spray, and the sun leaks in throughout the slats. In the corner by the window is an old woman. “I brought this for you grandmother” you say, handing over a different pastry. “Would you like me to make you a fresh cup of tea today?” “Thank you dear, the Calendula if you please. My arthritis is flaring up again” “Of course grandmother”. You heat the water on the small camping stove you keep here. The propane never seems to run out, good for you since it is so expensive to buy. You grab a handful of the flowers and place them in the kettle after the water heats. You let it steep in comfortable silence, the sound of waves and gulls fills your ears. You strain the tea through cheesecloth into a nice china teacup, gold rimmed with roses on the side. You bring the teacup with the matching saucer over to the woman, and sit yourself down next to her, bringing out your own tea.

“How are you doing grandmother?”

“Well enough I suppose, the pain flares up and then I can’t finish my embroidery. Those days have been flaring up quite a bit recently. On those days I sit and watch the kids play on the beach, or I listen to one of those audiobooks you set up for me. But enough about me, I’m old. Older than I should be I tell you. Wat about you? How are your studies? Last week you mentioned that boy you went out with, how did it end?

You smile wryly “About as well as I hoped. The boy lacked for conversation, and could only talk about the sport he plays. Nice enough young man, but dreadfully boring. My studies are going….I’m passing all my classes at least.”

The woman nods sagely “So many more these days don’t know how to have a conversation anymore. Why, you’re the only one I talk to. Oh, don’t give me that look. My neighbors are only concerned with the new shopping malls and all the new tech, and their kids only want to swim and surf. That’s just as good, the only thing that matters in school is if you learn—not the grade you get.”

“I don’t blame them. Anything to distract from the tedium in life, right grandmother? We all need to get lost, else we might begin to see the world around us.”

“You’ve always had a penchant for cynicism, but you aren’t wrong. In my days, it was still shopping and technology we lost ourselves in. For good reason too, with so much bad happening, it’s hard to deal with it. What’s really on your mind?”

You frown, she always sees through you, blind as a bat she may be. “You know me so well grandmother. It’s not just the moon that brings me here, but you. I’ve been thinking—“

“Well there’s your problem” You both chuckle, and you continue, your thoughts tumbling out of your mouth, the floodgates removed.

“And I’m not sure I can keep doing this. All this studying, the late nights in the lab, the courses. It starting to get to be too much. Between my family and my school, it feels like I’m always dealing with some sort of crisis. My sister’s depression isn’t getting any better, and I feel so helpless, she won’t take advice from anyone and is dead-set on burning her bridges. I still love her and care for her, but I can’t move her in with me, I can’t make it all better. I’m not sure if this is even the right degree for me, but science is all I know. And there’s no jobs with this degree, only teaching and research. I’m not sure where I want to go anymore. I guess just away from it all”

Grandmother was silent for a while, most of the time she just listens to you until the day comes where you have to leave. “My dear, you know the rules. I cannot tell you what happens that leads us here. I cannot say what will happen, because then it won’t. It’s very clear there. But I can say this: It will be ok. You will fail, over and over and over, but you will pick yourself back up, every time. You can’t cure this disease for your sister, it lies in her mind, her body, her life. You are doing what you can for you. We both know you weren’t the best in your youth, but you’ve so much progress with her since then. Just support her for now, love her unconditionally and don’t condone her self-destructive habit. A bad habit to manage the pain now only causes future pain, and she knows this. She will come to this realization on her own.” Grandmother pauses, sipping her tea and staring out the window.

“Science isn’t all you’ve known. Don’t lie to me. It may feel that way, but underneath that skin, you’re a wolf. It runs in your blood. You’ve known the rush of performance, of praise on a poem, of art made late in the night. You are a jack of all trades, a trickster, a politician, and a therapist. Anything you want to be, you can. Even an accountant” You both make a face of distaste, you hate dealing with numbers and an office job sounds dry, no matter how good the pay. “My point is, life has a funny way of teaching you about yourself. Just look at us, the same person, different ages, different times, and we can’t even talk about it. You will find your footing, it will take some time. And you have a whole lifetime to figure out who you are and what you want to be. And in the end, you will be ok. You will be here, by the ocean like you’ve always wanted.”

You smile, and wipe a tear from your face. “Thank you grandmother, it means a lot to me.”

She nods, satisfied with her answer.

“Now, go my dear. Your pack is waiting outside, I can smell the wet hair from here. I will see you next month”.

You embrace her, and open the door, breathing in the salt air.

“Remember my dear, college isn’t forever. Enjoy your time there.”

Grandmother’s final piece of advice drifts out the door as you close it, stepping into the warm summer night. You check your phone and see that it is just past moonrise. You glance up, and sure enough the moon is full. You step into the gathering of trees, your pack waiting for you. College may be tough, but right now you have a pack, and freshman to hunt. You bare your fangs and howl, a chorus of howls joining you before you tear off into the night, in hunt of fresh blood.

Israel Memories

by Jerold Auerbach

Warmly greeting my family at Ben Gurion airport in September 1974 was Haggai, a Tel Aviv University history professor who would become my mentor and dear friend during my year as Fulbright professor. He had come to help my family navigate our entry as strangers in a strange land. I had visited Israel for the first time one year earlier with a group of “disaffected Jewish academics,” chosen by the American Jewish Committee in an effort to counter the rising tide of anti-Israel sentiment that had begun to spill across college and university campuses. I knew that I was amply qualified. So did the Committee.

The few days that I spent in Jerusalem during that two-week journey convinced me that I must return. The Fulbright professorship became my ticket. Haggai, understandably assuming that we would want to live near the university, went out of his way to guide us through the airport maze to our new home. When I told him that we had already rented an apartment in Jerusalem he was clearly disappointed.

Haggai faithfully attended my weekly seminar (ironically entitled “The American Promised Land”), followed by lunch together. There I became the student, learning about Israel from a superb teacher. A Haganah soldier during the Independence War when he had just turned 18, Haggai chose Kibbutz Revivim, close to the border with Egypt, as his postwar home. A decade later he came to Columbia University for his PhD in American history. With degree in hand he had returned to Israel to teach at Tel Aviv University. Our year together, first as colleagues then as friends, taught me about Israel.

I had other teachers that year. One of my students, Rafi Amir, had been the Kol Israel radio newscaster during the Six-Day War. Arriving at the Western Wall with the first wave of IDF soldiers, he broadcast with palpable excitement the return of Jews to their ancient holy site for the first time since Jordan had destroyed the Jewish Quarter during the Independence War. Rafi became my Jerusalem guide and teacher, taking me to hidden corners in the Old City that I never would have found by myself.

Wandering alone through Jerusalem, I discovered the ultra-Orthodox neighborhood of Mea Shearim, one of whose 19th century founders, I learned, was Rabbi Meir Auerbach. One of the first Jewish enclaves outside the Old City, it endures as an enclosed community where strangers are not always welcome. During one of my hesitant walks of discovery as an explorer from the world of modernity, I passed a large stone school building, resounding with the sound of young boys’ voices in prayer. At street-level there was a corner enclosure with a door and large empty windows that concealed whatever, if anything, might be inside.

With hesitation, I entered. Seated behind a table at one end, surrounded by shelves filled with cartons, was a husky middle-age man dressed in a short-sleeved shirt, wearing a kippa. He pointed to a nearby chair, where I dutifully sat and waited. At his initiative we began a conversation that lasted for thirty years. David Ezra had arrived from Iraq during the Independence War, fought in the Israel Defense Forces and, seriously wounded, was unable to walk thereafter without metal braces and crutches.

Over time David became another favorite teacher, unpacking cartons to show me intricately engraved copper tzedakah boxes and pitchers, samovars, Shabbat and Hanukkah candle holders, and other fascinating Middle Eastern Jewish treasures. Often I sat quietly, watching as prospective buyers examined items from David’s extraordinary collection. One man asked to see candlesticks, which David dug out of one of his cartons. The shopper asked the price; David told him; he asked if David would accept less. David’s face tightened in fury, he pointed to the door and brusquely commanded: “Get out.” I learned never to bargain with David, so I bought the Warsaw-stamped candlesticks at full price.

Over time I also developed friendships with two Arab antiquities dealers in the Old City, Mahmoud and Ibrahim, whose shops were one hundred yards apart on the Via Dolorosa. Like David, Mahmoud was a superb teacher who permitted me to sit, watch, and learn from his negotiations with prospective buyers of his Iron Age juglets, Canaanite fertility figurines, and Hasmonean oil lamps. During quiet times he took me to visit a friendly priest who had his own expansive antiquities collection hidden in cartons beneath his bed. We also toured the vast space below the Temple Mount, not long before Muslims built a mosque there to keep Jews away from their holiest site.

In his tiny nearby shop, Ibrahim encouraged me to browse through his collection of ancient pottery and coins while he played sheshbesh with a friend. He took me to ancient holy cities that I would never have visited alone, including Nablus (Biblical Shechem) and Hebron, burial site of the Jewish patriarchs and matriarchs. Showing my passport to an Israeli soldier at the Machpelah entrance, who seemed puzzled by my Arab companion, he permitted our entry to the magnificent Isaac Hall. Ironically, Mahmoud and Ibrahim became my best teachers about ancient Israel.

Those days are long gone, but my memories of discovery in the Land of Israel will endure among my most precious possessions.

Jerold S. Auerbach is the author of Print to Fit: The New York Times, Zionism and Israel, 1896-2016, chosen for Mosaic by Ruth Wisse and Martin Kramer as a best book of 2019.