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lov3nerdstuff · 4 years

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Voluptas Noctis Aeternae {Part 7.20}

*Severus Snape x OC*

Summary: It is the year 1983 when the ordinary life of Robin Mitchell takes a drastic turn: she is accepted into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite the struggles of being a muggle-born in Slytherin, she soon discovers her passion for Potions, and even manages the impossible: gaining the favor of Severus Snape. Throughout the years, Robin finds that the not quite so ordinary Potions Professor goes from being a brooding stranger to being more than she had ever deemed possible. An ally, a mentor, a friend... and eventually, the person she loves the most. Through adventure, prophecies and the little struggles of daily life in a castle full of mysteries, Robin chooses a path for herself, an unlikely friendship blossoms into something more, and two people abandoned by the world can finally find a home.

General warnings: professor x student, blood, violence, trauma, neglectful families, bullying, cursing

Words: 4.7k

Read Part 1.1 here! All Parts can be found on the Masterlist!

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It was a week before Christmas break, on a snowy Friday evening, when Robin and Snape found themselves sitting at one of the tables in the lab yet again, waiting patiently while their newest project simmered quietly in a small cauldron in front of them. Eventually the draught would turn in colour, going from a dull yellowish brown to a brilliant ruby red, but until then there was nothing to do but chat while they had their usual evening coffee.

After the firewhisky endeavour in late October, most of November and December had gone by remarkably unspectacularly, and while they had spent some more evenings in Snape's room throughout that time, mainly because of the music that had stayed in his room in form of Robin's old record player, Robin hadn't ever dared to even consider staying over again. Not that she wouldn't have wanted to –gods, she would give about anything even just to sleep in that cloud of a bed again– but she was rather certain that she couldn't spend another night in his space without doing something stupid. Especially when he was starting to become less opposed to this innocent physical closeness, to her touch and to touching her in return, she was better off sparing herself the temptation of crossing lines she shouldn't even come close to. They had already gotten so far, and she couldn't jeopardize that for a ridiculous spurt of nightly braveness. So it was their normal routine of staying up until ungodly hours to work and talk and simply enjoy each other's company that brightened her days no matter what.

"Your hair smells like pineapple again." Snape remarked in a dramatic sigh, which effectively drew Robin out of her head again.

"Yeah, well, I forgot my shampoo and had to steal from Cas once more." She shrugged with a humoured huff, then took a long sip of her cooled down coffee and quirked an eyebrow at him. "Do you honestly detest pineapple that much?"

"Yes. They smell too sweet for how acidic they are."

"But I know for a fact that you like lemons, and those are even more acidic."

"I do like lemons, yes."

"Funny."

"For someone who cannot tell lemons and limes apart it certainly must be, yes."

Robin rolled her eyes exaggeratedly, but the smile on her lips gave away her true sentiments. He honestly would never let her live that down… and it had been years! That man had a memory better than a photo album or an audio recorder, and she found herself stuck between pride, envy and admiration. The middle would do.

"Next time I'll use Jorien's coconut body wash too, so that you get stuck with me smelling like a freaking piña colada, if you'd prefer that." She teased him right back with a small smirk, but then couldn't help laughing at his horrified expression. "Don't worry, I for my part have no intention of smelling like a fruity cocktail. Would be the cherry on top of everything, eh?"

"Funny." Now it was Snape who rolled his eyes, using his flattest and most indifferent tone, and Robin had to laugh even more. Especially when he finally couldn't help the smirk on his lips any longer either.

"Speaking of drinks, isn't-..." Robin was cut off by a loud knock, which made both her and Snape frown at each other simultaneously, then at the door. It was past one o'clock in the morning; who the hell would dare bothering them at this time?! With every intention to find an answer to that question, it was Robin who jumped off her chair and skipped to the door this time around, with Snape just a few steps behind her.

When she opened up, she was greeted by the kind and absolutely unsurprised face of none other than Professor McGonagall. Robin's eyebrows rose for a second, but she didn't forget her manners over her surprise. "Good evening, Professor. Is everything alright?"

"Good evening indeed, Miss Mitchell. Severus…" McGonagall gave both of them a nod and a smile, looking from one to the other as Snape came to stand so close behind Robin that she could feel his warmth on her back, as well as the gentle brush of his robes whenever he took a breath. It took quite a bit of effort on her part to keep focusing on McGonagall as she spoke on, clearly addressing Snape now. "I'm afraid I have news you won't like to hear."

"What happened?" Snape's voice was the perfect disdainful indifference once more, and Robin had no doubt that his expression was made to match.

"Pomona received an urgent owl an hour ago and henceforth has personal matters to attend to all weekend, which means she will not be able to see to the mandatory dancing instructions of the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students tomorrow morning, and seeing as Filius isn't an option, by his own choice may I add, you're going to have to attend to half of the students, Severus." McGonagall stated in one long breath, with a pointed expression that left no room for arguments. Behind Robin's back, Snape held his breath for a second, which she only could tell by the lacking brush of fabric against her jumper.

"Certainly." He finally drawled, dutiful as much as disdainful. It wasn't hard to guess his thoughts on the matter, especially after he had successfully avoided giving this dance class for the past years. "I shall instruct the Slytherins myself, and whichever half of Pomona's students you wish to… impose on me."

"The Ravenclaws should be a better fit for you, I believe." The transfiguration professor was quick to reply. "Would you mind having the time between breakfast and lunch, in the great hall? I myself would prefer the timeframe from lunch until dinner."

"I am not partial to any time."

"It's settled then. You'll teach the Slytherins and Ravenclaws after breakfast." McGonagall smiled almost mischievously, or at least in a decent amount of amusement. "I believe a standard waltz shouldn't be a problem to you, after demonstrating it quite so nicely with Miss Mitchell at last year's ball."

Snape didn't reply, but Robin could feel him glaring at McGonagall over her shoulder. Honestly, she couldn't even blame him for being annoyed by the turn of events. This was probably the last thing he had expected to be doing on this Saturday, especially since they had previously made different plans. Looks like those would have to wait yet again.

"Anyway, I don't want to hold you two up any longer than necessary." McGonagall finally spoke on when nobody replied to her previous statement. "What is it you are doing at this time of night anyway?"

"Working." Both Robin and Snape replied in unison, in the same evading neutrality, and the woman in front of them couldn't help smiling in sincere amusement at their mannerisms.

"I see." She said, and tried to glance past Snape into the lab, only to give up after a half-hearted attempt. "I was merely being curious; I unfortunately have to conduct most of my experiments alone these days."

"If you find yourself looking for an assistant, I can only recommend you to ask Jorien Blakeley. She would be delighted, and I know for a fact that she has a remarkably strong interest in transfiguration." Robin couldn't help the blurb of words from escaping, but she also didn't quite regret it. "And as far as I'm aware, she has been getting fairly high grades as well."

McGonagall looked surprised at the suggestion, then she frowned to herself for a moment and finally smiled at Robin again as she went to reply. "Miss Blakeley really does have a talent for the subject, however I wasn't aware that she would take interest in furthering her knowledge beyond the classroom topics. Nor that she would enjoy having to spend more time with me than necessary."

"Believe me, she does. Very much so even. But she admires you too much to bother you with questions she believes to be too insignificant. Actually, she believes herself to be too insignificant. I try to tutor her as much as possible, but I am by far not the most proficient in the subject, nor can I teach her as much as she would want to learn."

"I certainly will consider speaking to the girl about assisting me then. Thank you, Miss Mitchell." McGonagall said in prevailing mild amusement, but definitely also appreciation, and then gave both Snape and Robin another nod. "Anyway, goodnight for now. I will see you both tomorrow."

As the professor left, Robin closed the door once again and let out a long breath while she followed Snape back to their stools. Perhaps McGonagall would ask Jorien for her assistance indeed, and that might just take some work off Robin's hands if the girl would get her answers from someone more adept in the subject.

"Funny." Snape said after a moment, as he gave Robin a teasing smirk. "You never admired me enough to spare me from your questions."

Robin gave him an immediate glare, but then also a smirk in return. "No, I admired you enough to know that you were the only one who could keep up with my questions in the first place."

"You've always been by far brighter than anyone around you." His smirk widened, and Robin rolled her eyes exaggeratedly to act over the warmth spreading in her chest and on her cheeks. "Logically, nobody but me could handle you even if you came with instructions."

"Hey!" She couldn't help laughing again at last, and nudged him in the shoulder before she slumped down in her seat. "I don't even know if that last part was supposed to be a compliment or an insult."

"That would be for you to decide."

Indeed, Robin decided on taking it as a compliment. If he thought that his intellect had somewhat found a match in her, she honestly could only feel flattered, brilliant as he was. Besides, he had long stopped insulting her for anything more than a tease in the first place… so a compliment it was. And honestly, Robin absolutely didn't mind that he was the only one who was able to handle her, and she even wholeheartedly agreed with that assessment. But the thought of handling things brought her on to a different topic of thought in an instant, and she frowned to herself for a second.

"I guess our plans for tomorrow are cancelled now, aren't they?" She stated more than asked, and the amusement faded off her face as it vanished from his as well. "I mean, we'll never make it all the way around the black lake between lunch and dinner, especially not in this snow. It'll be too dark to see our own feet even before we have walked half the distance if we start in the afternoon."

"Unfortunately." He sighed, then his face set in a scowl. "Teaching fifty fourth years how to dance certainly is the last thing I expected to do tomorrow."

For a second Robin had to snort at the confirmation of her previous assumption, in almost the same words even, but it was a bitter amusement and it confused Snape more than it cheered either of them up, so her face set back into a grim expression before long . "Too bad Sprout had urgent matters to attend to right on this weekend, out of an entire year to choose from."

"I was starting to believe I had once and for all gotten out of giving dancing lessons… The previous years I wasn't even asked to."

"I luckily only had to suffer through it once, during fifth year. Remember that? I danced with this redhead and everyone made a big deal out of it."

"How could I forget?" Snape huffed, rolling his eyes. "Minerva kept going on and on afterwards about how neat it would be to… encourage that non-existent connection she however believed to see between you and the Weasley boy."

Robin was the one rolling her eyes now, with an indignant scoff to accompany the expression. "Honestly, even back then I was far closer to you than to that boy, or to anyone at all really. You knew that, I even told you about it!"

"That you did." He confirmed, then lost some of the annoyance as he let out a quiet sigh. "I believe it isn't of relevance anymore, Minerva has long since come to her senses as has everyone else who attempted to conspire on the issue. But other than that, I would still like to hear more about your dancing lesson."

"Ah, yes…" Robin said, as the realization hit her that he probably hadn't received any such lessons during his time as a student nor gotten to witness the ones given in the previous years. "Well, uh, it wasn't spectacular actually. In the beginning there was a quick explanation about the whys and hows of dancing, and then McGonagall forced some seventh year boy to demonstrate the dance with her. After that we just had to pick a partner and practiced for like… two hours perhaps. A bit longer maybe. That's it."

"I assume Minerva corrected your errors while you practiced?"

"I'm not too bad at dancing, so she didn't concern herself much with me, but others' mistakes she did correct relentlessly from what I could tell."

"Good. I can do that."

"I think it'll actually be easier for you than it was for her." Robin shrugged at her own thought. "You shouldn't have the problem of people slacking off and fooling around. They're far too scared of you to cause any mayhem or refuse your orders. Easy."

The corner of his lips quirked up for a second, but then set back into a grim line. "I wouldn't call forcing some dunderhead to demonstrate the dance with me particularly 'easy'. Students are far less repelled by Minerva, which makes the entire endeavour less of a sickening prospect for her in return."

Either it was his self-deprecating words or the thought of him dancing with someone else that made Robin feel sour in an instant, but either way she had to swallow the lump in her throat down quite forcefully before she replied. "I… You… uh, I understand how dreadful it must seem to you to dance with someone. But I'm sure whoever you choose will be less repelled by it than you are, if that helps anything."

"I have no intention to force anyone to dance with me at all."

"Yes, no, but… I mean, since it's the fourth years we're speaking of anyway, I'm sure you could ask Jorien. She's quite indifferent to most people; she wouldn't care if she was dancing with you or with someone else. And if I ask her to do it, she will. Especially after I just advertised her to McGonagall."

"Actually, I was going to ask you." He said, surprisingly straightforward and direct in his approach of the topic. "For the favour of helping me with the entire lesson. It would be to the best advantage of everyone if the demonstration was nothing short of perfect, and an additional pair of eyes will certainly be beneficial for the students' practice afterwards as well."

A weight lifted off Robin's heart in an instant, and she had to smile at his through and through logical and desperately appropriate reasons for asking her assistance. "Of course I will help you. Anytime, with anything. You know that. And having someone to explain the female part will probably be good too."

"Likely. To be honest however, while those are all perfectly good reasons to ask you to do this with me, they aren't truly my measure. I rather know your presence is going to make the entire ordeal a lot more bearable, as it always does. And in the end, I would simply hate to dance with anyone but you, no matter the circumstances." He added after a moment, again in a shocking easy sincerity that almost had Robin's heart leaping out of her chest.

Her smile broadened until it was allconsuming in its radiance, like all those times when she failed to suppress the stupid hope that lived in every shadow of her mind these days. No. He would hate dancing with anyone else because Robin was the only person he found bearable to touch. Not because of any other reason. Who wouldn't choose a friend over a stranger? Her smile fell, her heart sank, and she couldn't help the hurt from showing in her eyes at least.

"You really should stop that, you know…" She finally said in a sad chuckle that was heartbreaking even to her own ears.

"What?" Snape asked in return, and his expression fell in accordance with Robin's. He looked almost taken aback, confused at least, about whatever he had obviously done wrong this time and Robin felt even worse for speaking up at all. She didn't dare to answer. So he asked again. "Stop what?"

"Forcing this ridiculous hope onto me." She said before she knew, with a sad smile and a gaze that dug souldeep into his. "Every time you say things like that, it forces a little more hope to seep through the cracks in my walls, and I need you to stop. I don't want to hope, I can't bear it… Hope is dangerous. It's torturing me."

Her words seemed to confuse him even more, and while he frowned deeply at her, the subtle hurt in his own eyes was undeniable. He wanted to understand what he had done wrong… she knew. But he hadn't done anything wrong at all, nothing but being who he was. And being who he was, he wouldn't let go that easily. "Hope for what, Robin? You have to be a bit more precise if I am to understand. And I would very much like to."

The sight, the thought almost broke Robin entirely, while his blissful oblivion almost made her laugh in return. Oh, how stupid could she be? For the first time he had done absolutely everything right by being completely honest, by trying to talk about an issue, and here she was, doing absolutely everything wrong in return. It wasn't his fault that she loved him too much, and it wasn't his fault that she couldn't handle her own stupid emotions.

"Nevermind." She sighed finally, tearing her eyes away from his to look down at her empty coffee mug on the table. "I'm just being stupid because my brain is too tired to function. You know me… I talk nonsense sometimes when I'm exhausted. If it wasn't for the stupid potion that just refuses to change colour, I'd be going straight to bed."

"Actually, it changed colour twenty minutes ago and I put a stasis on it to continue the work tomorrow afternoon."

Robin groaned in frustration and closed her eyes before hiding her face in her hands. "See! I didn't even notice! Great friend you have in me… and an even worse colleague. I'm such a failure…"

For a moment it was silent in the lab, and while Robin just hoped that she hadn't entirely screwed things up, she could practically hear his mind working at light speed. Gods, he had only said he quite liked to dance with her… and she'd gone on to make a scene of it. Great. So much for being better.

"To tell you the truth, I haven't the remotest idea what to do in a moment like this. What to say or do that would make things better for you and not worse. But I assume… perhaps this is the kind of situation where an embrace might prove helpful?" He finally spoke up, reluctantly and more than a little uncertain about his assessment of the situation, but without a hint of discomfort or doubt about the underlying offer he was making. Robin's hands dropped from her face in an instant, and before she knew, her eyes were filling with tears of adoration and exhaustion and overwhelm. His brows furrowed in return, his face a careful layer of neutrality.

Robin wanted to reply, wanted to say how damn right he was in that assumption, wanted to assure him that she wasn't being so bloody emotional because of anything he had done wrong, but because of all the things he was doing right. But all she could do was to nod, and then push herself off her stool to cross the space between them. Snape for his part stayed perched on the edge of his seat when Robin wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and he pulled her flush against him when his arms circled her waist in return. They were almost the same height like this, or at least closer to it, which allowed Robin to hide her face in the soft fabric in the crook of his neck when her tears finally started spilling over. She didn't even know why exactly she was being so bloody stupid right now, so ridiculous and pathetic and weird… Her almost-slip of emotions hadn't backlashed. Her secret was still safe. Their experimental potion was intact and waiting to be continued. She would get to dance with him tomorrow, and help him with a class. She even was wrapped up in the most comforting hug ever at the moment, if that alone wasn't enough reason to be happy! Everything was bloody perfect. And yet, when he ever so subtly started playing with the tips of her hair that cascaded down her back, a strangled sob escaped her lips and he stopped in an instant.

"No, please…" She sniffed before she could think better of it. His hands in her hair had felt so nice… a hint of a sign that he enjoyed their closeness as well. "Please keep doing that."

It took a few seconds before he complied, but once he did, Robin sighed under her breath, and she was almost sure that she felt him smile against her shoulder in return. True or not, the idea sufficed to send a shiver down her spine, and finally she found herself able to relax. The tension left her body like a burn washed away by the sweet relief of a cooling water, and while she sunk deeper into the warm comfort of another perfect embrace, her spiralling emotions became subject to her will once more. It really was alright… they were alright.

"I'm really looking forward to dancing with you tomorrow." Robin finally said, in a calm tone and with a calm mind once again. He deserved to know that much at least, and it was a perfectly appropriate thing to say. "The circumstances… nah, but as long as we're suffering through it together, it will be alright."

"I take it then that an embrace really does make you feel better. I shall have to remember." He replied in amusement, and while that did make Robin smile, she also wasn't fooled over the astonishment he tried to hide behind it. Indeed, it was rather sad to think that he wouldn't know how comforting the embrace of a beloved person could be. Or perhaps he simply doubted that his embrace would have this effect on her. Either way, Robin made a mental note to make him understand and believe both in the nearer future.

"You shall indeed, I do feel a lot better. Always, with you." She sighed softly and closed her eyes to enjoy the feeling of his arms around her now that she could focus on it at last. "Still am beyond tired though."

"Perhaps you should go to bed. Tomorrow certainly will be exhausting enough with all the dunderheads stumbling through the room and tripping over their own two feet."

"We should totally play bullshit bingo with the idiotic things they might say or do…" Robin chuckled to herself and absentmindedly traced the seams of his robes she could reach with her fingertips. "That might just make the entire ordeal more amusing. For us, at least."

"How… temptingly unprofessional." He drawled in return, and the deep tone of his voice being so delightfully juxtaposed by his words made Robin snicker even more. "We most definitely should play indeed."

"I think I'm a bad influence on you." She yawned, and somehow it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep her legs from giving out beneath her, now that her entire body was relaxing and being held up by his. "And I would have to say that I love it."

Her words made Snape chuckle, which was a sound so exquisite in its low rumbling depths that it sent new waves of shivers all over Robin's body, which left goosebumps in their wake in return. Bloody hell, he most definitely could feel the effects he had on her now… But at least he was kind or indifferent enough not to comment on it. She could always blame it on being cold or tired or something of that sort, should the necessity arise.

"You certainly have the strongest influence on me, and I daresay you are the only one I allow myself to be affected by in the first place."

"Well, if I'm the only one, being the strongest is hardly an accomplishment. And I would be the strongest and the weakest at the same time, you know…"

"Will you just take a compliment when I accidentally give you one for once, you insufferable little creature?"

"I can try." Robin grinned at his half humoured and half feignedly annoyed tone. "Even though I technically wouldn't call 'insufferable little creature' a compliment."

"But I would." Snape returned, and his smirk didn't need to be seen to make its way straight to Robin's heart, making it soar. "You are indeed quite tiny, as well as considerably different from any average humanness, and you most definitely are insufferable."

"Thanks…" She snorted, then stifled another yawn and wondered for a moment what would happen if she just fell asleep right in this spot; she was hardly supporting her own weight anymore anyway. Chances were high he'd wake her right back up or she'd cause him trouble if he tried not to, which wouldn't be much of a gain in either direction, and thus she banned the idea into the back of her mind.

"It seems like that was quite a weak attempt at humour on my end, going by your response. My apologies."

"No, I'm sorry, it really was funny! I'm just too tired to appreciate it properly."

"I still stand by my suggestion that you should go to bed. Teaching is more exhausting than one would assume, especially if it involves watching fifty students at once."

"You're right… I know."

That seemed to be the cue for both of them to ever-reluctantly let go of each other in the same silent agreement as always, and for Robin to sigh softly in disappointment at the loss of his delectable warmth and comfort in return. Yet, she didn't let any of it seep into her expression as she went to pick up her backpack from the other table and only turned back to Snape when she halted at the door before letting herself out.

"I really am looking forward to tomorrow." She said once again even though she'd told him already, but she couldn't help it. The excitement was there and it was strong, and he deserved to know. "I miss dancing with you."

He gave her one of his rare smiles in return, a genuine one that wasn't teasing or humoured but simply content and perhaps just a little excited as well. "This time I would like to ask you to dance though, if you will let me."

"Well, then you simply will have to be faster than me, won't you?" Robin smirked at him, wiggling her eyebrows for a second, and then had to laugh at her own ridiculous silliness. It really was too late for her own good. "Goodnight, Severus."

"Until tomorrow." He replied, and when Robin stepped out into the hallway with a huge smile lingering on her face, she couldn't help but think that perhaps it wasn't such a bad thing that their plans for tomorrow had been changed. Maybe she would have to thank Sprout for being absent at some point.

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twoidiotwriters1 · 4 years

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Written In The Stars CXIII (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: Did I mention already that I love this book? I love this book -Danny

Words: 6,084

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘Happy’ -by Julia Michaels

Chapter Eleven: A Faulty Match.

"No way I'll be a teacher," Mel said anxiously. "I'm barely able to speak to more than five people at once!"

"You know that's not true, you're popular now!"

It had been two weeks after their talk in the common room and Hermione was ready to have a go at it for a second time. What was more surprising was the fact that Harry wasn't against it now. He'd finally come around and was behaving properly during Umbridge's lessons, which meant she was finally free to wander around school with her new friends without worrying all the time about what he was doing.

"Yeah, I doubt anyone except you two would want to be taught by us. We're nutters, remember?" Harry added.

"Speak for yourself," Mel protested.

Her time with Ginny and the twins was surprisingly effective when it came to building relationships with the rest of the houses, she knew a bunch of new people now, people that didn't think she was dramatic or impulsive. It was a nice change.

"Well, I think you might be surprised how many people would be interested in hearing what you've got to say," said Hermione. "Look, you know the first weekend in October's a Hogsmeade weekend? How would it be if we tell anyone who's interested to meet us in the village and we can talk it over?"

"Why do we have to do it outside school?" said Ron.

"Because I don't think Umbridge would be very happy if she found out what we were up to."

"So?" Ron looked at both of them with an eager expression. "You'll do it?"

Harry and Mel glanced at each other.

Were they ready for the teamwork that implied? Even if they hadn't argued for almost half a month, it still felt like too much, it was a very thin line they'd been walking those days trying not to push any buttons, but they were bound to falter, they just didn't how or when.

"I'll think about it," She sentenced. "I have tons to do... I mean, I can't teach a bunch of kids how to defend themselves if it's not my priority, I wanna make sure I don't mess up things."

"That's fine," Hermione smiled down at her paper as if Mel had agreed just then.

"So what d'you think?"

"Well, Hermione's idea isn't bad," Ginny shrugged. "You've gone through a lot, and you definitely know more than most, Mel."

"I don't know," She groaned. "I don't know if I want to spend that much time with..."

Ginny eyed her curiously.

"You and Harry are still fighting?"

"Have we ever not?" Mel smiled tiredly.

"Last year when you were all lovey in public..." Ginny replied. "I really thought you two were dating back then. Which is the reason why I gave Michael a chance."

"Hey!"

'Talking of the devil,' Mel thought, watching as Michael and his friends approached them.

"Hi," Ginny smiled at him. "What's up?"

Michal waved at Mel, the boys also greeted her, though they looked as if she were a unicorn.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" Michael asked.

"Sure... er- I'll be right back, Mel."

"No worries..."

Mel watched her go with Michael, Anthony Goldstein was trying to tell her something but she wasn't listening, she was just nodding along, laughing when he did.

Only then she realized how lonely she was feeling. She'd been feeling lonely for months, but now she knew exactly what kind of company she was looking for. She wanted to date someone, to feel the same way she'd felt before, a part of her even wanted to try with a total stranger, a stranger meant she wouldn't get hurt.

Mel continued to nod and listen without paying attention as she busied herself, cleaning her bag while Anthony kept talking. A piece of parchment fell from a book and Mel picked it up, skimming through it. It was one of her mother's letters, but it looked old.

'..you should never base your actions on what other people expect you to do, Mel. Not even if that person is one of your closest friends. How do you expect to become your own whole witch if you keep following other people's tails?'

It was the letter the woman had sent her when Ron, Harry and her crashed the Ford Anglia, and she'd been right about everything, Mel needed to stop basing her actions on what others wanted.

What did she want, apart from dating someone of course...

A second piece of parchment fell to her lap and she looked down at it. It was the list she'd done during her second year:

1-I have to control my temper.

2-I have to focus in class.

3-I must listen to my family.

4-I must forget about my feelings for Harry.

Mel stared at it and something in her head clicked. She'd had her answer for years, only that she hadn't been brave enough to accept it.

Ginny came back with an easy-going smile on her face, Mel did her best to match it. The boys said goodbye and left.

"So?" Mel asked. "Do I sense a date?"

"Maybe," Ginny smiled. "I like him, but he can be a bit annoying."

"Aren't all boys like that?" Mel joked.

"Not all of them," Ginny gave her a look.

"I know who you're talking about when you say that," Mel looked away, the piece of parchment hidden inside her fist. "I assure you he's the same."

"He's not that boring, is he?"

"Listen, if you don't want to date Michael I'm sure he'll understand. You're more than welcome to try with Harry and see for yourself if that's what you want..." Cho walked past just then, surrounded by her usual jolly group of girlfriends. "...But something tells me he's busy at the moment."

Ginny looked at the Ravenclaw and let out a heavy sigh.

"So it's true then, he likes Cho?"

"Seems like it," She grabbed her mum's letter and her list and put it inside her bag. "Cho's been acting odd, looking for Harry during every free hour– Alone."

"Hmm," Ginny nodded in understanding. "I hope it works, would hate to see either of them suffer any more..."

Mel felt a sting of guilt at Ginny's comment. Of course she wanted Cho to recover, and of course she wanted Harry to be happy... but did they really have to be together for that? Couldn't they just do it on their own?

'You're one to talk, wishing you could snog your tension out with a stranger...' A voice in her head replied.

"Uh," Mel cleared her throat, embarrassed by her selfish ideas. "Yeah, you're right."

"Talking about people getting together," Ginny's eyes shifted into a more playful gaze. "You've been spending a lot of time with my brothers, haven't you?"

"The twins?" Mel laughed. "We're friends!"

"Are you sure?"

"Don't start..."

"Come on! I know you think they're attractive, you told me once!"

"I was twelve!" Mel chortled.

"Okay then, if you think it's so weird I won't tell you which one I overheard saying he thinks you're a looker now," Ginny crossed her arms and sat back casually, a knowing smirk on her face.

"What?! Don't you dare!"

"I don't tell you which one, you'll think about it!"

"Ginny!" Mel whined anxiously. "I don't want to hurt their feelings!"

"Wouldn't it be cool if you were part of the family for real?" She insisted. "My brothers are not that bad..."

"No," Mel sank further in her place. "They're bloody lovely. That's why I won't forgive myself if I hurt them."

"You're Mellow, you can't hurt anyone," Ginny snickered. "Just think about it..."

It was really sweet of Ginny to put a good word in for her brothers, but she didn't think it was the best idea. However, her old list was clear, she had to move on from Harry. If there was a chance that she could forget about him while still having fun with someone she trusted, well, maybe she could make it work.

"Mel, is it true that you're organizing a D.A.D.A class?"

"Well–"

"I heard you're organizing a meeting, can I go?"

"I mean–"

"Are you actually teaching us the same things Dumbledore's teaching you? Are you allowed?"

"Guys!" Ginny spoke up. "You got it all wrong! Granger and my brother are the ones organizing the whole thing, Mel doesn't know anything... but she's going to be there if that's enough for you?"

A new stream of questions hit her and Mel laughed. With each passing day, she found the attention less and less annoying, she wasn't as anxious as before, and could even spend more time around Harry without snapping at him.

She raised her hands to quiet everyone down and they obeyed, Mel was starting to love this kind of control too.

"Ginny's right, guys. If you're going to ask 'Mione, please be careful? We don't want the toad hearing our business, do we? I don't want to get my friends in trouble."

She left feeling pleased and energized. The group scattered and she looked back at Ginny with a smile.

"Not bad was it? You're improving..."

"I owe it to you," Mel winked. "I'm hungry, you coming?"

"I'm sitting with Michael," Her friend's smile widened.

"I'll leave you to it then... see you!"

As she walked through, several people asked her to join them; she said no, though. She was still a bit uneasy about spending too much time with strangers, it was draining.

When Mel spotted Hermione she made a beeline to sit with her, the group of friends was already in the middle of a conversation. It was normal now, arriving in the middle of something, not really knowing what was going on with them, but she concluded that her new popularity was definitely worth it.

"Well, you can't blame him for wanting to get out and about," She heard Ron say. "I mean, he's been on the run for over two years, hasn't he, and I know that can't have been a laugh, but at least he was free, wasn't he? And now he's just shut up all the time with that lunatic elf and Mel's mum."

"You say that like my mum's on the same level as Kreacher," Mel raised a brow.

"The trouble is," Hermione insisted, "until V-Voldemort — oh for heaven's sake, Ron — comes out into the open, Sirius is going to have to stay hidden, isn't he? I mean, the stupid Ministry isn't going to realize Sirius is innocent until they accept that Dumbledore's been telling the truth about him all along. And once the fools start catching real Death Eaters again it'll be obvious Sirius isn't one... I mean, he hasn't got the Mark, for one thing."

"I don't reckon he'd be stupid enough to turn up. Dumbledore'd go mad if he did and Sirius listens to Dumbledore even if he doesn't like what he hears."

"Don't we all?" Mel sighed.

An owl landed in front of her with the usual letter from her mother. It contained very vague things and coded names so Mel knew how everything was going. That morning the letter was surprisingly short, but she kept reading between the lines hoping to see something, anything.

"Still nothing..." She said grumpily.

"What d'you mean?"

"My mum! Been waiting for them to confirm they're together but they won't budge..."

"How're you so sure it'll happen?"

"Didn't I tell you? My mum talked to me the day we left the station, she was more than ready to give Snuffles a chance..."

"Blimey!" Ron's eyes widened. "Congrats to them, I s'posse..."

"I'm happy for them," Mel agreed, handing the letter to them so they could read it. "They've been alone for ages... I'm glad they've got each other now. Don't you agree, Harry?"

He didn't reply.

"Harry?"

The boy was looking at the letter as if it had one of Skeeter's articles on it. Mel called a third time and he looked up, but there was nothing close to real joy there. He smiled tightly and nodded once.

"Yeah, sounds great."

Mel frowned a bit, her smiled faltering.

"Is something bothering you?"

"Not at all," Harry avoided her gaze at all cost.

Hermione tried to lighten the mood.

"Listen, Ron and I have been sounding out people who we thought might want to learn some proper Defense Against the Dark Arts, and there are a couple who seem interested. We've told them to meet us in Hogsmeade."

"Right," said Harry quietly.

"Don't worry. You've got enough on your plate without Sirius too. You read that note they sent to Mel, I bet they must be quite happy."

"They surely are," Mel carefully folded the paper so she could show it to Erick later. "Talking about Hogsmeade– a bunch of kids have been attacking me with questions and I told them to ask you, hope you don't mind..."

"It's fine," Hermione smiled. "I'm happy you're friends with students from different houses– the more we can have in our side the better, right?"

"I think so," Mel was too excited to sit still. "I'm sort of looking forward to it now? They're nicer to me–"

"I wonder why," Ron snorted.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh c'mon Mel," He laughed stupidly. "Half of the boys follow you around hoping you'll let them take you on a date... not that you're not nice and all! Don't hit me for being honest..."

Mel didn't try to refute his comment, far from it, this pleased her.

"I'm not going to hit you, Ron. I hope this works as a lesson to you, it is possible to be friends with other houses even if you don't agree in everything," She said happily.

"Sure is, if you're pretty," He replied.

Harry hid his face further, a clear redness on his cheeks. She fixed her posture and ate in content silence for the rest of the hour.

"Hey, Mel! Mel!" Fred ran up to her in the middle of the hall.

"What's up?"

"Is it true that you'll be having a meeting during our next Hogsmeade visit?"

"'Mione's the one organizing the whole thing–"

"That's all right," He pushed the comment aside. "I was wondering if you'd like to join us before the meeting. We'll go to Zonko's, buy a few things for our products... what do you say?"

"Sure," She exclaimed cheerily. "Should I wait for you at the entrance?"

"We can wait for you in the common room, don't worry," He smiled.

There was no double meaning to that smile, he was simply being him. But even knowing that, she still wanted to find out if she was right about him being the brother Ginny was trying to convince her to date.

Mel knew very well she was playing with fire, hadn't she learned anything? What about her dreadful experience with Harry? Dating friends was a mistake!

She was so lonely though... for some reason, she kept thinking about her talk with Sirius. Could it be true? Merlin, she was hoping it was.

She wasn't stupid, she could tell that some of her new friends were being too nice to her, but Mel kept her distance, she'd promised not to flirt around just to get what she wanted, and she was keeping her promise. Besides, she was also following the list she'd found in her bag days prior, and it was working.

Harry was making things harder if she was honest, with his puppy eyes and his soft hair... It was obvious that he was miserable– He was traumatized! He just didn't want to admit it, he didn't want to ask for help. Harry still flinched with loud noises, it was pure torture, seeing him in distress and not being able to help.

It was so strange, a few months ago she would've run through the castle to save him from a bug bite, now she would listen to his complaints and his yelling and immediately turn her back. She was sick of feeling.

Part of her kept thinking of the way Harry had broken her heart, but that wasn't it now, it was something else that she couldn't quite understand. Resentment... but towards what?

Was she mad about him being scared? Did she hate the fact that he wanted to protect her?

Did she hate that he didn't trust her to be strong enough? After all those years, and he still thought that she needed to be saved... As if she were nothing but a helpless sidekick.

'I'm not just a pretty face,' she thought bitterly.

No.

She was a pretty face, and she was popular because of that. But she was also a skilled witch and a great friend. She was the reason why Harry Potter was still alive.

It was time to be more than just a boy's best friend. She was ready to step into the spotlight, it didn't matter if she had to leave Harry behind.

She was walking alongside the twins and Lee Jordan, carrying a few bags of Zonko's and chatting cheerfully when someone called her name. Ginny appeared, followed by some Ravenclaws (including Ginny's boyfriend).

Mel was telling stories about her childhood, the group was laughing a lot. Life had improved, she'd taken Erick's advice and she was finally feeling like she belonged.

"This is it, right?" Terry Boot asked her.

Mel looked up at the sign and frowned.

"Here?"

"Hermione said this would be discrete," Ginny shrugged.

"A bunch of teenagers entering the sketchy bar?" Mel snorted. "Not suspicious at all..."

"Wait for us!"

Mel turned around and saw a bunch of students coming their way, her stomach did an odd flip: At least twenty or thirty people had come to the meeting.

"This isn't subtle at all," She said anxiously. "People will notice, they'll follow us in!"

"Er..." Ginny was looking at the bunch reluctantly, but Michael grabbed her hand and dragged her inside the pub at once.

Fred and George did the same with her and soon the group of students entered together. She was already breaking down, but what made her really want to retreat and forget she was ever there was the sight of a tall old man gazing at the bunch with a slightly startled expression.

It was her grandfather.

She tried to leave but Fred put an arm around her shoulders and walked up to the barman.

"Hi," He smiled. "Could we have... twenty-six butterbeers, please?"

Aberforth Dumbledore stared at her and then at the group, he threw aside the rag he'd been holding and then started passing up dusty butterbeer pretending he didn't recognize her. Or perhaps he really did not know who she was, they'd never seen each other in person.

Was she supposed to say something? Maybe 'Hey, you don't know me but your son was my dad! I know you want nothing to do with me, but maybe don't tell my uncle what we're doing? Thanks, Grandad!'

"Cheers!" Fred handed out the butterbeers to the rest. "Cough up, everyone, I haven't got enough gold for all of these..."

They handed the money to her and Fred, she pushed it roughly on the counter mumbling a 'Thanks' without making eye contact. Mel spotted Harry, Hermione and Ron at the very back and walked up to them, ready to kill Hermione.

"What were you thinking?" She hissed. "This looks suspicious in so many ways!"

"We'll be fine, here is less likely we get unwanted attention–"

"Oh, really?" Mel propped one hand on the table and whispered in a furious voice, "D'you know who the barman is?"

"Well, he's always been the barman here for all I know, so–"

"He's my grandad!"

The girl's eyes widened almost comically, Mel sat down next to Ron, her good mood vanishing completely.

"What have you been telling people? What are they expecting?" Harry asked anxiously.

"I've told you, they just want to hear what you've got to say. You don't have to do anything yet, I'll speak to them first," Hermione replied, a bit anxious now that she knew her mistake.

"Well that isn't soothing either," Mel grumbled, giving a large sip to her butterbeer.

"Hi, guys," Neville waved at them, one by one the students sat down around the table and waited patiently for them to speak.

"Er," said Hermione. "Well — er — hi."

Mel snorted and Ron kicked her leg under the table.

"Well... erm... well, you know why you're here. Erm... well, Harry here had the idea — I mean I had the idea — that it might be good if people who wanted to study Defense Against the Dark Arts — and I mean, really study it, you know, not the rubbish that Umbridge is doing with us — because nobody could call that Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Hear, hear," said Anthony Goldstein.

"Well, I thought it would be good if we, well, took matters into our own hands. And by that I mean learning how to defend ourselves properly, not just theory but the real spells —"

"You want to pass your Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L. too though, I bet?" said Michael Corner.

"Of course I do, but I want more than that, I want to be properly trained in Defense because... because... Because Lord Voldemort's back."

The group let out their shock in different levels of surprise, some didn't look faced, merely annoyed at the mention, but once they were done they all focused on Harry and her.

"Well... that's the plan anyway," Hermione continued. "If you want to join us, we need to decide how we're going to —"

"Where's the proof You-Know-Who's back?" said a Hufflepuff student.

Mel tilted her head, half amusement and half exasperation.

"Well, Dumbledore believes it —" Hermione began.

"You mean, the Dumbledores believe him," He nodded shortly at the boy. "Everyone knows Mel's crazy about Harry, and Dumbledore–"

"Who are you?" Ron interrupted with a tone of warning.

"Zacharias Smith– and I think we've got the right to know exactly what makes him say You-Know-Who's back."

"Oh, you think you've got the right?" Mel leaned forward but Ron pulled her back.

"Look," said Hermione. "that's really not what this meeting was supposed to be about —"

"It's okay, Hermione," Harry said lowly, then he directed his attention to the boy. "What makes me say You-Know-Who's back? I saw him. But Dumbledore told the whole school what happened last year, and if you didn't believe him, you won't believe me or Mel, and I'm not wasting an afternoon trying to convince anyone."

Mel tried hard not to look in the direction of her grandad, she had to at least pretend she didn't know him so she could deny the encounter in case Dumbledore found out, but she could see him clearly paying attention to their meeting.

"All Dumbledore told us last year was that Cedric Diggory got killed by You-Know-Who and that you brought Diggory's body back to Hogwarts. He didn't give us details, he didn't tell us exactly how Diggory got murdered, I think we'd all like to know —"

"If you've come to hear exactly what it looks like when Voldemort murders someone I can't help you. I don't want to talk about Cedric Diggory, all right? So if that's what you're here for, you might as well clear out."

She had to admit that Harry was doing a great job, this time she thought it was appropriate to be a bit rough with his answers, after all, this guy didn't have any right to demand stuff. She wondered if someone had approached Harry this way during the weeks she'd spent away from the group. How weird it was, being so foreign to Harry's experiences.

"So... so... like I was saying... if you want to learn some defence, then we need to work out how we're going to do it, how often we're going to meet, and where we're going to —" Hermione got interrupted again.

"Is it true that you can produce a Patronus?" Susan Bones asked.

"Yeah," said Harry, then added hurriedly as if that way he wouldn't get all the stares. "Mel too."

"A corporeal Patronus?"

"Er — you don't know Madam Bones, do you?" Harry asked.

Mel rolled her eyes, of course Harry didn't know his own classmates by name.

"She's my auntie," Susan said happily. "I'm Susan Bones. She told me about your hearing. So — is it really true? You make a stag Patronus?"

"Yes," said Harry.

"What about you, Mel?" Terry inquired.

"Mine's a phoenix," She said shortly.

The barman stopped cleaning at that.

"Blimey, guys!" said Lee. "I never knew that!"

"Mum told Ron not to spread it around," said Fred. "She said you got enough attention as it was."

"She's not wrong," mumbled Harry, causing a few to laugh.

"And did you kill a basilisk with that sword in Dumbledore's office?" Terry Boot asked eagerly. "That's what one of the portraits on the wall told me when I was in there last year..."

"Er — yeah, I did, yeah," Harry glanced at her, but Mel wasn't going to speak. All those questions were directed to him only.

"And in our first year," said Neville, sounding like he couldn't quite believe it yet, "he saved that Sorcerous Stone —"

"Sorcerer's," Hermione corrected.

"Yes, that, from You-Know-Who, and Mel," Neville laughed timidly. "Mel threw Professor Quirrell to the other end of the room without a wand."

"How d'you know–?" Mel started, but Cho interrupted.

"And that's not to mention all the tasks Harry had to get through in the Triwizard Tournament last year — getting past dragons and merpeople and acromantulas and things..."

Mel looked at the way Cho was smiling and the eager look on the boy's eyes. The girl tried –and failed– to ignore the fact that she could recognize it like the one he'd given her a year prior after almost kissing him.

"Look– I... I don't want to sound like I'm trying to be modest or anything, but... I had a lot of help with all that stuff..."

"Not with the dragon, you didn't," said Michael Corner. "That was a seriously cool bit of flying..."

"Yeah, well —" said Harry, brushing it away like a very annoying fly.

"And nobody helped you get rid of those dementors this summer," said Susan.

"No... no, okay, I know I did bits of it without help, but the point I'm trying to make is —"

"Are you trying to weasel out of showing us any of this stuff?" said Zacharias.

"Here's an idea," said Ron, this time it was him the one who leaned further, "why don't you shut your mouth?"

"Well, we've all turned up to learn from him, and now he's telling us he can't really do any of it," Zacharias said, but his voice came out a bit quieter.

"That's not what he said," Fred frowned.

"Would you like us to clean out your ears for you?" George pulled a long and weird looking metal thingy from one of his bags.

"Or any part of your body, really, we're not fussy where we stick this," said Fred.

"Knock it off," Mel stopped them. "We're not here to fight."

The boys gave her a grumpy look but put the instruments away.

"Yes, well," Hermione cleared her throat, "moving on... the point is, are we agreed we want to take lessons from Harry and Mel?" There was a buzz of agreement to which Hermione nodded once. "Right. Well, then, the next question is how often we do it. I really don't think there's any point in meeting less than once a week —"

"Hang on," said Angelina, "we need to make sure this doesn't clash with our Quidditch practice."

"No," said Cho, "nor with ours."

"Nor ours," added Zacharias.

"I'm sure we can find a night that suits everyone, but you know, this is rather important, we're talking about learning to defend ourselves against V-Voldemort's Death Eaters —"

"Well said! Personally, I think this is really important, possibly more important than anything else we'll do this year, even with our O.W.L.s coming up!" Ernie exclaimed eagerly. "I, personally, am at a loss to see why the Ministry has foisted such a useless teacher upon us at this critical period. Obviously, they are in denial about the return of You-Know-Who, but to give us a teacher who is trying to actively prevent us from using defensive spells —"

"Is not that she's useless," Mel spoke. "She knows Dark Magic well enough to defend herself against it, I'm sure of it. She just doesn't want us to know because she thinks we're planning on murdering the Minister." Some laughed, others stared at her in shock.

"We think the reason Umbridge doesn't want us trained in Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione, nodding at Mel's words. "is that she's got some... some mad idea that Dumbledore could use the students in the school as a kind of private army. She thinks he'd mobilize us against the Ministry."

"Well, that makes sense," Luna mentioned. "After all, Cornelius Fudge has got his own private army."

"What?" said Harry.

"Yes, he's got an army of heliopaths."

"No, he hasn't," Hermione retorted.

"Yes, he has."

"What are heliopaths?" asked Neville.

"They're spirits of fire. Great tall flaming creatures that gallop across the ground burning everything in front of —"

"They don't exist, Neville," said Hermione.

"Oh yes, they do!"

"I'm sorry, but where's the proof of that?"

"There are plenty of eyewitness accounts, just because you're so narrow-minded you need to have everything shoved under your nose before you —"

"Thank you, Luna," Mel said. "I think we should go back to the important subjects of this meeting."

"Hem, hem," Ginny cleared her throat like Umbridge with a horrifying accuracy. "Weren't we trying to decide how often we're going to meet and get Defense lessons?"

"Yes. Yes, we were, you're right..." Hermione sighed.

"Well, once a week sounds cool," said Lee Jordan.

"As long as —" began Angelina.

"Yes, yes, we know about the Quidditch. Well, the other thing to decide is where we're going to meet..."

"Library?" suggested Katie Bell.

"I can't see Madam Pince being too chuffed with us doing jinxes in the library," said Harry, then added in a low voice so only Mel could hear. "But it sure is a good place for secret meetings..."

She knew he was talking about Erick, but her mind went to the afternoons spent there with Harry.

"Maybe an unused classroom?" said Dean.

"Yeah, McGonagall might let us have hers, she did when Harry was practising for the Triwizard..." Ron mentioned.

"McGonagall asked us to keep a low profile," Mel raised a brow. "What part of 'secret study group against Umbridge' sounds innocent to you?"

"The study part," Her friend replied with a smirk.

"Right, well, we'll try to find somewhere," Hermione shrugged. "We'll send a message round to everybody when we've got a time and a place for the first meeting." She then searched in her bag and pulled parchment and a quill. "I-I think everybody should write their name down, just so we know who was here. But I also think that we all ought to agree not to shout about what we're doing. So if you sign, you're agreeing not to tell Umbridge — or anybody else — what we're up to."

"'Mione–" Mel started, but Fred took the parchment and signed, then winked at her. George followed suit. "All right then..."

"Er..." Zacharias looked at the paper reluctantly. "Well... I'm sure Ernie will tell me when the meeting is."

"I — well, we are prefects," Ernie let out anxiously. "And if this list was found... well, I mean to say... you said yourself, if Umbridge finds out..."

"You just said this group was the most important thing you'd do this year," Harry reminded him.

"I — yes," said Ernie, "yes, I do believe that it's just..."

"Ernie, do you really think I'd leave that list lying around?" said Hermione.

"No. No, of course not... I — yes, of course, I'll sign."

The parchment moved around until it came back to Zacharias.

"What's the matter, Smith?" Mel smirked. "You're not trying to weasel out, are you?"

He looked at her with indignation, let out a scoff and took the parchment, signing down his name.

"Well, time's ticking on," Fred stood up. "George, Lee, and I have got items of a sensitive nature to purchase, we'll be seeing you all later. Coming, Lady?"

"Er..." Mel looked around and found Cho staring eagerly at Harry. She shook her head. "No, I think I'll spend the rest of the day with 'Mione and the boys, thanks."

"Well, I think that went quite well," said Hermione once they walked out of the Hog's Head. Mel had glanced back at the old man once before leaving, unable to say a thing.

"That Zacharias bloke's a wart," grumbled Ron.

"Sure is," Mel scowled. "What an idiot, thinking we owe him an explanation..."

"I don't like him much either," Hermione nodded, "but he overheard me talking to Ernie and Hannah at the Hufflepuff table and he seemed really interested in coming, so what could I say? But the more people the better really — I mean, Michael Corner and his friends wouldn't have come if his friends weren't all crazy about Mel and he hadn't been going out with Ginny —"

Mel let out a short squeak and Ron choked on the last bit of butterbeer he'd been drinking.

"He's WHAT?" Ron yelled. "She's going out with — my sister's going — what d'you mean, Michael Corner?"

"Well, that's why he and his friends came, I think —" Hermione shrugged. "Well, they're obviously interested in learning defence, but if Ginny hadn't told Michael what was going on, and his friends weren't trying to win Mel over —"

"That's ridiculous!" Mel blushed madly. "I– They–"

"When did this — when did she — ?" Ron stuttered as well.

"They met at the Yule Ball and they got together at the end of last year," said Hermione, guiding them to the entrance of a shop. "Hmm... I could do with a new quill."

"Which one was Michael Corner?" Ron demanded.

"The dark one," said Hermione.

"I didn't like him," said Ron at once.

Mel came out of her trance, giving Ron an amused look.

"You've never spoken to him!"

"Big surprise," Hermione whispered.

"But– I thought Ginny fancied Harry!"

Hermione looked at Mel for a moment before responding.

"Ginny used to fancy Harry, but she gave up on him months ago... when we thought... well... Not that she doesn't like you, of course," Hermione added towards Harry.

Harry merely shrugged, his eyes wondering outside the window, probably looking for a certain raven-haired girl.

"So that's why she talks now? She never used to talk in front of me..."

"Exactly," Hermione glanced at Mel once more. "Yeah, she's not as nervous as before... I think she really is over it... Yes, I think I'll have this one..."

Mel felt a bit jealous of Ginny, she was capable of moving on just like that and find a good boy. Not that she didn't deserve it, Ginny was awfully pretty and she was fun to hang out with, she deserved to date and have fun! She wanted to have that, but if it meant she had to date someone as silly as Anthony Goldstein, she wasn't sure she'd be moving on any time soon.

Her mind wondered once again to Harry, she wanted to know what his opinion was on this whole thing because he was being really confusing. On a good day, she could still see a type of softness on his gaze when talking to her, but more often than not he would be grumpy and serious, not even trying to be nice. She just wanted to know what he was thinking, was that really so hard?

"Ron," Hermione's voice escalated. "This is exactly why Ginny hasn't told you she's seeing Michael, she knew you'd take it badly. So don't harp on about it, for heaven's sake."

"What d'you mean, who's taking anything badly? I'm not going to harp on about anything..."

But he remained pouty and serious for the rest of the day.

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

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deesarrachi · 4 years

Text

We did it everyone! A ficlet every single day in October, and I’m really proud of that. It’s been a hot minute since I shared any of my writing, and I’m super thankful to @fytheuntamed for creating and running this fest that inspired me to do it.

Day 31: Wei Wuxian

The morning was already well on its way when Wei Wuxian woke, sunlight dappling the floor of the Jingshi. He stretched languidly under the blankets, still feeling pleasantly sore from last night's early birthday present from his husband, listening to the bird songs outside the window. He rolled onto his side and spotted the tray of breakfast, steaming a little in the chill air and grinned. If the bite in his nose was any indication, Lan Wangji had seasoned his congee appropriately this morning. The only downside was that his husband couldn't be there to serve him breakfast in bed.

Still, it was nice to be able to lounge about in the warm bed until his hunger forced his hand. Lan Qiren had informed him that Lan Zhifu would be teaching his classes today for practice, which was closer to a birthday present than he had expected from his uncle-in-law, and it meant the whole day stretched out ahead of him, free and open.

The rice congee, bright red with spice, didn't warm him nearly as much as the note Lan Wangji had left beside the bowl, informing him that he loved him, and that Lan Sizhui would be arriving with supper that evening, and that there were letters and packages for him on the desk, and that he loved him. He shook his head a little over the note – Lans! Hopeless romantics, every one of them, no matter how much they tried to hide it – and tucked it into the book by his side of the bed for safekeeping.

The letters and packages were mostly what he expected: birthday greetings and gifts from his brother and nephew. There was a letter there from Wen Ning too, who was travelling on his own for a while after returning Sizhui safe to the Cloud Recesses. Under those was the grading he'd been putting off for his novices, which he hastily pushed aside. Tomorrow would be for real work, and besides, he'd already taken this long to return them. One more day wouldn't hurt.

The afternoon sun was warm as he wandered the paths, accepting greetings from the various disciples as they passed him. Several of his novices spotted him and rushed forward at a run (at least, until a nearby Senior cleared his throat meaningfully, causing several shame-faced bows of apology and a more sedate pace) to swarm him and excitedly chatter about their morning and the fascinating lesson that Lan Zhifu had taught them and now they were going to practice meditation and would he come with them for that?

Wei Wuxian laughed. "Oh, you certainly don't want this Senior's help with meditation, I'll be the worst distraction for all of you. Even the very best, most experienced, most senior Lans lose focus when I'm being a bother at them! Baby Lans don't stand a chance."

A few of the children gave token protests at being called babies, but one fixed him with a surprisingly serious stare, for a six-year-old. "I bet Hanguang-Jun doesn't get distracted by you. Lying is forbidden, Senior Wei."

He had to hastily choke down his snort of laughter. "I suppose you're right, but either way, none of you are at Hanguang-Jun's level yet. And you won't get there with a troublesome senior in the way." He swept them a bow just to hear the laughter, then shooed them in the direction of their next classroom with a bright smile.

The library was calm and still, perfect for quiet research on refining his latest talisman idea, one that would spin a web around any ghost that came too near. It was nice to work without urgency, to absorb the soft susurrus of paper and brush and soft voices, to hop between books and scrolls and his own work and sometimes take a break to walk around and see what the other patrons were up to. Sometimes he offered advice to juniors working on essays for their teachers, or just listened to a verbal report, or let an excited novice explain the sword forms she had just learned. It still surprised him sometimes, the simple joy he got from teaching younger disciples.

Eventually, though, the library emptied out as the dinner hour drew closer, and Wei Wuxian put away most of the things he'd spread over his little table, keeping a scroll for later perusal. He had his own supper to get to, after all, and if he knew his A-Yuan, it was going to be delicious. He wasn't sure when Sizhui had learned to be such a capable cook, but he certainly wasn't going to turn away a chance for excellent food instead of bland soup and greens.

The sunset lit the sky on fire, reds and oranges and purples painted across the horizon and dotted with golden clouds. The Jingshi was lit from within, sounds of soft chatter – he could pick out his husband's and son's voices, and the loud laugh that rang out had to mean that Lan Jingyi had been invited, too – spilling from the open door. Wei Wuxian breathed deep, smelling the braised pork and roasted carrot scent wafting from the Jingshi's kitchen, and felt the warmth blossom in his chest. His son, his husband, his home... all the things he'd dreamed of in his first life and never once thought he could really have.

He walked the last few feet up the path and into the home he shared with the ones he loved the most.

(Note: Lan Zhifu (志赋) named with help from this post. Please let me know if I've messed up horribly so I can fix it!)

#untamed fall fest #day 31 #the untamed #there is no plot to this it's really just wwx having a Really Good Day lmao #he deserves it #wangxian #my precious son who has never done a wrong thing ever in his life

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sanderssidesfanfiction · 3 years

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If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Sixty Three

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

October 17th, 2000

Remy shook his head as he trudged around campus. He hated this. He hated this whole thing. The only thing that made college bearable was the idea that he might get a paying job from it, but he didn’t even have that job security for certain, so really, why was he here?

A familiar voice called his name from across the quad and Remy turned, rolling his eyes as Emile ran up to him excitedly. Yeah, college was annoying, and Emile could be a bit of a nuisance, but he was at least a familiar nuisance. And if Emile wanted to hang out with Remy, well, Remy wasn’t going to stop him, even if he didn’t see what Emile saw in him.

May 20th, 2002

Remy kept the frustrated tears at bay for as long as it took for him to clock out at Starbucks and walk down the side, to the back parking lot. Once there, he punched the dumpster that was backed up against the building and a few tears slipped out from pain and from anger. He was beyond pissed, and he didn’t know why. He had seen this coming. He knew they weren’t going to pick him to become the new manager. And yet, when he heard the news, it still felt like his hopes shattered into a million pieces.

“It went that badly, huh?” Emile asked from behind him.

Remy turned swiping at the tears on his cheeks to find Emile standing there, hands in his pockets. “Yeah,” he settled on saying.

“I’m sorry, my love,” Emile said, closing the distance between them and hugging Remy close. “You don’t deserve to be overlooked just because you don’t want a degree.”

“They didn’t even pick from the store,” Remy said. “They brought in someone else who doesn’t know the system, just because they have that stupid Bachelor’s.”

Emile winced and Remy sighed. “I mean, I saw it coming that I wouldn’t get the job, but seriously? Outside? Not even from another store, just someone who’s never worked there before. We’re gonna have to teach him everything in the span of maybe two weeks!” He shook his head. “Emile, I’m really sick of this.”

“I know you are,” Emile said.

“One day, I can quit this crappy job and be my own person,” Remy said. “One day.”

Emile nodded as he lead Remy to the car. “And that day will be amazing,” Emile agreed. “Until then, we should probably ice your hand and make sure nothing’s broken.”

Remy sighed. Punching the dumpster was a dumb move, but at the very least, it beat punching brick wall. “Yeah,” he said flatly.

Emile drove them home and Remy leaned back into the chair, trying to stop crying. All he was getting for his troubles was a headache and more tears. “My head hurts,” Remy griped.

“Not surprised,” Emile said. “Do you need to take some ibuprofen when we get back?”

“I don’t think so,” Remy said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I just need to get over myself.”

“Hey, hey,” Emile said, pulling into the parking lot. “You have every right to be upset, Rem, that’s an upsetting thing. You don’t have to ‘get over yourself.’”

Remy grumbled, “Then why am I getting so worked up over something I knew would happen?”

Emile shrugged. “I’m not inside your head, Rem, I can’t speak for you. If I had to hazard a guess, it’s because hiring someone from outside the company just adds insult to injury.”

Remy laughed hollowly. “Understatement,” he groused, getting out of the car and inspecting his hand. It was swelling a little, but didn’t immediately come across as “broken,” which was a promising sign. “You ever break a bone, Emile?” he asked.

“Uh...not that I remember. There were a couple close calls, but nothing ever broke. I did once dislocate my knee,” Emile said.

Remy winced. “Ouch. How?”

“One of my friends took martial arts classes, and taught me and some of our friends some of the moves, but we didn’t do much stretching before we tried it...and I wound up with a lot of pain the next day in gym class, to where I could barely walk.”

“Ooh!” Remy exclaimed, hissing. “That’s pretty bad.”

“Yep, six weeks of physical therapy, a knee brace, the whole deal,” Emile said. “You break a bone?”

“I fractured my wrist at like...age six.” Remy laughed. “I was running down the sidewalk, and I assume I tripped, because the next thing I know, my wrist feels like it’s on fire and I’m sprawled on the ground. Went to school the next day, couldn’t use scissors without pain, went to the nurse, and she pretty much knew it was broken within five minutes of seeing it. Called my mom, they took me to the doctor’s, got X-rays, and I got a sick-looking cast.”

“Your mom sent you to school with a broken wrist?” Emile asked incredulously.

Remy shrugged. “She didn’t know how to identify a broken bone, she just assumed I cried for half an hour because, y’know, I’ve always been a crybaby. You got sent to school with a dislocated knee!”

“Because it didn’t really start hurting until gym class,” Emile said. “If a six year old cries for half an hour over tripping on a sidewalk, something’s up.”

Remy waved off Emile’s concern. “Eh, she apologized about it later. It wasn’t the end of the world, and because it happened during the school year, I still had two months where I could swim in the pool after the cast came off.”

Emile squinted at Remy and Remy rolled his eyes. “What?”

“You’re excusing your mother’s actions again.”

“She didn’t know, Emile,” Remy said. As they got inside the apartment and Emile gave Remy an ice pack, Remy continued, “You don’t have to know everything about injuries to become a parent.”

“No, but I still think crying for half an hour over a trip should be investigated. And if a school nurse can identify the injury that quickly, shouldn’t the parent be a tad bit suspicious before the kid leaves for school? Because obviously there would be swelling.”

Remy shrugged. “Listen, this wasn’t too bad. She was just forgetful in this case,” he defended. “She’s done worse, you’ve seen her do worse.”

Emile pinched the bridge of his nose. “Did she dismiss other health concerns?”

“I didn’t tell her about other health concerns, like in high school when everyone was turning against me except Toby. She couldn’t dismiss what she wasn’t told about.”

“But you didn’t tell her because she would dismiss it?” Emile questioned. “That seems to be what you’re implying.”

“Okay, she brushed off some things in middle school, things that I don’t even remember because I blocked them out. They couldn’t be too severe if I’m still standing here, though,” Remy brushed off.

Emile sighed and Remy inwardly grimaced. He knew that sigh. It was the sigh Emile got whenever he thought Remy was dismissing key parts of his mental health. “Remy...”

“Can we just agree to drop this subject and let me return to bitching about not getting the manager position?” Remy requested. “I know my mom wasn’t on top of it. I know she was bad. And we just disagree about how severe this infraction was. I agree that she should have done something, at least asked me why I was crying so much, but she didn’t. It’s over. Done with. Has been for years. I just want to gripe.”

Emile sighed. “Okay, fine. Let’s just talk about what’s going on in the here and now.”

Remy nodded his thanks. “I don’t think my hand is broken,” he said idly. “It would be swelling more if that was the case. Even with ice, it would look different.”

“Agreed,” Emile said. “You still shouldn’t have punched the dumpster.”

“It was that or the brick wall,” Remy said drily.

Emile shook his head. “Rem, you worry me, to this day.”

“Yeah, well. I’m getting better at controlling my anger, it just...needs an outlet, and I couldn’t hold it back further without risking lashing out, so I took it out on the closest inanimate object to me,” Remy said.

Emile rolled his eyes and took the ice pack off Remy’s hand to kiss the knuckles. “You may be an impulsive man, but you’re my impulsive man. And I’m proud that you’re working to control the more angry impulses.”

Remy offered Emile a smirk. “I thought you liked it when things got heated.”

“Not in this context,” Emile laughed.

Remy grinned, before looking at his hand and sighing. “Man, I wish I could be running my own shop right about now.”

“Hey, one day,” Emile said, squeezing Remy’s shoulder.

“Yeah, but that’s going to take so long,” Remy sighed. “Too long. I’ll still have to deal with this new manager, and what happens if I can’t hide my resentment well enough?”

“Remy, I know this probably doesn’t help, but I’m fairly sure you can hide your disdain behind your customer service smile. You’re consistently way better at that than I am. He might know it’s fake, he might not. Regardless, he can’t hold you accountable so long as you don’t say how you really feel about him and you keep smiling.”

“I don’t want to keep smiling,” Remy sighed. “I want to be able to be mad, and to cry, and I want people to know that I’m human.”

“Unfortunately, the downside of working in food service or retail hell is that a lot of people won’t see you as human,” Emile said knowingly. “But you’re always free to be human around me, and our friends, and anyone else we run into when you’re not working.”

“I know,” Remy grumbled. Didn’t change the fact that he didn’t want to put up with this.

“Rem, time will pass without you realizing it, and one day, you’re going to wake up, and realize you have the money and power to start your own coffee shop, and you’re going to absolutely crush it,” Emile said with conviction. “Trust me. It might be hard to see right now, but you’re destined for greatness.”

That, at least, got Remy to laugh. He both loved and hated when Emile got all storybook cliché on him. “I would disagree about the destiny thing,” Remy said. “I carve my own destiny.”

“Exactly why it’s true,” Emile replied smoothly. “You don’t wait around looking for your purpose, you go out and make a purpose that fits you.”

“I would argue that I wouldn’t make the purpose. Plenty of people have dropped out of college before. Many people have become entrepreneurs. It’s not exactly a unique path,” Remy brushed off.

“Yeah, but it still goes against the norms of what people expect of you. Instead of just going with the flow, you’re standing tall. And nothing can push you around if you don’t let it. Honestly it’s...pretty inspiring,” Emile said.

Remy laughed. “Please, Emile. I don’t have this heart-stopping origin story that you’re making this out to be.”

“I don’t know,” Emile said with a shrug. “I just think that you’re pretty impressive. If I were in your position, I wouldn’t have ever gotten this far.”

“I mean, I think you could have gotten out of my family situation before I ever did, and made a name for yourself however you wanted,” Remy said with a shrug in return.

Emile offered a slightly bitter smile, which surprised Remy. “Rem, believe me when I say that the only reason you believe that is because my parents taught me how to stand up for myself. You learned how to stand up on your own. No one taught you. If I had been in your position, I probably wouldn’t have lasted through high school. You’re impossibly strong.”

Remy shrugged. “I mean, I guess I’m strong. I’m taking you at your word on that, but I didn’t learn how to stand up on my own. You’re the one who taught me that.”

Emile shook his head. “No, Rem, I may have shown you where to stand tall and demand respect, but even before I met you, you were trying to make your own way in the world. Studying business over accounting, remember? That was all you. You’ve got what it takes to make your own place in the world. And if I were a betting man, I’d put all my money on you.”

Remy stood there, shocked into silence for a good minute. He didn’t know what Emile saw in him to cause that sort of conviction, but he knew that Emile was serious in this. And he wasn’t about to disappoint Emile. He smiled. He would get through this. He’d get through it and go his own way, sooner or later. “I love you too, Emile.”

#if there's a place i could be #sanders sides fanfiction #remile #emile picani #ts sleep

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whats-the-story-tc · 4 years

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9th of October, 2020

"The One with the Cards Laid Bare"

[INCREDIBLY LONG, SORRY FOR CLOGGING THE TAG]

There were very tense energies in our classroom before V's double class. We already knew she'd cried today, we knew where she'd be working from other classes, so we all knew what would come, and it still was bad. One of the boys said he heard that she hopes we're not all angry at her and that we won't hate her for her decision. There was not an inch of anger or hatred in any of us, just heartbreak. We knew how much we'd cry seeing her leave. We were afraid of this goodbye. But it had to come eventually. The last class she'll ever teach. The last two lessons she'll ever have.

She was late. Only a couple minutes, but seeing she's always on time, or even a bit early, it was worrying. I walked outside to find her, and when I did, I saw her, coming up the stairs with two boys from the class, fresh back from lunch. Immediately as she saw me, she raised her index finger and said: "No." I didn't really understand it, until she continued: "I'm not gonna cry. I'm trying to go at least two minutes without crying." My heart was in shambles, and nothing even happened yet.

She started by telling us an e-mail is not how she wanted us to find out. She wanted to tell us herself, but not until today, probably not until the end of class, even though she's known for quite a long time she wanted to leave. She didn't tell us, because she wanted these last days not to be chaotic, so we could still focus and do our best in class. There were signs, though. And I should have known. There's one in basically every post I wrote this year. Funny thing is, when I told you about how she was with the girl from the other class and I thought something was up, it was only my gut feeling. She hadn't told them yet. Only in the last 20 minutes of that double class.

She also told us who will be replacing her, just to get the professional part quickly over with. V said she expects us to treat them fairly, even if she won't be here to check on us. We keep this promise. Most of the time, it works.

Being a teacher doesn't pay well, and here, in our country, the profession itself is not respected the way it should be. 10 years of experience in the field means nothing, she said. The new education system is horrible, unbearable, and she's had enough of feeling like she's in a toxic relationship. Not with us, with teaching. She said she used to feel very anxious when she got here, and by now I know what she hadn't told us in that moment, that she still doesn't feel good thinking about school. She has to leave for her own sake, even though she feels incredibly guilty about it. Even though she'll miss us.

She said, through tears, constantly stopping to take a deep breath and gather her thoughts, that teaching is something she was planning to do her whole life long, but she has to step back now. Even though she has "the seniors, standing before their graduation exams, [us], whom [she's] bonded with", she can't do it anymore. And when one of the girls asked her if she really did love us, she said: "Would I have stayed so long if I didn't?"

We spent long minutes in class discussing the education system, and when I said I didn't know about something that supposedly came from the weaker one of the theatre universities here at home, V was surprised that I hadn't read it. She called me a nickname again, a new one. I've been babygirl and I've been fairy bug before, but not once have I been the name that translates to "my life". Spanish speakers, it's like when you guys say mi vida to someone you love. That's what V called me. I don't remember her ever having called someone that in class.

Between classes, Bandana Friend, who was sick, joined us via video call to speak to V, as she really wanted to say goodbye, at least like this. I stood right beside V as they spoke, out of the camera's sight, unlike my classmates, constantly goofing off in the background, making both V and my friend laugh a little. As I stood there, I couldn't help but marvel at V's eyes from up close, in the light. I don't think I've ever seen a more enchanting eye colour before, and I find nearly every pair of eyes I see pretty. Seriously, I wasn't overexaggerating in any of my posts. If you once catch her eye, you won't know when to stop looking.

After a while, though, my classmates got a bit much, still during the call, and there I was, gathering bravery and doing something I've never done before. I stroked V's arm for a second or two, like I've wanted to so many times before, to show sympathy. She didn't even look at me, didn't even flinch, she probably knew who was touching her. And, seeing how unresponsive, how calm she was about it, I couldn't help but think: "Is this something I could've done this whole time?"

Before the second class with her started, Debate Friend called her a derivative of her first name (though she made sure to say Miss with it), and V just told her not to be rude. Hours pass, and V lets her (and us all, indirectly) call her by her first name, which is something we're still adapting to, but I'm rushing too far ahead, let's slow down a little.

The second class went well, she wasn't crying anymore, on the contrary. We laughed a lot, she told us her honest opinion on a lot of us, who asked her what she thinks of them, and gave advice if needed. I didn't ask. I figured that if she wants to tell me something, she will. Then a very crazy chain of events happened.

She looked like she was gonna tear up again, and I couldn't sit and watch anymore. I stood up and walked right in front of her, not daring to ask for a hug, but hoping she'll get the message with arm gestures. It took her a bit, but when she did, she couldn't help but yell something that I would translate to: "[Specs] is jumping me!". The word she used here is something usually used in a romantic or flirty context. (Translation was never my forte.) You can probably imagine the laughter, and also my face as I realise that not even on her last day could she go without sassing me at least once.

But then. Oh, then. The next thing I hear as I turn towards her is as she says: "C'mere, Little Me." and before I know it, I find myself sobbing in her arms again, and thinking about how this happened. She seemed taken aback by or uncomfortable with the comparison the last time we spoke about it in March, before the quarantine. When did she accept it, or how? Now as I re-read that post, as I'm writing this one... could the turning point have been me calling her my sister? I had so many questions, but all I could do was cry.

Class was nearing the end when I finally managed to stop sobbing and ask her one thing I've been meaning to for ages: what her tattoos mean. "How much should I go into detail?" she asked with sparkling eyes. She wasn't even surprised I knew about the two on her shoulder blades — but I was, when she motioned with her fingers she actually had three. Before telling me about them, she jokingly said something along the lines of "I'm not gonna strip for you" (as all 3 are covered by clothes), and me being me, I immediately threw my hands up, face probably red, and said: "Nononononono, obviously [not]!"

Funny thing is, the two on her shoulder blades are actually quotes from the last book she had us read, the last thing we discussed with her in class on Wednesday. So this is what she meant when she said she had personal connections to it! After she told me which parts they're from, she jokingly added "Very English teacher [of me]...", to which I just laughed and responded "Yeah, very."

By the time I'm writing this, I already had to listen to the headmaster, one of V's replacements, as he bragged about knowing of these two tattoos. Heh. That's cute. It's still 2-1 to me, sir. Not only have I seen them partially before, which you said you haven't, but I also know about the one she most definitely never told you about. And the one I'm most definitely not gonna tell you guys about. Sorry. Some things just have to stay between V and I.

"Also, no one noticed that this is the first time since I came here that I've worn a band T-shirt!" she complains to me jokingly. "Well, I was used to your graphic shirts, so I didn't think much of it," I reply. She's very enthusiastic in telling me what exactly is on it, without me even asking. This woman put on a shirt that essentially disses Christianity — in a religious school. Unbelievable. I love her.

Somewhere around that time, I asked her to let me walk with her to the teacher's lounge, Bookworm Friend convinced her to take a photo with our squad (which had basically everyone I know, my own father included, telling me we look identical), I stroked her arm again (I no longer remember what the reason was, but she still must've felt it pretty natural, seeing she didn't react), and like 3/4 of the class came to hug V goodbye. Meanwhile, another girl I've been classmates with for ages, but never particularly liked, hugged me to try and comfort me. It caught me off-guard, but I've never felt more like our class is a community.

People from other classes came to talk as she walked outside, but I waited until she was alone, and most probably so was she. She promised, likely knowing that I wanted to talk privately, so we didn't leave until it was just the two of us left.

"Come, Little Me," she said again, as we got going. She liked this phrase so much that she repeated it in English. "Mini Me." Then I found out why the English. Turns out, her native English speaker boyfriend, who she name-dropped like it's second nature, as if she's telling a story to a friend (she's so whipped for him, it's adorable), knows all about this comparison, and had a good laugh at it. He knows who I am. I was important enough to mention at home to her boyfriend, something I always wondered about but never dared to ask her. Tears.

No, really, actual tears. I've told you before, I don't support confessing love to your teachers while you're still their student (I'd wait a year after graduation if I were you), and especially if you're underage, and I myself wouldn't do it either. And I didn't. My confession was a little different. My voice breaking from tears, I told her the one thing I wanted her to know most. "This is not how I wanted to tell you, but I've never got more (in life) from anyone..." The answer? The old classic. "Come on."

"[Specs], you really need to get more self-confidence" she tells me, as that's about the only thing I still need to get me where I want to be. "I have to," I reply. And I do. I'm trying. Funny thing, self-confidence. It comes up in both the first and the last conversation we have as student and teacher.

We get up, stand at the top of the stairs. Soon it's time to go. The memories get a bit hazy here, but I'll try my best.

She tells me she expected me to react this way, and was afraid of it, seeing what happened in January. I immediately corrected her. In January, I cried because seeing my classmates hurting and my teachers clueless and lost hurt me, whereas this time, it's personal. She doesn't say anything. I think she understands. I ask her if she'll be happy in this new situation, and she says she hopes so. Only time will tell.

"I probably won't be available at a moment's notice all the time, but if you ever need me, you'll find me," she reassures me.

My English (language) teacher walks outside in that moment, and starts talking to V like I'm not even there. V and I are both a bit uncomfortable with the interruption, but the teacher seems pretty fine with it. Fucking hell, woman, insensitivity much?

Anyway. When she's gone is probably the moment we realise this is it. That this is where it's over.

She reaches out, both verbally and physically, and there we are, hugging again, both of us stroking the other's back in an effort to try and comfort the other. "You always have your friends," she tells me. "Get a good rest," she adds somewhere during that moment. Then we pull away.

I don't reach out, I don't dare to. As soon as I step out of her arms, it's her, who takes a hold of my hand. Not clinging, just a gentle, meaningful hold. I have no idea what she was saying, as I focused on the fact that we were only bloody holding hands in plain sight — and another thing.

V's eyes were red, and full of tears.

She hadn't shed a single tear for the past 20 minutes or so. Yet there she stands before me, physically still holding on to me, and crying. That was all me. And all of a sudden, I understand everything. I no longer have the guts to deny that she loved me all this time.

That's where it ends. No grandiose confessions, nothing loud, nothing overly passionate. Just a scene of two women standing hand-in-hand, showing their true colours and not holding anything back for the first time since they've met, before Miss V, the teacher, forever disappears behind a glass door.

These two women, mentioned above, are the ones who laid the foundation for two friends, two equals to meet anew. They are just getting to know each other all over again as we speak, setting the tone for something to start that could possibly last a long time. And I don't think there's anything that could feel better than that.

~ S ♡

[Every story I share here, no matter how specific I get with my wording, depicts actual events from my own life.]

#tc #tcc #teacher crush community #female tc #female teacher crush

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caelpictor · 4 years

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QHAVPPFAQ

Quarantine Halloween: A Virtual Paint Party

FREQUENTLY ASKED QUESTIONS

Who are you?

Kyle Marcus Bryant, aka @caelpictor. He/him/his/pronoun-flexible, Black, queer, 26 (and a half), Taurus, INFP, ADHD af. I’m an artist (with a degree in it, as of 2018!), a nerd, and a lover of Halloween!

What is this event?

Quarantine Halloween: A Virtual Paint Party is an art class conducted via video call in which I teach you step-by-step how to paint a Halloween masterpiece! #distancelearning

When is this taking place?

There are two classes scheduled: Friday October 30, 2020, and Saturday October 31, 2020 (AKA Halloween) from 7-9 PM EST.

Where?

It’s all happening on Zoom! Technology is amazing!

Why?

Like many of us, I lost my job to the pandemic. I am now safely quarantined away in VA with family, staring down my student loan debt, bored out of my mind, and looking for a fun way to connect with others while also offering my talents in exchange for your cold. hard. cash!

How much does it cost?

The $10 instructor fee covers one participant for one night. If you want to take both classes, make sure to get two tickets! And if two or more people will be joining the class from one location, please make sure everyone in the group is covered! Thanks 🙂

Is there a difference between the two classes?

Nope! They will be the same. I’m just offering two different dates for your convenience! Aren’t I nice?

How do I sign up?

Simply send in your payment and the best way to contact you, and let me know which day you’ll be participating (Fri 30 or Sat 31). Once I receive your payment, I’ll add you to my little list, confirm with you that you’re on it, and I’ll send you the Zoom link/meeting ID and password on the day of the event.

Where do I send my payment?

Venmo: @KyleBryant

PayPal: KyleMB13

CashApp: $KyleMarcusBryant

None of these are case-sensitive. If there’s one you prefer that’s not listed, let me know, and we’ll see what we can do!

Which is your preferred payment method?

Venmo, but any of the ones listed above are great!

Do you accept tips/donations?

Yes 🙂 always :)))

What’s the vibe?

Very casual. Drinking, Halloween costumes, and conversation are all highly encouraged! (But never forced)! I will be in costume, probably sipping wine or a cocktail and jamming out to music while I teach. It’s quite liberating, being able to drink on the job.

What’s the etiquette?

We try to stay on mute while the teacher is teaching, but otherwise, go wild. ***And please ALWAYS feel free to jump off mute if you have questions or comments!

Who can join?

Literally everyone! Spread the word! Bring your friends! The more the merrier!

I have no artistic skills! Can I join?

I said EVERYONE, didn’t I? That’s exactly what I’m here for! Just think of me as your personal Bob Ross; I may not be able to hold your hand in person, but I will break every brushstroke down for you as simply as possible, and you’ll be surprised at how well you do. Again, if you ever have questions or need my advice, feel free to chime in at any time! And remember to focus on the experience of the painting, not the product!

General advice for first-time painters?

Work in big, general shapes first, then focus on smaller details later. I also usually start with the background and build the foreground on top of that. Also, relax, experiment, and have fun with it! There are no rules!

How long is the event?

Two hours, but please allow a little extra time for people to settle in at the beginning, finish up at the end, etc.. I promise it’ll breeze right by, but don’t feel pressured to be there for the whole event. If you miss the beginning, I’m great at catching people up, and if you duck out early, I won’t mind!

What image are you teaching us to paint?

Coming soon!

What materials do I need?

Here’s a breakdown:

Essentials:

1. Acrylic paints (a nice set of 5-12 colors is plenty)

2. Palette (for holding/mixing paint; a paper plate works just as well)

3. Brushes (at least one small brush for details, and one large brush for covering large areas; preferably one medium-sized brush as well)

4. Canvas (either a stretched canvas or a flat canvas panel, any size!)

5. Water cup (a vessel to hold brushes; I’m using an old plastic gelato container)

6. Easel (to hold the painting upright and steady; not strictly necessary, as you can use a desk or table or your lap instead if you’d like)

7. Paper towels or old rag (for cleanup and drying brushes)

Other:

1. Workspace (away from things you don’t want paint on; lay down tarp or newspaper to protect walls, floors, and other surfaces if necessary)

2. Paint clothes, smock, apron, etc. (wear something you don’t mind getting paint on!)

3. Trash can, running water, acetone, etc. (for cleanup)

Bonus:

1. Hair dryer (to help paint dry faster)

2. Pencils, pens, markers, pastels, etc. (for sketching, signing your name, etc)

3. Glitter, collage materials, sponges, stamps, stencils, etc. (just for fun!)

4. Your favorite drink (for inspiration 😉)

Where can I get them?

I’ve bought literally everything on this list from Target and Michael’s (except the easel, which I bought online). I would mask up and check your local department store or arts and crafts store (Walmart, Blick, Plaza, Hobby Lobby, Jerry’s, JoAnne’s, etc.), or if you prefer to order it all online, you can do so easily from those same retailers or… 😬 Amazon. (Protip: If you’re lost on the internet, but would like to avoid buying from Amazon, you can use its search engine as a jumping-off point and go directly to the retailers they have listed 😜) Pretty much everything else is just household items.

What will it cost me?

If you’re not worried about the quality—and you shouldn’t be! I’ve found the cheaper stuff works just as well!—you can buy the essentials (paints, palettes, brushes, and canvases) for ~$20. These items are also often sold in bulk, or in sets with each other!

What colors are we using?

My current plan for the palette is black, white, yellow, purple, orange, and green, the sp00kiest of colors! If you just want to get those six, feel free. However, I always recommend having the primary colors: red, yellow, and blue, plus black and white; that way you can mix any color you want!

What size canvas should I buy?

That is entirely up to you! 8 x 10” and 16 x 20” are pretty popular sizes, though.

Are there any extra precautions I should take?

Acrylic paint comes off skin, hair, nails, and smooth non-porous surfaces fairly easily, but it does stain clothing and carpet, and is very stubborn once dried. I would recommend being careful to prevent spills in the first place, but if it does get on something precious, rinse immediately and completely with water. If already dry, try acetone or a similar cleanser to break down the plastic particles in the paint.

How do I clean up afterward?

My method: Scrub brushes along the bottom of your water cup to get all the paint off them, then rinse under running water until water runs clear. Either let the paint water sit in the cup until the paint particles have settled to the bottom, or pour it through a filter (coffee filter, cloth, etc, because acrylic paint is made of a micro-plastic that can be harmful to the environment and your plumbing in large amounts!) Leave everything else alone until it’s completely dry, and then peel or scratch dried paint off your palette if desired. Scrub your paint-covered hands and other body parts until clean, preferably with something exfoliating.

Is the paint non-toxic?

I mean, I wouldn’t drink it on purpose, but yeah, paint left on the skin or ingested (in small amounts) is harmless.

How can I contact you?

You can comment right here on this post, DM me on any of my social media, or email me! I promise to get back to you ASAP!

Social Media: @caelpictor (everywhere)

Email: [email protected]

I will update this post as questions are asked between now and the event, so please let me know if there’s a question I didn’t answer here for you!

Thanks for reading, and I’m excited to see you all there!!!

#caelpictor #quarantine #Halloween #painting class #art

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lildevyl · 4 years

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I’m Not Okay

I’m not going to tag anyone, and I know this post will get lost in the shuffle since Unus Annus is no more. But I figure I do an update with all of ya.

I’m no okay. I’m anything but okay! I haven’t been okay all year long and it’s not just the Pandemic either.

It started last year, October 2k19

My Birthday

My Grandpa passed away (natural causes)

My Youngest Brother’s Birthday

Thanksgiving

My Younger Brother’s Birthday

Christmas

New Years

My Husband’s Birthday

Covid 19/Corona Virus hits the US

Quarantine

What would have been my Grandpa’s Birthday

School (dropped classes b/c how hard it was online and maintaining a job)

My Wedding Anniversary

My Birthday

Yeah, I haven’t had the chance to process anything while maintaining a job that I absolutely hate on top of that. I was a Cashier at a Local Grocery Store and it was an absolute nightmare! Every screaming at you, it’s all your fault! Not matter what it’s always your fault! Management wasn’t any help!

We got a new Manger for the Front End and it was so horrible! The only reason why I even got out of bed, let alone went to work was b/c of the pile of bills on the table! That was it! The new Manger I swear he has some sort of Entitlement or Narcistic Personality Disorder. If he told you to do something he excepted you to do it right then there. If he “asked” you to come in early or on your day off and tell him you can’t, he excepted you drop whatever your were doing or automatically cancel your plans and come in anyway.

He and I went at so much! I told him no and he was so passive aggressive the next day with me. Ignoring me, pretending that I wasn’t there, pretending to be busy and then chastise me for taking to long to get him to fix a problem. Always hide in the Cash Office (behind Customer Service), at Customer Service or in the Back Office!

The thing of it is, I was too good at my job! Meaning he didn’t want me to leave and made sure that I couldn’t leave! I wished that I was joking! When a position in Sea Food opened up and the Sea Food Manager D, literally was asking if I would be interested to go to Sea Food. She was over the moon that I wanted to and had absolutely no problem with the two days I needed off for school. My “Manager” the Front End Manager didn’t like that at all!

I talked to him about transferring and he literally said, “Well you can’t. OP (co-worker) is going back to Sea Food and since OP’s replacement is starting this week you can’t go. I didn’t say anything b/c I thought you guys knew.” No, I’m making this up or paraphrasing. This is ligamently what he said. OP said they didn’t have an issue with me going to Sea Food so long as they can stay up here and not in Bakery.

I spoke with the Store Manager and Assistant Store Manager about transferring. They knew I wanted to transfer, D’s been asking for me, Jamie (not her real name) who closes in Sea Food was asking about me. And they were just dragging their feet!

Which leads me to the predicament that I’m in right now. It’s my own fault really! I was just too eager to get outta there that I didn’t ask the right questions. I interviewed with a Temp Agency and they got me a job in sorting mail. They asked, “Are you able to be on your feet for 12 hours?” Yes, I’m able to do that! I’m use to standing for 6-8 hours straight! They even told me that I will be moving around! I said that’s good! So, long as I’m not stand in one place I can handle it.

Wrong!!!! Literally after one day of working, my back is killing me so bad!!! I’m not walking! I’m not moving around!!! I’m just standing there on concrete floor, sorting through mail. Put the mail in a bin that weighs 1 lbs. Then pick that bin up and put it on a pallet that is on the concrete floor. Rinse, wash, repeat 49 times. The only time I move is when I’m moving the bins to the pallet and grabbing another one or during our breaks, (3 ten minutes breaks and one half an hour lunch). Yeah, my legs, ankles and back were so stiff. At the end of my shift, I’m using the wall to help walk. I was crying when I got into my car b/c I’m in so much pain!

Honestly, I know that I can’ physically do this job. But now, I’m fucking stuck! I can’t really quite b/c of how hard it is to get a job! And that will be putting pressure on my husband in being the only to work. My husband keeps insisting on staying and not wanting to believe that “I physically can’t do this job!” Least until I got another job lined up, but it took so long to get this one! My Mother-in-Law wants me to just go in there and talk to them. Saying that this wasn’t what I signed up for. Okay, then what? There isn’t any other positions opened and if I go in saying that, they could see that as me “Quitting” without me handing anything in.

I'm going to my Doctor’s Monday, hopefully someone will fucking believe on what’s going on! I know that if I tell someone that “I can only work 5-6 hours a day, b/c I have back problems” there’s a good chance of not getting the job. My husband just says don’t tell them that, and then I’ll the 8 or more hours and really be having problems with my back and they won’t believe me without a Doctor’s Note!

I don’t know what to FUCKING DO here!!! I know my fucking limits in Retail and I HATE Retail, but looks like I’m going to have to go back. I can’t get a damn Office Job even though I can easily do things remote. They want a Bachelors Degree and 3-5 years of work experience, but how can we get the experience if you don’t hire us?! I’m working on my Associates Degree, but I’ve been self teaching myself on so many different things that I can do for Graphic Designs but can’t get a damn job b/c I don’t the Bachelors!

I’m fucking hating myself right now!!!! Struggling to keep my grades up, struggling to find another job and now that finally got out of retail I physically can’t do the job. Can’t get a fucking Office Job b/c I don’t have the Degree nor the experience!

Jesus!!! Just, can something finally go right for me without any strings attach or some kind of “catch” here? At this rate, I’m going to have open up Commissions! Thanks for letting me rant and cry my eyes out here. I’ll see you guys, gals, demons, ghouls in a few days.

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somekindoftuber · 6 years

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vld youtuber AU (klance, part 3)

part one | part two

(I don’t think I clarified it in parts one and two but Lance and Pidge are roommates. Lance finished college two years ago)

After spending the weekend with Shiro and Keith, everything seems a little brighter.

Lance has an extra spring in his step that annoys the hell out of Pidge. He plays Overwatch with Keith at least twice a week, and they make a devastating team when they’re playing to win. Keith plays with a fiery, single-minded focus that would probably be scary if Lance wasn’t already crushing on him. So instead it’s just insanely attractive, the way Keith sounds when he’s barking out orders to the team. He’s a natural leader and Lance is stupidly eager to follow.

It’s time for Lance to make a trip home to Cuba to see his parents and he’s so excited, he only gets to go home every few months. It’s only for a week, but Pidge will take care of his cats. He mentions to Keith that he’ll be out of town and won’t be available to play for a bit.

Lance makes some vlogs while he’s home, and does them in Spanish because why not? He bets a lot of his followers don’t even realize he’s Cuban and this is his chance to show off his home. It takes a whole night to add the English subtitles because he doesn’t trust YouTube’s auto CC feature not to garble his words, but it’s worth it when he sees the outpouring of comments on the video, a lot of them in Spanish. He gets one from Shiro complimenting him left and right and it makes Lance blush and flail a little.

He spends every other minute with his family, teaching his nephew how to play the ukulele and cooking with his mom and he’s so happy to be home, he cries a little when it’s time to catch his flight back to the states.

He gets in an Overwatch game with Keith the night he gets back, and he tries not to be annoying but it’s hard not to gush about his trip over the mic. He’s halfway through telling Keith about some sea turtles he saw on the beach when he’s interrupted.

“I know, Lance. I saw the photos on twitter.”

Lance blinks. “Uh. You did?”

Keith seems unfazed and triggers his ultimate, taking out half the enemy team. “Yeah? I follow you.”

And oh my god, Keith follows him on twitter. Keith follows him on twitter. He’s suddenly freaking out that he might have tweeted about Keith?? But no, his account is public and he knows better. “Oh, uh.” Lance almost gets taken out by a Sombra. “Your account is set to private, so it didn’t tell me you were.”

“Oh.”

Lance is panicking a little because he wants to ask if he can follow Keith on twitter but is that too much? What if he keeps his account locked for a reason? What if that’s too forward? What they have is cool and he doesn’t want to fuck it up--

“You can follow me,” Keith says, quiet. “All I ever post is bikes and photos of Kosmo, though.”

Lance hopes the sound of his chair squeaking as he bounces in it doesn’t come through the mic. “I could always use more dogs on my timeline,” he says, trying his best to sound nonchalant. They play for another hour and then Keith yawns, saying he has to work early tomorrow. Lance bids him goodnight, then manages to wait until he’s brushed his teeth and gotten ready for bed before hitting the “follow” button on Keith’s twitter, @k_redlion. He then opens discord on his phone and goes to the chat with Hunk.

LanceyLance: HUNK HE SAID I COULD FOLLOW HIS LOCKED TWITTER LanceyLance: HUNK LanceyLance: SEND HELP

When Lance wakes up, all he’s gotten from Hunk is a few party popper emojis. He checks to see if Keith accepted his request and he totally did. Lance spends a half hour just scrolling through the mysterious secret twitter, and Keith wasn’t lying. It’s just photos of motorcycles in progress, his dog, occasionally Keith taking an adorable selfie with Kosmo. Sometimes a photo of a sunrise. He checks Keith’s profile and sees his birthday is in late October and Lance has to laugh. Of course he’s a Scorpio. Of course. Keith has less than 40 followers and Lance sort of feels blessed.

He manages to stop himself from liking a five month old tweet where Keith is smiling up at the camera with Kosmo out cold on his lap. Just barely.

July finally hits and it’s disgustingly hot, but it’s always Lance’s favorite month for several reasons:

More excuses to get ice cream,

More excuses to hit the beach,

It’s his birthday month,

It’s the month of Harborville Pride.

Pride comes first and Pidge is excited too, because the college town of Harborville might not have much to offer other than the university, but it definitely knows how to put on Pride. The city park becomes crammed with people for days, food trucks lining the streets with picnickers and grills and ultimate frisbee (which Lance is no slouch at). The marina becomes packed with boats. Most importantly, it means Hunk is coming into town for the weekend, so Lance will get to hang out with his two best friends like they used to - stay up late, watch movies, stuff themselves on junk food and Hunk’s homemade cookies.

The day of the parade (the first one, anyway) is a Saturday morning. Lance and Pidge wake up Hunk from where he’s camping on the sofa and they all get dressed, Lance in his blue, pink, and purple sleeveless shirt, Pidge in her black, white and purple hoodie, Hunk in his pink, yellow, and blue tee. Pockets stuffed with small cash bills for funnel cakes and hot dogs, they set off for the town center.

The parade is amazing this year and they have a blast. Lance convinces Pidge and Hunk to be in a selfie with him that he posts to twitter with the caption, “Having a blast at Harborville Pride!!” Lance then puts his phone away and doesn’t really check it for the rest of the day, having too much fun with Pidge and Hunk and all his other friends.

He’s exhausted when he comes home, collapsing into bed. He manages to open twitter and check it one last time before he passes out. His notifications blew up, of course, but one sticks out.

@k_redlion liked your photo

He kicks his feet a little. So it’s out there, Keith’s saw the colors he wore. Was it too forward? Did Lance unintentionally broadcast his crush on twitter? Maybe. Who knows how Keith would take that information. Lance passes out with his phone in his hand.

He’s in a queue for a game in Overwatch with Keith when it comes up again. Lance was casually talking about a band he saw at Pride.

“Sounds like fun,” Keith comments. “Pride sucks here. One tiny parade and then everyone just goes home.”

There’s a record scratch in Lance’s brain. Does that mean…?

“You should come here next year,” Lance says as evenly as he can. “Harborville knows how to party.”

He hears Keith huff a laugh. “Maybe.”

Lance sucks so bad after that, missing all his shots and dying more times than ever. He’s too distracted. Keith goes to Pride. What did that mean? It could mean so many things. He shouldn’t get his hopes up, he really, really shouldn’t.

“You okay?” Keith’s voice comes through his headphones. “You’re sort of sucking tonight.”

Lance feels a wave of hot embarrassment wash over him. “Ugh, yeah, sorry. Guess I’m just tired.”

He stops playing after that, saying goodnight to Keith and resisting the urge to scream at Hunk over discord about it.

Pidge is taking one of her high level classes over the summer so she can graduate in December, so she has little time to hang out with Lance. So he’s bored. A lot. Work at the cafe has slowed down, the only customers he gets are dying for cold brew coffee. He makes a lot of videos, records a lot of comedy Overwatch material, sings some covers of love songs for his channel. He goes to the beach a lot and posts selfies on twitter, making sure to showcase himself while also trying to remember that he has a few thousand followers and he should be careful what he posts. Lance starts playing some free games from Game Jolt for his channel and it gets a good response. His birthday is right around the corner, and though it’s on a Tuesday, Pidge promises to take the night off to celebrate with him. Hunk is going to make the drive in too.

He’s scrolling through twitter on a rainy night when Pidge kicked him out of the living room to spread out her study materials. There’s a photo of Keith smiling softly with Kosmo on his feed and Lance takes a minute to appreciate it, the warm lighting complimenting Keith’s ridiculously attractive cheekbones, Kosmo with his giant tongue hanging out as Keith hugs him. It’s adorable and Lance hits the like button immediately. He’s about to keep scrolling when something catches his eye. Lance sits up and taps the photo, using his fingers to zoom in.

There’s a rainbow bracelet on Keith’s wrist.

It’s almost hidden under Kosmo’s neck fluff but it is absolutely a rainbow, exactly the kind you’d get at Pride and Lance is about to hit the ceiling. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Could it? They’d talked about Pride like three days ago and Keith liked a photo of Lance in his bi shirt and holy shit. Was this a hint? Lance already liked the photo. He could take it back, but he didn’t want to?

Lance rolls around on his bed clutching his phone to his chest for the next ten minutes before opening discord to gush at Hunk yet again. Hunk, apparently, is getting fed up.

Hunk: omg just talk to him!! LanceyLance: i cANT Hunk: Lance you know I love you but this is painful to watch, just ask him out already. please. for me?

But Lance is scared. What if he’s reading too much into this? What if he’s only seeing a connection because he wants there to be one? It wouldn’t be the first time he’s made that blunder, cringing as he remembers Nyma and the huge falling out that resulted from Lance charging in head first. He couldn’t even repair their friendship after that.

He didn’t want to risk losing Keith, too.

July is winding down and it’s almost time for his favorite birthday tradition: an all-day charity livestream. This will be the third year he’s done them, and he’s expecting the response to be even better this year. It takes him a while to decide on a charity - he’s done a children’s hospital, first responders, local charities. Lance spends days trying to decide when it hits him. The next day, he makes the announcement tweet:

Lance! @LancyLance • 2m Hey guys!! Doing a birthday charity livestream on Saturday 7/25, 10am-10pm to benefit Disabled Veterans National Foundation! Will be playing Overwatch, Risk of Rain, Apex Legends and more!!

He goes about his day, feeling pleased. Later he checks twitter and sees that Shiro has retweeted his announcement with a comment, “Make sure to check out my buddy’s livestream next week! This charity means a lot to me.”

And wow does that make his day.

For the next week it’s business as usual. Work at the cafe (his latte art is getting better, but Lance keeps photos of that work sequestered on Instagram), recording videos, singing in Overwatch, playing games with Keith and Hunk. Lance can tell that Hunk is trying to push him to make a move on Keith, but he’s still reluctant. Keith hasn’t really indicated that he’s interested in Lance at all. Sure, they’re casual with each other, but there hasn’t been anything he could classify as “flirting.” Even though he’s opened up, Keith is still stoic as hell and Lance hasn’t figured out how to crack him.

It’s the Saturday of his livestream and Lance is loaded up with snacks, drinks, and everything he needs. He’s set up his room to have a fun backdrop and did his full skincare routine to make sure he looks good for the webcam, he even borrowed some fancy diffuser lights from a friend.

The stream starts and he gets about 30 viewers in the first hour, which is a good start. By noon he’s up to 400 which is insane, and the donation counter keeps going up. He set his goal to a thousand, and it’s looking like he’ll reach it before dinner. Lance takes song requests from viewers and has more than one laughing fit. When he gets into an Overwatch game, he’s thrilled to see Keith there, and shoots him a quick text to make sure it’s cool for Lance to point him out.

Keith (2:18): yeah it’s cool

So Lance introduces Keith and his chat goes nuts. Apparently Keith is crazy popular and Lance can’t help but notice how many declarations of “omg Keith is so hot” are scrolling past. They play a few serious rounds where Keith dominates everyone, then Lance creates a custom server with no cool down time on abilities and zero gravity. He uses it as an opportunity to do more comedy songs. Lance takes a short break, and when he comes back, Keith has signed off. There’s a text on his phone from Keith reading “gotta work on some stuff.”

He’s in voice chat later when some girls come on with mics and they know his channel. They’re thrilled to be in a game with Lance.

“Lance! I love your videos!”

“Sing a song for me, Lance!”

“Lance, I love you! Marry me!”

He laughs at the last one, playing his guitar. It’s not the first time he’s gotten a mock marriage proposal in a game. “Sorry, ladies,” he answers, strumming on his guitar. “I’m afraid my heart is spoken for.” He’s talking about his massive crush on Keith, of course, but no one needs to know that.

There’s some “aww” and “boos” but they don’t actually sound hurt, so Lance keeps going. He switches to Apex Legends which he’s spectacularly bad at, but he still has fun. By seven that evening, they’ve met their goal of one thousand dollars, but Lance encourages people to keep donating.

He’s exhausted by the end of it, but at 9:50pm Lance does his exit speech, thanking everyone who donated, thanking his friends who played with him, and taking a second to thank Keith by name. He hopes Keith is still watching.

Lance falls into his bed and sends a quick text to Keith to thank him. He doesn’t get a response.

CONTINUED IN PART 4

#youtuber AU #klance #text

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fingertipsmp3 · 2 years

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Gotta love how staff induction is in a week or less and I still haven’t heard if I’m supposed to be there or not 🙃

#i say ‘a week or less’ because i don’t even know if it’s the 30th or the 31st. those were the days i was told induction could be happening.#i am just sitting here like…… hiiiii so do you guys still want me to work there or not #like. i’ve given them everything they asked for and it’s not like it was easy. i was on another continent for 2 weeks and i STILL managed #to track down all the documents and contact details they needed. (by asking my mom to go through my stuff mostly.#i bought her a bunch of fancy italian coffee as a thank you but i digress)#maybe there’s been some sort of delay with my academic references but like.. do they really think a college professor is going to answer #his emails in AUGUST??? there’s a reason i suggested they contact my current mentor instead. but no they insisted.#i just have so much anxiety because i want to get in and get started already. like if i can’t attend this induction the next one won’t be #until october which will mean no one will be teaching my classes and i won’t get paid and i also won’t be able to go and get settled in #and do all the things i need to do. like. if i don’t get to attend induction this month i’m pretty much up shit creek #for the WHOLE academic year #and the really annoying thing about it is NONE OF THIS IS MY FUCKING FAULT. I WAS FIVE THOUSAND MILES AND EIGHT TIME ZONES AWAY AND I STILL #GAVE YOU MOTHERFUCKERS EVERYTHING YOU ASKED FOR AND MORE. i’ve even been doing the online training for god’s sake!!#i don’t have to do that until or just after induction but i’m so bored and anxious that i’ve done two out of the six courses already #i just find it super fucking unfair that i’ve done literally everything in my power AND MORE to get all this sorted out; yet my start date #is probably still going to be delayed because HR is incompetent. yet I’M the one who faces the consequences of their incompetence. not them.#I’M the one who doesn’t get paid. I’M the one whose students leave because they can’t start classes until october & all the other colleges #start in september. I’M the one who gets thrown in the deep end on day one because she had no time to prepare #like how the fuck is that fair? shit makes me want to walk into the ocean i swear to god #should i email HR tomorrow and be like ‘hey. any updates?’ i feel like i should. maybe everything is in order and they just like..#don’t know that i don’t know when induction is. idk. i’ll email them #something like ‘hi; just wanted to check the progress on this; i’m really anxious to get started in my job and meet my students.#can you confirm what induction date i should attend? thanks’#i’m also sort of stalking my boss’s teams profile to see when her out of office message will go off. then i can call her and be like ‘hey’#‘so i did literally everything i was asked to do and HR has still gone radio silent on me. cause for concern?#and btw should i come in for induction and if so when. please help. thanks’#i’m ngl i wish something would go normally for me. just ONCE in my life. i want to do something without feeling like i’m doing it all wrong #and everything is going to come crashing down around me for absolutely no fucking reason #personal #rant

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tolkien-in-beleriand · 4 years

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so a number of people is curious about PhD here in Brazil and as I have nothing else I want to do right now let me tell you about it

I’ll talk about the two processes I went through for my PhD (masters is kinda the same but a bit simpler)

as I already told you here in Brazil the best universities are free, it’s kinda hard to get in but if you do you have the best education available in the country and chances are you will get some kind of scholarship. in my case as I am poor as hell I had a scholarship since first year of grad school and also a place to live. yes, I was paid to live in a nice city away from my abusive family and to study in the best program of my field in Brazil

then came the masters in which I also had a scholarship

and then the nightmare begins

see as part of my scholarship I had to finish my masters in two years. what does it mean? it means that in my second year I was writing my masters dissertation, finishing papers, preparing for qualification, then argumentation, writing my PhD project and preparing for the PhD tests

and of course as you probably know by now I love complicating things so I applied for two PhDs programs. why? only God knows, but I did. now each university has its own way to deal with PhDs applications so I’ll tell you about the two kinds of tests I had to go through

first my home university:

first you write a project. 20 pages. must have: abstract, key words, title, introduction, methodology, cronogram of activities, bibliographic references. it must present a certain novelty in the idea, they want something new, a thesis (that I will later prove right or wrong in 200 to 300 pages). my thesis was basically “Fantasy is a literature genre and it IS NOT the same as fantastic literature (don’t get me started - I wrote a PhD thesis about it but I’m still bitter)”

you need to hand this project in September. then in October is the written test. in our field the written test (in this particular university, as I said it varies) is: they pick a literary topic, that is a surprise only reveled to us mortals the day and hour of the test, and we have four hours to write an essay about it, in a room like an exam, no researches allowed. the topic in my year was History and Literature. then they grade the essay 0-10 and you need at least a 7 to go to next phase.

fine, now the few people who got the 7 go to phase “analyzing the project”. you get a grade on that too. and you need a 7 to pass as well.

then if you are lucky enough to have your project accepted you go to phase “interview” when a board will make all kinds of questions about your study, project, plans, you know... to make sure you were the one who wrote the thing and know what you’re talking about (I just need to mention here that at my interview they said my project was perfect and made 0 questions because, and I quote, “we know your trajetory and we know what you are capable of and no one else studies Fantasy Literature here”)

then they grade the interview. if you didn’t get at least a 7 bye bye bird, it doesn’t matter if your project was perfect and you aced the written test, it’s goodbye

after this they add all the scores and divide by something and if your final score is below 7, that’s goodbye too.

then you need to do the language test because oh yes YOU DO NEED TO KNOW TWO FOREIGN LANGUAGES to be accepted in any PhD program here.

and that’s it for my first application. I passed first place. usually the good programs gets scholarships and our program was very good so we had like six scholarships every year for sure and then maybe more. they give the scholarships according to the final score so yep I got it

but... when I traveled for my second PhD application I still didn’t have any of my scores, I didn’t even know if I had passed the written test and let me tell you I was desperate and honest to God terrified I wouldn’t pass

anyway, now process number two:

they make things quite different there and they are way more demanding so I was just really terrifie that I would end the year with a crappy masters and no PhD perspective.

first test they do is the language one, a translation and ooooh boi do I hate translating stuff. but it was okay, I wasn’t worried about that part. the system there was very different. while at my home university the process was spread through months, here you had three days of tests and if you failed the first day you are not even invited for the next day. again, you need 7 to pass.

so first day: language test, 52 people applying. 20 passed for day two, me included.

second day, written test. I knew they had a different style from my home university but I was not prepared for that. they gave you 10 questions, all about literature. you had to pick five and answer. so you kinda had to write 5 mini essays on 5 different topics and the questions were like “in the page 25 of the essay Memory in Baudelaire by Walter Benjamin the author express a view on how experience play a central part in the story of the narrative genre. comment on that.”

one of them was to “comment on” the trajetory of the novel as a genre. I read the 10 questions then I started laughing. then I noticed the Professor in the class was the one I wanted as my supervisor there (she is like a big deal in Fantasy studies), the one who, in two months, would be in the board of my masters argumentation. I started crying. so much. I had to be escorted to the bathroom to “calm down”. well, I thought, it’s over, I better not even come back to the exam room and save me the embarrassment of looking the Professor in the eyes. but I couldn’t do that. I had to at least convince myself that I did everything I could. so I went back and started answering the ones I thought I had a shot at. we had four hours too and after doing my darnest to answer 4 questions I wanted to die before having to answer one more. so I chose the novel one because, you know it’s not that hard to trace a genealogy of the novel as a genre. but I was so tired. so incrediby tired and I thought I won’t pass anyway so I might as well have some fun. and friends, what did I do? I wrote a mini novel where my protagonist was the novel “living” through all its phases. I can’t remember a word of that but I did it.

when I was back to the hotel I started crying so much and felt so guilty, I was sure I would fail both programs. next morning the result would be on campus and honestly I only went there because I had spent too much money to just ignore the result, I would never have peace if I didn’t check. but I was really really sure I didn’t pass so I checked out the hotel, got into a taxi, asked him to take me to campus for two minutes, so I could check a thing, and then he could take me to the station

ooooh I have no words to describe my happiness when I looked to a list of FIVE names who had got through to the next phase and my name was there.

I still can’t believe it and until this day I wonder what kind of crap did people write because they considered my “novel is a protagonist of a novel” answer over other 15????

anyway so I was happy but fucked because I had checked out the hotel so I had no place to go and the interview would be only at 5pm so there I was full of bags wandering around the campus waiting for my interview.

interview time: board with two fucking specialists in the Fantasy field and an ass who thinks she is above this. I was very nervous, they asked a bunch of questions about my project (oh yeah I forgot to say you had to hand a project like in the other uni and it is considered part of your application as well) and then... last question... from the ass “why do you consider fantasy as literature” I froze, the other two smiled (they knew my reputation). I want to murder that woman. why do I consider fantasy as literature? WHY?? son of a motherfucking bitch. so I smile*** and ask “what do you study?” she answers “Goethe” with an air of superiority. I say “oh I love Goethe, he is magnificent and the way he.... bla bla bla” I was just showing off. then I say “now think about why you consider Goethe literature. that’s your answer.” I want to say that if I had a mic I would drop it but nah... if I had a mic I would probably make that bitch eat it.

they didn’t have score there, you only passed or failed. I passed. one of five. from 52. I got a scholarship there too, but I decided to stay home. my supervisor at my uni was amazing and a wonderful person and so so smart and funny and he is in a band and is super cool and nerdy, also one of my best friends and one of the most successful translators in Brazil

so yes. this is two of the possibles processes you can go through to get in a top PhD program. and that friends is the easy part. seriously, masters and doctorates are exhausting and it breaks you. neurotypicals get mental illnesses because of it and honest to God I don’t know how I managed it. neither does my doctors. no, actually I know. it was spite.

*** funny story: because of an incident in my masters interview, before my PhDs interviews my supervisor called me to “teach me how to interact with stupid people”. he basically told me I was not supposed to laugh at a stupid question, I was not supposed to death stare the board after a stupid question and, of course, I was not allowed to get up and leave. because I did all that in my masters interview and almost didn’t get into the program. then he made me pretend he was the board talking shit and I had to smile and take notes. his words “it doesn’t matter if you are writing a curse and planning that person’s murder, smile and take notes.”

in my defence I did all that because in my masters interview a Professor asked me if I knew that Tolkien was an author who died in the 70s and that The Lord of the Rings wasn’t just a movie. after I laughed and asked if she was joking she got mad and then I tried to explain that yes, I did in fact know that John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, born in January 3rd, 1892 and dead in September, 2nd, 1973, was an author and wrote the book called The Lord of the Rings who inspired Peter Jackson’s trilogy. then I pointed out that my study had nothing to do with The Lord of the Rings, book or movie. I was in fact studying Tolkien’s essay “On Fairy Stories” and how critics point out The Lord of the Rings as the base of moderny fantasy without noting that Tolkien himself wrote the theory I consider the foundation of fantasy as a genre. then she said “that was done before” and I said “no it wasn’t, surprisingly enough people never came to this conclusion until now” and she looked me in the eyes and asked “are you sure? did you do a deep and careful research on the matter?” and I said “yes I did” and I swear to God she asked “did you try google it?”

yep I just got up and left. did I try google??? are you fucking serious? yes I did, when I wasn’t even at the uni yet you moron. google. can you believe it? I was reading papers from Oxford and Cambridge and this ass ask me if I used google.

I had a very bad score at my masters interview but my supervisor loved it anyway.

so that’s it. I hope it helps to have an idea how things work around here.

#phdblr #phd #masters #academic life #long post #very loooong post

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searchingwardrobes · 5 years

Text

An Education in Southern Gothic: 1/2

Here it is, my first contribution to the @cssns! I am so excited to share this with all of you! It’s based on a ghost story that kids would tell at a school where I used to teach. The school really was built on the former grounds of a Southern plantation, and it really did have a small graveyard on school property. The most fun for me was putting our favorite Once characters in a Southern setting, and I hope you all enjoy reading it just as much! Part two is already written and will post tomorrow.

Much thanks to @snowbellewells, my fellow English teacher and grammar queen. Your metaphorical red pen was a life saver!

The above eerie art with a Southern flair by @hollyethecurious

Summary - Fact: there’s a graveyard between the football field and the science building. Debatable: a ghost haunts the halls of Misthaven Hills High. Emma Swan is about to get an education. Killian Jones is about to get a whole lot more.

Rating: T

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals (let me know if I missed anyone!): @welllpthisishappening @kday426 @jennjenn615 @let-it-raines @kmomof4 @teamhook @bethacaciakay @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @optomisticgirl @distant-rose @xhookswenchx @wellhellotragic @tiganasummertree @whimsicallyenchantedrose @snidgetsafan @delirious-latenight-laughs @winterbaby89 @branlovestowrite @ohmakemeahercules @shireness-says @mythologicalmango @vvbooklady1256 @gingerchangeling @ultraluckycatnd @revanmeetra87

Chapter One: Urban Legend 101

It’s not so much the two-foot high, decorative fence of ornate black metal. Nor the ancient tombstones tilting in the Georgia red clay and cracking down the middle. Emma Swan isn’t the type to find anything chilling in the realities of death. It’s just a graveyard, she would say with a roll of her eyes, even as a child. She was always that kid willing to traipse across a grave when dared, never once entertaining the idea that the person buried beneath would be angry, disturbed, or even care. Rotting bones, that’s all there was beneath the earth. Not angry souls of the departed.

Yet this one has a chill skittering across her spine, especially when a breeze sends the Spanish moss swaying. The olive green vegetation drips from the live oak shading this little plot. This is her first Georgia fall, but she already knows the chill isn’t in the air. Even if it is early October.

“Rather creepy, isn’t it?” says a British accent at her side, and the sound makes her jump.

“Shit, Jones!” she snaps.

“Language,” he admonishes, with an exaggerated wag of his fingers. Her eye roll earns her a soft chuckle. He crosses his arms and regards the gravestones silently beside her.

“I didn’t believe the kids,” Emma admits, “until Henry Mills actually hauled a heavy book into class.”

“Aye, that lad is a believer if I ever saw one.”

“Yeah,” she agrees fondly, “so I had to come out here and see for myself. How did I not know there was a graveyard here?”

“You mean tucked between the football field and the science labs?” Killian quips. “Why would you?”

“Shouldn’t there be a plaque or something?” she arches a brow at her friend. “Huh, Mr. History Buff?”

He rubs at the scruff on his jaw in feigned deep thought. She finds herself staring a bit too intently at the cut of his handsome face and quickly glances away. Killian hadn’t exactly endeared himself to her at their first meeting back in late July. She was rushing to her first faculty meeting at Misthaven Hills High, and running across the parking lot in the 99 degree humidity hadn’t exactly put her in the best mood. Killian’s over the top flirting when she slid into the only available seat in the packed library had earned him a swift kick to the shin. If it hadn’t been for Mary Margaret and David, she would have assumed the history teacher was a total asshole.

Yet it turned out that Killian was David’s best friend, and David was the husband of her college roommate and best friend Mary Margaret. Killian was also friends with Belle, the librarian; Ariel, the biology teacher and swim coach; Robin, the PE teacher; and even Robin’s wife, Regina, who was also the school principal. The students also adored him, and not just the girls who swooned over his looks. She couldn’t go anywhere in this school and find anyone who disliked the man. So she begrudgingly had to admit she’d been wrong about him.

Now, two and a half months later, she honestly counts him as one of her best friends. They understand one another in a way that’s almost uncanny. Best of all, Killian’s flirting never pushes past the teasing type that makes her smile. While Mary Margaret and David fret about Emma’s walls, Killian respects them, even understands why Emma feels she needs them. And for that, she appreciates and welcomes his friendship.

“You know, this just may be the perfect subject for the next grant request. I need to get with Belle on that.”

“A ghost story can get us a grant?”

“Of course!” he tells her with a wide grin. “History fanatics love a good ghost story. Especially one that took place on a southern plantation.”

Emma frowns and cocks her head at the tiny plot. “This town couldn’t have bought land someplace else?”

Killian chuckles and nudges her in the ribs. “What is it, Swan, do you believe in ghost stories?”

“No,” she scoffs with a wave of her hand, “I just think it’s creepy that they had to build the school around tombstones.”

“So,” Killian says, voice dropping low as he saunters close to her, “you don’t believe that the ghost of Cora Mills wanders these hallways, angry at being hung on this very tree simply for taking vengeance that was rightfully hers?”

A shudder runs through Emma as a breeze rustles the tree again, as if it can hear Killian’s words. His breath against her ear doesn’t help either.

“While she continues to make breakfast foods?” she says to cover up her reaction.

She hopes the arch of her brow conveys her incredulity. Her students had claimed that sometimes you could hear bacon sizzling and the cracking of eggs. That sometimes you could even smell it. The ghost of Cora Mills eternally cooking that final breakfast she had set before Tara and Jonathan Lautour before stabbing them to death with a butcher knife.

“The story makes no sense,” Emma snaps, propping her hands on her hips. “Why make them breakfast when she planned on killing them?”

Killian leans closer, waggling his eyebrows. In an ominous voice he says, “So they wouldn’t see it coming.”

Emma shoves him in the chest and his laughter sings on the autumn breeze.

“You’re as full of it as the kids are, Jones.”

His laughter rings behind her as she marches back to the main school building to get her things before heading home for the afternoon. The cold dread that skitters down her spine is just her mind playing tricks on her.

*************************************************************

“You want me to do what?!”

Mary Margaret sighs and gives her a withering look as if she’s her petulant two-year-old. “I think I spoke clearly, Emma.”

Killian snorts, earning him a dig in the ribs from Emma. Jasmine stares intently into her salad as if avoiding eye contact with Mary Margaret will save her from being roped into the deal along with Emma. The four of them make up the entire humanities department: Emma English, Killian history, Mary Margaret art, and Jasmine drama and music. They’re also co-sponsors of both the school paper and the yearbook. It’s the downside to teaching in a town as small as Misthaven. Yet the upside is the bond they share with students whom they teach for four years straight.

“I’ve just assigned research papers to my juniors,” Emma argues, “and I got stuck with the homecoming issue of the paper, remember?”

“It’s just one night,” Mary Margaret says, throwing in a pout for good measure.

“Why the hell do the cheerleaders spend the night in the cafeteria?”

“Language!” her colleagues chorus.

Emma rolls her eyes. “As if Regina even watches her language. I heard her call Will Scarlett a little piece of shit just yesterday.”

“That’s because his parents call him that,” Killian quipped.

“Anyways,” Emma says with a wave of her hand, “I’m not spending the night at the school, especially not on the cafeteria floor.”

“We bring air mattresses,” Mary Margaret explained, “and it’s a tradition. This time of year, the girls are so busy with football and homecoming that they don’t get enough practice in for competition season -”

“Which starts in two weeks,” Jasmine puts in.

“Exactly,” Mary Margaret continues, “so we do an overnight practice.”

“And you don’t sleep in the gym because . . .” Emma grumbles.

“There’s no air conditioning.”

“Aye,” Killian put in, “you may be new to the South, Swan, but surely you already know that air conditioning is a necessity, not a luxury.”

“Thank you for your expert opinion, Brit.”

“Emma, I beg of you,” Mary Margaret says, “I need a certain number of chaperones, and my assistant coach is pregnant.”

“So?”

“Nine months pregnant. She can’t sleep on an air mattress!” She clutches Emma’s arm. “She’s going to stay for the entire practice. All I need you to do is be an adult presence.”

“A warm body,” Killian clarifies.

“Exactly. Until David and Killian get there with breakfast at 6 am.”

“See, Swan, just until - wait, what am I doing?”

Emma laughs at Killian’s confused expression. Jasmine almost chokes on a cherry tomato.

“You and David are bringing us Chick-fil-A at 6 am. The order has already been placed.”

“Wait!” Emma raises a hand to stop Mary Margaret’s words. “Why didn’t you say that sooner? You would have had me at chicken biscuit. Unless there won’t be hashbrowns.”

She turns and grasps Killian’s arm.

“Will there be hashbrowns?”

He chuckles and pats her hand. “Emma, I swear you would sell your soul for greasy food.”

“Answer my question, Jones.”

“Yes, love, there will be hashbrowns.”

****************************************************************

Emma seriously cannot believe she agreed to this. Killian was right: she’s way too addicted to fast food. Otherwise she wouldn’t be blowing up twenty-three air mattresses in a high school cafeteria. At least she’s in the air conditioning and not in the sweltering gym like Mary Margaret and her assistant coach.

The final air mattress plumps up, and Emma cuts off the air pump. As the whirring stops, the cafeteria feels eerily quiet. A shiver runs down her spine, but Emma shakes it off. She wraps the cord around the pump and puts it back into the box Mary Margaret was very insistent it had to be stored in. Emma turns to put it in the plastic storage tub, chuckling again at the sparkly label: “MHHS Cheer Squad Glamping Supplies.” As she snaps the lid in place, she sees a figure out of the corner of her eye.

“Finally,” she huffs as she turns, “Violet, you were supposed to . . . “

Emma trails off as she sees nothing but the empty doorway leading out into the hall. Hmm, maybe she ducked into the bathroom, Emma thinks as she crosses the large room. Her boots echo off the tile floors, and that damn shiver runs through her again. It’s all because of Killian and Henry and all of their stupid ghost stories.

And the graveyard between the football field and the science labs? Her traitorous mind adds. Which, by the way, also isn’t that far from the cafeteria?

“Seriously, Emma, get a grip,” she mumbles out loud to herself and then proceeds to be one of those ridiculous people who roll their eyes at themselves.

“Violet?” she calls, poking her head into the girls restroom. The light is flipped off, and Emma realizes that the freshman would never use the bathroom in the pitch dark. She turns and nearly collides with a short, slim figure with dark hair. “Sh - Violet!”

“Sorry Ms. Swan,” the girl apologizes, “you were calling me?”

Emma shakes her head. “Yeah, I was, sorry.”

“Coach Ms said I’m supposed to help lay out all the sleeping bags and goody bags and stuff.”

“Goody bags?”

“Yeah, it’s a tradition.”

Emma rolls her eyes. Again. “Of course it is.”

She sighs and leads the girl over to where all of the cheerleaders had deposited their things. There are glittery signs on the wall with each girl’s name. Naturally.

Neither Emma nor Violet notice the shadow that melts into the dark recesses of the kitchen.

***************************************************************

“And now Cora Mills, rejected by her lover Jonathan LaTour, plunges her knife into his heart: Again! And Again! And Again!”

With one hand holding a flashlight beneath her chin, Ruby, a senior on the cheerleading squad, lifts her other hand to make stabbing motions. The other girls in the circle jolt slightly at the violent hand gestures. Relishing her audience’s reactions, Ruby grins wickedly as she continues the macabre tale.

“Tara LaTour screams, but before she can even rise from the dining room table, Cora descends on her as well!”

The girls now audibly shudder as Ruby makes stabbing motions again. Her friend Ashley at her right makes screeching noises like in the movie Psycho. Ruby hands the flashlight off to her.

“Do we really have to listen to this story?” Emma whispers into Mary Margaret’s ear, “I mean, some of the younger ones look like they’re about to wet their pants.”

Mary Margaret laughs her off, “It’s a tradition for the seniors to tell it. Scaring the freshmen is part of the fun.”

“Great,” Emma mumbles, “another tradition.”

“Covered in blood,” Ashley picks up the tale, dropping her normally sweet voice down several octaves, “Cora Mills sits calmly at the dining table and finishes her victims’ breakfast!”

“Ewww!” the girls all chorus, followed by nervous giggling.

“That’s how the police found her. They were so horrified, they dragged her out that very morning and hung her on the oak tree. Right. Over. There!”

Ashley points dramatically towards the door that leads outside. At the same moment, a loud clattering sound comes from the kitchen and all the girls scream. Emma’s loathe to admit it, but even she jumps, her heart hammering in her chest.

“Calm down girls,” Mary Margaret admonishes gently, “it’s probably just the commercial size dishwasher.”

The next senior takes the flashlight, a tiny, nervous girl named Aurora. Emma isn’t expecting her to get into such a terrifying tale, but the normally timid girl turns out to be quite the little actress.

“Now Misthaven Hills Plantation is no more,” she intones, “instead, our high school sits on the land where the tragic murder took place. Cora Mills, still vengeful, roams these very halls.”

All of the girls are leaning forward now, hanging on every word.

“If you listen, you can still hear her making that breakfast,” Aurora pauses and cocks her head as if she hears something. The rest do the same.

“D-do ya’ll h-hear that?” stutters Tiana, a normally tough junior.

The girls scream again, and Emma has to admit, she thought she might have heard something. Probably a mouse, but she doesn’t know if that theory will lessen the screaming. Thankfully, whatever the noise was stops, and the girls nervously glance at one another and giggle. Aurora continues, sniffing the air to punctuate her words.

“Often these halls smell of bacon and eggs.”

“Or whatever slop the cafeteria is cooking up,” Emma grumbles under her breath, and Mary Margaret pokes her in the side.

“And,” Aurora continues, leaning forward to drag out the suspense, “do you know what the ghost of Cora Mills is always looking for?”

“What?” the rest of the girls all whisper.

“The body of a girl to possess, but not just any girl,” Aurora pauses dramatically again, looking each girl in the eye, “a girl who is secretly crushing on a guy. So she can seduce that guy and . . . KILL HIM!!”

The girls all gasp and rear back, and Emma hides a giggle behind her hand.

“Then Violet better what o-out!” Grace, one of the freshmen, sing-songs.

“Me?” Violet squeaks.

“Everyone knows you’ve got a huge crush on Henry Mills!”

Even by the light of the lone flashlight, Emma can see the poor girl blush as chaos breaks loose among the cheerleaders. Some giggle, others make kissing noises, while Grace shakes her friend’s shoulder.

“All right, girls, that’s enough!” Mary Margaret admonishes, and they all quickly settle down. “I don’t allow teasing or bullying of any kind, remember?”

“But Coach Ms,” Grace potests, “Violet hasn’t tried to hide that she likes Henry.”

“Except from Henry,” Ruby quips, and they all giggle again.

“What exactly,” Violet asks nervously, “does the ghost do?”

“Oh honey,” Mary Margaret tries to assure the girl, “it’s just a silly story.”

“I don’t know,” Ashley argues with a shrug, “back in 2009 there was that boy who drowned this time of year, remember? His girlfriend was passed out on the shore of the lake with no memory of how she got there!”

“And in 99,” Ruby adds, “a couple was leaving the homecoming dance, and for no reason at all, the girl drove the car right into a tree. Killed the boy instantly, and the girl didn’t even remember going to the dance at all.”

“And Henry’s last name is Mills!” Violet gasped. “Is . . . is that a sign? Is the ghost going to get me? And then Henry?”

“Okay, everyone stop!” Emma calls out, rising and flipping on the light. She sits down next to the poor fourteen-year-old and takes her hands. “Violet, this whole thing is ridiculous. This is high school. Secret crushes are the norm. If this story were true, teenage boys would be dropping like flies around here.”

That gets a giggle out of the freshmen, but the upperclassmen look a little peeved.

“But back in 89 -”

“Stop,” Emma cuts Aurora off, “I think it’s time for bed.”

The girls all grumble, but begin sliding down into their sleeping bags nevertheless. Emma takes the flashlight from the seniors so she can flip the lights off once again.

*************************************************************

Emma isn’t surprised that she fell soundly asleep on an air mattress on the hard cafeteria floor. After all, years of foster care followed by life on the streets and crashing in her Bug have made her adaptable. These are far from the worst accommodations she’s ever had. However, she’s awakened a few hours later by frantic, high-pitched voices and hands shaking her.

“Ms. Swan! Ms. Swan!”

Emma sits up groggily, squinting to see with the beam of a flashlight shining in her face.

“Shit girls, you’ll blind me!”

“Language.”

Emma turns towards the admonition. “Ms?”

“There’s something in there,” Ruby squeaks.

“In where?”

“The kitchen,” Aurora whispers. She’s the one holding the flashlight in trembling hands.

“Girls, please -”

“No, Emma,” Mary Margaret says, “someone is definitely in there.”

That fully wakes Emma up. She sits and holds up both hands, shushing the whispering girls. For two heartbeats, there is only silence. Then, the distinct sound of spoons hitting metal reverberates through the cafeteria accompanied by the definite hissing of . . . bacon.

The girls all scream, naturally, and Emma harshly tells them to be quiet. She stands, yanking the flashlight unceremoniously out of Aurora’s hands. She places a finger to her lips, and the girls fall silent again as Emma turns and creeps towards the kitchen. Her heartbeat quickens as she sees a flickering light spilling out of the industrial room and over the cheap tile. Ruby is clutching one of Emma’s arms while Ashley clutches the other. Tiana is almost plastered to Emma’s back. The rest of the cheerleaders are in a tight bunch behind her, while Mary Margaret brings up the rear with Grace and Violet clinging to her sides.

“I’m calling David,” Mary Margaret whispers, pulling out her cell phone.

Emma stops beside the empty salad bar where she has a view into part of the kitchen, and crouches down. The girls all follow suit behind her. It’s almost comical how twenty one teenage girls and two grown women are squeezing themselves between the wall and the salad bar.

Now that they are closer to the kitchen, Emma can swear she smells bacon and eggs, but she tells herself it has to be her mind playing tricks on her. What is definite though are the cooking sounds coming from the kitchen. She can hear a whisk hitting rhythmically against the sides of a bowl and the sound of something sizzling in a frying pan. Behind her, the girls’ screams are muffled behind their hands. Emma turns, shining the flashlight at their feet so the girls can see her without being blinded. At the back of the group, Mary Margaret is talking into her phone in a tight whisper.

“Yes, David, there is someone in the kitchen!” She pauses to listen to her husband. “No, we are not imagining things! Now get over here right now before I have a heart attack!”

Emma bites her lower lip to keep from laughing as Mary Margaret hangs up her phone indignantly. She then speaks softly to the girls.

“Listen, most likely this is just someone playing a prank. Everyone knows you girls do this every year.” The girls all visibly relax slightly at Emma’s logic. “Now, I’m going to go in there as quietly as I can to take them by surprise. You all stay out here.”

“Emma, I really think you need to wait for David and Killian,” Mary Margaret tells her, “they said they’re on their way.”

Emma quirks a smile at her friend. “Please. The only one who rescues me is me.”

She ignores the whimpers of the girls and Mary Margaret hissing her name in a motherly tone as she slips inside the kitchen. She shines the beam of her flashlight over the serving line to her right and the dish area to her left. Nothing.

There’s a loud clatter that startles Emma, and the girls out in the cafeteria as well, based on the high-pitched screams. Emma swings the beam of her flashlight which illuminates a stainless steel bowl spinning in the center of the kitchen floor. Around the corner, where the stoves and ovens are, a strange, blue-tinged light is pulsing.

“We know you’re in here,” Emma calls out, “and it isn’t funny!”

The sounds of cooking are louder, the smells stronger, and there is no denying it: someone is cooking bacon and eggs in the middle of the night. Emma takes one slow step after another, then rounds the corner with the heavy camping flashlight held up like a weapon. She freezes at the sight before her, a shadowy figure radiating an eerie light. The figure pauses in stirring an empty skillet, turning its head slowly to look right at Emma . . .

The flashlight hits the floor, rolling across the industrial tile and colliding with the stainless steel bowl with a loud crash.

*****************************************************************

The last thing Killian wants to do on a Friday night is go to Misthaven Hills High. David is the football coach, and it’s one of his few off nights of the season. The two of them and Robin had been enjoying a rare guys night out at the local wings place, watching the Braves in the playoffs, when David got a frantic phone call from Mary Margaret. It was an insane phone call, really, but Mary Margaret isn’t the type to scare easily, so here they are pulling up to the mostly empty parking lot of the high school.

The three of them knock on the heavy outside doors to the cafeteria, and Mary Margaret immediately opens it and yanks them inside.

“Thank God you - wait, where are your weapons?”

“Weapons - “ David starts to laugh, but Mary Margaret is clearly not in a humorous mood.

“Yes, weapons! A gun? A baseball bat?”

“A sword,” Killian teases.

“A bow and arrow,” Robin adds with a chuckle.

Both men stop laughing immediately when Mary Margaret shoves them back outside.

“I guess she’s serious,” David sighs.

Luckily, David has a shotgun hidden under the back of the truck cab, and a baseball bat in his sports bag for when he and Killian hit the batting cages at the rec. David takes the gun, Killian the bat, and Robin breaks a branch off one of the dogwood trees that dot the school landscaping. Hopefully Leroy, the school groundskeeper, won’t find out it was them who desecrated one of his trees.

Who are they kidding? He’ll blame it on the kids.

“Is this legal?” Robin whispers as they head back to the cafeteria. “Being armed on school property?”

“I think legality is a bit of a grey area nearing midnight on a Friday night,” Killian whispers back.

Mary Margaret greets them by practically falling into David’s arms and frantically gesturing to the kitchen. The cheerleaders are huddled nearby literally clinging to one another.

“Emma thought it was someone playing a prank,” Mary Margaret tells them, “so she went in there to confront them, and . . . and . . . “

“Is she okay?” Killian asks, immediately alarmed, and pushing past his friends to head for the kitchen.

His friends follow, Mary Margaret still talking in frantic tones. “I don’t know. I heard her shout something at the person, then her flashlight went out, then there was a crash.”

The four of them collide into the salad bar, causing Killian to curse and the cheerleaders to scream.

“I can’t see a damn thing!” Robin mutters

“Where’s my cell phone?” David says, patting at his jeans pockets.

Ruby scurries over with a tiny flashlight bedazzled with red gems and offers it to Killian. He turns it on so they won’t trip over anything else, though its beam is about as powerful as a lightning bug. God, he’s been in the South too long. Next thing he knows, he’ll be saying ya’ll and bless your heart.

The four of them rush into the kitchen with the seventeen-year-old cheerleading captain on their heels, but they all come to a screeching halt to find Emma standing there in the middle of the dark room.

“Emma?” Killian questions.

She turns slowly to him and blinks with a slight shake of her head. Then she looks him up and down, a slow smile filling her face. She doesn’t even acknowledge the rest of their friends behind him.

“Yes?” she asks almost tentatively.

“You’re okay?”

“Never better,” she almost purrs.

Killian deflates, grinning at her flirtatious quip. “Well, you’re depriving me of a dashing rescue, love,” he jokes.

“Emma!” Mary Margaret cries out, flying past the men to grab Emma in a hug, which the blonde awkwardly accepts. “You scared us to death! What were those sounds? Did you find anyone?”

“She’s okay!” Ruby shouts to the other cheerleaders as she runs back out to them. “And nothing weird is in here!”

“Well,” Emma says slowly, looking around her.

Killian tilts his head, something seeming a bit off about her mannerisms. She looks at him again, an arch lifting her brow, and he swallows nervously under her gaze. She walks slowly forward, resting a hand first on Killian’s bicep, then on Robin’s and David’s, appraising each man as if she were admiring sports cars at the dealership.

“Emma?” he says again, a bit worried now.

“Oh, none of you need to worry about me,” she says with a light laugh. “The girls just had overactive imagination after all those ghost stories.”

“But we heard . . . “ Mary Margaret trails off.

Emma shrugs. “The kitchen staff left out some bowls and things. I suppose there was a mouse?”

Mary Margaret sighs and laughs softly at herself. “Of course! I should have thought of that! And the smells were all in our imagination probably.”

Everyone heads out of the kitchen except for Killian, who stops Emma with a hand to her arm. He looks intently into her face, unsure what he’s searching for, but hoping to find an explanation .

“Are you sure you’re okay, Swan?”

“Oh, darling, I haven’t felt this good in years.”

Killian is so confused by the words coming out of his best friend’s mouth, that he barely registers the way Emma trails her fingers across his jaw. That is, until her fingers drift lower to the open vneck of his henley. He startles at the slightly seductive touch and grasps her fingers loosely.

“You seem a bit off, love.”

“Whatever do you mean,” Emma asks with a slow smile as she leans closer, “Killian?”

She saunters past him, her hand trailing across his shoulder as she goes, and Killian for almost a full minute is frozen in place.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters, “did she fall and hit her head?”

**************************************************************

Cora Mills rather likes this body she has inhabited - this Emma Swan. She normally hates thin blondes, but this woman is at least fit. And she’s a grown woman with curves and more mature tastes. The last several she had inhabited were mere girls, and the young men she had seduced hardly a challenge. But Killian Jones . . .

She slinks down into the soft cocoon the others called a sleeping bag, a pleasant smile upon her lips as the lights go out. She had been thrilled to see this room full of possible targets on the one night every ten years when she could re-enter the world of the living. She was even more thrilled when Emma Swan walked into that kitchen, her unspoken love crying out to Cora in delicious agony. And when Cora had laid eyes on the object of Emma Swan’s affections, well - what more could a woman want?

It was a shame his pretty face couldn’t save him from a violent death.

#cs ff #cssns #cssns 2019 #captain swan supernatural summer #cs ghost fic #ghost possession #teacher!Killian #teacher!emma #enemies to friends to lovers #ouat in the South

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leigh-kelly · 5 years

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When the Ones You Love Are There, You Can Feel the Magic in the Air

Some 80s AU.

November passes quickly and Brittany finds herself getting incredibly excited about Christmas. She’s already finished making Santana’s gift and absolutely cannot wait to give it to her. With all of the end of the year stuff at the bank, Santana ends up working late most nights and Carl lets Brittany teach another class on Tuesday and Thursday evenings, which fills a lot of her time. Even though she and Santana are making gifts for each other this year, Brittany wants to be able to chip in for the fancy dinner Santana ordered, so the extra money at work helps immensely.

When Christmas Eve comes, Brittany spends the morning attempting to bake cookies while Santana is at work. She follows Millie’s recipes so carefully and she’s surprised with herself that she actually doesn’t do a bad job. The house smells good—even after one tray of peanut butter cookies was burnt—and Brittany puts them all on a pretty tray she bought at the Duane Reade, hoping to surprise Santana with them when she gets home. The rain has been pounding down outside the window and Brittany gets hot chocolate ready, knowing that Santana will be in a grumpy mood because of it and wanting to make her happy.

“This day.” Santana opens the front door, soaked from head to toe and shivering.

“Babe, what happened?” Brittany comes to the door, taking in the sight of her very wet girlfriend.

“I waited twenty minutes for a cab and while I was, a truck drove by me and completely soaked me. Now I’m in the worst mood and I just want to enjoy this holiday with you.”

“How about this? You go strip out of those wet clothes and I’ll run us a bath? I bet you’ll be in a way better mood when you’re warm and naked.”

“I was going to stop and get dinner on the way home before everything closed.”

“Chinese takeout is open, I just want you to relax, that’s what Christmas is all about, Charlie Brown.”

“You’re cute.” Santana laughs a little as she strips out of her wet coat. “And exactly what I need right now.”

While Santana goes in the bedroom to get her clothes off, Brittany runs the hottest, most bubbly bath she can possibly make. She doesn’t even wait for Santana to come into the bathroom, she just slips out of her clothes and slides into the tub, knowing that Santana likes to sit between her legs. By the time Santana gets into the bathroom—after presumably bagging up her clothes because they’re wet and muddy and need to go to the dry cleaner without contaminating anything else—the tub is almost full and Brittany takes in her naked form in the split second before she climbs in with her.

“You don’t even know how much better this is than being at my parents’ house right now.” Santana sighs, leaning back into Brittany. “She didn’t even call to invite me.”

“Has she...at all?”

“No. The first rule of the Lopez house is that you don’t question authority. I broke that rule and until I apologize, I imagine she won’t speak to me.”

“Are you going to?”

“I know it’s Christmas and I should wish them a merry one, but honestly, no. She disrespected you in our home and I’m not going to apologize for being upset with that. This has been a long time coming, Britt. I can’t put up with how she behaves anymore. I’m trying to be more comfortable with myself, I really am, but I can’t do that with her around.”

“So you’re really writing her off?”

“I...I don’t know.”

“It’s okay if you don’t, I don’t want you to feel like you have to do that for me.”

“I just really have so much guilt instilled in me from my whole childhood, it’s hard.”

“Listen, babe, I really support you, whatever you do. I’m not gonna keep you away from your family, I hope you know that.”

“I do. And thank you. I’ll figure it out, but as of right now, I’m not going to go running back to my mother.”

They spend a long time in the bathtub and after they get out, Brittany calls for takeout. Maybe it’s not a traditional Christmas Eve dinner but they’ve ordered a roast from Zabar’s for Christmas Day that is sitting in the refrigerator and Brittany thinks that lounging at the kitchen table in their pajamas while they eat is kind of perfect. She loves that she actually gets to be with Santana on Christmas Eve, unlike last year, and she smiles at her over her plate of noodles and Kung pao chicken.

“Can I give you your gift tonight?” Santana asks. “It’s a little time sensitive.”

“Time sensitive? You did make your gift, right?”

“So full disclosure, I made half of it. But the half I made is connected to the other half and I didn’t spend any money on it, so that’s fair, right?”

“I think so.” Brittany laughs. “I mostly just didn’t want you buying me something really fancy, so if you didn’t spend any money...”

“I promise, I didn’t.”

After dinner is finished, they wash the dishes and Santana goes up to the office for a little while to get her gift ready while Brittany takes hers out from the bottom drawer of her dresser. She really hopes that Santana appreciates the scrapbook she made, especially because it took her so long to find enough pictures of the two of them—and was insistent on taking a lot of them from the time they decided to do homemade gifts in October until when she got her last roll of film back two days ago. All she really wants is for Santana to see how perfect they look together and that no matter what the world sees, they fit together.

Santana finally comes back downstairs with two perfectly wrapped boxes and Brittany sits cross-legged under the Christmas tree. With the biggest smile, Santana sits down across from her and puts the boxes down and Brittany is pretty sure that she can hear a faint scratching sound coming from one of them. Santana just shrugs her shoulders and pushes the smaller box toward her and Brittany unwraps the paper, revealing a quilted pillow.

“I learned how to quilt.” Santana smiles sheepishly. “But if you ask Hummel, he’ll tell you I’m a terrible student.”

“It’s beautiful, Santana.” Brittany beams.

“It makes more sense if you open the other box. It’s not...exactly for you.”

“My Christmas gift isn’t for me?”

“I mean...it is, but also it’s not.”

Intrigued, Brittany begins to undo the ribbon on the other box. The scratching is not mistakable and when she gets the lid off, she sees a very tiny, but very fat kitten. She can’t even hold in her squeal when she sees him and she’s torn between hugging the kitten immediately to her chest and kissing Santana all over. Opting instead for a quick kiss to Santana and then lifting the little guy out of the box and into her arms, she feels like she’s going to explode with joy.

“I didn’t know what to make you and then Hummel suggested I make a bed for your cat. I hope it’s...okay.”

“Santana, oh my God, this is a billion times more than okay. You got me the perfect fat kitten and I don’t think I could love you any more than I do right now.”

“I was just thinking about how you said your parents never let you have a pet because they didn’t want the responsibility and how I can’t give you a traditional family, but I can give you this.”

“I’ve wanted a cat since the first time I could even say the word. He’s perfect. He’s...a he, right?”

“He’s a he.”

“Does he have a name?”

“They were calling him Aragon at the shelter, but I figured you could name him whatever you wanted.”

“You don’t want to help name him?”

“He’s your gift, whatever you decide, I’ll love.”

“Then I’m going to call him Lord Tubbington. Look how chubby he is, he’s like a huge ball of fluff.”

“Lord Tubbington.” Santana laughs. “That sounds so perfect.”

“I got you a gift too, but I seriously can’t top this.”

“Brittany, you know I wouldn’t care if you got me nothing. Seeing you so happy is my Christmas gift.”

“Well I made you this.” Brittany thrusts the wrapped scrapbook toward Santana, still cradling Lord Tubbington. “I didn’t even get help.”

Santana carefully unwraps the gift and Brittany watches as her eyes go soft, seeing the first picture of them, one she’d put the camera on the mantle to take. Carefully, Santana flips through the pages and Brittany can see a range of emotions pass over her features. Before she knows it, Santana is crying and leaving Lord Tubbington in her lap, she reaches over to grab one of her hands.

“This all just makes it feel so real.” Santana murmurs through tears. “I never even thought about the pictures...”

“I hope is okay...”

“I’m not ashamed of you, Britt. Of course it’s okay. I thought your anniversary gift was the best thing anyone has ever given to me...but this...”

“I know we don’t have framed pictures of us in the house or anything, but I just...”

“I never thought to frame the pictures. I don’t even have them. If you want to get doubles of these...”

“This is just for you, we’ll take more pictures if you want to frame them, but I want you to have this.”

“Babe. This means more than I even know how to say.”

“I love you, Santana, like, so much, and I just want you to always know that what we have is real.”

“I do know it, but thank you for reminding me.”

Because Santana is tired from her long day at work, they don’t stay up much longer. They bring the litter box and the food that Santana had stashed in her office down to the first floor and then they end up taking a bath, with Lord Tubbington peering into the tub, and they take the kitten to bed with them. He curls up right on Brittany’s pillow as she holds Santana from behind and she feels like nothing could be more perfect. Santana gave her this little guy and Brittany just feels like he completes their family. Maybe they don’t have something traditional, like Santana has said, but Brittany thinks this is better, two women who love each other and a fat little cat.

The next morning, Brittany wakes up with an excitement that it’s Christmas Day. Even though they’d done gifts last night, she loves that they have a whole day to spend together, just lounging around in their pajamas until they get dressed to have dinner and then Mercedes comes by for dessert. Even though Santana is still sleeping, Brittany gets out of bed and puts the coffee on and feeds Lord Tubbington. She looks at the instructions on the pancake box, furrows her brow and sets to work making her amazing girlfriend a Christmas breakfast. She just has the first pancakes in the pan when Santana comes out and wraps her arms around Brittany’s waist.

“Merry Christmas.” She husks, kissing behind Brittany’s ear.

“Merry Christmas to you too.” Brittany turns around and grins. “I’m making breakfast.”

“I see that. What can I do to help?”

“You can sit down and drink your coffee. I’ve got this under control.”

“I’m impressed.”

“We’ll see how they turn out, you might not be.”

“You made me breakfast.” Santana smiles. “Even if you burn it, I’ll still be impressed.”

“Let me pay attention so that doesn’t happen.”

Brittany only burns one pancake. The rest of her efforts are a success and she brings the big stack over to the table so she and Santana can eat together. It’s still too early to call Arizona so she feels like she has all the time in the world to sit with Santana both at the breakfast table and on the living room floor where they eventually settle to play with Lord Tubbington under the Christmas tree. She thinks that it’s probably the most perfect Christmas morning she’s ever had and she’s really hoping that Santana is truly okay with not spending it with her family.

Eventually, they have to get up and get dressed in order to heat up dinner and then get ready to have Mercedes over afterward. They go into the bedroom and Brittany sits on the bed, watching as Santana takes off her pajama top. She’s wholly impressed that her girlfriend actually stayed in pajamas this long, since she’s usually quick to get dressed in the morning. Santana stands in front of the mirror exposed as she gets ready to get in the shower and Brittany gets off the bed and comes up behind her, snaking her arms around her waist and eventually bringing her hands up to cup Santana’s breasts.

“Think we have a little more time?” Brittany breathes into her ear, making Santana shiver.

“I...yeah.”

“Come to bed with me.”

Santana complies immediately, letting Brittany lay her back on the bed. Brittany presses her knee between Santana’s clothed legs and she tilts her head down to take a nipple into her mouth. Santana’s hands weave through her long blonde locks and Brittany spends a long time on Santana’s breasts, knowing that it gets her really turned on. She wants to have her writhing, she wants to be able to push her legs apart and crawl down her body to find her at her wettest when she gets there. Brittany thinks that if she had to choose one activity to do for the rest of her life, it would be going down on Santana, because bringing her to ecstasy makes Brittany happier than anything else.

“My nipples are so sensitive.” Santana murmurs, though she doesn’t push Brittany away.

“Think I can make you come just from doing this tonight?”

“It’s so embarrassing when that happens.”

“I think it’s sexy as hell.”

Brittany looks up at Santana’s face, flushed from both her ministrations and the knowledge that she absolutely will come from Brittany playing with her nipples. With a satisfied grunt, Brittany continues what she’s doing, only occasionally tensing her thigh between Santana’s legs to give her a little something extra. Santana’s first orgasm is small, a squeak and the tightening of her fingers in Brittany’s hair, but Brittany knows that she can do better than that and kisses down her body, pressing Santana’s knees flat on the bed.

Just as she’d wanted, Santana is so wet and Brittany laps it up, not even kissing her thighs, just wanting to get to the destination. Santana’s hands are still woven tightly through Brittany’s hair and she moans as Brittany’s tongue proves her entrance. It doesn’t take long before Santana comes again, this time, her legs shaking and profanities escaping her lips. Brittany keeps going though, until Santana finally pushes her away, breathing heavily as she lays sprawled out on the bed. She moves to touch Brittany, but Brittany stills her hand, having gotten enough just out of pleasuring Santana and knowing that her wonderful girlfriend needs time to recover after such an intense series of orgasms. Because it’s a little cold in the bedroom, even with the heat on, Brittany moves to cover Santana with the blanket on the end of the bed and she curls up beside her.

“I have no strength to get in the shower.” Santana laughs, cradling Brittany’s face.

“We have time.”

“I’m really happy right now.”

“Are you?”

“Yeah. Being with you makes me happier than anything else. I wish we could run away to Greece or Hawaii or something and just be in bed together all the time.”

“You’d get bored. You love to work.”

“Not as much as I love you.”

Santana gets quiet and contemplative and Brittany just leaves her be, stroking her hair, the scar on her abdomen, her face, just being with her. Finally, they both know that it’s time to get out of bed and they get in the shower together. Santana’s hair doesn’t need to be washed, but she washes Brittany’s and Brittany relaxes under her intimate touch. Once they’re done and dressed—and Santana looks so sexy in jeans and a sweater, Brittany thinks—they go into the kitchen and heat up the ham and side dishes that they’d ordered.

“You don’t mind that Mercedes is coming over, do you?” Santana asks as Brittany sneaks Lord Tubbington a tiny piece of ham under the table.

“It’s your Christmas tradition with her.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“No.” Brittany shakes her head. “I don’t mind. I wasn’t sure we’d ever stop being so wary of each other, but now I think we’re in a good place. We both love you and would kill someone if they hurt you.”

“She means a lot to me.”

“I know. You don’t open up to many people and you’re open with her. I’m glad that I think we’re becoming friends.”

“I am too.” Santana nods and leans across the table to kiss Brittany. “Now stop feeding the cat all of your dinner and enjoy it.”

They finish up their dinner and then clean the kitchen together. Santana starts a fire in the fireplace while Brittany takes the Yule log cake they ordered out of the refrigerator for when Mercedes gets there. She also fills up both of their wine glasses while she’s in the kitchen, then goes into the living room where Santana has her legs pulled up beneath her on the couch. She curls up at Santana’s side and Lord Tubbington hops up onto her lap. She just can’t help but cuddle the kitten, still finding it hard to believe that Santana not only got this little guy for her, but also made him his own bed. Her heart is just swollen with love and she looks down at Santana’s face.

“What?”

“I just think this is my best Christmas.” Brittany beams.

“Even away from your family?”

“Santana, you are my family. And I know we’re going to go out and party with my friends for New Year’s Eve, but right now, this is the only place I want to be.”

“I’m glad, I was worried it would be a disappointment.”

“Why would you think that?”

“I don’t know, it’s just not much. Christmas is supposed to be big and exciting or whatever but we’re just...home.”

“Do you really think I’d have a better time eating one of my parents’ friends quinoa loaf instead of being with you? Just because there’s not a lot of people around doesn’t mean it’s not special. I like Christmas like this, I want to spend every year like this. Are you...crying?”

“It’s just that I’m really happy. I’m thinking about how lonely I was all of those years with my parents and how everyone kept asking when I was going to find a husband and I knew I could never live up to what they expected of me. With you, I don’t feel like there are any expectations.”

“I wish I could have been in your life all the years you felt like that. It must have been really hard.”

“I just felt like a freak, you know? I was little when I realized I looked a little too long at my female teachers and I didn’t have crushes on the boys like the other girls did. It was lonely and being around my family made me feel even lonelier because they kept telling me how I should feel. I remember my grandmother used to talk about my wedding and ask what guy I was going to marry. I would just pick the name of whatever boy in my class that the other girls had a crush on and pretend I did too. It got harder when I was in college...sorry, I’m talking too much.”

“Keep talking, I want to hear.”

“My mom just always was calling Barnard ‘that dyke school’ and my aunts picked it up too. They would laugh about it right in front of me and ask me why I didn’t have a boyfriend yet. I would always make up the name of some guy I was seeing from NYU or Columbia or Fordham to keep them from suspecting anything. I would leave every holiday feeling exhausted and cry myself to sleep. All I wanted was to be normal, now all I want is you.”

“You have me, you know. You’re always going to have me. Look. We have a family now. Lord Tubbington, go cuddle with Mama.”

“Mama?”

“Yeah, tough luck, I already called dibs on Mommy.”

“I—“ The doorbell interrupts Santana before she can say anything else and since Lord Tubbington has nestled himself into her lap, Brittany gets up to get it, opening the door to Mercedes and snow.

“Girl, it’s freezing out here.” She laughs, bustling past Brittany and into the warm house. “Merry Christmas! Santana, do you have a cat on your lap?”

“Meet Lord Tubbington.” Santana waves his little paw and Brittany thinks she fits right in as his mama.

“Sweet Jesus, I never thought I’d see the day.”

“She got me him for Christmas.” Brittany chirps. “Isn’t he like, totally the cutest?”

“I’ve gotta admit, he is pretty cute.”

“I’ll go get the cake and the wine.” Brittany offers. “This is a great end to a great Christmas.”

#brittana #80s au

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sanderssidesfanfiction · 3 years

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If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Forty Five

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

October 10th, 1996

Remy spat blood onto the concrete, on all fours as he looked up at the two guys from the football team who had come over to have a “talk” with him. “What’s the matter, boys? That the best you’ve got?” Remy asked, standing on shaky legs. “Upset that your girlfriends would trust me more than they trust you?”

He saw stars as the next punch landed on his right eye. He checked out the rest of the time the two football players wanted to show him exactly what they thought about gay kids. His mother was going to kill him if he walked home with a black eye and a busted lip. Oh, well. Not like he had much of a choice in the matter. What was done was done. Mom would have to deal.

October 5th, 2001

Remy was picking up Emile from theatre practice. Or, well, not exactly “picking him up,” because Emile was the one with the car, but he was there to remind Emile that it was time to come home, have them make dinner, and then relax on the couch for the rest of the night until Emile’s homework was done and the both of them went to bed. He walked into the theatre, voice practically booming because of the acoustics, which he was a sucker for. “ Mio amore! It’s time to come home!”

Emile turned from where he was sitting in one of the seats below the stage, and waved to Remy. “Hey, Rem! We’re just playing a little improv game and once it’s over I’ll happily come home with you!”

Remy rolled his eyes and walked over to stand at the edge of the row, while the actors finished up their improv game. When all was said and done, and everyone clapped at each other’s hard work, Remy turned to look at Emile. “Now. Home?”

Emile made a put-upon sigh and rolled his eyes, saying, “Fine.”

“Oh, don’t be like that, I know you love my cooking,” Remy said with a grin.

“Everyone loves your cooking, my love,” Emile said, kissing Remy chastely.

The gagging noise that came from behind Remy at that made him turn around and glare at a scrawny-looking guy with a bad haircut and too much cologne. “That’s disgusting!” he exclaimed.

“You are?” Remy asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Not interested,” the guy snarled.

Emile sighed. “Dick, please. Not my boyfriend. You can make fun of me all you like, but don’t drag Remy into this.”

Remy’s blood boiled. “This wouldn’t happen to be the same guy in your gym class?” he spat.

“Remy, please, leave him alone,” Emile all but begged. “I don’t have the energy to deal with a fight tonight.”

“Emile, if he’s the same guy, someone needs to teach him some manners,” Remy said. “And as you know, I don’t trust anyone I don’t know to do a job for me.”

Emile winced. “Remy, please.”

Remy turned to Emile. “Emile, do you genuinely want me to stop? Or do you just want to avoid either of us getting hurt?”

Emile’s eyes dropped to the floor. “Please,” he whispered. “I don’t want to get hurt.”

“You’re already hurting,” Remy murmured. “And I don’t want to see that continue.”

Emile flinched. “Physically, I mean.”

“I would never allow that to happen,” Remy said. He turned sharply on his heel. “Now, listen here, Dick. I don’t know if anyone taught you this, but you don’t. Blackmail. People. And I heard from a guy who heard from a guy who overheard you talking to Emile, that you’d tell the homophobes at school that he was bi if he did anything that you didn’t like, including telling someone that you were harassing him. Now, something tells me that being with another guy falls under things you don’t like, so. I have a little proposition for you.”

Dick looked angry, arms crossed, chin jutted out in challenge. He wasn’t going to back down. Remy would have found this admirable were the stubbornness about anything but human decency. He pulled out a notebook from his jacket and scribbled down the addresses of the coffee shops he worked at. “If you don’t like Emile, and your buddies don’t like him either,” Remy shoved the paper into Dick’s chest. “Take it up with me. Those addresses are where I work, and I work most weekdays and weekends. You’d be hard-pressed not to find me there sooner or later.”

“Remy!” Emile hissed in alarm. “Don’t do that!”

Dick grabbed the paper and shoved Remy’s hand off him. “Don’t touch me, queer.”

Remy saw red and in an instant his hand was connecting with Dick’s face in the hardest slap he had ever given or received. “You don’t get to use that word,” he hissed. “Not on me, not on anyone.”

Dick had crumpled to the floor and got back up, staggering away with wide eyes. But all Remy could focus on was George, and Jacob, and the pain he had felt all those years ago in high school. How Toby had came into his room that very same day when Remy was so obviously upset, and coaxed him out so they played video games until Remy spilled his guts about everything that had happened. Toby had heard half of it, but hadn’t gotten the whole story before then. And when he had found out, the comfort he had freely given...he didn’t have that comfort anymore.

He was trembling all over until a hand on his shoulder reminded him to take a breath. He didn’t have Toby’s comfort anymore, but he did have Emile. And Emile did an amazing job too. Remy couldn’t, and shouldn’t have discounted that. He forced himself into the present, into Dick’s surprise turning into pure fury, into the strength he knew he had to walk away. “You don’t use that word,” Remy said, pointing at Dick. “You have a problem? Come talk to me after my work shift. Otherwise, this conversation is over. Emile, let’s go home.”

Emile walked out quickly, practically dragging Remy along, he was walking so fast. The second they were outside, Emile was giving Remy an unamused look. “Mind explaining what that violence was about?”

Remy felt his cheeks heat up. “...Sorry,” he mumbled. “I...my emotions got the better of me. I’m not...I don’t want to be that sort of person.”

“You can’t slap people, Remy, no matter your reasoning!” Emile hissed. “Now Dick’s going to come after both of us, and it won’t be pretty!”

“Sorry,” Remy repeated. “I just...it brought back...memories.”

“Memories?” Emile repeated.

Remy nodded. “Yeah. Of high school. Of...of the last best friend I had...before. Um. Before I swore off friends entirely, with Toby as the exception.”

Emile blinked, and his unamusement melted into concern. “Remy? Are you okay?”

Remy laughed, blinking back tears and shaking his head. “My...my last best friend. Before you. Before the only person I had in the world was Toby. His name was Jacob. And he...he ratted me out to the popular kids at school for brownie points.”

“Okay...?” Emile asked. “You’ve told me this before, Rem.”

“I never told you...” Remy took a shaky breath and his voice cracked as he continued, “I never told you what it was over.”

Emile just stood there, looking concerned as ever. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, Rem.”

“But I do want to,” Remy said, soft but insistent. “I...there was this guy in high school. His name was George. We were good friends. We shared Geography class one year. And...and I got a crush on him. I didn’t tell anyone but Toby for the entirety of that school year. The next year, I decided I trusted Jacob enough to tell him. I didn’t outright say I was gay, I just said I liked George. But it...it was enough. Jacob went to the cool kids, told them, and then they proceeded to tell everyone else...including George. Pretty much the whole school knew within forty eight hours. And...and when I found out that George knew...it was because...because he said...he said ‘I don’t associate with queers.’ Whenever someone uses that in that way...all I can think of...is...” Remy sniffled. “Is George, and his stupid pretty face snarling at me.”

“Remy...” Emile bit his lip in that endearing way he did when he was unsure of what to say.

Remy hugged Emile tight, and whispered, “It’s okay. Sometimes it bubbles up and over, but most of the time I’m okay.”

Emile hugged him softly back and murmured, “No one deserves that, Remy. No one deserves any of what you went through.”

Remy blinked and a few tears fell. “Can we go home now?” he asked. “Cooking is good, it gives me something to focus on and I’ll feel better having something to do.”

“Yeah,” Emile agreed, taking a step back and towards his car. “Let’s go home and cook dinner.”

They went to Emile’s car and Emile hummed. “You know, I might want to put you on the title of the car so that you can drive it too. It would be nice to not have to do all the grocery shopping for once in my life.”

Remy weakly laughed at that. “That would be the reason you put me on the title.”

“Sheer spite?” Emile asked. “So that now you don’t have a reason to not get groceries?”

“I would have said sheer laziness, but sure,” Remy said, but the banter lacked his usual fondness and energy, and he knew it. He knew he didn’t sound the way he should. But he also knew that he couldn’t do anything about it just yet.

Emile looked over at him with concern. “Remy, are you okay? Be honest.”

Remy sighed. “Not yet,” he said. “It’s gonna take more time than that for me to feel better about what happened. But I will be. I won’t let one bad event rule over me the rest of my life. Not anymore.”

“Well, good,” Emile said. “But know that you can come to me if you’re feeling upset. If I can’t handle something, I’ll tell you, but especially with Kim having moved out of state...you need support sometimes, and I want to make sure you know how to ask for it.”

“I know how to ask for it,” Remy said. “I don’t always know when, but I do know how. And that’s thanks to you.”

Emile smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and Remy sighed. “Emile...I’m really sorry. Not only for the slapping, but for the whole thing after.”

“Remy, no,” Emile said. “What happened after was you trying to shake off something akin to a flashback. I would never hold that against you. Obviously, you’re going to have some problems with Dick and his friends, but I won’t ever ask you to apologize for crying, or for trying to explain what made you emotional, or even being emotional in the first place. I might want an apology for the things you did while you were emotional, but I wouldn’t ask you to apologize for being emotional.”

Crossing his legs and lacing his fingers behind his head, Remy glanced over at Emile. “I still get really confused by you sometimes, Emile.”

“Is this one of those times?” Emile asked.

“Yeah, I guess,” Remy said. “Why would you not apologize for being emotional?”

“Because you can’t help how you feel. It’s just a natural reaction to events happening around you. You can control your actions, not your emotions. I won’t ask you to apologize for something you can’t control,” Emile said.

Remy sighed as they pulled into the apartment’s parking lot. “I still don’t get it,” he admitted.

“Well, with time, hopefully you will,” Emile said.

They went inside the apartment and Remy looked at what they had in the pantry. It wasn’t much, admittedly, but with a little creativity he could probably make a nice meal out of ramen and maybe an egg or two from the refrigerator, along with some spices that wouldn’t come straight from the flavor pouch to add a little extra kick.

“Know what we’re going to eat tonight, Master Chef?” Emile teased.

Remy shrugged. “Ramen with a homemade twist?”

“I guess I can get behind that,” Emile said. “Would eggs be involved?”

“Aren’t eggs always involved in my ramen recipes?” Remy asked.

“You have a point,” Emile said with a grin, grabbing a pot and a measuring cup.

Remy took them and started measuring the water he’d need and set it up to boil while grabbing the other ingredients. “Feeling better?” Emile asked.

“Just a little,” Remy said.

“And you’re sure you’ll be okay if Dick decides to be...well, himself?” Emile pressed.

“Yeah. He doesn’t scare me,” Remy brushed off. “Don’t worry, Emile, it’ll all be okay.”

“I certainly hope so,” Emile said, starting to help Remy cook.

#if there's a place i could be #sanders sides fanfiction #remile #emile picani #ts sleep

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