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justalonleynerd · 6 years

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Crossover - Reddie/Mileven AU

Summary: This is just your basic Reddie Fanfic... plus a shit load of Mileven and fighting interdimensional demons. Besides that it’s perfectly normal.

Word Count: 2,249

A/N - @whatsyourfavoriteegg helped me write a lot of this so go give her some love <3

I also know nothing about this website.

If I make any grammar or spelling mistakes HMU because sometimes I don’t catch them.

Chapter I "Language!"

[Councilor’s Office 1990, one month before summer]

"Mr. Tozier I need you to listen to me."

"Mmmhh... and I need you to shut the fuck up."

Mrs. Tior let out a surprised streak, really the combination of a gasp and a scream. Riche laughed and then proceeded to put his feet up on the brown couch he was sitting at and pretend to be focused on his shoes.

"Mr. Tozier! What have I said about your language?" Mrs. Tior said, while her prim blue glasses almost bounced off of her face.

She was fuming and Richie was loving it. Mrs. Tior's eye's were a dark brown color and her hair was kept up so that she looked (and sounded) like Rita Skeeter from the Harry Potter books. She sure had a nack for annoying students and just so happened to be the worst councilor Derry High School had ever seen.

"I don't need a shrink" Richie responded, rolling his eyes, "I don't know what my parents told you but I'm not mentally ill"

He said that last few words in a mocking tone and Mrs. Tior was considering throwing him out the window.

"You did not answer my question, Mr. Tozier" Mrs. Tior said almost calmly, folding her hands in her lap.

"Yeah, yeah, yeah... I'm not supposed to cuss n' shit" Richie responded, his voice at a monotone.

"That is IT!" Mrs. Tior yelled, leaping from her chair.

Richie laughed while Mrs. Tior's hands were balled in fists.

"I am at my very last straw!" She yelled, smoke coming out of her ears. "You have some nerve coming into my office and treating me like this!" She screamed, mad with rage and emotion.

"Like what? Shit?" Richie asked raising his eyebrows.

"How dare you-" She was cut off quickly as Richie continued to speak.

"I am treating you how you treat me Sharon,"

"Oh that is it young man." Mrs. Tior responded grinding her teeth. "You do not talk to your superior in that manner! A young man like you should know better. You are not four!" She lectured.

"Are you listening to me?" She yelled the words so loud that Richie was sure half the school could hear.

"Oh yeah, I'm totally listening." Riche said as he sat up.

"Blah blah blah don't cuss... blah blah blah I'm going crazy... blah blah blah I'm being an ass hole," He barely said the last words when he was grabbed by the collar of his shirt and thrown out of Mrs. Tior's office.

Her office just so happened to lead into the the main office, so all of the office assistants and workers could see, hear, and witness the scolding of Richie Tozier. And to add to Richie's torment the short, freshmen, muslim girl who Richie thought was cute was acting as office assistant at that very moment.

"I just can't catch a break," Richie said to her.

The girl raised an eyebrow and gave a half smile as Mrs. Tior brought Richie's attention back to herself.

"Out of the office. Now."

Mrs. Toir used the last of her composure to usher Richie out of the head office into the front of the school yard.

Mrs. Toir glared at him. "I hope I never see you again Mr. Tozier,"

"Love you too!" Richie shouted as she stomped away.

"Where the fuck is Richie?" Eddie said, raising his hands up above his head, then bringing them back down on his legs, creating a clap sound.

"He's in the counselor's office." Stan yelled, laying down on a bench a few yards away.

"I know that dumb ass." Eddie snapped.

Everyone looked taken aback by the statement.

"J-Jesus Eddie!" Bill said, with a mix of confusion and worry.

"I've had a bad day, okay." Eddie said crossing his arms and slightly rubbing his cast.

Suddenly Richie Tozier popped up next to Eddie and was wearing the widest grin a person had ever seen.

"Aww, Eddie Spaghetti missed me!" Richie said, grabbing at Eddie's cheeks while he tried to get away.

"Fuck off Richie!" Eddie yelled as he wiggled free of Richie's grasp.

Richie grinned and messed up Eddies hair. "Aww, you love me, Kaspbrak!"

"Have you forgotten my name or something?" He shot back, carefully fixing his hair.

"Not at all, Eds." Richie said as he pushed up his thick glasses and sat down next to Stan, motioning for him to stop lying down and move over.

A heavy silence filled air like a thick fog, but it only lasted for a moment.

Richie quickly got up and sat down on the opposite bench with Eddie.

"You know the stars are beautiful tonight." He said with his head tilted towards the sky.

Eddie sighed. "What the actual fuck, it's bright as hell, dipshit."

"Language!" Richie shouted.

"D-Did anyone acknowledge the fact that R-Richie just said language?" Bill grinned.

"You know what else is beautiful, Eds?" Richie smirked.

Eddie glared. "I swear to god, if I say my mo-"

"Your mom!" Richie burst out laughing, which was abruptly stopped by Eddies cast flying toward his nose.

"Damn, Eds!" He said, rubbing his nose.

"Can you two stop flirting for like, three seconds?" Stan said as he loudly sipped on a clearly empty juice box.

"You about done with that, Stanley?" Mike said, riding up to the Losers and parking his bike next to the bench.

Stan shrugged and continued sipping loudly.

Mike sat down next Stan. "You're back early from the counselor, Rich." He stated.

Richie sighed heavily. "That bitch kicked me out again."

"I feel like that will be similar to your future relationships, Richie." Eddie teased, rolling his eyes.

"Challenge accepted, Eddie-o spaghetti-o." Richie laughed.

"I swear to god.." Stan said under his breath.

Léala adjusted her hijab and sat back down in her chair. Mrs. Tior looked at her in a condescending manner.

"Working hard or hardly working, Ms. Heedad?"

"Its pronounced Hih-Dehd." Léala murmured.

"I'm sure it is." Mrs. Tior said, turning around.

Mrs. Tior walked curtly back to her office and slammed the door shut. Léala swore that she could hear a faint screaming sound coming from that area. Richie was annoying as fuck but he sure made things fun.

"I wonder how she's still a Mrs." She said and adjusted her stack of papers.

After a few minutes, the bell rang to dismiss any after school activities. Léala stayed in her spot and continued working as if nothing happened. The door to Mrs. Tior's office slammed open.

"What are you doing? It's a Friday, children like you should be at home." Mrs. Tior glared.

"Well, I'm perfectly fine here. Just getting my work finished, unlike some people." Léala shot back.

"Don't sass me, kid." She responded sharply.

"Too late." Léala mouthed as she turned around to face her papers.

Long after Mrs. Tior left, the air in the room felt stuffy. The empty office felt confining and her legs started to ache.

"I could go for a short stretch," Léala said, talking to herself.

She stood up and walked to the front entrance, making sure to leave a crack in the door so she could get back in.

Léala took a deep breath and felt her energy slowly start to come back. She heard faint laughing and looked across the street at the local park. She grinned and noticed the boy from earlier, the one who was always kicked out of Mrs. Tior's office.

Richie looked up from the groups absentminded chatting and saw the girl from the office. He grinned.

"Later losers, I got some hot chicks to chat up." Richie grinned and sauntered towards Léala.

He walked without paying attention and nearly look out a biker but it didn't matter in the least to Richie.

"Hey, office girl!" He grinned as he walked up and nudged her shoulder.

"Troubled boy." She smirked and nudged him back.

"Ouch. Why the hurtful nickname?" He rubbed his shoulder, pretending to be hurt from the nudge.

"I just meant that you go to Mrs. Tior so often.. Are you two having an affair or something? Covering it up with a 'mutual hatred'?" She laughed at her own joke.

"You've thought about this a lot, kid." He smirked and Léala could see light sparking in his eyes.

"Nope, came up with it on the spot." She said without skipping a beat.

"So what is your name, Office Girl? I seemed to have forgot." He said in an awful British accent.

"I do believe that it's Léala. Léala Hided." She smiled and mocked his accent.

"And I'm Richie. Richie Toizer." He smiled and put his hand out. She took his hand and shook it firmly.

Richie noticed Léala looking at something behind him. He also felt a short presence looming in the background.

"Heya, Rich. Watcha doin'?" Eddie said, trying his best not to make the situation awkward.

"Eds, since when do you care what the fuck I'm doing?" Richie turned around to face him.

"No reason, just the 'dudes' talking about boring stuff.. like smoking and dumb accents." Eddie said uncomfortably, trying to lure Richie back to the group.

"What's up with your weird way of talking, Kapsbrak?" Richie grinned. "You're freaking me out. It's not like you." He added with fake concern.

"Dayum, jealous!" Léala shook her head, trying not to laugh.

"Shut it." Eddie said harshly.

"Whoa, Eddie Spaghetti, chill out." Richie said, taking a step back.

"Well, maybe you should chill, Richie!" Eddie shouted at him as he started to go back to the park. Richie couldn't help but notice the group watching the whole conversation.

Richie Tozier lay on his twin bed facing towards the ceiling. It was around 4:00pm but he had nothing better to do but sit in bed and think.

He had biked home from the school only minutes after the conversation with Léala had ended. Eddie had walked with him back to the group and he had started to say something but Richie didn't hear. His mind was going numb. So, he just simply hopped on his bike and left without saying a word to any of the Losers. He spent his whole ride home feeling like he wanted to cry.

After what happened two summers ago, Richie hadn't been the same. He cried almost every night and he had started to not feel things any more. A hole had opened up inside of him and he couldn't find a productive way to fill it. So, he started doing a lot of stupid shit. He flirted with every girl he saw and he had taken on the habit of smoking. His sister seemed to be like even more of a bitch than usual and his parents weren't much help either.

After the summer, THE summer, Richie had told them about what he was feeling. He told them about how scared he was to sleep because he kept seeing the clown. It wouldn't go away. He told them about how his friends had started to say "beep beep Richie" to make him shut up almost instantly. Every time they said that to him it was just another reminder of that stupid clown and what it did to him. His mother's grand idea was to set him up with the 'best' councilor in Derry so he could get the 'proper help'.

His life was complete and utter shit.

He didn't want to do any of this school work and he didn't even feel like being around his friends. The clown was following him everywhere he went and he couldn't seem to shake the uneasy feeling. He spent almost a whole year completely alone.

Richie thought a lot.

His feelings weren't very complicated. They never had been. If Richie Tozier didn't like you he would say it right to your face. His brain had always been good at getting to the point. So, after coming home everyday and sitting alone with his thoughts and the silence he realized things about himself.

That was the year that Richie Tozier realized he was gay.

He didn't tell a soul. Richie started flirting with more girls to make up for the fact that he didn't feel normal at all. His own skin seemed uncomfortable on him and he just couldn't get rid of the clown.

Thats when the shit really hit the fan.

Richie didn't want to live anymore. He was tired of going though everyday pretending like he was happy. He was scared to death that his friends would leave him if he told them anything about who he was. They already had an idea in a way. One day Richie decided that it would be a good idea to cut his wrist. He knew it was a stupid thought, he knew that he shouldn't. But he just had too. Richie hadn't been thinking clearly for almost a year so even the most dangerous thoughts seemed fine if they weren't fuzzy.

It had been another lonely Saturday night. The 'perfect' Saturday night when it happened.

Richie didn't want to think about the gory details. He never wanted to think about it again. He had to look at his wrist every day and see the scars. There was no reason to ponder why they were there.

So, there Richie was, sitting on a shitty twin bed thinking about his shitty life.

"Don't touch the other boys Richie"

I won't.

"Don't or they'll know your secret"

#reddie #mileven #It 2017 #cute #shipping #richie tozier #beep beep richie #Eddie #richie #eddie kaspbrak #Stranger Things #funny #author

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nanenna · 7 years

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How it Must Have Happened

Fandom: Undertale Words: 2.7K Rating: PG13 Summary: Based on @zarla-s‘s Mercyplates. A selection of excerpts from one of Alphys's friendfics, specifically the updated Mpreg!Gaster fic she wrote after being introduced to Sans and Papyrus. Fanfiction.net AO3

All of the prep work was done. Dr. Gaster had removed the base materials needed, a process he did not care to think back on, combined the two samples into one large enough to provide the mass needed, and after giving it the magical treatment needed inserted the sample inside himself, another process he didn’t care to think back on. Now all that was left was to wait and see if his theories and calculations were actually correct, to wait and hope. It took all of Gaster’s self control to wait a whole week before checking, but he managed it.

He stood before the full length mirror in his bathroom, the only full length mirror in his home and the best place to do this. He angled himself so his good eye was facing the mirror and tentatively lifted his shirt. There, nestled in the incorporeal collection of magic that held his bones together, sat the sample piece, the “seed” if you will. It had grown. It had definitely grown! The seed was bigger and rounder, the sharp edges softening as the top and bottom bulged out. He had done it!

Gaster lay a trembling hand against his belly, right next to where the seed is suspended, as one of his rare, gentle smiles spreads across his face, softening his normally sharp, brooding features until even the scar over his eye didn’t look quite so rakish anymore. In just a few short months he wouldn’t be the last skeleton alive anymore!

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The tall, lanky skeleton stood before his bathroom mirror again, a scowl firmly on his face. He had his hand pressed against his belly again, the reason for his scowl abundantly clear as he stared into the mirror, then with a sigh lay his skull against the cool surface. The seed had split apart and now floated in two pieces, each with a precise, flat, circular end showing where the two halves used to be connected. Something had gone wrong and Gaster wasn’t sure where. Had he not fused the two halves together hard enough? Was his soul not capable of putting out the magic necessary for such a delicate process? Were the two halves together simply not enough base material? Gaster heaved out another sigh, no matter where he had gone wrong didn’t matter at this point, there hadn’t been any second chances for this project and he had obviously failed. With a heavy sigh he pulled down his shirt. The seed pieces would need to be removed, he was sure, but he just didn’t have the time or energy to deal with it today. There was the meeting with the king and the brilliant Dr. Alphys to attend and checking over the Core… well the seed wasn’t going anywhere, he would see to removing it that evening.

That evening came and Gaster found himself too exhausted to think about his failed project so instead he went straight to bed. The next morning found the tall skeleton rushing out the door without a thought and that evening going straight to bed again. The next day followed the same, it wasn’t until the fourth day that he finally cleared his morning schedule so he could start the planning process, beginning with a thorough inspection of the failed seed. With a heavy sigh, he lifted his shirt as he stood before the mirror again. With a gasp he dropped his shirt hem, then frantically lifted it again as he pressed closer to the mirror. The two seed halves had grown in the last four days, the flat ends of both now bulging out and the harsh corner nearly completely smoothed out. He hadn’t failed after all! Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes as he gently laid one hand against his belly and a gentle smile spread across his face. When he started this project he had had such small hopes, if he was very lucky he would have one little clone of himself so he wouldn’t be quite so alone in the world. Not once had he dared to dream of twins!

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Rather than the usual blaring of his alarm clock waking him up, Gaster found himself stumbling out of bed and blindly rushing down the hall to the bathroom. He just barely made it in time, just making it to the toire right as the first round of puke forces itself up and out. Fortunately this round is very short and he’s soon flushing the puke away before brushing his teeth and gargling mouth wash in an attempt to get the horrible taste out of his mouth. The second day in a row this had happened, if it followed like yesterday then he would feel fine once he forced himself to eat despite the very thought of food sending his non-existent stomach roiling, King Asgore would likely stop by with soup and tea again, and in all likelihood tomorrow would be the same as well. Ugh, morning sickness.

“I hope you two appreciate everything I’m going through for your sake,” the lanky skeleton said to his belly as he bent forward to get a better look. He moved over to the mirror as he continued talking. “But your worth it, I’m sure if it.” He gently ran a hand over his still flat belly as he smiled down at his precious cargo. They hadn’t grown much in the last week, instead the two indistinct blobs had morphed and changed until they were almost baby shaped. They both had large, bulbous heads attached to little potato shaped bodies with four little nubbins that would likely become arms and legs soon. He spent another moment admiring them before the sound of his alarm going off rang distantly from his room. Time to start his day.

Since he had called in sick yesterday King Asgore had insisted that Gaster make it two days at least, which Gaster had not objected to. There was some work he could do from home since he was feeling better, and when the king inevitably stopped by later to check up on him the doctor could tell him he’s completely recovered and feeling just fine. The king didn’t need to know he had woken up and was immediately sick again, and likely would every morning for the next few months.

“You two had better appreciate everything I’m going through for your sake.”

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Gaster stood before the full length mirror as had become a morning ritual, gently running his hands over the swell of his round belly and smiling at the two little baby bones nestled inside. He had to admit he was rather surprised he wasn’t showing more by this point, with twins on the way he was sure he wouldn’t be able to hide them anymore by now. As it was he was having a hard time keeping them secret, his normally loose clothes only did so much when he had such a thin, lanky frame to begin with, but the twins seemed to prefer to cling to each other rather than spread out and take up as much space as he was sure they could. For now the doctor was content to keep them to himself, while he could be sure that King Asgore would be delighted at the thought of babies since he was such a softie, and Dr. Alphys was so kind and empathetic that she was sure to be supportive, but there was no knowing how the rest of the Underground would react to his unconventional experiment.

But the morning was getting away from him and he needed to get going if he wasn’t going to be late, so he put on his losest shirt, which was starting to get a bit tight around the belly, his favorite lab coat, and finished everything off with his shoulder bag. The lab coat and bag really were doing most of the work to hide his growing baby bump, the bag was at just the right height to obscure it. Now ready to start the day, the doctor left for his morning meeting.

He was the first to arrive, which was nothing unusual for him. The handsome skeleton took his seat, his baby bump was barely noticeable while seated, and started pulling various reports and paperwork from his bag.

“Ah, Gaster, good morning.”

Dr. Gaster looked up as the imposing yet ever gentle boss monster ducked into the room, careful to keep his magnificent horns from damaging the door. “Good morning, Asgore. How are you today?”

“I am quite well, thank you.”

“Ohayo gozaimasu,” Dr. Alphys intoned perfectly as she entered the room.

“Good morning, Dr. Alphys,” Gaster and King Asgore both greeted with bright smiles on their faces.

“Goodness, you seem in a good mood this morning, Gaster,” King Asgore commented as he and Alphys took their own seats. “It seems to be happening more and more lately.”

“A good night’s sleep and a good breakfast do wonders for a monster. Now, if we’re all ready, I wanted do discuss these Core readings...”

The meeting proceeded as normal, with the two brilliant scientists and the king discussing various, brilliant scientific projects until Dr. Gaster gasps in surprise and drops his pen! The meeting grinds to a halt as Alphys and King Asgore stare at the skeleton while a look of pure wonder washes over his face.

“Gaster, are you alright?” King Asgore asked in concern.

The rakish skeleton cleared his throat as he felt a blush spread across his cheek bones. “Yes, I’m quite alright, I just suddenly remembered something I must attend to right after we’re through here. If you’ll just let me,” he quickly rifled through his papers until he found one with an empty corner and hastily wrote the date and the word “first kick” in his own font on the corner. “There, now, as I was saying...”

Dr. Gaster spent the rest of the meeting with one hand absently rubbing his belly where a continuous flurry of tiny kicks came from one of the babies. Each little kick sent his Soul fluttering and it took all his effort to keep a straight face through the rest of the meeting.

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Dr. Gaster absently shut off the alarm, glad that the bouts of morning sickness had finally stopped altogether, but now he was faced with a new problem, the mere act of getting out of bed was harder and harder every day. The problem with baby’s first kick is that it’s only the first and usually the gentlest. One of the babies seemed to be very active and didn’t like letting his poor father sleep, kicking and squirming about every time the doctor lay down! On top of waking up still tired, the active baby’s squirming about seemed to annoy the other one as they were no longer clinging to each other, leading to a big, round belly that made rolling out of bed into a literal act and simple movements like standing up into an ordeal. Once finally upright he put a hand at the small of his back to help propel him forward while the other supported the twins as he waddled down the hallway, all sense of grace lost along with his sense of balance.

He rifled through his kitchen cupboards, pulling out a single serving container of instant ramen, one of many which were generously gifted to him by the thoughtful Dr. Alphys and just about the only thing the twins seemed to want him to eat, just as well that it’s so delicious and he rather liked the exotic food. As the doctor daintily slurped his noodles he went over the day’s agenda, the most interesting item on it being reporting the latest Core readings to King Asgore. That would certainly be the highlight of Dr. Gaster’s day.

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“Gaster,” King Asgore said with a sigh, running one of his big, gentle paws through his luscious hair. “Old friend, I worry for you.”

Dr. Gaster looked down, ashamed to have caused his closest friend to worry so. “You do not need to worry so hard, I assure you I am quite well.”

“Clearly you are not, you’re tired all the time, you’ve taken to isolating yourself more than usual... and don’t think I didn’t notice the weight gain, I know enough to know that’s not normal for a skeleton.” The king pointed a finger at Dr. Gaster’s large, rotund belly, not intending to invade his friend’s personal space or touch it, but the flustered skeleton defensively smacked the king’s paw away anyway, then put his own hands protectively over his belly.

A blush formed on Dr. Gaster’s face as the king looked at him in hurt confusion. “I apologize, your majesty. Both for that and for keeping secrets from you, I shouldn’t have hidden this from you for so long. It’s just that...” The tall skeleton sighed and ran a hand over his skull as he gathered his thoughts. “It’s just that at first I wasn’t even sure that this would even work, then I was worried it could all fall apart still, then I just… never found the right time to tell you...” The king patiently waited for his old friend to finish rambling and finally tell him what had been going on these last few months, though he felt his anxiety grow at Dr. Gaster’s unusual reluctance. “I suppose it would be easiest to just show you,” the doctor said as he reached for his shirt’s hem and lifted it, all the while the blush on his face grew all the warmer and brighter.

“Omigosh! Babies!” The king squealed with delight when he caught sight of the two little skeletons currently fast asleep. “But, I don’t understand…” King Asgore kneeled before Dr. Gaster to get a better look at the little baby bones. “How did you… with who…? There aren’t any other skeletons left.”

“It’s… complicated,” Dr. Gaster answered as he gently laid a hand against his belly.

The boss monster frowned then, when he caught sight of the doctor’s scared hand, and gently took it in his strong yet soft paw and held it up. “That’s what these were about all along, am I correct?” Gaster just nodded, the blush that had been fading returning in full force. “And you chose to continue working while in this condition?”

“I’ve been very careful with both their health and my own,” Dr. Gaster blurted out defensively.

“Yes, it was part of what had me so worried, you have always been the type to push yourself to your limits and beyond, then suddenly you are taking sick days and eating regularly and keeping a strict bed time. I had worried you had contracted some sort of illness. I suppose of all the possibilities this is the best. But honestly, look at you, you must find even walking difficult. You should go on leave, or at least switch to working from home, I’m sure we can manage without you in person for a little while.”

“That… that does sound reasonable,” Dr. Gaster gave in with a sigh. He should have known the king would insist he go on leave when he found out. “Let’s just tell everyone I’m going on leave for health reasons, please.”

“Oh, you want to keep these little ones a secret?”

“Just until they’re born, I’m not sure how the Underground at large would react to this erm… experiment.”

“Alright, I understand.” The king put a hand on the doctor’s shoulder, “But I think congratulations are in order.”

“Thank you, my friend.”

“Alphys! I need to speak with you!”

“O-okay, what is it Dr. Gaster?”

“Please, take your story down! Delete it!”

“W-w-w-what?”

“There were tubes. Full of a magically enhanced, nutrient enriched saline solution. I didn’t… I would never… Skeleton biology doesn’t work that way! Souls don’t work that way!”

“OMG!”

“And I’m fairly certain pregnancy doesn’t work that way.”

“Y-y-you weren’t supposed to read th-th-th-that one! Oh gosh!”

Inspired by two recent comics by Zarla: Don’t like don’t read, which features Alphys accidentally sending Gaster one of her smutty friend fics by mistake, and I mean TECHNICALLY, which features Gaster being flustered over the implication that he gave birth to Sans and Paps.

This was very, very, VERY hard to write. I actually had more planned but the strain of writing this purposefully bad was just too much. Part of the editing process was inserting mistakes into the writing, okay? Not to mention how out of character I had to write Gaster. I figured Alphys would only want to see her friend making mad science babies for positive, happy reasons and that she’d want him to you know… actually like his mad science babies. So fic!Gaster is way, way, way more tender and motherly than Zarla’s Gaster would ever let himself be. I’m also a bit upset that I don’t really think I wrote in Alphys’s voice, it still feels very much like my writing. In short, this was a trial to write and there’s only so much of that I can take. But it was still fun, I had too good a time imagining Gaster’s blushing, flustered reaction to Alphys’s fic.

Special thanks to @tcrmommabear, you were my Catty and Bratty for this fic! Thanks for listening to my ramblings and being supportive of this silliness, you horrible enabler!

#undertale #handplates #mercyplates #zarla-s #nenna writes #w.d. gaster #asgore #alphys #long post #it really is a coincidence this is done in time for the anniversary #but i'm not gonna say no to that timing #also zarla this is what you get for mention mpreg fics #this was bound to happen #you have only yourself to blame

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kattorav-blog · 7 years

Photo

the article from DANCE MAGAZINE February 1962

BRUHN, BOURNONVILLE AND BALLET

Introduction

In the spring of 1955, a Danish dancer of unusual promise became an international star. Dance Magazine, recognizing that history was in the making, made its now famous photographic record (July ‘55 issue) of the rehearsals in which Alicia Markova taught the young soloist the role of Albrecht for the Ballet Theatre production of “Giselle." Since that time Erik Bruhn has continued to grow as an artist. Where- ever he goes, his immaculate, thrilling dancing is met with acclaim.

Last year Lillian Moore, American dance historian-teacher-author-critic and frequent contributor to Dance Magazine, long entranced with the “Bournonville style” in which the Royal Danish Ballet has for over a century trained its dancers, persuaded Mr. Bruhn to collaborate with her on an informal but intense study of the teaching methods of the great 19th- century choreographer. The book, coauthored by Miss Moore and Mr. Bruhn, has just been published by the Macmillan Co. Its title is “Bournonville and Ballet Technique,” its cost, $5.00.

The following is Mr. Bruhn's introduction to “Bournonville and Ballet Technique.” Bournonwille’s foreword to the technique manual he called “Etudes choregraphiques” is also reprinted from the lovingly-fashioned collaboration of the authors, who have successfully recreated a major link in ballet history.

[FOTO] Erik Bruhn as James in “La Sylphide.” The photos on these pages are technical studies from the recently-published “Bournonville and Ballet Technique."

My Bournonville Background by Erik Bruhn

Hours of waiting went by. It was very noisy. Some children were crying, others playing wildly all over the place; the grown-ups talked incessantly. Some of the children, either on their own initiative or at the demand of their mothers, were practising “tricks” or little solos with which they hoped to attract the special attention of the ballet master or the teachers who, at any moment now, were to decide our future.

Up to this point, all the commotion had caused me just to want to leave the place. Mу aunt (who had taken me there, because my mother was busy) finally bribed me to stay and go through with the audition. It cost her one kroner (about a shilling, or fifteen cents).

Young ballet students, 16 to 18 years old, worked very hard separating the children from the parents, putting us in lines, and eventually dividing us into groups of fifteen to twenty, in different studios. It was something of an anticlimax to find out that all we had to do was march, walk in time to music and show our feet. Then we were examined by the doctors.

When my aunt learned that I had been accepted to enter the ballet school the following season, she rewarded me with another kroner.

During the long summer vacation I almost managed to forget that I was to enter the Royal Theatre again. There I would not only attend the ballet school, but receive my entire academic education. As I recall it, I had a rather difficult time adjusting myself to that special kind of world which is the theatre, or in this case, the world that children consider the theatre to be.

If I knew little about ballet, I knew even less about the training I was to receive for the next ten years. Very soon every child in the school was aware of August Bournonville. At that time, although there were some contemporary works in the repertoire of the Danish Ballet, its centre and very base consisted of Bournonville’s ballets. There were many opportunities for us children to appear on the stage. To be chosen as one of the eight children to dance in Konservatoriel was the goal of all of us. Since the same dance combinations were given in our daily classes, we all strove to perfect ourselves in the steps, so that one day we might be given the opportunity to perform them.

To be called on to fill any small role in one of Bournonville’s ballets, or even to be one of the group of children that he used in the third act of Napoli as a background for the soloists who performed the famous variations and pas de deux, was the focal point of our life and work in the theatre. I used to stand with the rest of the crowd on the bridge in Napoli, dreaming of one day taking part in that wonderful dancing, or even doing one of those exciting solos that took place on the stage below us. All the principal artists who now dance in Napoli have stood in the back as children, at one time or another. Some of us even got to dance the very same solos we dreamed about.

After a couple of years at the school, I had begun to feel much better about it. With the other children, I shared in the general fun and excitement of work and play, as well as some unanticipated disappointments and frustrated hopes. Each year from 1937 to 1947 I passed the ballet examination unnoticed. This was good, for many of the children, through letters addressed to their parents, received word that because of their lack of progress the theatre would no longer be able to keep them in the school, nor recommend that they continue in ballet. (p.39)

During these ten years, I was trained in the Bournonville school. There were six different classes, for the different days of the week. They were “set” and were repeated with hardly a change from the day you entered the school as a child, until you graduated, and continued on as a professional dancer. At that time the children received the same strenuous training as the adults. Everyone, whether a beginner or a member of the company, was given the same exercises.

The Bournonville school, as it is known up to this-day, was formed by teachers and ballet masters who followed him. It was based mostly on steps and variations that exist in his ballet productions. Apart from a few months of lessons from the ballet master during my last year, I knew as a student only the set Bournonville classes as they were taught then by the teachers who had charge of the children from their entrance up to the age of 18.

In the old school, the barre work was extremely short, fast and very strenuous on the legs! The centre work had very little adagio movement, and very few pirouette combinations of importance. The barre work was to warm up for variations which contained steps and movements which would be required in performance, and which were constructed mostly to strengthen jumps and beats. Some of these things are not used outside the Bournonville school. To me, however, they are not' lost steps. All my life I have attempted to master them, and I believe that they have great value when added to a good basic foundation. Properly applied, they are excellent for ballon, batterie and any allegro movement.

As it is known today, the Bournonville school is really more a choreographic style than a method of teaching. The style that this great choreographer created firmly established the Danish ballet and its traditions. Until ten years ago, this particular style was rarely seen outside Denmark. Then the Royal Danish Ballet began to visit some of the major cities in the western world. Several of Bournonville’s works were included in their repertoire, and for the first time an audience outside Denmark discovered his ballets and responded enthusiastically to them. London, Edinburgh, New York and other cities acclaimed his style as a new discovery. Indeed, it was entirely new to most of these audiences. Ever since it was created, this Bournonville style has been cherished by each generation of dancers in Denmark, and carefully passed on. From childhood, the dancers are taught the essence of a period that has long been forgotten everywhere else.

Bournonville was a great dancer who had been trained by some of the finest teachers in Paris during the first quarter of the nineteenth century. Had travelling been easier in those days, and had the status of the male dancer been more generally recognized by the European public, he might not have settled in Copenhagen. His choreography established the vital importance of the position of the male dancer. Because he was a strong dancer as well as a truly great choreographer, he created roles which remain a technical challenge to this day. He not only considered the man equal in importance to the ballerina, but in some ballets made him the central figure. As a result, the standard of the male dancer in the Royal Danish Ballet has always remained on a high level.

To some degree the Bournonville repertoire, in all its greatness, has perhaps kept Denmark from producing ballerinas in the style associated with and produced by the great Petipa ballets. However, Bournonville in no sense asked less of the ballerina, technically. In most of his ballets you will find her having to dance variations as strenuous and difficult as those of the leading male dancer, and in the pas de deux as conceived by him they often dance opposite one another executing the same steps. These were designed to stress the vitality and strength of the man, so sometimes they may have unjustly revealed the weaknesses of the ballerina. I am speaking only of the actual dancing in Bournonville’s ballets, and not of the characterizations, which in most cases were profoundly imagined, beautifully balanced, and in perfect accord with his themes and the means of expression of that period.

The Bournonville repertoire and school developed fine performers for one specific style. However, it did not produce dancers of sufficient range and versatility to meet the challenge of today’s ballets. Therefore, changes were made in the school.

In 1951 the Royal Danish Ballet had the good fortune to obtain the services of the great Mme Vera Volkova. When she arrived, the entire school was reorganized under her direction. Through her teaching and supervision of the school in general, she has improved the approach to the child, the student and the professional dancer in the various stages through which they must pass. She has raised the technical standards, developing dancers with a greater range, who are more adaptable to the various styles of contemporary choreographers. The present teachers, and especially the younger ones who developed under her guidance, have naturally been strongly influenced by her way of teaching. To many in Denmark this appears to be a revolutionary change, not in accordance with the long-established Bournonville traditions and the maintenance of the Bournonville repertoire. But, as anyone can see, the Danish dancers of today have a stronger and purer technique than ever before. Through the improvement of the school during the past ten years they are now capable of performing, and most successfully, works by such modern choreographers as Balanchine, Robbins, Ashton and Petit. Previously the new forms which they have created would have been entirely alien to the repertoire of the Royal Danish Ballet and the dancers trained exclusively in the Bournonville school.

Soon after I graduated in 1947, I had the opportunity to study in London and Paris, and to dance first with the Metropolitan Ballet in England and later, after a time at home, with the American Ballet Theatre. I began to get acquainted with different schools and to discover other ways of training and approach in the ballet world outside of Denmark. I began to understand the importance of a varied and well-rounded training. For a while I even wanted to forget all about the Bournonville school, while I was trying to strengthen these aspects of technique which it had perhaps neglected, while gaining new and important experience as a performer in a new and different repertory.

Then, in 1951, as I was leaving Copenhagen for my second tour with the American Ballet Theatre, our leading Danish ballet critic, Svend Kragh-Jacobsen, gave me, as a farewell present, a rare little book, «Etudes choregraphiques», written by Bournonville himself. It consists of various exercises, beginning at the barre, through centre work and concluding with combinations of steps designed to improve ballon and elevation. Bournonville dedicates this book to his pupils and his colleagues, the professional dancers. Perhaps at the time I received it I appreciated only the generous thought which prompted Mr. Kragh-Jacobsen to give it to me, and only vaguely realized that it was possibly also meant to be a reminder of my “past".

In 1959 I brought this little book to the United States and showed it to Lillian Moore. Her interest and enthusiasm, and her knowledge of the history and traditions of the Danish ballet, gave me perhaps my second reminder of my Bournonville background, as well as a deeper арpreflation of values I had taken for granted, and an insight into things I had not realized before, in any conscious way. (p40)

In studying Bournonville’s book, I have come to feel in some ways more in contact with him, and closer to understanding his aims, than when I was first taught his school. When he wrote it for his pupils and dancers, he stressed that they should apply the exercises according to their individual needs. These exercises were designed from his own personal experience as a dancer and teacher, and they prove his flexibility and his understanding of a dancer’s body. It is as though, in this book, Boumonville hands you personally and directly his vast knowledge of the ballet and the processes involved in making a dancer.

Some of Bournonville’s exercises are not known, or seldom practised today (or practised differently) outside Denmark. We are not trying to advocate them as a new system, method or secret. However, we think they have a definite value which would be beneficial as a supplement to any dancer's training, when applied correctly (as Bournonville insisted in his little book) by the teacher or the mature dancer himself. We submit them in the hope that they may prove part of the means with which to achieve greater knowledge and ever-expanding artistic experience.

END

Foreword to "Choreographic Studies" by August Boumonville

Dance is an art, because it demands vocation, knowledge and ability. It is a fine art, because it aims towards an ideal, not only of plastic beauty, but also of lyric and dramatic expressiveness.

The beauty which it strives to attain is not founded on vague principles of fashion or mere enjoyment, but on the immutable laws of nature.

The art of mime encompasses all the changes of the soul: the dance is essentially fitted to express joy and to follow the rhythm of the music.

The purpose of art in general and of the theatre in particular (whether its direction be comic or tragic) is to elevate the soul and strengthen the spirit. The dance should, then, arm itself especially against the too pronounced preference of a blase public for effects which are contrary to good manners, good taste and the true interests of art.

Joy is strength; intoxication is weakness. Noble simplicity will always be beautiful. The astonishing, on the contrary, soon becomes boring. The dance can, with the aid of music, raise itself to the heights of poetry, but on the other hand it can equally, through excess of acrobatics, descend to the stunts of the mountebank. So- called difficulties are executed by numerous adepts, but the appearance of ease is achieved only by the chosen few. The summit of talent is to know how to conceal the mechanism through the calm harmony which is the foundation of true grace.

To maintain this easy grace, in the midst of the most fatiguing movements, is the great problem of the dance, and such virtuosity cannot be acquired without good exercises, designed to develop the qualities and eliminate the imperfections which everyone, not even excepting the greatest talents, is obliged to combat. It is such exercises which l present here to my dear pupils as well as to my worthy colleagues, reminding them of the oft-repeated saying, that it is not so much on the number of exercises. as on the care with which they are executedthat progress and skill depend.

[FOTO] August Bournonrille (1805-79) is responsible for the tradition and an important part of the repertoire of the Royal Danish Ballet today.

[FOTO] Mlle Lucile Grahn, Bournonville’s favorite pupil, in “La Sylphidewhich he staged for the Royal Danish Ballet in 1836. “La Sylphide" is still danced by that company.

Conversation with Erik Bruhn by Eugene Palatsky

Erik Bruhn, as co-author with Lillian Moore of Boumonville and Ballet Technique, suggests in his introductory remarks that the book’s lessons might aid the dancer “to achieve greater knowledge and ever-expanding artistic experience.”

An appropriate phrase, for such a purpose largely sums up Erik Bruhn’s career to date. From Copenhagen to London to Paris to America, and then ’round the world with American Ballet Theatre, he has constantly re-examined his art, sifting for new experiences, new meaning, profiting from each venture. Though it may seem to the audience on certain theatre nights that he could not surpass himself, Erik would retire immediately if he weren't certain of coming closer to perfection tomorrow.

Last May, the young man was home to his haven in Copenhagen, participating in the Royal Danish Ballet Festival. He stayed away from post-performance receptions, for minds like his stop functioning in the cocktail party atmosphere. Yet, a dancer who thinks deeply about his work wants to communicate, to hear how his ideas sound, if nothing else. This he did. in quiet, unhurried conversations away from the Royal Theatre.

His thoughts revealed his concentration on the idea of giving more of himself through dance — not in generosity to the audience, but as mental-physical release, total expression, as though he were trying to say something with every fiber of his body and brain. He has varied his dance associations over the years to broaden. intensify and polish this release.

As for his original reason for leaving the Danish ballet in 1947 and going to England. Erik Bruhn doesn't intellectualize. He merely felt “wrong” in the then Boumomille-dominated classes and repertoire and felt the need to broaden his experience.

Returning periodically in guest capacity. Erik Bruhn seems to dance best in Copenhagen. In the classical pas de deux, in Chopiniana particularly, and even in the raucous Carmen, he softens his virtuosity with a poetic restraint, a gentle masculinity. that is sometimes lacking in New York. At home he pours forth a noble excellence which seems to summarize his worldwide experience.

In England, on his first contact with the outside world, he saw all that was then new in ballet — Sadlers Wells, Rambert, (p.41) the de Basil Co., Petit, Babilee. He was amazed at the variety of expression.

He joined Metropolitan Ballet, the respectable touring company which lasted three years in postwar Britain. One-week stands, dirty hotels, bad food. “But we danced everything.” Two teenagers, Erik Bruhn and Svetlana Beriosova, danced Spectre de la Rose. Often he was thrown into performance after semi-rehearsal, with colleagues cueing him from the wings. “This is the great challenge. Now you must show what you are, what your training has meant. You must create onstage, sometimes just improvising.”

Bruhn enlarged his repertoire and vocabulary in Metropolitan Ballet. During a summer of classes in Paris, he tried to “consolidate” his new technique, to the point of wrenching a knee, which troubled him for years after.

Blevins Davis, a patron of Ballet Theatre, spotted him in Copenhagen in 1949, and Erik Bruhn was subsequently invited to join the company. That November he made his American debut as Benno, supporting Nana Gollner and Igor Youskevitch in a Baltimore Swan Lake. His early parts were Orestes in Helen of Troy, a Pink Boy in Theme and Variations, Paris in Romeo and Juliet, and an occasional Nutcracker pas de deux or Prince Charming. Yet his progress was not too rapid. Though he kept reappearing for Ballet Theatre seasons, he would return each summer to Copenhagen.

It was not until 1954 that he determined, “I will go back to Ballet Theatre, and stay there. If I make mistakes, I will correct them there.” He began to understand that each performance was an accumulation of everything that had gone before, good and bad. He realized that he must step on stage each night and dance with all his strength… then reflect between performances… and dance the next night with new thoughts on the subject, recreating everything.

The key moment is at curtain time, when “you bring all this accumulation to bear, remove you from yourself, and let it happen.”

Ballet Theatre, for him, allowed this type of maturing process. Performances night after night, quick cast changes, hard work, overwork - far different from the security and complacency of a state theatre. Each night was a new challenge, and the young Dane made it a useful one. The payoff came at the storied matinee in May, 1955, when he danced Giselle with Alicia Markova at the Metropolitan Opera House, and the world had a new premier danseur.

Giselle had been under-rehearsed. But he absorbed everything he could from talks with Markova. “She explained just what her character was doing at each moment. Then it was simple. I could naturally respond, and find my place. When it was over, I didn’t know quite what had happened. But it had all seemed very natural.”

This ability to comprehend the theatrical purpose of each movement and moment has been vital in his artistic development. He has enjoyed collaborating with Birgit Cullberg, watching her drive ahead intensely with her dramatic development, then filling in the sketch with significant movement. He realizes that mime is not separate from dancing, that a pirouette can be happy or - as with Jean, the butler - hateful.

Эта способность постигать смысл каждого движения и момента была жизненно важна для его художественного развития. Ему нравилось работать с Бриджит Кулльберг, наблюдая за ее энергичным движением вперед, ее драматическим развитием, а затем заполнять эскиз осмысленным движением. Он понимает, что мимика неотделима от танца, что пируэтом может выразить счастье, или, как с Яном-слугой - ненависть.

During the three months he spent with the New York City Ballet in 1959-60, he learned to understand and appreciate George Balanchine.

За три месяца, проведенные с the New York City Ballet в 1959-1960 годах, он научился понимать и ценить Джорджа Баланчина.

Erik disagrees with the City Center dancers who sometimes complain that Balanchine speaks to them only in technical terms, ignoring the mood and meaning.

“If you watch him while he is counting ... he doesn’t exactly demonstrate . . . but his body inflection, his facial expression indicate everything he wants.

I learned his Swan Lake by watching him work with Maria Tallchief. As he talked to her, guiding her through the adagio, he unconsciously moved about, reacting to her movements . . . and I knew then what I should be doing as the Prince.”

He observed that a new Balanchine ballet reaches its peak performance six months after the premiere — “because Balanchine and the dancers keep working on it.” Erik Bruhn disapproves of the too- secure company which studies a ballet for three months, shows in the premiere what it has prepared, and then repeats that single interpretation on succeeding nights.

He would like to dance again with the Balanchine company, “maybe to finish learning Apollo.” But he is vague about the future. He maintains a principal goal — perfection as a dancer-person - yet he prefers to have no pattern of existence, allowing his opportunities to just happen.

He is reputed to be an excellent teacher, and he enjoys teaching. Many Danes hope he will someday be ballet master of the Royal Danish Ballet. Teaching company class occasionally in Copenhagen during the festival, he was very demanding of the boys — naturally, for he demands the impossible of himself. He spoke severely to a budding ballerina in the company, telling her she must now forget what the teacher had said about the Don Quixote variation, and rethink it herself. “You have taken, taken, taken from your teachers. Now you must give something.” Again, he meant “giving” as self-expression, release.

Choreography still interests him; but he has composed no complete work since Festa (Ballet Theatre Workshop, 1957), which had artful moments worthy of another try. He gathers pieces of music from time to time, and stores them away until he should again feel the choreographic urge.

Erik Bruhn expresses his appreciation for help received from teachers, partners, choreographers and directors — if he is specifically asked. He is not ungrateful, but he seems to rely on no one. Viewing his career as an introspective study, he reflects on his needs and weaknesses, and solves them himself, whether they be emotional dilemmas or a suspected flaw in his dance technique.

Some wavering confidence is balanced by his shining, underplayed comic sense.

Perhaps his vigorous forefathers, the Vikings, were like handsome, searching Erik Bruhn - for they, too, were world conquerors.

END

#dance magazine #Febrary 1962 #Erik Bruhn #article

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nightly-sereine · 5 years

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Me, normally playing rogue class in D&D: I am a lone wolf, I trust no one, it will take 20 sessions for me to warm up to you. I have flawless gramar and skin and will 10/10 stab you.

Me, playing mah Boi J4Y-D3: this is my Tolken Tall Person whom I have just met in this super dark and scary alternate timeline, who I will trust to protect me so that I can hide behind them in order to deal sneak attack damage in combat and initiate the integration of our two teams. I look like I died last week and what is gramar? That sound like a food thing.

#me at me: who dis? who is this?#where did he come from #where #I don't remember having any of those emotions #what is going on #who is this baby?#I will eventually get some good art #I am simply going through an art block and my hand will do nothing my brain asks it to do even less than it normally does #I'll post art when I feel good about it again #toired #very much so #g'night

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straypurplebread · 10 months

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Nex Galius

~loading data…

Spectre status recognised, welcome Nex Galius.

My boy Nex…also known as Rocher’s very secret simp lmao

Also yes this is a sketch I am toired cry

#art #artwork #turian #turians #mass effect art #mass effect

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expectomoony · 8 years

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Finding the Right Words, a Victeddy fanfic

I started this sooo long ago, which is why the beginning kinda sucks, but I PROMISE it gets better (at least I think it does). anyway, since I’ve finally decided to post my own writing on here, here is my first ever completed fic. enjoy (to anyone that actually reads it).

There are plenty of moments that have occurred throughout my life where the details are rather hazy to me. Parts of the scene are missing, or the dialogue is not exact. However, there is one memory that is sharper than a needle point. Every breath, every word, every movement—all of it is embedded into my mind, never to be forgotten. And at some point, I decided that it would stay unforgotten. Thus convincing me to write down, retell this memory, and the many others that have been sparked by this one. So now I will tell you of a day that changed my life, leading to many more life-changing days. I am going to tell you of the very first time I met Teddy Lupin, and how he shaped my life in ways I could never imagine.

It was Christmas Eve at the Burrow. Every Christmas is sort of like a family reunion with my dad's side of the family, the Weasley side. I don't look anything like a typical Weasley. My younger brother Louis and I both inherited my mother's veela looks—slight, with silvery-blond hair and pale skin. My sister Dominique has a much more Weasley-esque look about her, with her strawberry blond hair and a delicate spray of freckles on her cheeks. But that's beside the point. Anyway, on Christmas, every member of the Weasley family gathered at Gran and Granddad Weasley's home. It was so overcrowded that eventually, Dad and a few others had to set up tents outside for some people to sleep in. Hey, we've got a pretty big family.

It was the Christmas I was ten, just a year before I was due to start at Hogwarts. In fact, I think I was the first of my cousins to start Hogwarts, so at the time, none of us were in school yet. I went to the Burrow with my father and siblings three days before Christmas to help Gran and Granddad. Over the next two days, Uncle Percy and Aunt Audrey came with Molly and Lucy, Uncle George and Aunt Angelina came with Fred and Roxanne, Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione came with Rosie and Hugo, and so on. I bet if I tried to go through everyone who came, I'd be writing for quite a long time. So let's cut to the chase. On Christmas Eve, the Potters came.

Now, because Aunt Ginny was the only daughter Gran ever had, her family is the only one not surnamed Weasley. Not that it's anything to be ashamed of. In fact, I think anyone descended from Harry Potter should be proud. Not that I'm not proud of being a Weasley. I'm just saying.

With Ginny and Harry came my cousins Lily, Albus, and James, who at the time were two, four, and five. However, someone else came too. I remember standing over by the Christmas tree, hanging ornaments. The Potters came through the door, meeting a chorus of greetings. I said hello to everyone, then returned to the tree. When people had cleared, I saw, standing uncomfortably behind Uncle Harry, was a boy who looked about eleven years. He had a shock of aqua hair and warm brown eyes that drew me to him instantly. He wasn't one of Harry and Ginny's sons, but…who was he? I was too shy to ask. So instead I tried completely to ignore the tugging feeling in my gut.

"Hi, Lily!" I said, hugging her.

"Hi, Toire!" She said. She'd been too young to say my name, so that's what she called me.

"Would you like to help me decorate?" I asked, and she nodded enthusiastically. So I hung up all the fragile, glass ornaments, and handed Lily the smaller ones to hang. When that was finished, I sat down to talk to my cousin Lucy, who was about six. The great thing about our family Christmases is that I always had someone to talk to. In fact, sometimes, rather than speaking, I would simply listen. And watch.

For instance, as I looked around the room, I saw Uncle Harry and Uncle Ron standing at Gran's sink, peeling a heaping pile of sprouts with knives, and laughing. Uncle George walked into the kitchen, and Uncle Ron mimed throwing his knife at the empty space next to Uncle George. For reasons unknown to me, this cause tears to slide down the cheeks of the three men, and they sat down, conversing seriously. For a moment I wondered why, and was tempted to ask, but just then my attention was directed elsewhere.

Maman was doing her usual imitation of one of Gran's favorite singers, Celestina Warbeck, a family tradition that had us all laughing every time, even Gran. Apparently the tradition started when most of my aunts and uncles were only about sixteen or seventeen, just barely a year before my parents got married. Dad said that Gran always played Celestina Warbeck on the wireless, and the first Christmas Maman spent with them, she decided to mock the witch's performance. At first, according to Dad, Gran did not find it in the least amusing, but now she laughs and claps along with everyone else. It's quite a show to see my mother flouncing about the room, tossing her hair and belting out songs like, "A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love," and "You Charmed the Heart Right Out of Me."

When Gran offered to let anyone who wanted to help bake cookies, my cousins and I scrambled and squabbled to get into the kitchen. Everyone knew that the first one always got a lick of the dough. When the cookies were baked and everyone was munching on them and chatting away, I sat in silence, noticing another who did the same. That boy, with the turquoise hair, stood off to the side, near the coatrack, as though hoping no one would notice. Instantly I could tell he felt out of place. Of course he would. Anyone who'd never had Christmas with us before would. But I didn't want him to feel that way. I wanted him to feel welcome. More importantly, I wanted to at least know his name.

When the last of the eggnog had been drained from the glasses, and yawns began to fill the air, everyone got the message that it was time to head to bed. It was nearly eleven o'clock, and many of the youngest of the Weasley-Potter clan were already dozing off. Slowly, the sitting room emptied, until I was the only one left. Or so I thought. Figuring I might as well get some rest, I followed my mother upstairs, who was carrying my little brother Louis.

I sat up in the camp bed, unable to lie down and sleep. Something was bothering me, and I knew what it was. I just needed to think about it. So I bundled into my dressing gown and tiptoed down the winding staircase, careful not wake any of my family members. Lightly, I pushed open the front door and stepped out onto the white sheet that blanketed the valley. For some reason, I didn't mind the cold. Instead, I made my way across the yard and settled under a tall, sloping tree, leaning against its smooth bark. I thought I was alone, but that thought vanished quickly when I saw a dark figure stumbling out onto the lawn. I braced myself, but as the figure drew closer, I relaxed, seeing that it was only the mysterious boy. Soon, he came close enough for me to stare closely into his amber eyes. He watched me from a few feet away, then came closer, closer until he was sitting under the tree as well, directly across from me. I didn't speak, and neither did he. We simply stared, quite unsure of what to do.

"I've been watching you all night," the boy's smooth, clear voice broke the silence.

I didn’t meet his gaze “I have, too,” I admitted. “Umm…may I ask…who are you?” I watched for any changes in facial expression. None.

"Teddy," the boy said. "Teddy Lupin." Lupin…

"You're—you're the son of Remus and Tonks, am I right? I've heard lots about them from my parents and my aunts and uncles."

The boy's face hardened. "Yes, they were my parents. I never knew them. My godfather tells me great things about them, but…I've always wished I could see it firsthand."

I nodded, unsure of what to say. "I…I'm really sorry. Honestly. From what I've heard, they were great people."

"Yep," he said. "From what I've heard, too." We sat in the cold, snowy silence, until it was broken by Teddy. "I live with my grandmother," he said, "And I visit with my godfather, Harry, all the time. But I always feel…so alone."

I reached out my hand until it touched his. "But you're not," I whispered, squeezing his hand. It was surprisingly warm, and I felt all the tension and worry and sadness between us just melting away. It was just Teddy and me, in the icy air. And even though I was sitting there, sitting with this eleven-year-old boy, who I'd only met that very day, somehow, nothing else mattered. It was like lightning had struck and left me with something different, something unique, something truly amazing…it had left me with Teddy Lupin.

It was a bit less than a year later, my first day of Hogwarts. Maman gave me a kiss, and whispered, "Good luck, dear." She kissed me on the top of my head.

"Bye," I replied. " See you at Christmas."

I gave my father a hug as well. "Bye, Dad," I said. Then I gave my nine-year-old sister, Dominique, a kiss. "See you soon," I said to her.

She looked up at me with pleading eyes. "You'll write us letters, right?"

I nodded. "Of course." I gave Louis a hug, and then, tugging my trunk, I boarded the Hogwarts Express.

I wandered down the aisles, searching for a place to sit, not paying attention the people in the seats. Suddenly, there was a sharp rap on glass to my left. I jumped and turned. Teddy Lupin was sitting with a few other boys. His face was pressed against the glass, housing an expression I could not quite read, and he beckoned to me. Warily, I stepped closer, and opened the door. It had seemed an alright idea in the moment, but the very minute I sat down, it was completely strange. The other boys in the compartment, about three of them, eyed me, wearily or suspiciously, I couldn't tell. Teddy…well…he looked me straight in the eye, his brown on my blue, and I stared back. He held his gaze for just a few moments before dropping it to his lap, cheeks burning red. Mine felt very similar, so in a search for something to serve as a distraction, I rummaged in my trunk for a book, pulling out the first one I caught hold of. Hogwarts, a History. Excellent. I just couldn't wait to dive into an endless drone of the history behind my thousand-year-old school. (Sarcasm) Aunt Hermione, apparently, quoted this book constantly, which doesn't make it anymore exciting to me. I flipped to a random page, and began reading about the housing of poltergeists and ghosts at Hogwarts. Excellent. I've always wanted to attend a haunted school.

Eventually I got bored (who couldn't?) and lifted my eyes, scanning the small space. There were two boys next to Teddy, one of whom had crossed to the other side to make room for me. One had light brown hair and bluish eyes, the other pale straw hair and a face as pale as milk, eyes the same. The boy on my bench had reddish-blond hair, much like my sister's, and brown eyes. Finally, the silence became too uncomfortable for me to handle, so I broke it.

"So, Teddy…" I started off, searching for something to say. He looked up, somewhat startled, at the mention of his name. "Er - what year are you in again?"

"Third," he replied.

Okay…I needed to find some other type of conversation. Not the weather, not the weather… I told myself. "Um…could you tell me a bit about the classes?"

At this, Teddy seemed to brighten a little. "Yes, of course. There's Charms, which is where you'll learn just about every spell you'll need to know. Transfiguration, well, it's exactly as it sounds. Potions is decent, if you don't mind old Professor Slughorn…he's a fine man, but he's incredibly old…he taught in my father's day! Then there's Defense Against the Dark Arts, my father used to teach it…" he trailed off, staring at his shoes. "Anyway, it's rather fascinating. You'll probably enjoy it, if you're like your father, Bill." And with that he said no more.

The rest of the ride was…uneventful. Teddy made small talk with the other boys, and I gazed out the window at the landscape rushing by, as the blue sky gradually faded to light pink. A plump old witch came by with a cart of snacks, from which Teddy told me I must sample a pumpkin pasty. He said the ones on the Hogwarts Express are the best, and I can tell you from experience that he is 100% correct. The five us swapped chocolate frog cards, and when I ripped open mine, I was surprised by what I saw.

"Hey, Teddy, look at this!" I read the card out loud.

"Ronald Bilius Weasley, born 1st of March, 1980. He is currently married to Hermione Weasley, née Granger. He is probably best known for assisting his best friend, Harry Potter, in defeating the Dark Lord."

Teddy laughed. "It's your uncle Ron! I'd forgotten, Harry told me that he, Ron, and Hermione all got their own cards. If you don't mind, may I keep that one?" "Of course. You don't know how many times Uncle Ron has bragged about having his own card."

We laughed and I handed him the card. He examined it quickly before tucking it into his pocket. Soon he began chatting with his friends, and I reached into my trunk for a piece of parchment and a quill. I dipped the quill in ink and began dictating a letter, although to whom, I'm not sure.

September 1st, 2011 Dear…I left that part blank, since I didn't actually know who I was writing to. It's the first day of school. I got on the Hogwarts Express, searching for a seat. Teddy Lupin gestured for me to join him in his compartment, so I did. It was strange at first. I've only met Teddy once before, at Christmas last year, but we'd only exchanged a few words. So naturally it's been a bit awkward. Teddy told me about some of the classes, and we swapped chocolate frog cards, but now it's strange all over again. He's talking to his friends and I'm sitting in the corner, unsure of what to do. Is this how it's always going to be? I mean, Teddy and I aren't friends. At least not yet. I haven't even developed a proper opinion of him. I guess I'll just have to wait and see. I mean, things change over time, right? Sincerely, Victoire

It was short, but that didn't matter. It wasn't as though I was going to be mailing it, anyway. I folded it up and tucked it away in my trunk. I looked up, suddenly aware of the silence that had settled upon our compartment. All four boys were staring at me. I felt my cheeks flush a brilliant pink.

"What?" I asked, feeling incredibly self-conscious.

"Well…" Teddy said, evidently embarrassed himself. "It's just that…we're almost to the school. And…we should probably change into our robes. Which means…"

"Oh." Realization dawned on me. "I-um…I'll go find another compartment. With a girl."

And with that I grabbed my robes and left. I found a compartment with a girl named Penelope, and once I was changed, I returned to where the boys were. They too had changed into their robes, and the atmosphere was not quite as awkward as it had been minutes before. The four boys were clowning around, tossing something back and forth, yelling like hooligans. I rolled my eyes and took my seat, picking up my copy of A History of Magic. I'll admit, while I previously had no intention of studying history, I found that it actually was rather interesting. I read for the remainder of the trip, while the boys engaged in whatever else thirteen-year-old wizard boys do.

When the train pulled into Hogsmeade station, it was a mad dash to the exit. I was instructed to leave my trunk the train, and so I wandered into the sea of students. I found Penelope, the girl who'd let me change in her compartment, and together we boarded one of the tiny rowboats first years were supposed to arrive at Hogwarts in. The lake glittered in an eerie sort of way, but that made me even more excited. Penelope and I chatted excitedly about what house we might be sorted into as we paddled closer and closer to the silhouette of Hogwarts in the distance. Secretly I didn't think I could ever be sorted into Gryffindor like the rest of my family (besides Maman, of course). I didn't think I was that brave—I didn't feel like I was that brave. If anything, I'd be a Ravenclaw or maybe a Hufflepuff.

Before I knew it we had arrived at the castle. I, along with the other first-years, exited the boats and followed the half-giant Rubeus Hagrid into the castle, where we were met by Headmistress McGonagall. The first-years gathered in the Great Hall, and I watched as Teddy took his seat at the Hufflepuff table. Truth be told, I had no idea which house I wanted to be sorted into. Every Weasley, including my father, had been sorted into Gryffindor. My mum went to Beaxbatons, obviously, so I didn't have anything else to go by. All I could hope was that I didn't disappoint my family.

It's true that I hadn't really realized just how far to the end of the alphabet Weasley is until I sat through at least 80 other names being called. Penelope Duplo, the girl I'd met on the train, had been sorted into Ravenclaw. Before I knew it, "Weasley, Victoire" had been called. I stumbled up to the stool, where the hat was slipped over my eyes. Ah, Miss Weasley. The very first of the new generation. How excited I am to sort you.

Not going to lie, hearing his voice in person for the first time was slightly unnerving, even after hearing all my relatives describe their sorting experiences. The Hat's voice was frosty and yet crackled like fire. In a word, indescribable.

My, you come from a long line of Weasleys. But there's a chance you mayn't be like the rest. Clearly you've got courage, but enough for Gryffindor? No. I will admit, my heart dropped just a bit when he said this. I wasn't good enough for Gryffindor? No Weasley had ever been told that. But perhaps he was right.

Ah, disappointed? I thought you would be. My apologies, dear Victoire, but I only want the best house for you. Most certainly not Slytherin…but Hufflepuff… I immediately thought to Teddy. I didn't love Hufflepuff, but being in the same house as Teddy wouldn't be so bad…

Oh, I see, you have a preference…however, I don't think Hufflepuff is the place for you. I guess it had better be…RAVENCLAW!

Well, Ravenclaw wasn't bad at all. I'd kind of automatically assumed I'd be in Gryffindor, given my family history, but hey, Ravenclaw meant I was smart. Nice. Plus, I was in the same house as Penelope. I wasn't with Teddy, but he was a third year anyway. I wouldn't have seen him that much regardless. I took my seat next to Penelope.

After dinner we were shown to our dormitories. Having not known anyone in Ravenclaw, except for maybe Aunt Luna, I had no idea what to expect. Let me just say, the Ravenclaw dormitories and common room are about the most exquisitely beautiful places. But that night I was so tired, I barely had time to notice. As soon as I reached my room, I hit the silk pillowcase and fell asleep.

My first year went by rather quickly, with almost no real interactions with Teddy. He said hi to me in the hallways, of course, and he and his grandmother spent Christmas with us once again, but nothing real happened. You know what I mean. This is about my relationship with Teddy, and nothing in my first year happened that's worth including. Second year wasn't much either. In fact, it wasn't until I was in third year and he was in fifth that sparks started to fly between us. (Yes, I'm cheesy. Deal with it.)

Okay, I know I said nothing happened in second year, but the truth was that Teddy and I slowly became better friends. By October of my third year, seeing each other wasn't awkward. After two years, it was just natural. Then Teddy asked me to go to Hogsmeade with him.

Now, just so we're clear, it wasn't like, on a date or anything. In fact, he hadn't exactly asked me. He'd just asked if I was going to Hogsmeade, and when I told him I was, he said that we should meet up. But thirteen-year-old-me was too confused to think completely logically, and I freaked out to Penelope on the way there. "What will he want to talk about? What if I make myself look stupid?"

"Relax," Penelope reassured me. "He just wants to hang out. As friends. Because that's all you are. Just friends." At the time, I'd been too distracted to notice it, but it almost seemed as though Penelope was reassuring herself more than she was me.

What was I worried about anyway? Teddy and I were friends. We'd hung out before, and this wasn't any different. In the very depths of my mind, though, I felt as though it was. I entered the Three Broomsticks, trying not to draw attention to myself. Teddy had said he'd be in a booth near the back, so I wandered towards there till I caught sight of his aqua hair. I slid into the seat across from him.

"Hey, Victoire!" He smiled brightly. "I was wondering where you'd gotten off to."

I laughed nervously. The great thing about Teddy was that he could make anyone comfortable, no matter the circumstance. We chatted aimlessly about classes and the weather and anything, really. We both ordered butterbeers with extra foam and we both ended up with whipped cream mustaches. It was so much fun, and I left the Three Broomsticks in the brisk October wind feeling like I was glowing.

Back in my dormitory, I pulled out my parchment and quill to write. Over the last two years I'd made a habit of writing letters, specifically whenever something had happened with Teddy. I'd found it was like a diary, a good outlet for my feelings.

One word: glowing. That's how I feel right now. Teddy and I went to the Three Broomsticks. Yes, I know, it's not a big deal, but considering how nervous I was, it was pretty great, and not at all awkward. I can't believe I was so freaked out! I mean, here I was, lamenting over this for a week, ranting to Penelope, and nothing embarrassing or awful even happened. Now that I think about, why was I even nervous in the first place? I mean, this is Teddy. I've known him for three years. We're friends. It shouldn't be awkward. It wasn't awkward. It was especially funny, though, when Teddy and I got whipped cream all over our faces. We both laughed so hard.

This became our tradition for the next two years, although it didn't always end well. That's for later, though. Right now I've got to talk about the Yule Ball, in my fourth year.

I know what you're thinking. No, we did not hold the Triwizard Tournament. But Professor McGonagall thought it would be a good "bonding experience" for the students. She even invited the students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons, which was nice because I got to see Dom. Anyway, about a week before the ball, I was standing outside the great hall, chatting with my sister, when Teddy walked up.

"Hey, Dom," He greeted. Then he turned to me. "Hey, do you want to go to the Yule Ball with me? It can be just as friends if you want. I don't really care. But what do you say?"

I stared, speechless. Teddy was asking me to the Yule Ball? Why? He looked at me, waiting for an answer.

"Uh…yes, sure, of course. And, as friends, if you'd like."

Teddy nodded. "Okay, that's what I thought." He caught himself. "That you'd want to go as friends. Not that you'd say yes. I didn't know that." Then he turned and walked off in the other direction, muttering to himself.

Dominique giggled. "Smooth."

I shoved her lightly. "Shut up."

The night of the ball was nerve-wracking, to say the least. At 5:30 I stood in front off the full length mirror in our dormitory, staring at myself. I wore a knee-length light pink dress that complimented my long silvery-blond hair. Nellie wore a dark green dress that looked rather stunning with her strawberry blonde hair. From the corner of my eye, I noticed her watching me with an envious sort of glint in her eye. I didn't ask, though, and we walked down the Great Hall together. We stopped in front of the doors, and, inhaling simultaneously, stepped through.

Oh, it was definitely breathtaking. So stunning I couldn't possibly describe it in words, or a picture, or anything. I'd never seen the Great Hall like this before, and I couldn't help but wonder why they didn't hold this ball more often. I looked to my right to see Teddy, whose turquoise hair clashed with his silvery-gray dress robes. We locked eyes, and he grinned and sidled up to me. "You're looking rather fine this evening, Miss Weasley."

My cheeks flushed pink, but I smiled. "Why thank you. You're not looking too bad yourself, Mister Lupin."

Teddy took my hand and we danced. It was around 11 that Teddy whispered in my ear, "Did you hear? They've got a garden area set up outside, same as the last time they held the Yule Ball." And, grasping my hand, he pulled me outside. We wove through the shrubbery maze until we found a secluded area and sat down on a stone bench. Snowflakes began to fall, creating a perfect scene.

"Hey," Teddy said softly. "Remember the last time we were out in the snow alone together?"

I smiled. "How could I not? It was the first time we met, after all."

"Gosh, has it really been four years? It feels like a long time, but at the same time…no time at all." Teddy looked into my eyes and smiled.

I know what you're thinking, and no, we did not kiss. Well, not really, anyway. Teddy just sort of planted a light kiss on my cheek, and that was that. Well, almost. With the snow falling lightly around us, it did feel kind of magical.

That night I sat up in my bed, scribbling a new letter on a fresh piece of parchment.

Teddy asked me to the Yule Ball, and I'll admit I was a bit nervous and confused at first. I mean, out of all the girls at the school, why would Teddy pick me? Even if we did go as friends. Friends indeed, he kissed my cheek! What am I supposed to think about that? Nothing, I guess, I mean it was a friendly gesture more than it was romantic. If Teddy had wanted it to be romantic, he would've kissed me for real. And for the sake of our friendship I'm glad that he didn't. Right?

So I guess after that I had my hopes up for mine and Teddy's relationship. Over the course of that year, I think my feelings for Teddy began to get stronger. For the first time, I didn't deny that my feelings for Teddy were more than just those of two friends. And that's what scared me the most.

I didn't spend as much time with Teddy in the next few months, but that was mainly due to our completely different schedules. Then a Hogsmeade trip came up, and I got excited. Hogsmeade was how Teddy and I had hung out for basically the past year and a half, and even though Teddy hadn't actually said anything to me, I kind of assumed we'd meet up at the Three Broomsticks like always.

So imagine my surprise when I walk past the window on my way to the door, only to see Teddy sitting at the booth with another girl. I had gone to Hogsmeade alone, Nellie had plans (plans? Seriously? We're best friends, for Pete's sake.) and Rachel and Alessia, the other girls in my dormitory, were staying at school. Curious as to who else could be with Teddy, I turned and pressed my face to the glass, examining the girl. Her strawberry-blonde ponytail swung around and I saw her face. I gasped. It was Nellie.

My best friend blew me off for my maybe-sort-of-possible crush and longtime friend?! Well I mean, it's not like Nellie could've known. And Teddy obviously. But it would explain why Teddy had been avoiding me like the plague that week, and why Nellie had been so vague about her plans for the weekend. I couldn't believe it.

Of course, it was possible that they just wanted a chance to hang out without me around. But when I looked at them, I saw Nellie giggle and Teddy swung his arm around her, pulling her close. Okay, Teddy had never done that to me (aside from that whole kissing-on-the-cheek-thing). It was official—there was something going on between them—and I hated it.

I didn't even stay for the rest of the day. I stomped home in the chilly spring air and once I was back at school, I threw myself onto my bed and did the only thing I could think of—I wrote another letter.

If I could describe how I feel right now in a color, it would be red. Hot, burning, angry red. Mixed with some blue sadness and gray betrayal. Why do I feel betrayed? Because Nellie went on a possible date with Teddy! Oh goodness, I'm a terrible friend. Am I? I mean, I SHOULD be upset at them. Especially Nellie, for going out with Teddy and not bothering to tell me. And Teddy! The nerve of him, asking me to the Yule Ball, KISSING ME on the CHEEK, basically blatantly ignoring me, and then going out with my best friend! I'm seething with rage as of now. It's just…I know I shouldn't be mad at either of them. They do have every right to go out together, without me. I guess…I guess the real reason I'm upset isn't because I feel betrayed, it's because…I feel jealous?

I sighed, not knowing what to do. I packed away my letter and writing supplies and changed into my pajamas, falling dramatically back onto my bed. When I checked the time, it was only 4:30. I had some homework, but that could wait…I closed my eyes and slowly drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

I woke up next to Nellie clomping in, her hair tangled and cheeks flushed from the wind. She had the biggest grin on her face, and when she spoke, it was like she was a fairy ringing bells or something weirdly floaty like that. "Oh gosh, I just had the most amazing afternoon…" she trailed off, looking at me (nervously or expectantly? I couldn't tell).

I bit back my resentment and smiled. "Really? What did you do?" I waited to see if she'd tell me the truth or not, given how secretive she'd been before.

Just as I expected, Nellie hesitated. Finally she said, "I was at the Three Broomsticks. With…a friend." A friend?! Seriously? Since when were she and Teddy so chummy all of a sudden?

"Oh, really? Who? Anyone I know?"

Nellie bit her lip and said, "Um…yes, actually, er…Teddy Lupin?"

I felt slightly better knowing that at least Nellie was honest and truthful and didn't try to lie or avoid answering because frankly, that would've been even worse. I put on a faux smile and said, "Oh, that's…nice. Did you two have fun?"

Nellie seemed to relax slightly, knowing that I was (or at least appeared to be) okay with it. "Yes, actually, lots. We had a drink at the Three Broomsticks and then we went to Honeydukes and actually, Teddy's asked me on a second date next week…" Nellie faltered, her eyes growing wide, like she'd just let slip the secrets of the universe.

"How nice," I managed. "Er, I think I'm going to sleep now, it's quite late…"

"Victoire, it's only 6:45."

I cursed inwardly for not checking the time. "Yes, but I'm very tired, long day, you know? I should really sleep. See you tomorrow, Nellie." And that was that.

It became clear by the next week that Penelope Duplo was dating Teddy Lupin. The entirety of fourth and sixth years were talking about it, which I didn't understand because honestly it wasn't that big of a deal. Yeah, sure, she was a fourth year and he was in sixth, and yeah, she was a Ravenclaw and he was a Hufflepuff but really. Other than that, I couldn't understand why everyone was so hyped about it. Then, two weeks later, I found out.

I was in the library, browsing the history section. I'd become very interested in history in the last few years, to the point where I read history books for fun. Anyway, as I walked further down the aisle, I heard voices growing louder.

"—crazy, isn't it?" Someone asked.

"Without a doubt," the other voice agreed. "I mean, who would've thought? I always thought Teddy would end up with Victoire Weasley, not her best friend."

The other voice sighed. "Yeah, you're not the only one who thought that."

I blanched. People thought I should be dating Teddy? How messed up is that? Suddenly I thought of something. If Nellie found out, she'd hate me, not to mention she'd feel really hurt. So I arrived back to my dorm with baited breath, hoping Nellie hadn't heard. Thankfully, she hadn't, and I don't think she ever did at all while she and Teddy were dating.

They dated for…hmm…I want to say, 3 months? Maybe 4? I honestly didn't keep track. I didn't want to keep track. But I do know they started dating sometime in February, and I do remember Nellie coming to me in tears that May telling me she and Teddy had broken up. She never did tell me exactly who ended it, but I always had the slightest suspicion that Teddy was the one who dumped her. I couldn't believe it, but as guilty as I felt, I was almost happy that they'd broken up. Okay, scratch that, I was very happy they'd broken up. Sue me, I'm a terrible friend, but it's not as though I can control my own feelings. So the two weeks after their breakup I spent in a gloriously happy high, all while trying to pull Nellie through her equally miserable time.

Somehow I made it through fourth year without any more "complications". Then fifth year came around and Teddy was in seventh and it was the first year that Teddy and I didn't really hang out. I'd seen him less and less in fourth year, and to be honest, I really think Nellie made things awkward between us, and for a while a resented her for that. Yes, Nellie was my best friend, but it wasn't fair of her to come between someone so important to me, even if it was unintentional. And in case you're wondering, for the remainder of fourth year and all throughout I kept writing letters. And that was actually what got me into a hell of a lot of trouble.

This was November of my fifth year, just after Halloween. My last letter was from Halloween, when Teddy had asked me if I wanted to get a butterbeer after dinner and we'd spent about an hour in the Hufflepuff common room, chatting airily and drinking. It had been a major point in our interactions since, well, the Yule Ball pretty much. So of course I'd written about it. And I didn't really think much of that afterwards. But then I came back to our dormitory, only to find Nellie sitting on my bed, eyes glued to several pieces of parchment in her hands. With a jolt, I realized they were my letters.

Nellie was reading one with a horrified (or furious?) expression on her face. I noticed her eyes were red. Had she been crying?

She suddenly realized I was standing there, and she shot up from the bed, the remaining letters falling off the sheets and fluttering to the ground. "How could you?" Nellie's eyes flashed with anger.

"How could I what?" The best thing to do was assume I knew nothing.

"Don't play stupid with me, Victoire Apolline Weasley. You wrote these—these letters about Teddy, and how much you hated our relationship! The best three months of my life!" Tears ran down her cheeks.

And then I was mad. "Penelope, you have no right to be upset, considering the fact that those letters were private! They were like my diary, and you had no right to read them! How did you even find those?"

Penelope reddened a bit, and I knew that she had secretly known she shouldn't have read them. "I…I was looking for your potions textbook, since I couldn't find mine and I figured you wouldn't mind if I borrowed yours. So I started rummaging through your trunk and these fell out. They were wrapped in string and I didn't know what they were so I took the first one out and started reading it." She took a deep breath. "I…I knew I shouldn't have. I knew it was wrong. But I just couldn't help myself. I realized they were about Teddy and I got even curiouser. And then I read about the letters from when we were dating…and I got upset. I'm sorry, Victoire."

I stared. One minute she was screaming at me, the next she was apologizing? Hormones, clearly. But I couldn't just ignore her apology. It was the right thing of her to do, after all, even if it was spawned from doing the wrong thing. "Thank you for apologizing, Nellie. And…I'm sorry I was jealous of you and Teddy. I should have been a better friend about that. And I should forgive you for reading my letters, but…that's going to take some time. Not a long time, but some time all the same. Especially since you should've known. I trusted you, after all."

Nellie hung her head. "I know, and I completely understand. I don't deserve for you to trust me after this." She was quiet for a moment. "Victoire…were you actually mad at me for going out with Teddy? And happy when we broke up?"

I sighed. "A little, yes, but I'm over that. It doesn't matter anymore."

And just like that the conversation was over. It took some time for Nellie and I to be completely over the fight, but eventually we got back to where we were before. And then suddenly Teddy was major in my life again.

It was Christmas. Teddy and Andromeda came to the Burrow again that year, which I was excited about. All the usual traditions took place, and after Gran put the cookies in the oven, we all sat down in the living room. While Uncle George was retelling his and Uncle Fred's escape from Hogwarts, I sat down at the foot of the tree, staring into the fire. I felt a presence next to me and turned to see Teddy Lupin. He gave me a sly grin. I'd spent enough time around Uncle George to know what that meant.

I rolled my eyes. "What did you do?" I had become so accustomed to my cousins and uncles (one uncle in particular) causing trouble throughout the years, so I had a feeling that nothing Teddy could've done would surprise me.

But Teddy simply smiled. "You'll see. Just wait until James takes a bite of his turkey leg."

And so when dinner came, everyone sat around the dining table. Gran made the blessing, and then the food was served. Sure enough, James got a leg and he eagerly picked it up to take a bite. One minute everything was peaceful. The next, there was a yellow flash and a stream of pus squirted from the plump part of the leg. James yelped and recoiled in horror (disgust, probably, too), as he threw the leg across the table. It landed on Lily's plate and she screamed and glared at James, probably because yellow-white pus was still streaming from the thing.

The adults were kind of at a loss for actions and words. Harry's face was in his hands, probably because two of his children had just completely disrupted dinner (even though it was actually Teddy who had done the disruption part of it). The younger kids were all stifling giggles behind their hands, and I turned to my left and realized Teddy had ducked under the table, he was laughing so hard. Luckily, no one noticed. Gran was muttering about how something must have gone wrong in the oven, while I kept my mouth shut.

Once everyone had gotten over the initial shock, the mess was cleaned up and dinner went on without another hitch. The mystery of who charmed James's turkey leg was never solved, and the only ones who ever knew the culprit were me and the culprit himself.

I think it was just after Christmas break, when we were sitting on the train going back to Hogwarts, when I had a realization. This was my last time I would be on a train to Hogwarts with Teddy. Ever since my first day, he and I had sat in a compartment together. It had become a tradition, and now the tradition was going to come to an end because Teddy was in his seventh and final year.

I swear we must have had a mental connection at that moment because he leaned over and whispered, "This is the last time we're going to Hogwarts together, you know."

I leaned back in surprise. "Yes, actually…I was just thinking about that."

"Aww," Teddy mocked. "You're going to miss me."

I scoffed. "I won't miss you. In fact, I'll actually be at peace for once."

Teddy leaned back in his seat, his arm tossed casually around my shoulders. "Oh, Victoire, don't you wish."

He wasn't wrong, you know.

Maybe it had to do with our exchange on the train, but the rest of fifth year went by way too fast for me. Before I knew it, I was attending Teddy's graduation ceremony. I sat in one of the golden rows with Andromeda, my parents and siblings, and all my Weasley aunts, uncles, and cousins. Everyone was excited to see Teddy graduate. With a jolt, I realized that until I was born, Teddy was technically the only child. I looked down to see Uncle Harry discreetly wiping a tear from his eye, and I realized he might not be the only adult with runaway emotions that day. Andromeda didn't even try to hide the fact that tears of pride were streaking their way down her cheeks.

I looked up on the stage to see rows of students, about one hundred and forty of them. They wore traditional plain back graduation robes (wizard-style), with matching caps (also wizard-style). I noticed many of them shifting nervously in their seats. I even caught a few teary faces and realized how emotional this actually must be. I waited somewhat impatiently for the ceremony to start.

Soon enough, Headmistress McGonagall stepped up to the podium, magnifying her voice with her wand. She went on and on about how hard the students had worked to get there, how many opportunities awaited them, etc. I didn't really pay attention though. I was more focused on Teddy, whose last name had placed him smack dab in the middle of all the students. He caught me looking and made eye contact, giving me a small smirk accompanied by a wink. I blushed a little a grinned back. Then McGonagall began calling up names. Pretty soon she got to Teddy. Instead of his usual cocky saunter, he strode up there with pride, all kidding aside. He received his diploma and returned to his seat, all traces of his previous smirk vanished. I waited patiently until the end of the ceremony, which was when my family and Andromeda would hold a graduation party for Teddy. I was excited at the prospect of not only my cousins and food, but also of possibly spending some extra time with Teddy. My wish came true just two hours later, outside of the Burrow.

Surprisingly, I found Teddy seated the beneath the tree where we very fist conversed. He had a look of…what, sadness, on his face? I couldn't tell. Silently, I sat down across from him. He looked up when he felt my presence.

"Hey," he said.

"Hi," I said. "What's up?"

Teddy sighed. "Nothing, I guess…it's just that now I'm done with school, I don't really know what I want to do with my life. Where to go. What to do. Who to be. Not to mention, I'll miss Hogwarts tremendously. And…" He seemed to hesitate. "…and you."

I felt my face and insides go warm. Teddy was going to miss me? I'd never felt more special. "Well…" I said, considering my words, "You can always go back and visit Hogwarts. You could even teach there if you really wanted to. And I…I'm not going anywhere. For now, anyways." I smiled shyly at him. He returned the smile. Then, without saying anything, Teddy leaned over and hugged me. Tightly. I hugged him back and honestly, it was as peaceful and content as I'd ever felt up until then.

The summer passed so much quicker than I wanted, and before I knew it I was on the train that would take me into my sixth year. Without Teddy. It was all I could do to keep from having an emotional meltdown.

I was seated in a compartment with Molly, Louis, Fred, and James. I would have sat with Nellie, but she had prefect duty and wouldn't come until later. My cousins were discussing what house Fred and James would be sorted into. I wasn't paying attention though. I couldn't stop thinking about Teddy. Eventually, though, I knew what to do. I was surprised I hadn't thought of it sooner.

I reached into my trunk and pulled out a quill, ink pot, and a roll of parchment. Looking at the materials before me, I sighed. I hadn't written one in so long. I picked up the quill and pressed it to the paper.

I can't stop thinking about Teddy. I miss him so much. We always sat in the same compartment on the train, but now it's just me and my cousins. And what I am I supposed to do in Hogsmeade without him to make a stupid comment about whipped cream all over my face? Or in the Hufflepuff common room while we help each other study? How am I even supposed to get through this year? Teddy's always been around to talk to, when I'm having a bad day or I just need to relax. Now he's off in London looking for a job, and I'm just another girl who's still in school. I can write to him, sure…but it's not really the same I guess. I don't want to know what it's like not to be around Teddy all the time. I've had a little crush on Teddy for a while now, but I think…I think I might be in love with him. I really think I might be in love with Teddy Lupin.

Two days later, I sat up in my dormitory. My classmates were holding a first day of classes party, but I didn't really want to join them. I needed a way to rid my mind of Teddy. The only way to do that, though, was to tell him how I really felt. But how was I supposed to do that? Floo powder? Write him a letter? And anyway, no matter how many times I rehearsed them in my head, I just couldn't seem to find the right words to tell him how I felt. I sat on my bed, staring out the window at the stars glittering in the night sky.

Suddenly, I knew exactly how to tell Teddy how I felt. I rummaged through my trunk, pulling out six years' worth of letters. I finally knew who I was writing to. Hastily I grabbed a quill and scribbled Teddy's name in all the blank spaces. In the last letter, the one I'd written just days ago, I scratched out sincerely and wrote love. Then I folded them neatly, one by one, in order, and bound them with some string. I tied them to Beau's leg and watched him fly off.

The next morning at breakfast I received a note. It was only two words, with no signature. Me too. It was only two words, but it was all I needed.

One year later

Seventh year. I couldn't believe that in just minutes, I would board the Hogwarts express and begin my seventh and final year at Hogwarts. Time passed so quickly. I was seriously having trouble processing. I stood apart from the rest of my family, wanting a bit of time to myself just to take it all in one last time.

Not five minutes had passed when I felt someone come up behind me. I turned to see the familiar brown eyes and turquoise hair of Teddy Lupin, and my heart swelled. I thought back to my very first time on the train, how he had invited me to sit with him, how awkward it had been. I couldn't believe how much we'd grown, physically, mentally, together, since then.

"Hey," he said softly, grabbing my hand. Ever since we'd professed our love to each other a year ago, all my time with him had been bliss (as sappy as that sounds, there's no other real way to describe it). Like snowflakes falling on a perfect winter night, where even though it's cold and you miss the warmth, it's beautiful and you never want it to end. "I remember standing in your place two years ago. It's hard, isn't it?"

"Definitely," I nodded. "I can't believe this is really my last time. I'm a little scared, actually."

"Don't be," Teddy said. "Don't think about what's coming next. Just savor the time you have and let time take its course."

I laughed a little. "When did you become a philosopher, Mr. Lupin?"

"Oh, I'd say around the time I met you, Miss Weasley." Before I could do or say anything, Teddy put one hand around my waist and the other on my shoulder. He leaned into me and pressed his lips onto mine.

I closed my eyes and kissed him back, hard and meaningfully yet soft and gentle and the same time. If I had ever felt amazing around Teddy before, those times were nothing compared to how I felt now. Standing there, kissing Teddy, about to start my seventh year, I couldn't think of anything that could ever compare to this.

The End

so after reading this, I kind of wish I’d built up their relationship more, included a few detailed scenes of them getting to know each other better. but then again, I think was less of an play-by-play account of their time together, but more of a commentary from Victoire about how she felt throughout it all? maybe someday I’ll write some “deleted scenes” where I develop their relationship more than I did here. anyway, I hope that if you read this, you enjoyed it!! thanks sm!!

#fanfic #victoire weasley #teddy lupin #victeddy #victoire x teddy #marie's writing #original content #original story #harry potter next generation #harry potter fanfiction

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lxcsonbianca-blog · 6 years

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My Nihongo Word For The Day

1. Gyuniku - I often visit Japan during vacation and I always order beef in Japanese restaurants. However, most Japanese don’t speak English and could not understand what “beef” or “is there beef?” mean. I find it difficult to convey my orders and found it really helpful that now I know how to say and ask for certain menus such as Gyuniku for “beef meat” and “Sakana” for fish.

2. Kosho - Similar to the aforementioned, there was one time I was in Osaka and I asked a waiter for “pepper”. At first I thought that he was able to understand what I asked for, however after two minutes he arrived with a confused look in his face and asked for what I wanted again. I said “pepper” once more and he called for his Manager to talk to me. I told the manager I wanted pepper for my steak and demonstrated it using hand gestures of sprinkling pepper unto my food. With a confused look on his face, he went to the kitchen and came back with a triumphant smile and piece of short bond paper. Now that I know what pepper is called in Japanese (Kosho) I could not wait to come back to Japan and have my steak sprinkled with actual pepper :) 3. Toire Wa Doko Desu Ka - Asking for directions in Japan has always been a struggle for me and my family because very few people have the grasp of the english language and we often just rely in hand gestures. I could not wait to visit Japan again and ask for directions in Japanese. 4. Kono Kaban Wa Ikura Desu Ka. Takai Desu Ne, Makete Kuremasen Ka. - I always look forward to shopping in Japan because most branded bags are sold for a relatively cheaper price in Dotonbori, Osaka. I am very excited to be able to use the above sentences when I find a bag I want to buy, and hopefully I could get a discount :)

5. Mou Ichido - As previously mentioned, I have a hard time deciphering Japanese sentences and would really appreciate having it repeated to me so that I would understand it better. This phrase helps me politely ask someone to repeat what they said and hopefully I could use it when I go to Japan again.

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seoulfulcity · 6 years

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June 17, 2018: Let’s Talk About Japanese Toilets

こんにちは、

Japan is a country that really needs no introduction - everyone had been exposed to its culture, its language, and its food at some point; and with Tokyo being a hub for expatriates and tourists, there should not be a huge culture shock to a Westerner visiting Tokyo.

Part of that claim is true, Japanese entertainment accurately showcases the country's daily practices and people generally have a basic knowledge of Japan's differences anyway. Most of the culture shock I experienced were not really culture shock, per say. I knew about these differences, but seeing them in reality and having to perform them really require skills in adaptability.

What was hilarious when landing in Japan was my brain was still thinking I was in China, so whenever I interacted with someone, I accidentally greeted and thanked them in Chinese. It took a few interactions for my head to realize that we were not in China anymore and I can forget words like shui (水) and start remembering words like mizu (水) when asking for water in a restaurant. Sumimasen! Mizu-o kudasai (すみません！水をください!)

I did not miss the hot water China always served me at all. I'm never taking ice for granted ever again.

Before arriving to Tokyo, I really needed to review my kana, two of the Japanese writing systems that include hiragana and katakana. Both hiragana and katakana are the same 104 syllabic sounds, yet they are two completely different systems with different uses. Hiragana is the authentic Japanese writing system that's the basis of all Japanese words, grammar, and pronunciation. Those characters are the ones used when a Japanese writes konnichiwa (こんいちは) or sayonara (さようなら) - they're the Japanese that everybody is exposed with.

Then you have the good 'ole katakana, which is only used when the Japanese write foreign words. As a tourist, this is the writing system you'll see most often in subway stations and airports since the Japanese use words like elevator (エレベーター/erubeta), escalator (エスカレーター/esukareta), and toilet (トイレ/toire).

So, I basically had less than enough time to review 208 total characters from both hiragana and katakana. How exciting!

It was a good idea to visit Japan after spending a few weeks in China because it exposed me to kanji (Chinese characters in Japanese) on a daily basis.

Side note: Japanese uses four different writing systems: hiragana (native Japanese characters), katakana (used only for foreign words), kanji (the Chinese characters used in almost every single word), and romaji (the 26 Roman alphabet letters to write words like Tokyo and konnichiwa). It's important to be familiar at least with hiragana when visiting Japan, because even though you can't read the Chinese characters, there is usually furigana, the Japanese reading aid consisting of hiragana written above or under the characters to show how it's pronounced.

Nobody impresses me more than the Japanese, if you ask me.

The picture shows the three Japanese systems, without romaji. Notice the Chinese characters (kanji) and hiragana? The katakana is written above "Nose breath" which is written to spell "nose breather" (noju buriju).

I read an article a while back about how the Japanese subway system had to release an apology because one of the subways left 30 seconds earlier than usual during rush hour, which caused many people to miss the train. Someone from Los Angeles would be lucky if the Silver Line even showed up at all during Monday rush hour.

Naturally, everybody talked to me about Tokyo's extensive subway system before heading off:

"Transportation is never going to be a problem", "Everything is so accessible", "You will never be late".

And it surprised me how accurate these were.

Google Maps claimed that our train from Narita International Airport to the subway stop by our hotel will take 77 minutes. If you know how Google Maps work in Los Angeles, 77 minutes can roughly be translated to either 43 minutes or 128 minutes depending on who was operating the subway that day.

Not in Japan. 77 minutes mean 77 minutes - to the very minute. If the subway arrived earlier, which was rare during my experience, it waits to leave at the exact minute on the timetable so it reaches its next destination promptly.

This was a culture shock I thoroughly enjoyed adapting to.

Before leaving for the trip, I was recently made aware of Tokyo's culture on sending their kids to school via the subway system. The city values independence more than anything, since independence is equated with maturity. Children as young as five and six years old were navigating through Tokyo's extensive subway system on their own, which is looked down upon in Los Angeles.

Car culture is huge in Los Angeles - everybody pretty much drives a car, even going to a store that can be reached by a five-minute stroll. There is a hidden stigma, I should say, to those who use the subway system in Los Angeles. It is not an overt judgment, but it is there. Nobody likes to take the subway system in Los Angeles because they're equated to dirty and dangerous. So, imagine how an Angeleno would react finding out that Japan sends their children to school through the subways - the questions and concerns would be never-ending.

The Feed released a video about it if you're interested as to why Japan does this: Japan's Independent Kids

I also wanted a section devoted to comparing and contrasting the toilet culture between China and Japan, because, wow, the change was dramatic.

We just came from a country which was plagued with squatting toilets and urinals that were basically just holes on the ground - even in mega-cities like Beijing. I avoided using every restroom that did not offer a western-style toilet until I find one (or I hold it in until I come back to the comfort of my western toilet in my hotel).

Then there's Japan, where the toilet opens up, prepares the seat protector sheet, warms up the seat, and then greets you. The toilets also have the option to play music for you or offer some background noises for privacy.

Unlike China's squatting toilet and lack of tissue paper everywhere, Japan's toilet culture offered many ways to rinse you off after finishing: sideways, front side, backside, in oscillating motion, and pressurized. You did not need any tissue paper when the toilet offers you a bidet.

I can't believe I'm uploading pictures of toilets, but here are the options you see in most toilets in Japan - and if you're lucky, you might come across an English one!

Most of my knowledge in modern-day Tokyo comes from Vox videos. So, here's one I also recently learned through them - the vending machine culture: Why Japan Has So Many Vending Machines

They're more ubiquitous than the fast food restaurants in America. Tobacco, drinks, ice cream, snacks, frozen healthy goods, condoms, you name it and Japan will have a vending machine dedicated for it. They were my lifesavers, especially when we do a full-day treks in the city and the water bottles in 7/11 were too expensive or the closest Family Mart was a block away. The vending machines were always within reach - and the good news was, they have ¥100-only vending machines. Which means that every single item only cost me $1 USD - insane!

I lived off vending machines during my stay in Tokyo, if you haven't concluded yet.

And the biggest culture shock of them all - one that I planned for us to experience and live through - Japan's signature capsule hotels.

Capsule hotels are regular hotels, but instead of a room with a bed and a bathroom, they have capsules and communal bathrooms. Some are even unmanned, like many regular and love hotels in the country. Unmanned basically means that there are no human receptionists providing service for you - everything is done via a computer. The future is now. The future is Japan.

Each guest is assigned to a capsule and a locker. The lockers are found outside the capsule rooms where the guests can leave their luggage in. The size of the locker depends on the capsule hotel you stay in. Our capsule hotel in Tokyo fit all three of my huge luggage, while our capsule hotel in Osaka had a designated area around the reception where you can lock your bigger luggage, in addition to having a locker.

The lockers and the capsules are separated to prevent waking up those who are sleeping when someone decides to change to go out somewhere in the middle of the night or rummage through their luggage at 3 AM for reasons unknown.

The capsules are more or less holes on a wall with a very roomy bed that could fit two people. Each capsule hotel is different, but all will have bed lights, lamp lights, outlets, and obviously a bed. Our Osaka capsule had a TV included, while my friend's capsule hotel in Shinjuku included a mirror and his own mini air-conditioner.

All capsules require their guest to check out everyday around 10-11 AM for cleaning. The guests won't have access to their rooms between check-out and check-in (usually 3 PM) because of this. But, don't fret! You don't have to take your luggage out from your lockers everyday - you just can't be in the rooms when they tear the entire capsule rooms apart - it's very sanitary.

Upon every check-in, you're given an amenities bag equipped with your capsule pajamas, slippers, bath and face towels, and toothbrush. All other amenities, such as hair, face, and body products are found in the communal showers. They offer them for free and include things like body milk, face milk, skin mist, hair tonic, acne cleanser, face and feet masks, gels, shaving materials etc.

The capsules are also segregated by sex, with separate elevators for each. The communal showers and toilets are also separated, usually in a different floor. So, in our Tokyo capsule hotel, men capsules would be in the third and fourth floors, while women capsules would be in the fifth and sixth floors. Our showers are both in the seventh floor, but the elevator only has access to the showers for our specific sex. So, the elevator from the third and fourth floors of the men capsules will only have access to the men showers in the seventh floor.

You won't see both sexes mingle with each other besides the lounge, where they can sit around, socialize, and eat.

It is the epitome of modern Japan.

Capsule hotels don't cost much for a solo traveler but just a heads up, it could get very expensive if you travel as a family, since everybody pays for each capsule. I feel like it should be a required experience when you visit Japan the first time, if you're willing to stay at least a day or two.

I know this blog falls under my Tokyo series, but it is also relevant in other bigger cities, such as Osaka, Nara, and Kyoto - so don't limit these culture shocks in the mega-city alone.

I am currently on the train from Kyoto to Tokyo on our way to depart for Incheon, since our summer study abroad program starts this week! I will try to finish all my Japanese blogs before orientation on Tuesday (I'm writing this on a Sunday).

Regarding my third Tokyo blog, I am still debating how to go about it. Should it be a personal or an informational account? I'm just fearful of how fast it would become questionable or controversial for a blog that is going to be read by prospective summer abroad students from my school.

I feel like it is necessary though - after all, I am writing these blogs for me to read and reminisce in the future, and my experiences with the gay red light districts in Tokyo and Osaka played a vital role on making my trip as memorable as it was. No need to worry though, I am definitely certain to spare the specifics. Until then!

さようなら、 Chris 「クリス」

P.S. I have the Korean placement exam on Wednesday, so I have three days to review my written and oral Korean skills since I don't want to be placed in a Korean class I've already taken just because I do not remember any basic vocabulary or grammar points. Wish me luck!

#abroad #summer #tokyo #japan

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