#we’ve got a new exchange student at my flat

[ifeelfreewithoutmyshoes]

I would really just not use a stereotype as a way to describe anybody actually

[twisted-turtels]

Crossed Paths (Pt.1)

Farleigh Start x black!fem!oc

Author’s note: this is so random of me. Welcome to my new fixation, Farleigh Start from Saltburn. I wonder how long this story will last lol.

969 words is crazy i dont even write this much for my classes lol. it takes me days to get to 1000 words.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Crossed Paths

“Mama, there is no need to worry about me. You don’t trust me?” Jordan says. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. I don't trust the rest of the world. You're my baby, and you’re leaving me. Going all the way across the world!” Monica, Jordan’s mom, exclaims.

“Ma, you know this is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I have never left this country, and I get the chance to study at one of the oldest and most prestigious universities for free! There’s nothing to worry about,” Jordan explains, “Listen, I’m about to pull up to my apartment, or shall I say ‘flat’ as the Englishmen describe it. I’ll talk to you later. Goodnighhhht.”

“Goodnight, baby, I love you. Don’t go crazy over there now!” Monica hangs up.

Jordan gets out of her taxi and takes in her surroundings. University of Oxford, I can’t believe I made it. Jordan clumsily gathers her luggage from the taxi (It’s a lot of stuff) and walks towards the entrance to her accommodation. As she struggles to make sure none of her luggage falls, she accidentally bumps into a tall figure. 

“Fuck.”

“Oh shit, I am so sorry!” Jordan looks up and exclaims. She sees a tall, pretty, light-skinned man staring down at his now-stained shirt. He’s black, she thinks. “Yes, and so is my shirt,” the man says sarcastically. “Oh, I did not realize I said that out loud. I’m sorry again. I’m kind of struggling, and I guess I wasn't paying-” she tries to explain, “You’re American?” the man interrupts. “Um, yeah, I just got in today, if you can’t tell. I’m here for an exchange program,” she continued. “Not many of us here. Listen, don’t worry about the shirt. I hope to see you around, but I gotta be somewhere soon,” the man quickly says and walks off. 

“For sure,” Jordan trails off, saying before she looks at her bags, I guess I will take this up myself. “Ugh!” she groans.

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Jordan sits in her flat and looks at the now unpacked space. I did a great job. I think I'm gonna put a Texas flag on my wall, too. She slumps down on the couch and looks at the flyer on her coffee table. ‘Undergraduate Social! 5 PM,’ it reads. “I guess I can attempt to socialize,” Jordan looks down at her watch, “One hour to get ready, but I don’t have to be there at exactly 5 pm though,” Jordan thinks aloud. I wonder if I’ll see the man from earlier? 

After freshening up, Jordan gathered her keys and wallet and went to the social. She entered the student union and noticed it bustling with students and professors. While looking around, she subconsciously looks for the man she met earlier.  Not many black students, she notes. She takes the time to go up to different organization tables and gather information. As she moves from table to table, she feels a delicate hand tap her shoulder. Jordan turns around and notices a blonde girl standing in front of her. 

“Hello!” the blonde girl exclaims.

“Hello?” Jordan questions.

“Sorry for the abruptness, but I just wanted to introduce myself. You seemed lost. My name is Venetia, and I wanted to ask, are you American?”

“Uh yeah, I am. I’m from Texas, actually.” Jordan explains.

“That’s really cool. There aren't many Americans here. I do know another one, though, who just happens to be my cousin. Would you like to meet him?”

I do need friends, so it wouldn't hurt.

“I don’t mind that at all. Lead the way. Also, my name is Jordan, by the way.”

“What a lovely name. Follow me!” Venetia instructs. 

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“Boys, I would like you to meet Jordan! She’s American just like you, Farleigh!” Venetia exclaims

Jordan stares at the tall man. “Oh, we’ve met Vee. She’s the one who spilled tea on my shirt.” Farleigh explains with a stoic look on his face.

Jordan stares at her feet sheepishly, “Yeah, really sorry about that.”

Farleigh stared the girl down until he smirked, “I’m just playing; it wasn’t a big deal. It's nice to put a pretty name to a pretty face, though.”

He just called me pretty.

“Ignore Farleigh, he’s a little jokester. Aren’t you cousin?” Venetia teasingly asks as Farleigh rolls his eyes. “Anyway, this is my brother, Felix,” Venetia gestures to another tall, handsome man. Are all British men above 6 feet and handsome?

“Hello. Sorry for my sister practically dragging you over here,” Felix jokes.

“I did not drag her over here!” Venetia exclaims

“Haha, it’s okay. I need to put myself out there more honestly, don’t want to be alone during my time here.” Jordan reassures.

“How about I get your phone number?” Farleigh blurts out, he then corrects himself, “ How about we all get your number so we can continue hanging out more? Obviously, I don’t want to be the only American in the group.”

“I thought you would never ask,” Jordan pulls out her phone to notice it’s dead, “Oops, phone is dead. Let me just write it down.” There is no paper. “Can I see your hand?” Jordan asks Farleigh while taking out a pen. Jordan softly holds Farleigh’s hand and writes down her number, “You can pass this on to the rest of them,” Jordan smiles at Farleigh. 

“It was really nice meeting y'all, but I have to get ready for the first day, so I’ll see y'all later,” Jordan waves and walks off.

Oh my god, when did I get so bold?

The group looks at each other in astonishment as Jordan walks away. “Ooh, Farleigh, she gave you her number,” Venetia teases. “She gave it to all of us,” Farleigh defends himself. 

“She says y’all,” Felix points out. “That’s so Texas of her.” He jokes. 

[travelingue]

Romancing the stone: identity and architecture in Finland (To HEL and back 4)

In Helsinki, it pays to look where you walk.  I mean look up, not down - the pavements are spotless here, unlike in Paris.

This Finnish capital, my colleague Risto told me, is an architectural feast for the eyes.

So we've found it to be. But thus far we've only explored the column-heavy, neoclassical centre of the city. Those pre-1850 buildings are scaled-down versions of the stuff you can see on the London Mall, the Place de la Concorde or across Washington.

During our first walk two days ago, however, we got glimpses of a funkier side to Helsinki's cityscape.

A stone’s throw from the Protestant cathedral (built 1830-1852 - below left) is the Russian orthodox one built from from the 1860s (right).

Any orthodox cathedral, you might say, is bound to be more ornate than a Lutheran one.

The inside of Helsinki's Upenski cathedral is gloriously tacky:

But the differences in design reflect more than a theological split.

The second half of the 19th century saw a movement towards glorious tackiness in Western art.

Operetta replaced opera as the most popular form of musical drama. Architecture lightened up in the same way, and Helsinki, a small city, is ideal for observing that shift.

Behind the Russian cathedral is this layer-cake of a building: 

Note the fancy carvings at the top and the rough, Nordic stone near the bottom. 

The 1890s block of flat was designed by Gustaf Nyström, a master of Finland’s neo-Renaissance movement.

Just down the road is his magnum opus, the 1902 custom house:

The culmination of this movement was National Romanticism, Finland’s equivalent of Art Nouveau.

Before I left, Risto wrote the vernacular phrase for me on a piece of paper: "Kansallisromanttinen arkkitehtuuri."

He articulated it in that heartfelt Uralic staccato that sounds much nicer to my ears than French (although that’s probably because I understand what French people say.)

Now in situ, I tap the phrase on my phone. Google takes us to this:

By the turn of the century, when the Finnish National Theatre (above) was built, Finnish granite is all over buildings.

The Pohjola Insurance (above) building dates from 1899. 

Unlike neoclassicism, which reflected the might of the state, the National Romantic style was driven by bourgeois commercialism. 

The Wasa Bank building (below) is a prime example of new money reinventing the old world.

It may seem paradoxical that capitalism, in its moment of triumph, should wallow in nostalgia for pre-industrial times.

But revolutions often justify upheaval by harking back to the past. Britain’s Arts and Craft and neo-Gothic fashions were championed by captains of industry.

Thus the new armies of pen-pushers and factory drudges could think of Merrie England as they trundled to work.

The equivalent, it seems, happened on these Baltic shores.

Another key aspect of Finnish National Romanticism is its appeal to the country's mythical heritage.

It's sometimes called "Karelian architecture".  Most of ancient Karelia was absorbed into Russia long ago, but that's where many Finns fancied their roots were.

Traditional Karelian designs were carved in wood. Romantic nationalist designers tried to set them in stone.

I'm not sure what Karelian motifs look like, but I suspect they can be found on the façades of the Polytechnic Students' Union (1903, above) and the Nylands Nation building (1904, below).

But for some reason, around 1905 Finnish architects move on from National romanticism.

Quirky neo-medievalism fades into something starker. Might and massiveness return.

Large institutions are back at the forefront of architectural innovation.

The Transport Ministry building (1909, above) and the Helsinki stock exchange (1912, below) are the work of the great Lars Sonck.

Both structures make you feel small, not nostagic. They foreshadow the forcefulness of Art Deco geometry.

When asked to build a warehouse for the customs service, Sonck came up with this pre-brutalist behemoth – now a smart hotel:

Another of his masterpieces was this church in the Kallio district (1912).

Incidentally, when exploring Helsinki's architectural riches, I recommend taking advantage of its cheap, efficient transit system (the only thing that's cheap here).

Kallio, a working-class district well on the way to gentrification (above), is infused with utopian spirit of early 20th-century city-planning.

Also a short tram ride from the centre but on the other side of town - both in geographical and sociological terms – is the Eira neighbourhood.

Eira is what the British call would call a garden suburb. Built in the second decade of the 20th century, it includes opulent blocks of flats, large single-family homes and embassies.

There are few right angles: the streets weave and wind around a small central park.  

Another remarkable Art Nouveau neighbourhood is the Katajanokka peninsula, just east of the city centre.

Katajanokka was a slum until these apartment blocks went up in the early 1900s.

Back in city centre, we find the most striking expression of raw, post-romantic assertiveness: the central railway station.

Its mighty entrance is pictured at the top of this post.

The station opened in 1919, two years after Finland won independence from Russia. A century later, it is flying the Ukrainian flag.

Finnish architecture has continued to break new ground over the past 100 years.

However it's now late afternoon and we don't have time to hunt for Helsinki's modernist wonders, which are scattered towards the outskirts.

We only manage to spot the 2018 Oodi library from afar.

One question has been bothering me all day. 

Neo-gothic in Victorian Britain and Haussmannian bombast in France were in vogue for decades.  Why did Finnish National Romanticism take hold so spectacularly around 1895, only to go out of fashion 10 years later?  

We repair to Helsinki's architecture museum to find out. We have to be quick.

"The museum closes in 45 minutes," the woman at the till says. "You might want to come back tomorrow." "We're flying back in less that 24 hours," I snap.  "I need answers NOW."

She hands us the tickets, unfazed by my impatience.

I run up the stairs.  The first room is dedicated to a celebration of Finland's female architects down the ages. The sign reads:

I'm all for feminism, but I've come here for factual information, not inspirational homilies.

The exhibition on "architecta" says nothing about national romantism or any other movement. I’ve just wasted 10 precious minutes.

I try the adjoining room, where another sign explains why, on second thoughts, it's wrong to even talk about women architects:

By now I'm ready to throttle the curator – or worse: call them by the wrong pronoun. 

But wait! Signs point to an upper floor. I race up another flight of stairs.

Tucked away in a corner of Helsinki's architectural museum I find a display about the architecture of Helsinki.

The information I need is revealed to us in lucid, succinct prose - I suppose the writers had to be succinct given the limited space they were given.

The gist is this: Czars, who had been exercising benign suzerainty over Finland, turned into control freaks at the end of the 19th century, spurring a movement of national awakening.

Artists got with it. Identitarian sentiment infused works like Sibelius’ Karelian Suite (1893).  National Romanticism was the architectural expression of this yearning.

And in a flash, I also understand why it lasted only a decade.  I can hear Risto's great-grandfather exhort his compatriots, in hearfelt Uralic staccato, circa 1905:

"Guy, GUYS.  Stop dreaming of turrets and medieval guilds.  We'll never get a homeland by spinning fairytales.  This is the age of ruthless empires.  Japan did not defeat Russia with samurai folklore, but with guns.  Wake up to the 20th century!"

Sonck's brutalism, I now see, was the consequence of Risto Senior's pep talk. And in 1917, Finland kicked out the Russians.  A generation later the tiny nation was able to repel the Red Army.

To this day you don't mess with the Finns.  Per capita, they have more people in uniform than any Western country. Despite their woke pieties and genuine niceness, there is steel in these people.

We experience it at our modest level that evening, after dining on locally grown leaves and sustainably roasted zucchini at a ravintola.  A smiling waitress hits us with a €145 bill.

The credit card reader cheekily asks me if I'm willing to pay even more: I leave a €20 tip without a squeak.

                                              ***

Previous “To HEL and back” instalments:

. L’invitation au voyage . Guidebooks don’t lie . How Sweden lost Finland

[absolutepokemontrash]

MC’s half Demon, and they look AWFULLY familiar...

‘Kay guys, I got a different kind of stupid Headcanon to throw at you. Get ready!

Part 2 Lessons 1-5 Part 2.5 Group Retreat Lessons 10-12 Lessons 13-15 Part 3 Part 4

*ahem* picture if you will, it’s the day the exchange program is set to start. The student council (nix Mr. Kill All Humans, Weeb-supreme, and our Scummy Sweetheart) have assembled to welcome the new human student. All is going according to schedule, the portal opens up at eight am sharp, they hear the pitiful screams of the selected human who was not given a heads up about the whole thing, and the poor little human falls straight onto the marble floor.

There’s something a tad... off about this human don’t you think? After they’ve peeled their sorry ass off the floor they observed the assembled student council with an air of sophistication and self importance that no one expected. Their posture was perfect, their eyes sharp and calculating... they bared a striking resemblance to-

“Lucifer,” Diavolo looked to his right hand man, then back to the human. “The human kind of looks like you!”

And out popped four pitch black wings from the human’s back and two small horns out of the sides of their head, one horn was a bit bigger than the other. They even still had some of their down feathers! How cute!

((Content warning: Swearing (I have a potty mouth, forgive me), but that’s it.))

Luci-dad

So, the MC is Lucifer’s kid! Of course Mr. Prideypants immediately tries to recall exactly what little romp in the human world uh... spawned this half-human half-demon child of his. Good thing MC’s got the other parent on speed-dial.

“Please note, MC,” Lucifer pinched the bridge of his nose upon hearing Asmo take even more pictures of his newly discovered hellspawn. “I was not aware of your existence, if I was I’d-”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m not upset.”

Lucifer blinked a few times in surprise. “P...pardon? You aren’t upset?”

“No, my parent told me that my father was a high ranking demon, and they bare no ill will against you. Though, I am looking forward to this whole... exchange program thing.”

Oh wow, that was easier than Lucifer thought. Damn. Well, he was a father... (let’s be real, he’s been parenting his brothers for thousands of years, and a good chunk of you sinners call him daddy)

MC is probably the most protected student at RAD, despite the fact that they have no visible security detail whatsoever. They didn’t want to be seen as... weak and pathetic.

Something about this human just... set the lesser demons on edge. Any talk of eating them was stamped out on the first day when they walked by. It’s like Lucifer himself was staring at them, daring the demons to try and bother the human. MC’s powerful presence kept them protected and feared.

...at least until dear uncle Asmo decided to do their hair one morning. All those ribbons may have looked adorable but they kind of ruined the intimidation factor.

MC loved to mess with the other students, keeping their lineage a secret for the first little while just made it so much funnier when the other demons tried to scramble out of MC’s way without looking like they were running from the ‘weak little human exchange student’.

Oh wow, what a sadist. Like father like child

Flying lessons are a must. Poor MC isn’t terribly good at controlling their wings, and their horns are still growing in so when they pop into their demon form the first thing they get is a sore skull. Ow... it sucks that Lucifer isn’t outwardly very sympathetic.

“Ow!” MC crashed face first into the grass in the backyard of the House of Lamentation. “Father! My wings are cramping! Can’t we practice this tomorrow?”

The sight of seeing his dear child crash face first into the ground had lost its hilarity after the first three times. Lucifer slowly lowered himself to the ground and crossed his arms as he stood over his incredibly grass-stained kid.

“MC, we’ve been ‘practicing this tomorrow’ for the past month. If you want to learn to fly you’re going to have to actually manage to stay in the air for more than three minutes.”

MC shot Lucifer a withering glare that only preteens were capable of, Lucifer matched it with his own much more sophisticated glare.

“You’ve been flying for over a thousand years! Don’t you have any tips that can actually help other than ‘don’t panic, you’ll look ridiculous’?”

Lucifer dragged a gloved hand down his face and looked around, the two were alone as far as he could see.

“MC,” Lucifer began. “When I was a young angel, I needed to learn how to fly with someone else.”

MC perked up. “Who?”

“Michael. The smug bastard picked up flying quicker than I did.”

“What’d you do?!”

Lucifer smiled at his child’s intense investment. “I practiced flying every day for five extra hours until I could do everything that Michael could do, just better.”

MC’s starry eyed interest died almost instantly upon hearing about the extra five hours of practice. “Humph, I bet I could outfly younger you and Michael with only two hours of practice a day.”

“Really now?”

“Yes! Watch!” MC shook off their wings and took off in a running start before shakily making it into the air. Their form was decent enough, and they weren’t shaking as much as the previous attempts. “SEE?!”

“Yes MC,” Lucifer smiled. “I can see.”

You know what else Lucifer could see? MC crashing right into a tree.

“Ouch...”

Okay... maybe they could halt practice a little early and order a treat from Madame Scream’s. A little sugar to refuel is needed when the end goal is crushing a mutual rival beneath their heels. Just some good old fashioned father/child bonding time!

MC has a smaller seat right next to Lucifer’s seat in the Assembly Hall. I will not compromise on this one.

For all your fluff needs, I give you: Lucifer teaching MC how to play the piano. He has a proud little smile on his face when his kid finally starts getting it. That’s all. Enjoy the image.

That one Uncle who gives you Alcohol at Family Gatherings (Mammon)

Yeah, when Mammon burst in late to the party and whining about everyone’s spamming him with texts to haul his scummy ass to the Assembly Hall, the last thing he expected was to see a mini-Lucifer.

“What the fuck am I lookin’ at?!”

The glare the two Lucifers gave the poor Avatar of Greed was enough to make him want to turn tail (uh, wing) and book it down the hall.

“Mammon, this is MC. They’re my child.”

“Hello.”

“...whaaaa..?” Mammon looked between the two, same glare, same intimidating aura, same annoyingly good posture.

Mammon scratched the back of his neck and looked over at his older brother. “Do I uh... still gotta babysit em’ if they’re not human?”

“The lake of Cocytus will melt the day I let you babysit without supervision.” Lucifer grumbled.

“I don’t need a babysitter!”

Despite Lucifer’s initial denial, Mammon and MC ended up spending a lot of time hanging out when Lucifer was busy with paperwork. Of course Mammon’s first thought was ‘how do I profit off this situation?’

MC is now Mammon’s designated babysitter after they caught him picking up their feathers that had fallen off with the intention of painting them white and claiming they were Lucifer’s from back in the Celestial Realm.

Mammon does end up spoiling MC a little. Just a smidge. They’re the kid of his totally not his favourite brother after all! How could he not? Whether or not these gifts are obtained legally or are legal at all is subject to scrutiny.

“Mammon, I can’t drink this!” MC placed the bottle of Demonus back on the counter of the kitchen.

“Why not? That’s a bottle of the good stuff! We gotta celebrate you gettin’ an A on that test somehow!”

“I’m underage! Incredibly underage. I’m not legally allowed to drink.”

Mammon wordlessly plopped a silly straw into the bottle. “...does that help?”

“No.” MC then inclined their head to the bottle. “And I don’t want to get hung from the ceiling, that bottle was in my father’s study yesterday, I’m above theft.”

“How old are you s’posed to be anyway? Never mind... uh...” Mammon wracked his brain for something else he could do for MC that didn’t cost anything (don’t judge him, the poor bastard was flat broke!). “I could... teach you to drive!”

“Driving?”

“Yeah! Drivin’ is awesome! We can take my car!”

The bills for the damages done to the car and the Devildom were mailed to Lucifer the next day, and MC and Mammon got to keep each other company as they hung from the ceiling. Ah well! At least MC wasn’t upside down!

Mammon wasn’t that good of a flight teacher either, he also crashed into a tree (the same tree MC crashed into, actually) when he was cheering for MC. They were finally able to do a loopdy loop! He was proud and distracted! Okay?! Lucifer! Stop smirkin’ at him! It’s not that funny!

At least the vantage point from the tree was decent and the branches didn’t scratch him up too badly. Oh hey... that person walking by was wearing a very nice watch... he’d be right back-

That Uncle That is Always Absent From Family Gatherings and When He is Present He Leaves Early (Levi)

He missed everything. That is not an exaggeration. He was in the middle of an online raid battle and couldn’t look at his phone! No Lucifer he can’t pause an online game! That’s not how it works!

Okay, the human exchange student is half demon? WOAH! THAT’S JUST LIKE THAT ONE ANIME- W A I T. THE LITTLE NORMIE IS LUCIFER’S KID?!

Okie doke, he was fully convinced that MC just had to be an anime protagonist.

They binged every series that Levi compared them to. Sure MC might have missed a few assignments because of late night anime binges, but they were too good for this school crap anyway, right?

Nope. Lucifer put a ban on the two watching anime until both their grades improved. Surviving that hell brought the two together.

“Ugh!”

The sound of a pencil case being haphazardly thrown across the room made Levi peek out of his bed-tub. If his figurines got knocked over so HELP HIM-

“This is stupid!!I shouldn’t have to catch up with this!” MC crossed their arms and gave their Demonology textbook their best disapproving glare.

Lucifer Lite (tm) was having a hell of a time trying to claw through their missed work, and Levi sympathized, he really did, it’s just... he was playing Animal Crossing-

Levi paused the game to placate his anime-buddy when their wings popped out and he feared for his rare merch’s safety.

“H-hey, MC? Do you need help?” Levi’s offer was met with a bone chilling glare that lived rent free in his nightmares ever since. He had pulled a Mammon and forgotten he was talking to Lucifer’s child. Lucifer’s allergy to help must have passed down to MC.

“No! I don’t! It’s just... dumb!” MC hissed, she turned and looked over at the fish tank. “Right Henry 2.0?”

Henry 2.0 did not respond.

“MC, you need to finish your homework or we can’t watch anything together,” Levi sighed, he had finished his work over an hour earlier. He had mastered the art of all night anime binges and managing to do most of his work in the fifteen minutes between the time he woke up and the time school was supposed to begin. “We haven’t even binged all of volume 4 of TSL yet!”

“Mmm...” MC grumbled. “Fine...”

MC picked up their pencil case and began continued their work. Levi breathed a sigh of relief and went back to Animal Crossing.

The tiny normie did in fact finish their work, only after they caved and asked Levi for help. Swore him to secrecy, they did... very intimidating, they were.

Just saying, he most definitely sent that one Keanu Reeves meme with big Keanu and little Keanu but with Lucifer and MC to the wrong group chat. Poor bastard.

Flying lessons? No. Levi hadn’t flown since his time in the Celestial Realm, he had no advice to give other than: “Flap your wings!”

“THAT’S WHAT I’M DOING YOU-”

MC didn’t get to finish that thought, they lost their balance and fell right into RAD’s fountain. Ah well, Levi had a head start on running for his life that he squandered by laughing at MC. RIP.

The Uncle/brother/whatever the fuck that Starts a Fight With Your Dad at the Family Reunion. (Satan)

Oh... another Lucifer? Eugh. Gross.

Satan gave the kid a wide berth when they first met. Everything the kid said or did ticked him off. “Tsk. Look at MC. Making an omelette. So annoying.” “Oh wow, MC vacuumed? Roll out the red carpet, we need to celebrate their existence!” “Look at them. Breathing. Disgusting.”

MC’s pride wouldn’t ever let them admit it but... they knew Satan didn’t like them, and it hurt their feelings.

“Shhhh,” Satan whispered into his backpack.

“Meow.” The backpack replied.

“I said shhhhh.”

The backpack did not reply after that, which was a good thing considering the little princet of the HOL was nearby.

“Satan?” They asked. “Who are you talking to?”

Satan coldly brushed past them as he made his way to his room. “No one you need to concern yourself with.”

When the little calico kitten was safe in his room, Satan quickly realized a mistake in his foolproof ‘sneak a cat into the house’ plan. He didn’t have any toys for the kitten, and he didn’t want his books getting scratched...

It was alright, he’d just rush out to the a store that sold cat things and rush back! Five minute trip tops!

Well when Satan got back the cat was no longer in the room. Oh dear. He discreetly tore apart the house looking for the poor little thing until he ended up finding it in the library, happily chasing around a loose feather being held up by MC.

“Oh, hello Satan.” MC chirped as the kitten batted it’s adorable little paws at the feather.

“My... my door was closed. Did you let the cat out?”

MC shrugged. “I heard meowing.”

Satan ran a hand through his hair and grumbled. Stupid smaller Lucifer. Stupid original Lucifer. Everyone sucked.

“Let me guess, you’re going to run to Lucifer and tell him all about the meowing and the rule breaking.”

MC shook their head and glared at Satan. “Of course not. I’ve already gotten way too attached to this little guy anyway. We’re co-parenting this kitten like mature adults.”

With some coaxing, Satan did sit down and play with the kitten, maybe MC wasn’t... so terrible.

The two watch Unsolved Mysteries together, that’s their show. “This guy did it.” “Satan, we’re two minutes into the episode-” “Trust me.”

Thirty minutes later.

“He did it.” “See MC, what’d I tell you?”

Lucifer did find out about the cat, but with enough pleading, MC and Satan managed to warm up the cold spot in Lucifer’s chest where his heart should have been. The cat’s name is Detective Toe Beans (or just Bean).

Satan can’t fly, he has a tail, but he did read up on wing anatomy and how flight actually works in demons, his advice would be good in theory, but it’s full of so much technical jargon that MC can’t understand it.

At least MC didn’t crash into something, they barrel rolled through one of the HOL’s windows. Good thing it was the window to their room. The broken arm still hurt like hell.

The Best Dressed Bitch Who Brings The Booze to The Reunion. (Asmo)

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Lucifer’s kid was SO CUTE! A thousand pictures commemorating that adorable moment needed to be taken! Wait- Lucifer- GIVE BACK THE PHONE-

Asmo, surprise surprise, absolutely adores little MC! So cute! So small! He was just so excited to announce to all his Devilgram followers that Lucifer was finally a certified DILF.

That post disappeared five minutes after it was made but the damage had already been done.

Asmo made sure MC looked their best at all times, if they needed help talking to anyone? Asmo’s got their back!

Sure, maybe he’s a little pushy, but pushy’s a good thing sometimes, right?

“Asmodeus-”

“No, these shoes wouldn’t fit you...”

“Asmo-”

“No, not these ones either...”

“ASMODEUS.”

Asmo squeaked and jumped upwards, Geez Louise... little MC’s voice could sure be scary when they wanted it to be...

“I don’t need any fancy new shoes.” MC huffed, sitting up straighter in one of the chairs in Asmo’s room. “I thought this was supposed to be a sleepover.”

“Hmmm...” Asmo pouted. “Makeovers are an essential part of sleepovers... what’d you do with your human friends up in the human world that could possibly be better than a make-over?!”

MC began to list things off. “Ordered junk food, talked about people we hated, watched movies,”

“Greasy food is so bad for your skin...” Asmo cringed and shook his head violently. “But I’m totally down to watch a movie and bitch about people I hate!”

“Ah yes, human sleepovers, a tradition I never quite had the chance to enjoy.” Solomon said from Asmo’s bed. “Who are we bitching about?”

“Remind me what Solomon is doing here.” MC muttered as they sat down in front of Asmo’s TV.

“Because, I wanted to hang out with my two favourite humans.” Asmo cooed, reaching over and trying to pinch MC’s cheek, which they awkwardly dodged.

“Can we watch The Exorcist?” Solomon asked, propping his head up with his hands.

“Ew, no.” Asmo made a face at him. “That scene with the vomit? Hell NO.”

“Mm.” MC mumbled. Asmo turned to look at them.

“MC? Are you doing okay? You don’t look like you’re having any fun...”

“I’m fine.” MC grumbled.

Asmo pursed his lips, as much as it made his little narcissistic heart break, he nudged MC. “Why don’t you pick the movie, sweetie. I’m sure Solomon and I will like anything you pick!”

MC noticeably brightened. “Let’s watch Scream!”

The strangled noise that came from Asmo was... concerning, but to his credit, The Avatar of Lust held his tongue about his distaste for the movie, and the three slumber-party goers had quite the lovely time.

After the movie ended, MC went back to their room, sure it was a sleepover but their bed was right down the hall.

Good for Asmo and Solomon. Horny fuckers. We stan.

Asmo just claps and tries to cheer MC on when it comes to their flying lessons. (The idea that Asmo came up with to wear his cheerleader costume from the previous Halloween was immediately shot down by Lucifer)

“You’re doing wonderful, MC- WATCH OUT FOR THE POWER LINE!”

MC didn’t hit the power line, but Asmo’s scream of terror caused them to fall butt-first into a dumpster. Their injured tailbone served as a tragic memory of the incident.

Oh well, good thing Asmo had nice smelling soap to give that could mask dumpster-stink.

The Uncle that eats everything and tells you to eat your veggies while you angrily pick at your broccoli at the kid’s table. (Beel)

Lucifer... has a kid?! Beel choked on the cheetos he had snuck into the Assembly Hall when the kid’s wings popped out.

Oh wow, that’s nice :) maybe they can eat together. Belphie would probably like them.

Wait what is the gender neutral term for Niece or Nephew?

...Nibling? Uh... let’s not say that around Beel. We don’t need him to get hungrier and begin associating MC with nibbling on things.

The Underground Tomb incident probably went a little differently, but after all that nonsense, the two are closer than two peas in a pod!

Mmm... peas...

“Beel?” MC stepped into the Avatar of Gluttony’s room.

“Hi MC.” Beel was doing push-ups in the middle of the room, on the ground right beneath his head was a massive bowl of spaghetti that he bit into every time he completed a push-up. “Can you come stand on my back? I need the extra weight.”

“On your back?” MC padded closer. “Are you sure? It’s not going to hurt?”

“No, it’ll be okay.” Beel assured them. “Belphie and I did this all the time. Except Belphie is normally asleep.”

MC tentatively stepped onto Beel’s back. It was a balancing act to say the least, they eventually gave up on standing and ended up sitting cross legged between Beel’s shoulder blades.

“You did this with Belphegor?” MC asked.

“Yeah,” Beel sighed. “He was always too tired to exercise, but he’d let me bench press him sometimes...”

MC frowned and hugged their knees to their chest. Knowing full well that Beel’s twin wasn’t in the human world like Lucifer said was absolutely ripping them apart from the inside. Guilt felt just as rotten as their pride did when they were being belittled...

“Maybe you’ll see him again sometime soon.” MC whispered. “Maybe my father’ll come to his senses and let him come back down to the Devildom.”

Beel paused his push-ups for a brief moment, then nodded and went back to his eating exercising combo. “I hope so. He’ll like you, MC. I’m sure of it.”

MC nodded. “I... hope so.”

Beel’s a pretty decent flight teacher, but his wings are just so different from MC’s that it renders any tips he had next to useless.

“MC, maybe your wings aren’t flapping fast enough.”

“Beel, I appreciate the thought, but I’m not a hummingbird. Or a fly. I don’t need to flap my wings a million times a minute to stay afloat.”

Ah well, MC tried to take some of Beel’s advice, but their lower right wing cramped up and they ended up flying in circles until Beel was able to catch them. Ah well, better than the dumpster incident the previous week.

The Uncle That Passes Out in The Basement and You’re Not Allowed to Wake Him Up Even Though All Your Toys and Video Games Are Down There. He Also Picks a Fight With Your Dad’s New S/O Before He Passes Out. (Belphie)

Sitting in the attic was quite a drag, and this supposedly weak little human was quite the annoyance to try and call out to. It took a lot longer than expected, but when he heard little footsteps coming towards his prison, Belphegor nearly jumped with joy.

Oh... it... looked like Lucifer. Smelled like Lucifer. Stood like Lucifer. Quacked like Lucifer. Or... trilled..? Whatever sound a peacock made, this brat sounded an awful lot like Lucifer.

A... half-demon. Hmph. Belphie honestly thought Lucifer had actual standards. Not anymore, he guessed.

(Man I could fill a whole-ass fic with the Belphie betrayal thing, but for now let’s skip to post attic nonsense)

Okay so maybe MC wasn’t disgusting. They made a good nap buddy. It was cute when their wings came out when they were sleeping sometimes. Well... it was cute when they didn’t hit him in the face and make him wake up with his mouth full of feathers.

What Beel said had been true, Belphie made a good substitute when weights weren’t available, but Beel didn’t want MC to feel left out, so Belphie and MC ended up sitting on his back while he did push ups. MC once got bored and started playing Go Fish with Belphie on Beel’s back while he exercised.

Yes. MC is still a member of the Formerly-Anti-Lucifer League.

“Are you sure he’s not going to be too mad at us?” MC asked for the dozenth time that day. Detective Toe Beans was wrapped around their neck like a scarf (he had gotten so big!!!) while MC nervously sat in one of the Library chairs.

“Positive.” Belphie said with a toothy grin. “Besides, he’s like putty when it comes to you. Just give him your best puppy eyes and we’re not guilty on all charges.”

Putty..? Really..? Lucifer..? How strict was he before MC got there... they wondered.

“Sh! He’s coming!” Satan stuck his nose into a random book, it was the Oxford English Dictionary... and it was upside down.

Belphie pretended to pass out and MC decided that the best course of action was to stare deeply into their cat’s eyes. Yeah... that looked casual and not weird.

“Satan, MC, Belphie.” Lucifer nodded to the three of them as he walked towards the entrance to his study.

“Lucifer.”

“Afternoon, father.”

Belphie let out a cartoonishly loud fake snore that nearly caused both MC and Satan to break cover and start laughing.

Side note, Bean had adorable widdle eyes! That cute little face was just to die for-

“You three..!”

Belphie, Satan, and MC peeked their heads into Lucifer’s study, their handiwork was perfect. Everything was covered in red post it notes. Perfectly not harmful, but SO inconvenient!

“You’re all cleaning this up or so help me-”

“GO!” Belphie and Satan each grabbed one of MC’s arms (Satan also grabbed Bean) and sprinted out of the House of Lamentation. Maybe they’d move back there in twenty years... they hoped that Solomon and The Angels would let them crash at Purgatory Hall...

Belphie had used up his physical energy supply for the next four years. He passed out the moment they stepped into sanctuary. Time for a nap...

Flight practice? Ha. Belphie’s napping. Though, he was suspiciously awake and filming whenever MC did something stupid.

“Try not to suck so bad.”

“GO TO HELL BELPHIE!”

“I’m already there. Hell is every second I’m stuck here watching you fail.”

“YOU’RE GOING TO GET IT FOR THAT!”

Well... MC mastered the dive bomb that day. Lucifer bought them a cake.

Bonus! Your Dad’s New Husband! That Has Managed to Somehow Make Everyone Hate Him Despite the Fact That He’s A Cinnamon Roll. (Diavolo)

A mini Lucifer? A mini Lucifer!

Diavolo dotes on MC like he’d dote on his own kid. MC wants a crown? They’re getting a crown! A damn nice one too! MC wants a title? Here! MC is now... idk Ruler of the area between Majolish and Hell’s Kitchen.

Poor Uncle Mammon’s got some financial insecurity, he’s still the cool uncle... right?!

He is very much that ‘how do you do fellow kids?’ Meme.

He tries to do stereotypical ‘dad’ things but he’s not very good at them. Once he tried to host a barbecue...

Barbatos saved the day, but Mammon’s hair was still singed, Solomon’s cooking still gave Beel food poisoning (SOLOMON EATS TOXIC WASTE I SWEAR-), Luke still got hit in the face with a frisbee, and Simeon got an unhealthy dose of DAD NERVES and got so stressed everyone was almost blinded by the holy light he suddenly started blasting. We do not mention the water guns.

(Seriously whose bright idea was it to give Belphie and Satan water guns while they were in Lucifer’s presence?)

Praise Barbie. He’s too good for them.

“Um...” MC awkwardly held up the baseball, trying to look at it from all angles like it was a completely alien object. “Lord Diavolo... are you sure you want to play catch?”

Diavolo clapped his hands and bounced on the balls of his feet. “Yes! It’s a thing human fathers do with their children, correct? We must make up for lost time between you and Lucifer, right?”

Lucifer massaged his temples and nodded. “If you two would like to play catch...” Lucifer grimaced. “I will too.”

“Okay! MC, throw the ball to Lucifer!” Diavolo instructed.

Lucifer half heartedly held up his baseball glove as MC tossed him the ball. He caught it, and looked over at Diavolo, who was applauding like he just witnessed the greatest feat in sports history.

“Okay! Throw it to me!” Diavolo waved his glove in the air, Lucifer rolled his eyes and smiled. He threw the ball at Diavolo with... a lot of force. Enough force to probably dent steel... Diavolo caught it like it was nothing.

MC suddenly feared for their safety.

“Okay MC, catch!”

Diavolo threw the ball with enough force to break the god damn sound barrier. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration, but the ball sailed way over MC’s head and crashed right through a window.

“Oh my...” Diavolo put a hand on his hip and surveyed the damage to the window. “This isn’t so bad, I believe in human world TV shows this happens quite often. Look! The glass broke in a perfect circle!”

“Yay... property damage...” MC murmured.

Lucifer sighed and pulled out his DDD. “I’ll phone someone to replace the win-”

“Lucifer no! Now according to human world customs we must,” Diavolo took a deep breath, rushed forward, grabbed both Lucifer and MC’s hands and started sprinting away from the Demon Lord’s Castle. “RUN FOR IT!”

“Di- Diavolo!” Lucifer gasped.

“Who are we running from?! That’s your castle!” MC squeaked.

“I don’t know! Just run! That’s what the human TV show says to do!”

Weirdly enough, Diavolo was the best flight instructor. MC’s ability to fly increased tenfold after Diavolo found out that MC was learning to fly.

“You’re doing amazing MC! That was a perfect turn!”

“Thanks Lord Diavolo, I’m surprised I haven’t crashed into anyone or fallen yet!”

“Well, I highly doubt you’ll be crashing into anyone anymore, your flying is practically perfect now!”

Mammon proceeded to fly past them holding what looked like Lucifer’s wallet.

“M-mammon?!”

“Oh... I wonder what he’s doing. Look, MC! It’s Lucifer! Hello Lucifer dea-”

Lucifer ended up colliding with the two of them and sending them all crashing to the floor.

That was the last time MC fell during flying practice.

(We currently have a Go Fund Me set up for Mammon to get the funds necessary to flee the Devildom after that incident. Please donate to save- oh shit hi Lucifer-)

[hops-hunny]

Just a Flight Away

Pairing: Neville Longbottom x Ilvermony!Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Request N/A

Summary: Neville has a cutie who lives in America but no one seems to believe him.

Warnings: None! 

A/N: This isn’t a request but it’s based off of me rambling here and slightly off of the vibe telepatia by Kali Uchis gives off.

If there was one thing Neville was thankful was it was the absolute goddess he got to call his girlfriend. It was funny the way they first began talking to one another. (Y/n) had been trying to contact a friend at Hogwarts but after the long trip from Ilvermony to Hogwarts, her owl was quite exhausted and ended up bringing the letter to Neville instead. Neville saw the poor bird, giving it a bit of bird seed and water that he kept in the green house before he set off to find the rightful owner of the letter. Luckily he had 3rd period with the girl who thanked him before excitedly yanking the letter from his hands. When Neville went to go check on the owl, he saw that it had already left, leaving a heart shape in the bird seed.

After that day, Neville hadn’t really thought about the incident that much. Well, that was until he saw the same owl fly towards him with a letter in its mouth. He smiled fondly at it rubbing under its chin with his finger before going to give the letter back to the owl until he noticed it had his name on it.  He ripped it open, careful to not damage the envelope before reading the letter.

Dear Neviile,

Thank you so so so much for getting the letter to Gwen! Gwen is a good friend of mine who I had been missing dearly and if not for your kindness she would have never received my letter. 

As you may be able to tell from the seal on the letter, I attend Ilvermorny school of witchcraft and wizardry. I've heard of how grand and great the infamous Hogwarts is, is it true? How is England in general? I've never had the pleasure of traveling out of America.

Oh yes! The main point of this is as a thank you, I've attached a package of my favorite American sweets as a token of my gratitude. The package is enchanted which is why it's so small. To restore it to its original state, place it on a flat surface before tapping it with the tip of your wand.

Sincerely,

(Y/n) (L/n)

Neville felt his face grow warm at the girl's kindness. (Y/n). 'What a beautiful name..' he thought to himself before pulling out the galleon sized package from the envelope. He pushed aside a few plants on the table in front of it before placing the package down, tapping the top with his wand. He gasped, watching in amazement as he saw the package expand. Neville wasn't quite familiar with this enchantment, perhaps he'd ask her about it in his response. His cheeks turned a brighter red. Response?

Did she want to speak to him more? He didn't want to assume but by her letter and her asking questions, it made it clear that this wasn't the last exchange she wanted to have. Was this a prank? Were the Weasley twins up to this? There was only one way to tell. Neville reached a shaky hand forward, opening the package as he closed his eyes expecting something to pop out at him but when he opened his eyes there was nothing but a box of snacks he had never seen before. He let out a sigh of relief, ignoring the racing in his heart.

After that, Neville and the girl started to talk quite a bit. Months had turned into years and he couldn't have been happier. It felt nice to have someone he could talk to, someone far away from all the hustle and bustle of the castle. To her he wasn't the kid with unfortunate luck or the "cowardly" boy in Gryffindor. He was just Neville, her boyfriend. Neville, her kind boyfriend in another continent, far away. 

(Y/n) loved Neville just as much. It wasn't that she never had suitors approach her. In fact, she had quite a few. (Y/n) was what you could consider popular, not that she cared. She was kind, smart, and beautiful. Who wouldn't want that? However, she always felt like none of the men who'd approach her got her. They all just saw her as a beautiful woman instead of what she was, a normal girl deserving of love. That's why she liked Neville so much. No matter what he always treated her with the utmost respect and that hadn't stopped when they started to date either. 

When the two had first exchanged photos, Neville was stunned. He had been talking to that beautiful of a girl? He couldn’t believe it. It was as if Olivander himself had sculpted and carved her out of the best of wood. She had glowing (s/c) skin, soft healthy looking (h/c) (h/c) hair, and a smile that could compete with the sun on its brightest of days and win. And when he found out she was single? He would’ve been a fool not to make a move. Angels as sweet as (Y/n) didn’t come around that often. 

And although their relationship was as great as can be there was the underlying sadness: they lived across the world from one another. Every time either of them would see a couple hug or kiss in school, they’d feel a twinge of jealousy pierce their hearts. It wasn’t fair that the most perfect person in the world was off enjoying themselves in their respective countries. Although (Y/n) tried to ignore it, Neville was the type to bring it up. He’d describe in the most beautiful of words what he’d do if they were together. How he’d hold her in his arms and show her off to all of his friends. Where he’d take her on a date, the plants he wanted to show her as they were both herbology geeks. Meanwhile she’d end each of the letters discussing this topic with the same phrase as usual. ‘You know I’m just a flight away. If you wanna I could take a private plane.’ He could never ask that of her though. As much as he’d love everyday to be filled with his flower, he wouldn’t wanna rip her away from the things she had going on in her own life.

It wasn’t all bad though! After the girl had taught him the charm she used when she first sent him something, they both would send each other gifts back and forth as much as possible. Neville sent her sweaters with his scent embedded, charmed flowers, chocolate frogs, anything she wanted was hers. She’d send her own things to remind him of her as well. Her favorite stuffed animal, loads of photographs, little crochet hats she made for Trevor, more...unsavory things as well definitely not her underwear. Despite the increase in objects Neville owned, none of his friends had questioned it until he started to wear a necklace with a heart shaped piece of onyx on it with the letter (Y/f/i) carved into it.

“Oi! Neville. Where’d you get that necklace from?” Ron questioned his friend who sat across from him in the Gryffindor common room. The boys had all decided to study together which of course turned into Neville studying as they goofed off. Neville tensed as his cheeks heated up turning a pink color.

“O-oh um..it’s from my girlfriend.” He said, saying the last word as soft as possible. He prayed to Merlin that his friends hadn’t heard him but unfortunately for him they had. It wasn’t that he didn’t want anyone to know about her. It was far from that. He was just a bit protective, he didn’t want anyone to try and steal her from him. Even though it was impossible since they had no contact with her, he never knew when it came to his friends. They always found a way to make the impossible possible.

“What year is she in?!”

“Who is it?!”

“No way, is she fit?!”

He finished at the chorus of voices, trying to calm them down so he could speak. They all scooted closer to him, looking up at him expectantly. “Well you see..” he trailed off, looking away as he played with the pendant around his neck. “She doesn’t go here. She attends school in Ilvermorny. But to answer your question, yeah she is bloody fit.” he responded, turning his attention back to the scroll of paper in front of him. Dean, Ron, and Seamus exchanged a look with each other trying to suppress their laughs.

“Yeah I’m sure she does Nev.” Dean said sarcastically as he joined the other two in laughter. Neville looked up at his friends confused at their behavior.

“Yeah Nev, if your nan sent it you could’ve just told us! Better than saying you’ve got a girl halfway across the world.” Ron said, pushing the boy slightly as he continued to laugh at him. Seamus was doubled over, snorting with laughter as fire whiskey shot from his nose causing the other two to howl with laughter.

“It’s not from my nan! My girlfriend really did send it to me.” he exclaimed, smacking Ron on the back of the head, before doing the same to the other two men. “Besides, you have some fucking nerve accusing me of lying when none of you have birds yourself.” he sneered, causing the boys to quiet down some.

“So harsh Neville, you didn’t have to go there mate! Well what’s this ‘girlfriend’ of yours called.” Seamus asked, doing air quotes as he mentioned the topic at hand. “You’d think it was a bit strange too if your friend suddenly mentioned a girlfriend who lived all the way in the states too wouldn’t you.”

“(Y/n). And I’ll have you know this isn’t a new thing. We’ve been dating since around 2nd year. Sure, I’d find it a bit strange if you mentioned a girlfriend in America that you had never brought up prior, but I wouldn’t find it impossible! Now if you excuse me, I have to go.” he quickly stood up, packing up his materials as he stormed off to the direction of his dorm. He sped up, ignoring the protest and begging of his friends to come back and continue to hang out with them. He had enough of them and he wasn’t gonna sit there and let himself be called a fucking liar by Hogwart’s biggest ones.

--------------------------------------------

“Did you guys hear? Students from Ilvermony are supposed to be coming to visit!” Ron said, running up to the other four boys. “I’m just picturing how hot all the girls from the states are gonna be. All hot and leggy with those bloody accents. I could combust just thinking of it!” he exclaimed, flopping down on the couch. Neville gasped softly, looking up. Did he hear him correctly? 

“Where’d you hear that from? I didn’t hear anything of the sorts.” Hermione questioned, looking up from her book at the interesting news she had just heard. However, Neville was still frozen. Was this true? And if so, why hadn’t (Y/n) mentioned it. No, no it couldn’t be. She surely would have told him.

“I just overheard it from Dumbledore himself. They should be arriving in a few minutes! They’re staying here for a few months. It’s a part of this new thing that they’ve set up. Something about wanting the students to learn different methods and what not. They decided it’d be a good idea since summer is coming soon.” he said nonchalantly, looking over at Neville who hadn’t moved since the news left his mouth. He went to question what was up with him before his eyes lit up, recalling the conversation they had a few months ago. “Hey Neville? Didn’t your supposed ‘girlfriend’ go to Ilvermony.” the boys all suddenly interested began to ‘ooo’ exchanging looks with each other.

“See Neville, this is why you don’t lie. Lies will always come back to bite you in the rear. Perhaps Ronald i-”

“I wasn’t lying, Hermione! She really does go to Ilvermony.” he exclaimed, standing up as he wiped his hands on his pants. All of a sudden, there were the sounds of a bunch of American accents speaking which caught all of their attention. Many different students in Ilvermorny uniforms (some without them) roamed freely to explore the large and intense castle.

“God you weren’t kidding Ron, the girls are bloody fit.” Dean muttered, eyeing some girl who gave him a wink before giggling and running off with her friends. “Woah look at that one, are you kidding me? She’s a fucking goddess!” Neville’s curious hazel eyes followed his friend's words as he saw a familiar shade of (h/c) hair styled in the way his girlfriend wore it. Wait, was that his sweater? 

“That’s not just some fucking girl, that’s my girlfriend!” Neville exclaimed, standing up from his seat.

“No chance.”

“You couldn’t pick a more believable one?”

“Prove it then.”

Neville went to say something before the girl turned around, locking eyes with him. She gasped, tearing up some as she pushed through the crowd of people running to him as quickly as possible. “Nev! Neville babe, is that you?” she exclaimed. Neville’s face flushed brightly taking in the girl’s appearance. She had worn the first sweater he had given her, a mossy green sweater with an obscure pattern, with a pleated skirt pairing it with a pair of boots. Neville nodded his head quickly, holding his arms out as the girl ran into him almost knocking him over. He picked her up, spinning her around quickly before setting her down, holding her soft face between his hands.

“W-what are you doing here?! You never told me you were coming to visit!” he exclaimed, wiping at the stray tears that had left her eyes. He moved his hands from her face securing them around her waist as he stared down at her. God she was even more beautiful in person.

“I wanted to surprise you! I actually found out a few weeks ago and let me tell ya, it was SO hard not to tell you!” She giggled, reaching up to stroke his cheek. He leaned into her touch, smiling at her. “I didn’t think it was possible for you to get even more handsome but bloody hell. You’re so fucking hot, Nev.” she said, feeling her face heat up. Neville flushed a bright red before leaning down, kissing the girl on the lips. She pulled him down more, wrapping her arms around his neck as she kissed back. The kiss was full of the love and affection they had both been craving from one another. (Y/n) tangled her hands in the back of his hair as he deepened the kiss, moaning softly. They both jumped away from one another at the sound of someone clearing their throat. “Ah sorry! Nev, are you going to introduce me to your friends?” she asked looking up at him as she intertwined his large hand with her smaller one.

“I suppose I will, even though for some reason they thought you weren’t real.” he quipped, glaring at the four boys who looked away ashamed. “From left to right there is Harry, Ron, Dean, and Seamus. And over there,” he said pointing to the big arm chair in the corner. “That is Hermione.” he said as they all muttered ‘hi’ and ‘sorry’ from some of them. (Y/n) giggled some, waving at them all.

“It’s very nice to meet you all! Nev talks about you guys all the time in his letters. Oh!” She said, eyes looking at his chest. She reached a hand forward, grabbing the engraved onyx in her hands. “The necklace I gave you!! You like it? I think it looks really good on you.” she exclaimed with a smile, happy her boyfriend enjoyed the gift she gave him. Neville once again looked at his friends chuckling some at their wide eyes.

“Of course I do, petal. I wear it everyday, everywhere I go. Right guys.” he teased, watching as they all stuttered out ‘yes ‘yep’ ‘sure does. “Come on flower, I’ll show you around the castle. I know you’ve been looking forward to that for a while. Also, you look quite cute in my sweater.”

“Thank you. I wear it quite often, even though the smell of you has worn off it still brings me good memories.” she said, playing with the slightly worn out sleeves of the sweater. “I’d love to!! Can we check out the greenhouse first? I wanna see that plant you were talking about. Maybe we can work on identifying what species it is!” he nodded in response, taking her hand once again as they began to walk off. Before they turned the corner, he quickly turned his head around using his unoccupied hand to flip off his friends before turning his attention back to his lover.

“Who would’ve thought? Longbottom with an absolute fox.” Ron said, slumping back down as he frowned. Hermione took the book she was reading smacking him upside the head.

“Maybe if you knew how to treat women you’d be with one too.”

[vagabondreamer]

Home

Pairing: Lucifer x MC, Mammon X MC, Levi x MC, Satan x MC, Asmo x MC, Beel x MC, Belphie x MC

Summary: MC's final day in Devildom before returning to the human realm.

Word Count: 1.3k

Author's Note: This is my first 'fanfic'! Feel free to request in the inbox!

***

365 days had passed quickly.

It was the last day of the student exchange program, and Lord Diavolo decided to throw a grand going away party. You had spent nearly all day with Asmo, he insisted on finding the perfect outfit for tonight and wanted to have one last spa day with you.

“MC, isn’t this just great? I could stay in here forever.” He sinks deeper into the flower bath, cucumbers sitting perfectly on his eyes.

“I have to admit, this is pretty relaxing,” you giggle. “Especially with all of the running around we’ve been doing.” You had already eaten your cucumber slices - no doubt a bad habit picked up from Beel. You took a deep breath in, letting the floral scent intoxicate your lungs, trying to forget that tonight would be the end.

And just like that, all relaxation was gone. A commotion could be heard from outside the room.

“Huh, I wonder what’s going on,” you ponder.

“Sir, you can’t go in there -” an employee says.

“Asmo, you son of a bitch!” Satan barges in.

“Dear brother ~ Do you want to take a dip too?” Asmo taunts as he pulls the cucumber slices off.

“I can’t believe you stole MC away! They’ve been gone nearly all day!”

“We were shopping, you’ll see them at the party.”

“No, come on MC, I want to spend time with you too.” The look on Satan’s face was nearly heartbreaking. You didn’t like goodbyes, maybe subconsciously you had been avoiding everyone so it would never happen.

“Okay, just wait outside while I get dressed.” You look at Asmo. “No peeking.”

He covered his eyes, and you quickly got dressed.

“I’ll see you at home?”

“Of course ~”

***

You and Satan went to a bookstore, there was a small bakery attached to it. The smell of freshly baked goods and the serenity of the air was comforting - being around Satan was comforting.

“So, how did you know where to find me?”

“Asmo posted pictures on devilgram. That’s his favorite bath-house, so of course he’d take you there today.”

You hummed in agreement, your fingers tracing the spine of books as you two walked past the shelves.

“Is this your favorite bookstore?” A small blush creeps onto his face.

“One of my favorites, yes.”

“Any last recommendations?”

Satan grins taking your hand to lead you to a more obscure area of the bookstore. The books become more odd looking, and the mood shifts ominously. He grabs a small book, the title reads, Death of the Three Worlds.

“It’s fictional, but has an abundance of historical accuracies about all three worlds. It’s a good read, I’ll buy it for you to take...home.” He hesitates. You look up at him and smile.

“I’d love that. Thank you.”

Side by side, you both walk towards the cashier; you decide to check out the bakery before leaving. There, you spot a familiar ginger and his twin.

You rush over to them in excitement.

“Hey guys!”

“MC!” Beel exclaims with a stuffed face.

“Hey MC,” Belphie says less enthusiastically but with a smile on his face nevertheless. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I’m here with Satan. He’s buying a book for me, I just wanted to check this bakery out real quick.”

“Here.” Beel holds up a puff pastry filled with jam, nearly jamming it in your face. You open your mouth up slightly.

“Ahh - mm. It’s good.” Some jam dirties the corner of your mouth, you go to wipe it off but Beel cuts you off, licking it instead. Your face turns beet red.

“You can’t just do that in public, Beel!”

Belphie nods in agreement.

“Ah - sorry, I couldn’t help it.”

“Anyway, I should buy a treat for Satan. What do you think he’d like?”

“Cupcakes, cheesecake, danish, doughnuts -”

“Beel, that’s what you like,” sighs Belphie. “Nothing too sweet. He doesn’t care for it.”

You nod in consideration and buy him a croissant. By the time you walk back to the table, Satan is sitting there patiently for you. You hand him the croissant, and he hands you the bag with the book in it.

“Thanks, MC.”

***

By the time you got back to the House of Lamentation there were only a few hours before the party would start. You knew Asmo would want to start getting ready soon. Racing to the stairs and looking through your phone, you bump into Levi - who was also not paying attention. You fall flat on your back, Levi hovering over you with both hands beside your head and one knee in between your legs. He would’ve been mad had it been anyone else, but seeing it was you he began blabbering.

“THIS IS JUST LIKE THAT ONE ANIME, I WASN’T PAYING ATTENTION AND NEITHER WAS MY CRUSH AND WE RAN INTO EACH OTHER NOW I’M ON TOP OF THEM IN AN INTIMATE POSITION.”

“Oh really? I haven’t seen that one yet.” You smile, while gently pushing him into a sitting position.

“It’s okay, a little too predictable to me.”

“Predictable? I thought you didn’t like surprises, Levi?”

“Well - yeah - not in real life, but in anime I don’t want to guess what’s going to happen!” He huffs and looks to the side. “So when are we going to watch that new anime? I mean - I know you leave tonight but you said you wanted to see it…”

“I do want to see it! But...I’m running out of time. I’m sorry, I just don’t have time tonight.”

“Yeah, sure.” He slumps his shoulders, hands in pockets, and heads back upstairs to his room.

You sigh, hoping to make it up to him somehow.

***

Due to Asmo, you were late to the party. He called it fashionably late - you called it rude. You would have to apologize profusely to Lucifer once you saw him. But instead, you saw a rambunctious demon coming towards you - your first man.

“MC! I haven’t seen you all day!” He pouts; he looks you up and down. “You look a-amazing.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry, Mammon. I’ve just been busy trying to spend time with everyone.”

“You’re telling me I’m the last person?!”

“Well, technically no, I haven’t seen Lucifer - but, let’s not focus on that. I just want to have fun with you tonight!”

“Of course you do, I’m the Great Mammon! C’mon, let’s dance!”

You spent the night dancing and laughing with Mammon - occasionally his other brothers would steal you away for dances, but he always found you and stole you back. The night was coming to an end, you could feel it in your soul that it was almost times up.

“Mammon - I’m having so much fun.”

“I am too!” He twirled you in his arms.

“I have to find Lucifer.” Slowly you both stop dancing, and he stares deep into your eyes.

“Okay, just come back to me?” He questions rather than states. You nod your head.

***

It shouldn’t have been too hard to find Lucifer, you figured wherever Lord Diavolo was he would be. But that wasn’t the case.

“Lord Diavolo, have you seen Lucifer?” You ask desperately.

“He went outside, he said he needed to breathe.” He eyes you carefully. “I haven’t seen him this distraught in a long time.”

You thank him and rush outside, you could suddenly feel how suffocating the ballroom was, packed with demons dancing. You see his silhouette, he’s looking away. Suddenly all of the emotions of the day rush to you; everything that you had been holding in wanted to come out.

“Lucifer!” You cry out, tears streaming down your face. He turns at the mention of his name. You rush to him, arms extended - he opens his, and engulfs you in his embrace.

“MC...Why are you crying?” You look away in embarrassment, but he holds your face gently in his hands wiping away the tears with his thumbs.

“I-I don’t want to go. This is my home. Your brothers. You - you’re my home.” A small smile is placed on his face.

“MC, you’re my home, too.”

[nerdypanda3126]

City of Love

Happy Valentine's Day and happy birthday @crescent-woods! I'm your @lovebugs-and-snakecharmers Secret Admirer! 😁

The prompt that I chose was: "They both host foreign exchange students who are dating, and end up getting dragged along on their dates and fall in LoOoOve"

Or rather, that prompt chose me because this thing took off and ran with me trailing along behind and hoping I can keep up 😅 I hope you like it!

As a side note: because there's a bit of a language barrier, there will be minimal French used throughout with definitions provided in the end notes, but the characters are speaking English unless otherwise mentioned. 

Read on Ao3 

First Chapter | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Marinette paced by the door of her apartment, waiting for her new roommate to arrive. She had offered to go to the airport to pick her up, but the woman—Tikki, that was her name—had insisted she could find her own way. Marinette was clutching her phone, waiting for the inevitable call. Paris was confusing, after all, for those not familiar with it, and it was so easy to get lost, and what if she couldn’t make it? 

Just as she was starting to bite her fingernails, there was a knock at her door and Marinette ran to it, flinging it open to find a small woman—shorter than Marinette, even, which was quite a feat—in a bright red sundress with black polka dots and a huge sun hat big enough that the brim flopped over her face. When the sun hat tipped up, Tikki had gorgeous, wide blue eyes, and a black pixie fringe with red feathery highlights peeking out.

“Marinette?” Tikki asked, out of breath from carrying her bags up the many stairs to the apartment. Marinette nodded and Tikki squealed, dropping her bags to the floor, all fatigue seemingly forgotten as she swept Marinette up into a hug. She smelled like something sweet, although Marinette couldn’t place it. Some sort of pastry, maybe? She started yammering in rushed English, her sprawling American accent making some of the words run together in Marinette’s ears.  

“I just know we’re going to be the best of friends! I’m so glad I made it, those streets are so windy, you know, windy, like—” she made a motion with her hand, like a snake, back and forth—“but there was this nice man who pointed me in the right direction and—oh, désolée!” When she slipped into French, the tiniest hint of her accent remained. “J’ai oublié, this is supposed to be immersive, n’est-ce pas?” 

Marinette was taken aback, but smiled at the mashup of language. “C’est vrai,” she agreed, “but English is fine for now.” She stooped to grab Tikki’s bags for her, but Tikki smacked Marinette’s hand away and picked everything back up herself. Marinette almost giggled at the ridiculous contrast between the tiny woman and the wealth of luggage she’d brought. Tikki was stronger than she looked, though, because the weight didn’t seem to bother her a bit. 

“Your room is this way,” Marinette said, gesturing as she walked, intending for Tikki to follow her. On the way, she pointed out the kitchen and the bathroom they’d share. Tikki ooh’ed and aah’ed enthusiastically at everything, then squealed again when they got to the room Marinette had laid out for her and instantly dumped her bags on the bed and opened the curtains to let the sunlight stream in. 

In the smaller space, the scent surrounding Tikki was more concentrated and Marinette finally placed it. Cookies. Tikki smelled like chocolate chip cookies. It pulled Marinette back to living above the bakery with her parents. How was she the one that was homesick? Tikki was an entire ocean away from her family and would be for the next few months. 

Although Marinette's homesickness was rather the point of her signing up to host a foreign exchange student for the fall semester. She'd spent the spring semester looking for busy places to go so she could draw or study; her apartment was too quiet when she was used to living above a bustling bakery and with her parents. But it was her first year at University and she was determined to make it work. When she pulled herself out of her thoughts, Tikki was still looking out the window with absolute awe written across her delicate features. She started when she noticed Marinette watching her.

“Everything is so pretty here!” she gushed. “How do you say it? Jolly?” 

“Joli,” Marinette corrected kindly, emphasizing the ‘ee’ sound at the end.

“Right, c’est trés joli.” Tikki repeated carefully with a flounce of her hands. “I want to see absolutely everything.” 

Marinette did giggle at that. She supposed Paris was pretty, when it wasn’t something you saw every day. Tikki’s enthusiasm was infectious. 

“I was planning to take you out to lunch, if you wanted to go? There’s this little place—”

Tikki flopped her sun hat down on the bed and unzipped one of the smaller bags to pull out a crossbody purse and a pair of black flats. She ruffled the short ends of her hair, fluffing them on top where they’d gotten flattened by her hat, unfolded a pair of sunglasses and set them on top of her head like a headband, and grinned at Marinette. 

“Allons-y!”

***

Luka tapped his foot along with the music in his earbuds as he waited for the exchange student he’d be hosting to get off the plane. No thanks to Juleka, he had a picture to go off of and that was it. Although he assumed this guy had a picture of Luka and would be looking for him, too. 

He flicked through his phone absent-mindedly, keeping one eye on the gate. Juleka had been texting him the entire time, asking questions he couldn’t answer and telling him to be nice. This was all her idea; quite frankly he was a bit anxious about the whole thing. 

He was expected to chauffeur this guy around the city and show him all the French culture and, as Juleka had so kindly pointed out, “It’s not like you have anything else going on.”

“You need to make friends,” she’d wheedled near the end of the spring semester, shoving the brochure in his face.

“Friends that are forced to hang out with me and then leave after a semester? Yeah, sounds awesome.” He’d ripped the brochure out of her hands and thrown it back at her, but she didn’t give up. 

“Come on, all you do is go to that stupid club and whine about not being in a band yet! You should be breaking out of your shell, isn’t that what Uni is all about?”

“I don’t have a shell,” he’d muttered as he stuck his earbuds in. Juleka had rolled her eyes at him, but picked the brochure up from the floor and left it on top of his music theory book. She’d given him a pointed look as she flounced out the door. 

And then she went and signed herself up as a host for the fall semester anyways without telling him, somehow making it his job to pick their new roommate up from the airport. “Because you’re the one with the motorcycle,” Juleka had reasoned. And of course he had to stay in Luka’s room with him, because “he’s a guy, and so are you.” 

Whatever. It was one semester. How bad could it be? 

The guy who matched the picture ended up being the last one off the plane, and Luka wrapped his earbuds around his phone before stashing it in his pocket. As Luka’s new roommate strolled up, he had one bag on his shoulder, one rolling behind him, as if he were on vacation instead of about to stay in someone else’s home for the next few months. He was a head shorter than Luka, with russet skin and sleek black hair, pulled back into a small ponytail at the nape of his neck. He took one look at Luka, adjusted his bag on his shoulder, and walked towards the airport door. 

It took Luka a second to process what had happened before he was jogging after a great view of the guy’s shoulders straining against his teal T-shirt. What the hell was his problem? 

“Hé! Attendez,” Luka grabbed at his backpack and the guy turned with an unamused frown deepening by the second. “Uh, salut?” Luka stuck his hand out for a handshake, but deep brown eyes underneath heavy black brows just flashed down to Luka’s hand, then back up to his face. 

“Anglais?” he asked, drawing out his ‘s’ the slightest amount. Luka nodded. “Cool. Look, I’m only here because my girlfriend had her heart set on ‘Paris,’ okay?” He rolled his eyes as he made air quotes and pronounced it “Pari.” He shrugged, adjusting his bag on his shoulder again in the same movement. “I’m not here to make friends, I couldn’t care less about discovering your culture, and I don’t plan on being around much. So, thanks, but no thanks, you know?” 

The way he was pronouncing his “th” as a soft “t” and the subtle lilt to his voice, added to the consistently drawn out sibilants gave him a serpentine accent that made Luka pause before he realized what he’d actually said. 

“Your girlfriend?” How was it that this guy had just shown up in the country—with a bad attitude, no less—and already had a girlfriend? A scowl started to pinch Luka’s face although he had little motivation to stop himself. No way he could be friends with this smug little shit.     

Said smug little shit nodded, although his shoulders shrugged along with the movement, making him look like he was a cobra assessing whether to strike or not. “Tikki. We’ve been long-distance for a while. Pen pals, you know? Decided to come here, meet up, see the sights. She’s a bit of a Francophile, you know what I mean?” 

Luka blinked at him. He’d joined a foreign exchange program, flown who knew how many miles, would be staying away from home for months… for a girl? He hadn’t met yet? Was he insane? He shook his head in sympathy and shoved his hands in his pockets. “All right, well I’m Luka.” 

“Yeah, I gathered. Are you gonna show me the way to your place, or what?” He turned again and started back for the door. This time Luka was able to keep in step with him. 

“You got a name?” Luka asked, only slightly irritated by his apparent dismissal. 

“Not a French one. How about you just decide on something and I’ll answer to whatever.” 

“How about ‘ass’?” Luka grumbled. 

“What was that?” 

“Sass. I said ‘Sass,’” Luka amended quickly. 

He stopped again and leveled a look at Luka, narrowing his eyes to little more than dangerous slits. “Weird, but sure,” he said finally, adjusting his grip on his bag again. “So are we walking or what?”

Luka dug his keys out of his pocket and flashed the lights on his bike. It was an older model Yamaha; sporty, reliable, slim enough to wind through the narrow streets of Paris on deliveries, with an extra seat behind the driver for the times Juleka needed a ride. He’d bought it used and kept good care of it, other than the fading midnight-blue paint job. And the brakes. And the sputter it made when it started up. He'd meant to get that into the shop sometime soon. 

For the first time, Sass cracked a smile. “Now that I can work with.”

Translations:

désolée: sorry

J’ai oublié: I forgot

n’est-ce pas: is it not

C’est vrai: it is true (that's right)

Joli: pretty

c’est trés joli: it's very pretty

Allons-y: let's go

Hé! Attendez: Hey! Wait

salut: hi

Anglais: English

[lupinsx]

Cherry Lollipop

masterlist

Request: Hii! Can I request a George Weasley x Slytherin!reader who is best friends with Draco, set post war, where the reader has always had a thing for him over the years. And she's in Diagon Alley with Draco, and he convinces her to go talk to George. And just awkward flirting and fluff?

Pairing: George Weasley x Slytherin!Reader

Summary: After hiding from society in fear of the reputation Slytherins have, Y/N is forced to finally talk to her not-so former Hogwarts crush.

Word Count: 2k

a/n — I love this idea so much, thank you for requesting! I hope you all enjoy this, it was really fun to write.

tags: @obsessedwithrandomthings @malfoys-demigod @do-do-do-do-dora @ickle-ronniekins

*contact me if you'd like to be added to the tag list!

——————————

"You can't stay in denial forever, Y/N."

"Really? Because I wholeheartedly intend to."

You were currently stood in front of a shop. A particularly ornate building, one that stands out within the row of various older businesses. While you hesitated on entering, your best friend stood tiredly next to you.

It's been a year since the infamous Battle of Hogwarts. The one which solidified the awful conviction of Slytherins being inherently evil, declaring you, Draco, and all other former housemates as outcasts to society.

You have rarely exited your dainty flat since, choosing to cower away rather than comfort the wizards head-on; making this visit to Diagon Alley being the first in months.

"Come on, just talk to him!" Draco groaned in exasperation. You merely glared in response at his seemingly bold suggestion.

Laid in front of you two was Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, an esteemed joke shop run by recent students. It was the current sole owner of the shop your friend was urging you to greet—George Weasley, better known for being your longtime crush.

It was during your earlier years in Hogwarts when that particular twin caught your attention. Part of a mischievous duo, though he stood out amongst it as a man of his own. With his tousled ginger hair and trademark brazen grin, it was hard for him not to leave an impression.

And so, you watched him over the years. You admired George from the sidelines as he resided in the centre spotlight, his usual cherry lollipop poking through his cheeks as he and his brother receive applaud for their latest jape.

But never have you stepped out of the surrounding crowd. No, not once have you considered doing so.

You could thank your house placement for contributing to your reluctance to face your crush. The whole Voldemort situation had practically all of Hogwarts loathing Slytherins. There was too slim of a change that George would be exempted from that hateful majority, and you were too fearful to ask. Not to mention, you doubted George would be exactly eager to converse with the best friend of his younger brother's bully.

"What's so scary about talking to someone?" Draco asked, a slightly mocking tone passing through as he crossed his arms.

All it took was a gesture to the nearby wizards and witches to convey your point. "He hates me. Just like everyone else here."

"Everyone else here?"

"Merlin, Draco, you can't stay ignorant of the deprecating glares we've been getting since we arrived. Every corner is just a new judgemental scoff." Although Draco didn't attempt to deny your point, he chose to brush past it instead as he offers an encouraging squeeze to your shoulders.

"So, are you gonna go in or not?" He questions, allowing one final opportunity for you to take action through your own will. However, upon first sight of you shaking your head tentatively, he shifted your position to face the doorway.

"Alright, there goes your choice. You can thank me tomorrow."

And with that, he landed a nice shove onto your upper back, forcing you inside the shop with the sound of harmonious bells to commence your arrival. Just as you thought you could promptly slip out unnoticed, footsteps began approaching you, coming gradually closer until an imposing figure came into view.

It was George Weasley, the very owner you were afraid to see.

"H-hello," you stammered, inching closer to the doorway. The store was deserted, much to your confusion, though you quickly realized why upon glimpsing the closing sign displayed upfront.

George tilted his head and elevated an eyebrow, invoking internal butterflies to the slightest degree. "We're closed. I can't sell you anything."

"I didn't come here for that." Although you meant to say you had arrived on accident, he interpreted differently and instead gestured you further inside.

"Well then, I don't mind the company."

Turning on his heel, he then went back to restocking the shelves as your feet stood frozen in your position by the exit. However, all it took was a single glance at your direction for you to immediately follow after.

"So, Y/N L/N," George began, his eyes set on the objects in front of him, "you're the Slytherin in my brother's year, right?"

You only nodded timidly, taking a seat on the ladder next to him. Part of you felt worried about him knowing you, while the other part felt almost flattered. Regardless, you had too many thoughts racing in your mind to engage in normal conversation.

Noticing your lack of response, George looked up from the box with a warm smile. "A quiet one, huh?"

You were thrown off guard by the absence of clear revulsion in his expression. With his amiability mildly calming your nerves, you mustered a somewhat confident tone. "Only sometimes."

George gave an airy chuckle before returning back to the tedious work. You watched intently as he unloaded the boxes onto the shelves, his face contorting with every strenuous article.

Without much thought, you blurted out the one thing on your mind since your rather abrupt arrival. "You've changed."

"Changed?" he mumbled curiously, his attention now diverted from the task. "In what way?"

You paused, scrutinizing his appearance thoughtfully before responding. "I suppose you've gotten more mature. You dress fancily and have your hair a lot neater. No more cherry lolly either."

A grin spread across George's lips as he sat down on the floor, chin resting on his palm as he held a playful gaze. "I'm surprised you remember the lollipop. Flavour and all."

Your eyes diverted from his intense stare, arms crossed by your chest as you fidgeted in your seat. A smirk almost rose to the surface before you suddenly came up with an explanation.

"I mean, a lot of girls in my year were swooning over you. I've heard Weasley twins trivia nearly every day," you uttered with hesitance, attempting to conceal your former (and still remaining) liking towards him.

It seemed to have worked, as he stood up to resume his duties. "Then I'll take your observation as a compliment."

The area grew silent again, only the sound of him working filling the air. You simply played with the ends of your fingers as you tried to think of what to say. After a while of him unloading the products, George grabbed the box and dumped it into the storage room, heading to the front counter before gesturing you over.

Rather than going over there promptly, you stood up and spoke from your side of the room, inciting a questioning glance from the boy further away. "Are you a parking ticket?"

A cringe made its way onto your countenance as you grasped what was said thoughtlessly. Meanwhile, George stood confused by your question.

Without waiting for a response, you did what you always do best, and what was constantly discouraged by your best friend. The embarrassment was wiped from your face as you took a couple of steps forwards and continued your words with pride.

"Because you've got fine written all over you."

There was a brief moment of silence before George hunched over with mirth as a loud chortle escaped his throat. His amusement took down your short-lived confidence, replacing the proud smile on your face with a sheepish expression.

"Oh god, where did that come from?" George asked between laughs, tears welling in the corner of his eyes.

You bit your lip as you made your way to the counter, eyes faced down. "I don't know? I wanted to fill the silence, I guess."

"Here, I got a better one," he said as you leaned on the counter, George standing behind it while counting the register. He paused his movements to think, before perking up with a pointed finger.

Clearing his throat, he laid his forearm on the counter and leaned slightly. "Can I follow you home?

"Cause my mom always told me to follow my dreams."

You pursed your lips, shaking your head slowly. George had a look of disbelief upon seeing your expression. "Nah," you drawled, "I've heard better."

"Alright then, tough crowd, I suppose," he chuckled.

Being able to witness George's radiant grin up close and hear the sound of his buoyant laughter brought a smile of your own onto your usual inscrutable countenance. After a while of exchanging the cheesiest lines one could possibly muster, a thought occurred in your head, taking over your mind at a rapid rate.

"George, why don't you hate me?"

His face appeared visibly confused by your sudden question. "Why would I?"

"Isn't that how most wizards feel at this point? That former Slytherins are all Death Eaters in hiding." You paused, face twisting with regret before continuing, "Plus, I'd doubt your younger brother would be too fond of me either."

George reached for your hand rested on the countertop, gripping it assuringly. "You're not a bad person."

"But I—"

"Y/N, you were never a bad person. Sure, your friend Malfoy might have been an ass, but that's not you. I saw you during the battle."

Your face heated up as you retracted your hand to bury your face in the palm. Recalling the events, you knew you had nothing to be proud of during that time. "Oh god, I know I left early into it but I swear I didn't want to."

George only gave a light chuckle upon noticing your distress. "I know, but that wasn't what I was referring to. I'm talking about how you shot down a Death Eater and was ready to do it again until your parents threatened you."

"You... saw that?" It was inconspicuous, a result of an impromptu decision to go against your parents and Voldemort. Though the bravery was shut down after a mere minute when they had warned there would be no mercy if you'd continue. It was tough to simply abandon the fighting students, but when wands were pointed directly to your temple, what more can be done?

With a small smile, he nodded, staring directly into your eyes. "Yeah, I did. It was quite admirable."

At this point, you were beyond elated. Face noticeably a blood-red shade, you were afraid to spill your guts to the charming fellow behind the counter.

"I— uh, I gotta go," you spluttered, diverting your eyes to the spectacular posters surrounding the main display. However, your words caused George to stand straight with a slight sense of urgency.

Rushing to the back room, he held up a finger to stop you from leaving. "Wait, I have something for you!"

Your flustered state was put on a brief pause as you peered curiously into the narrowly opened doorway. Once George emerged from the dim room moments later, you were surprised to see a small envelope in his hand.

"I didn't know what else to put the stuff in," he mumbled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck as he handed you the envelope. You clutched it tightly, your interest in its contents growing with each passing second.

"Thank you," you said, shifting your weight from side to side. Just as you were about to exit the store, George hopped over the counter and waved excitedly.

"Come again soon!" he shouted, the grin on his face matching the playful George Weasley you've always known back in Hogwarts. Biting your lip to prevent an overtly wide smile from arising, you nodded your head, pushing through the door as you internally squeal.

Later that night, once you arrived in your desolate apartment, you were quick to unseal the envelope and turn it upside down the reveal the contents.

First to fall was a piece of hastily ripped paper. The words were messily scribbled, though roughly understandable. Picking it up, a small giggle escaped your lips.

You must be a broom, cause you swept me off my feet.

Below the line was a phone number, your eyes widening upon catching sight of it. But before rushing to type it in, you emptied out the rest of the envelope. Only one other thing came out, causing you to beam with delight at the sheer nostalgia.

A bright red cherry lollipop, the very same kind you've spent years watching in the hands of George Weasley.

——————————

a/n — Ah I'm so glad I could finally write another imagine for one of the twins 😭 Please like, comment, and reblog to show support! Feel free to send requests or feedback in my asks. Thanks for reading!

[moonflowerlesbians]

6. with dani and jamie would be so cute 🥺 like a lil vermont winter fic

for you, anon! I altered the wording ever so slightly, but the concept is identical. I hope you enjoy :)

you can also read on AO3

~~~

Their flat is located a few streets off from the center of town, close enough to walk but far enough to provide a sense of distance from the bustle of the main drag. Tonight, they set out just after sundown to ensure good seats to what Dani has affectionately dubbed, “the greatest holiday spectacular to ever grace the streets of Bennington,” and what Jamie has deemed, “an entirely American embarrassment.”

It’s their third winter in Vermont, and this year, The Leafling has generously sponsored half of Bennington High School’s Marching Seahorses’ winter uniforms in exchange for a full page ad in their concert programmes for a year and a sign carried at the front of the annual holiday parade. Or, rather, the kids had come to the shop with instruments, a flyer, and an unrehearsed elevator pitch, and Dani had been utterly charmed.

“It’s good to see them so passionate about something,” Dani had said.

Jamie had hummed and had continued tending to her sprouts.

“It would be good publicity,” Dani’d argued.

“Most expensive advertisement of my life.”

“Come on, they’re cute.”

“‘Cute’ doesn’t keep the lights on, Poppins.”

Unfortunately for Jamie, Dani has an irritating way of getting what she wants. And that’s how their small business ended up shelling out an ungodly amount of cash for an extracurricular named after the least fearsome sea creature Jamie can think of.

They don’t even have legs for Christsake.

But, the sheer delight on Dani’s face upon Jamie’s concession softened her heart. In any case, Dani made certain to thank her thoroughly and, ah, enthusiastically, that evening.

Jamie begins to regret her decision, now, as she’s dragged from her cozy flat into the absolutely frigid night air. She’s bundled in her warmest coat, a toque tucked over her ears to stave off the cold, but she swears she’s still going to catch frostbite.

Dani, meanwhile, wears a fleece-lined denim jacket over top one of her many cable-knit jumpers and insists she’s overheating. She carries a blanket under her arm, the other linked with Jamie’s, as she all but skips down the street.

“The English couldn’t handle a Midwestern winter. This is nothing,” she had said.

She’s always loved Christmastime, Jamie has come to learn. Dani has regaled her with seemingly endless stories about stringing popcorn and cranberry garlands, baking biscuits with Judy O’Mara, and breaking the occasional ornament decorating the tree. She’d felt awful about that last one, terrified to tell Mrs. O’Mara. She went on to explain in touching detail how Mrs. O’Mara had taken her hand and reminded her that it was just a bauble.

It made Jamie wonder how often Dani got into trouble for accidents in her home. A question for a later date.

As they near Main Street, the sound of jovial chatter and the unmistakable carolers grows louder. The shops they pass have festive window displays, elves in stockings of red and green reading storybooks or sledding down white fabric hills. Dani blows right past, determined to reach her carefully preselected place on the sidewalk. In what Jamie is convinced must be sub-zero temperatures, she can’t imagine the winter festival will be a popular destination.

She soon finds she is mistaken, however, when they round the corner and encounter a throng of people. The road has been blocked off at either end, and families drift in and out of the shops. Some skate on the temporary ice rink set up to the side. The lights lining the trees reflect prettily off the storefronts, the branches arching up and over the street. It would be like something out of a fairytale had the weather not been turning Jamie’s hands to icicles.

Dani is very proudly pointing to a square on the sidewalk out in front of the coffeehouse, and before Jamie is entirely sure what’s happened, she’s sitting on their too-small tartan picnic blanket over pavement that is far too cold on her arse. Dani is warm at her side, and they’re pressed close, using the size of their blanket as an excuse to disregard social acceptability.

“How long until this thing starts?”

Dani checks her wristwatch. “Thirty minutes, I think?”

“Fuckin’ freezing.”

The apparent mother of three standing nearby shoots them a glare.

“Jamie…” Dani gives an apologetic look, but the woman is already herding her children off in the direction of an arts and crafts booth.

“You know, if we were home, I’d wager we’d find a proper way to warm up.” She gets a sharp elbow to the ribs for that one and lets out a muffled oomph, though she wryly notes the new flush to Dani’s cheeks.

“Hot chocolate? I’ll go find us hot chocolate. I’m pretty sure there was a table supporting the junior high theatre department.”

“S’long as you’re not making it.” But Dani is already halfway down the block.

Then, Jamie is alone, freezing her arse off while waiting to see a mediocre high school marching band play in ungodly weather to make her partner happy. It’s the kind of domesticity she could never quite envision for herself. She’s come to find she’s, somewhat begrudgingly, fond of it.  

Bells jingle, the sound echoing off of low brick buildings. Red ribbon bows hang from lamp posts and doorknobs and rubbish bins, with tails that swing in the breeze. The air is crisp; it blows down from the mountains and feels like a fresh start.

Dani returns with two styrofoam cups, passing one off to Jamie, and sits with her knees to her chest.

Jamie eyes the pale brown liquid skeptically before taking a cautious sip.

“Dani,” she says, “why have you handed me cocoa-flavoured water?”

Dani grins sheepishly. “The kids may have made it.”

“I should applaud you, really. You’ve managed to find the one demographic worse at brewing than you.”

“Rude.”

Jamie receives another jab to the side, nearly sending her drink sloshing onto her lap.

“Hey, now, keep that up, and we’ll end the night in the emergency ward.”

“Oh, please, you’ve got enough layers on to stop a bullet.”

“You laugh now, but just wait ‘till we’ve been sitting here for hours.”

“Shh,” Dani interrupts, “it’s starting!”

A dozen or so children in leotards and tight buns dance down the street, followed by a horse-drawn vehicle painted cherry red, in which a larger man dressed as Saint Nicholas stands, waving at the assembled crowds.

Dani’s excited grip on Jamie’s bicep silences any snide remarks she might have made about the quality of performance. Dani’s eyes shine with glee, and it’s so lovely, the few silver strands of her hair capturing the twinkling holiday lights, that the words die in Jamie’s throat. She allows herself to fall into the spirit of the thing, content to sit beside Dani in the corner of life they’ve carved out for themselves. Even if that means listening to a rather shoddy trombone rendition of “Jingle Bells.”

Sure enough, though, heading off the band, a handful of students bear a banner proclaiming the high school’s name and the season’s sponsors. There, listed below the bakery, is The Leafling. Jamie feels a flash of pride. Somehow, seeing their little shop represented for the town to see feels real, grounding, in a way she can’t explain. They’ve found a place, a rhythm, to settle. They’ve left their mark on this town tradition and become a part of something. It feels like home.

So, perhaps she cheers a bit louder when the musicians pass them. This earns her an amused smile from Dani, at which she rolls her eyes.

It’s a relatively short parade. There are only so many volunteer organizations, churches, and youth groups in the town, after all. Jamie’s legs are stiff when she finally stands and offers a hand to help Dani up. Her arms are wrapped around herself.

“Cold?”

“No,” Dani says, “Come on, we should look at booths before we head home. Support the other local businesses.”

They wander the various tables, some offering wares, some business cards, some consultations, dipping in and out of shops until a sniffling noise catches Jamie’s attention. Dani not-so-subtly swipes at her nose.

“You alright?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Just-- fine.”

Jamie raises an eyebrow, trying to catch Dani’s eye, but she seems determined to look everywhere except Jamie. “You want my jacket?”

“I told you I’m not cold.”

“Right, ‘course not. Just positively shivering from excitement, then, are you?”

“Mhm.”

“No need to be brave on my account, Poppins, I won’t tell the world your secret.”

“And what secret is that?” Dani’s hands are tucked into her sides.

“That Dani Clayton, certified Midwesterner, can’t hash a brisk Vermont evening.” Her voice drops to a whisper, “Isn’t even snowing.”

“Hey,” Dani protests.

“Just take my jacket.”

“I’m fine.”

“Poppins.” Her tone is playful, a warning disguised as a tease.

Dani’s sighs. “Fine.”

“Ah, that’s a girl.” Jamie shrugs out of her top layer, draping it delicately over Dani’s shoulders. “Come on, then, can’t have you turning to ice on my watch.”

“You said something earlier about the proper way to warm up at home…”

“Was talking ‘bout a good cuppa,” Jamie smirks, “Why? D’you think of something else?”

Dani grumbles. “Tease.”

“Mhm,” Jamie murmurs, pressing her cold nose to Dani’s neck the instant they were out of sight, causing a squeal. “You like it.”

“Shut up.”

[freddiesaysalright]

The Most Dramatic Season Ever - Week 4

Summary:  It’s your time now! You are ABC’s new Bachelorette and this is your journey! All these men (including our fav BoRhap boys and then some) are competing for your heart! Will you find love? Will you get engaged at the end? Or will you end up heartbroken? Find out, on the most dramatic season ever!

Word Count: 9.5k 

Tag List: @psychosupernatural​, @someone-get-a-medic​, @bensrhapsody​, @deakyclicks​, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession​, @minigranger​, @crazyweirdocalledfriday​, @the-moving-finger-writes​, @assembledherethevolunteers​, @rose-writes-prose​, @queenlover05​, @moon-stars-soul​, @danadeacon​, @deacyblues​, @thesundrop​, @cupidben​, @lostlittlenerd​, @delilahmay39​, @timmvrphy​, @queenmylovely​, @loveandbeloved29​, @free-pool-trash​, @fairestkillerqueenofall​, @local-troubled-writer​, @babyalienfairy​, @littlecarowrites​, @allthethingsicant​, @im-an-adult-ish​, @mirkwoodshewolf​, @squishy-gay-astronaut​, @sherlollydramoine​, @butlegendsneverdie​, @dogmom2014​ If you’d like to be added, let me know!

A/N: Alright, we are halfway through the season! The drama continues this week on The Bachelorette! 

Warning(s): None

Night 1  Week 1  Week 2  Week 3

Week 4 here we go!!!

London was beautiful. You had never been before, so you were eager to explore somewhere new. Plus, you knew several of the guys would be familiar with it. This was an opportunity to see their world. And that was exactly what you planned to do.

The men settled into their hotel suite. It was a large, airy place, with a wide balcony overlooking the city. Then men all gathered on the balcony to take in the view.

“I’ve never seen Big Ben before,” said Mike. “Except in pictures.”

“What are you talking about?” Joe teased. “He’s right here.”

He pointed to Ben, who laughed. “That’s a much bigger Ben than I am.”

Joe then wrapped his arms around Ben in a bear hug. “Well, we’ve got the best Ben.”

“That, we do,” agreed Gwilym, who reached out and pinched Ben’s cheek. 

Ben laughed more and flushed. Then all the guys gathered in a group hug. 

Of course, Luke was not with them. He was inside, journaling by himself. After everything that happened, he avoided the other men, and they avoided him right back. So, he missed out on the bond that had formed between the rest of them. Despite all competing for the same woman, they had become solid friends.

When there was a knock on the door for the date card, Mike went to go get it. Everyone watched the hallway anxiously. Then, they all heard him release a delighted cry. They exchanged confused looks. Mike returned without a date card, but with something much better. You.

They all cheered when they saw you and engulfed you in a warm group hug. Then they all settled back onto the couches so you could catch your breath.

“Welcome to London, guys,” you said, scanning their faces. “I’m really, really happy with the group that’s still here, and I hope that we can just continue this crazy journey all together.”

“How are you enjoying it?” Taron asked.

“Well, I haven’t gotten to see much, but so far, I love London,” you said. “In fact, I came here today for someone to explore it with me.”

They all watched you, hoping you would say their own names.

“Gwilym,” you said, finding his eyes. “Would you like to go on a date with me?”

“I’d be honored,” he replied, getting to his feet.

You smiled and followed suit, holding out your hand to him. You could see the disappointment on some of the other men’s faces, but you were relieved that they also seemed genuinely happy for Gwilym. Maybe you really could leave all the drama behind. 

You and Gwilym waved goodbye and headed out the door. You went out on the streets of London hand in hand.

“I’m gonna let you take the lead here,” you told him. “You live here, right?”

“I do,” he chuckled. “I’m not originally from London, but I live here now.”

“Well, show me around, stud!” you urged.

He laughed again and you were off. Gwilym walked you around almost everywhere that was nearby. He was knowledgeable about the history of everything too. That was one of the most attractive things about Gwilym to you. He was so well-read and intelligent. But it never came off as condescending. He was still incredibly kind and humble as well.

You stopped inside a pub to eat and grab a drink after all the walking. You ordered fish and chips because that’s what you’d always heard in the movies. Gwilym laughed beside you and kissed you on the cheek.

You each had a beer as you waited for the food.

“So,” you said as you sipped. “How are you since we last talked?”

“Very well,” he answered. “I’m excited to be getting to know you better and see where we go from here.”

“I’m excited too,” you said. “Every time I think about our connection, I always feel hopeful.”

“Hopeful?” he questioned.

“Yeah,” you said. “Since you told me your story, I feel like you’re the most hopeful person in the world. What you went through was...unbelievably sad. And yet, you’re still here, looking for love, pursuing it wholeheartedly. It makes me hopeful too.”

He smiled sadly at the glass in front of him.

“I’m flattered by your admiration,” he said. “Losing her - especially the way I did - was the most difficult thing I’ve ever been through. We actually moved to London together from our little town, so coming here with you really is like a fresh start. It’s making me feel like I’m re-discovering it.”

“Is that a good feeling or a bad one?” you asked.

“It’s bittersweet,” he said. “I feel like sometimes, I still miss her so much, and it still hurts like an open wound. And other times I feel like I’m fine.”

“That’s sort of how grief works,” you told him. “Moving on from something like that isn’t a linear projection until you’re over it. You have setbacks. You’re still allowed to be sad and confused sometimes.”

 “You’re right,” he agreed. “I guess what I’m trying to say is...despite all of what happened and all the hurt, you have made me hopeful. What I’m feeling for you is something so good that I fully believe that love can happen for me again.”

A smile spread slowly across your face as he spoke. You leaned over and kissed him sweetly, conveying your absolute adoration of that sentiment. Gwilym was so deserving of love, and you wanted to show him that.

Your food came, and you split the plate between you. It tasted amazing, and as you ate the fries, an idea came to you.

“How good is your eye-mouth coordination?” you asked.

He blinked. “My what?”

You giggled. “Like, if I toss you some fries, can you catch them in your mouth?”

“Depends on how well you throw them,” he retorted. “The real question should be how good is your aim?”

“Oh?” you returned, raising a challenging eyebrow.

“Yes,” he said. “And since we are in the UK, they’re chips. Not fries.”

You snatched one off the plate and tossed it at him, hitting him square in the nose.

“Looks like my aim is pretty good there, chief,” you teased.

You threw another, and this time he caught it in his mouth, chewed, and swallowed.

“Okay, we make a pretty good team,” he said through a laugh.

You threw a few more to him, and he caught most. However, when he threw them to you, your catching abilities were abysmal. You blamed it on Gwilym’s arm, and he let you. 

It felt really good to sit and laugh with him. You felt like many of your conversations with Gwil were so serious. So to be lighthearted and goof around with him showed you another side of him. A side you were glad existed.

After lunch, you continued to walk around a bit. Then Gwilym stopped at an intersection, tugging your hand to stop you from crossing the street. You shot him a quizzical look.

“Gwil?”

“If we turn right here,” he said. “We can get to my flat in five minutes. I’m not presuming anything by asking this, but would you like to come over and see it?”

You looked down so he wouldn’t see the deep blush creeping up in your cheeks. On any other date, this would have implied sex, but you two were on camera, being followed by a whole crew. You weren’t embarrassed by that. You were embarrassed that you were disappointed they were there. You were really attracted to Gwilym, and would not have turned down that invitation outside of this. 

Actually, you weren’t going to turn it down either way.

“Yeah, let’s go,” you said, looking back up at him.

“Great,” he replied with a grin.

God, he was handsome.

Gwilym’s place was humble and cozy. He opened the door and allowed you inside, and you felt like he had just done the same with his heart. Everything about this place screamed “Gwilym Lee.” You walked through the front and into the sitting room, which had aged leather furniture and warm lamplight. The kitchen was smaller than what you were used to in the US, with a vintage look. It was also strictly practical. 

Gwilym also had books everywhere. There was a half shelf in the sitting room beside the fireplace. A corner of the kitchen counter was dedicated to recipe books. They were also randomly on whatever surfaces he had set them down on while reading. You pictured him walking around, nose to the pages, glasses on, focused.

He had few decorations, but there were plenty of pictures. Some of his family and friends. But the majority appeared to be of him with his students. Gwilym was a literature professor, and he was clearly dedicated to his work.

“Would you like to see upstairs?” he offered. “There’s something really special up there I’d like to show you.”

“Please,” you said.

You followed him up the wooden staircase to the second floor. There were only a few rooms up here. Gwilym’s bedroom, a guest bedroom, a hallway bathroom, and one more door at the end of the hall. That was where he led you.

He opened the door, and you gasped at the side. Across each wall, floor to ceiling - bookshelves. Fully stocked, too. There were thick, leather bound reference books. Paperback novels. Limited edition classics. Everything you could imagine for a personal collection.

“This is my library,” he said, looking between the shelves and your face.

You wondered if you looked stupid with your mouth hanging open. Gwilym’s eyes shone as he gazed at you. How beautiful you were to him in this moment was beyond words.

“Gwil, this is incredible!” you cried. “Your very own library!”

He smiled. “Take a look around, see what you like!”

You went to the first shelf to your right and extracted a worn-looking book. The spine was damaged so you couldn’t read the title until you opened it.

“Anna Karenina,” you read.

“Ah, that’s quite a special one,” he said. “Very close to my heart. It’s my grandmother’s copy. If you look at the publication date, you’ll see why it’s so special.”

Your eyes scanned the page until you found it.

“1890?!” you gasped.

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “She inherited it from her great-aunt. Because I collect so many books, she left it to me.”

“That’s amazing,” you said.

“Have you ever read it?” he asked.

“I have,” you said. “It’s a tragic story, but one of my favorite classics. This is a real treasure.”

“It is,” he agreed as you returned it to the shelf.

“You’re free to keep looking, if you like,” he offered.

You did. You perused the shelves and spotted another favorite.

“Oh, Summer of Katya!” you said. “I loved this book!”

“Another tragedy,” he said. 

“Yeah, but what a wild ride,” you replied. “That plot twist had me shook for days.”

“Me as well,” he said. “A great story.”

“So, how many of these books have you actually read?” you wondered as you set Summer of Katya back.

“All of them.”

Your mouth fell open again.

“All of them?”

“All of them,” he laughed. 

“That would take me the rest of my life!” you cried looking around again.

Gwilym watched you as you walked along the shelves, and you stopped to talk about a few more things. A small smile claimed his lips. You stopped talking and met his gaze.

“What?” you wondered. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing,” he said with a shrug. “It’s just...you sort of seem to belong here in my home.”

You beamed. “I like feeling like I belong to the things you love, Gwilym.”

He held out his hand, which you took. With it, he pulled you into his arms and kissed the top of your head. You sort of felt like you belonged there too. Maybe you could. And maybe spend much of your life in this room, picking out what to read next before crawling into bed beside your husband. That would be a rather heavenly way to live.

For the evening portion of your date, you and Gwil met at a bar right on the River Thames. Like usual, it was reserved for just the two of you to enjoy your date. You sat down together and you smiled at him before making a small toast.

After you each had a bit of your drinks, you took his hand.

“I really had a great time with you today,” you said. “I feel like, so balanced with you. We can be serious, we can laugh together, and we can have intellectual discussions too. I feel like I can be every part of myself around you.”

“I’m relieved,” he told you. “And I feel the same. I haven’t struggled in opening up to you, and that's really nice.”

“Can I admit something to you?” you asked.

“In the spirit of such honesty, I’d be surprised if you didn’t,” he teased.

You chuckled and glanced down at your lap before looking back at him.

“When you first told me you’re a professor, I was really intimidated by you,” you said.

“Intimidated by me?” he questioned.

“I was nervous that you were going to think that I’m dumb,” you said.

He pursed his mouth in confusion. “W...why would I think that?”

“Because I feel like…” you trailed off. “I dunno, I’m not the most well-read person in the world, and I enjoy things that in the academic world might seem frivolous or silly. I try to keep up with current events, but I get distracted, and I think that all of that put together I -”

“Hold on,” he cut across you. “Y/N, none of that amounts to intelligence. You don’t have to read every book in my library or know every detail of Brexit to convince me that you’re smart. You are smart. A lot smarter than me in many ways.”

“Thank you,” you said, blushing.

“Can I ask you something?” he wondered.

“Of course.”

“Who told you that you’re dumb?”

You blinked, unsure how to answer him.

“Hardly anybody thinks they’re dumb on their own,” he went on. “Which leads me to believe that somebody, somewhere convinced you of it.”

You blinked again, this time to get rid of the tears welling up in your eyes.

“I...I, uh, had an ex who said that to me a lot,” you answered at last. “Anytime I disagreed with him or tried to address something he’d done to upset me, he told me I was being stupid, or that I didn’t understand anything. So, I kind of just became convinced that I wasn’t very smart.”

“Let me tell you what I see,” he said. “In all my conversations with you, I’ve found you to be not only extremely clever, but also funny, kind, and giving. In fact, my admiration has grown so much that I can finally say…” he trailed off.

You had been forming a smile as he spoke, but when he hesitated, it faltered.

“Say what?” you pressed.

“Y/N, I’m falling in love with you,” he said. “It seems unbelievable that it should happen so fast. But you are exactly the kind of girl I’d like to be with for the rest of my life.”

You smiled so wide, you thought your face might crack. Then you leaned over and took his face in your hands to kiss him. 

“Gwilym, I’m so happy to hear you say that,” you told him when you parted. “I feel like we’re really progressing. And I don’t want to stop.” You reached across the table and picked up the rose that was waiting there. “So, Gwilym. Will you accept this rose?”

“You know I will,” he replied, kissing you again.

Gwilym was very much a gentleman when he kissed you. It was slightly reserved, but with enough passion for you to feel how much he wanted to do more. Each move was thoughtful and considerate, just like him.

Gwilym: I really am falling for Y/N. I hate that she’s been with such terrible men in the past. She deserves so much more. I’d like to give her that.

You pinned the rose to his jacket and then you grinned at each other.

“You ready to go?” you asked.

“Go where?” he wondered.

“One of the most iconic places in London,” you said.

You offered your hand. He took it and followed you out. You walked together down the street until you reached it. The London Eye.

“Oh, God,” he sighed. “We’re really doing this?”

“Yes!” you insisted.

You had a whole pod reserved for the two of you. You were excited as you went up, but the higher you got, you also grew nervous. You clutched Gwilym’s hand.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’re frightened,” he teased. “You went bungee jumping in the mountains!”

“I was scared of that too!” you returned. 

“Come here, cariad,” he said gently, pulling you into his arms once again.

You leaned on him and looked out over the city. The sight was breathtaking. All the lights from the buildings looked like stars. The way they reflected off the river was stunning. You felt like you were looking down from outer space or something.

“This view is beautiful,” you said.

“I like mine better,” he replied.

You faced him and saw that his his eyes were fixed on you instead of London. 

“Smooth,” you giggled.

“Kiss me,” he breathed.

You did. This kiss was different. It was deeper, more intentional, more open than your kisses before. Gwilym was fully giving himself to you and this process. To accent your joy perfectly, a fireworks show began over the river. You hardly noticed their colors or the sounds. Everything was just you and Gwilym.

Back at the house, the men were waiting for a date card. A few guys were bemoaning not being with you right now, but were holding out hope for a one on one. When there was a knock at the door, Richard went to fetch it. He returned with a card.

“It’s a group date,” he said. “Joe, Rami, Allen, Taron, Richard, Mike, and Kenny. Are you ready to meet Her Majesty? Ayyyy-yo! Y/N.”

“Ay-yo?” questioned Allen.

“What, like Freddie Mercury?” suggested Rami.

“What would Freddie Mercury have to do with a date, though?” Taron wondered.

“We’ll figure that out tomorrow,” said Mike. “With all of us on this date, that means…”

“Me and Luke are left,” Ben said with a heavy sigh. “It’s gonna be a two on one.”

A two on one meant a lot of risk because at least one of the people on it would be sent home on the date. It made Ben nervous because even though Luke’s behavior was atrocious, you kept him around, so there had to be a real connection there. Also, he was still angry at Luke for starting that stupid drama in the first place.

“I’m not worried,” Luke said. “Y/N and I have overcome a lot and I think that makes for a strong foundation.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Whatever, man. Just don’t tell her any more sh*t you’ve made up about me.”

“I didn’t make anything up,” Luke returned. “I heard what I heard.”

“You didn’t hear anything because I. Never. Said. It.” Ben shot back.

“Neither did I,” Joe added. “But let’s leave this in the past, okay? All any of us can do is focus on our own relationships with her.”

Luke and Ben glowered at each other a moment longer before looking away.

The next day, everyone but Gwilym, Ben, and Luke, got on a bus and headed out from the hotel. Mike, Kenny, and Joe had never been to London before, so they were in awe of the city as they made their way to the unknown destination.

Taron: I feel terrible for Ben and what he’s going to face tomorrow, but I’m also really glad Luke isn’t here to ruin the group date again. Those of us here are actually decent blokes, so I think it’ll be a fun day.

“Is that Wembley Stadium?” Joe wondered, pointing in the direction the bus was heading.

“It is,” said Richard.

The group exchanged apprehensive looks as they were dropped off at the legendary arena and escorted into it.

Inside, on the field, was a stage setup. You stood center stage, smiling at the men. You were wearing all white - a white v-neck tank top, and white pants with a red and yellow racing stripe up the sides, belted at the waist. You also donned a yellow, military style leather jacket. 

“Hello, gentlemen!” you greeted as they climbed up the stairs to join you. “Welcome to Wembley Stadium! How many of y’all have been here before?”

Taron, Richard, Allen, and Rami raised their hands. Joe, Mike, and Kenny did not. They were also the ones still looking around, while the others stayed focused on you.

“Well, surely you all know about the legendary concert that took place here in 1985, Live Aid,” you said, and they nodded. “And I’m sure you know which act stole the show.”

“Queen,” said Rami.

“Yep!” you confirmed. “So we’re gonna have some fun today. You’re all going to be dressed like Freddie Mercury and give me your best Live Aid performance.”

Their eyes widened as they looked at you, and you bit back a laugh.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be lip-syncing,” you assured them. “There also won’t be an audience. The person who does the best job gets to talk to me first at the cocktail party tonight.”

“Will you be the judge?” Taron asked.

“Actually, I won’t, I’m just enjoying the show,” you said. “The judges are some very special people who are quite familiar with Freddie.”

“Oh my God…” Rami said under his breath.

You smirked. “Guys, please welcome Queen and Adam Lambert!”

The guys clapped as Brian May, Roger Taylor, and Adam Lambert emerged onto the stage. They first hugged you and then turned to face the men.

Richard: I can’t believe this...it’s f***ing Queen! We’re on a date with Queen! I mean - we’re on a date with Y/N - but Queen is there! I’m blown away right now!

“Hullo, guys,” said Brian with a gentle wave. “We just wanted to let you all know - don’t be nervous. This is meant to be something fun to show Y/N you can come out of your shell a bit.”

“Yes, have fun,” Roger agreed. “Don’t be afraid to make an arse out of yourself. Freddie certainly wasn’t.”

Everyone chuckled.

“So, you guys have fifteen minutes to change and decide on one song from the Live Aid set you want to do,” Adam explained. “You can watch the clip of your choice as much as you want in that fifteen minutes.”

“The costumes are backstage,” you said. “You guys ready?”

They nodded at you. 

“Okay, fifteen minutes starts now!”

While the guys got changed and prepared, you and the band went around and checked up on them. You went over to Mike first, who was watching the video of Live Aid and scrubbing through it quickly.

“How’s it going?” you asked.

“Okay,” he replied. “I don’t really know any Queen songs, so I’m listening for something that sounds familiar.”

“You know We Will Rock You?” you wondered.

“I know those words of it,” he laughed.

You giggled. “Well, I’d go for that one, then. It’s second to last.”

“Thank you,” he sighed.

You looked over and saw Rami chatting with Brian. Richard was talking to Roger, and Allen and Kenny were talking to Adam. Everyone was in the iconic white tank top and light wash jeans. They also had the studded armband and mustache. You went over to Taron next.

“How’re you feeling?” you asked. 

“I know what song I’ll do,” he told you. “Bohemian Rhapsody. That way I can sit behind a piano for most of it.”

“Nice,” you chuckled. “You play, right?”

“I do,” he said. “Although, as you learned on our Disney date, I’m much more of an Elton John man than Queen. Don’t get me wrong, I adore them, but Elton is more my style.”

“I’d love to hear you play some Elton for me sometime,” you said. “But honestly, now is the time to get out of your comfort zone and show me your edge, Taron.”

“I’ll do anything for you, love,” he replied with a grin.

Then you headed over to Rami.

“Hey, sweetie,” you said as he pulled you into a hug.

When you parted, you had to take a moment. Rami really looked like Freddie for a split second. With the mustache and the clothes...he had even styled his hair. He was getting really into this.

“Woah, you look great!” you said.

“Thanks,” he returned. “I’m really excited for this.”

“I know you’re an actor, so you’re not too worried,” you joked. “Which song did you pick?”

“Radio GaGa,” he told you. 

“Good choice,” you praised.

You chatted with Rami for another moment before moving on to Richard.

“Just be grateful we picked Live Aid and not one of our shows from the seventies,” Roger was saying as you approached. “You’d all be in leotards.”

“I dunno, I think I could make it work,” Richard returned with a chuckle.

“I definitely think you could make it work,” you agreed. “How’s it going over here?”

“Pretty good,” Richard said. “I know what I’m going to do.”

“Awesome!” you said. “You a big Queen fan?”

“Massive Queen fan,” he told you. “This is kind of a dream for me.”

“I think you’ve found your man, Y/N,” Roger teased. “This one’s clearly got the best taste.”

You laughed.

The fifteen minutes went by more quickly than you anticipated, but most of the guys seemed ready. There were a few nerves you could feel, but they weren’t too bad. Kenny was up first.

Kenny did “We Are the Champions” and he was pretty good. He clearly knew the words, but he was also nervous and shy. You found that surprising since he was a pro wrestler and part of his act was to put on a bit of a show. You cut him some slack, though. This was out of his element.

Taron was second, and he was better. His performance did come out more like Elton than like Freddie, but he was really feeling the music. You could tell he had wanted to play and sing himself, so he was holding back a little bit.

Mike was third. He did “We Will Rock You” and had a lot of energy, but it was more his own than like Freddie. You didn’t mind, since you liked Mike’s style, but it didn’t bode well for him as far as the competition went. 

Allen was fourth, and he did “Hammer to Fall.” So far, he came the closest to looking like Freddie up on stage. He was upbeat and had obviously studied the movements. The only problem was that it came off a little too rehearsed.

Richard went next. He had the same idea as Taron to do “Bohemian Rhapsody” so he wouldn’t have to move around so much. He was even more reserved than Taron. Evidently, he was not much of a performer at all, despite how much he loved the music.

Joe was sixth. He did “Crazy Little Thing Called Love.” It was similar in idea to Taron and Richard, because he got to use an instrument. Joe could actually play guitar, so he mimed it well. Like Mike, he was more Joe than Freddie. Joe wasn’t a shy person at all, so he was still  entertaining.

Finally, it was Rami. From the first notes of “Radio GaGa,” you could tell there was something different about Rami’s performance. Every move, every step, every turn was intentional, but looked effortlessly Freddie. It took you off guard. Rami looked the most like Freddie, and with this performance, you were convinced he had a spiritual connection to the man. You looked over at Brian and Roger. Brian had tears in his eyes. Roger was closing his mouth just as you looked. They saw it too. Adam placed a comforting hand on each of their shoulders.

When Rami finished, the whole arena was deathly silent. All eyes were fixed on Rami, who stood breathless on stage, but looking proud. He also looked like...not Rami. That last note rang out, and for a moment, it was as if Freddie himself stood there.

Finally, Roger cleared his throat. 

“Well done,” he choked out. “We’ll just need a...a moment to uh, discuss.”

The band walked out of earshot for a moment and you approached Rami.

“I think you shook them up,” you said. “You certainly shook me up.”

He shot you a worried glance.

“In a good way,” you assured him. “Believe me, you were incredible.”

The band returned and appeared to have recovered from their shock.

“Everybody did a fine job,” Brian began. “Just remember to not be so shy. Show Y/N that you can open up and be yourself.”

“This really brought me back,” Roger added. “But one person in particular really captured Freddie’s spirit today.”

“And that person is Rami,” Adam announced. 

You let out a cheer and clapped for Rami, and the rest of the men joined you. You hugged him around the neck as you congratulated him.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he said bashfully.

“Congratulations, Rami,” Brian said. “Enjoy your time with Y/N first tonight, and remember to use it wisely.”

Everyone thanked the band for their part, and got autographs before they left. Then it was time for the evening portion of the date. It was still at Wembley, in a private box, which overlooked the field. The stage set up had been removed already, so it was returned to its sport ready look. It was still lit up in the darkness by the stadium lights.

You met the men in the box and gave a toast. Then, you took Rami by the hand and led him out. Also reserved for you was the next box over, so you could have private conversations. You and Rami went in there and sat down to chat.

“You were seriously amazing today,” you told him. “That was like, Oscar worthy.”

He chuckled. “I dunno about all that, but I definitely had fun. Freddie Mercury is pretty special to me.”

“Why’s that?” you wondered.

“Well, we sort have a lot in common,” he said. “We’re both kinda awkward brown boys from immigrant families, but with a lot of dreams.”

“I can see that,” you said. “You feel that strongly about acting?”

“I do,” he said. “I take it very seriously. I believe in myself, and I hope that someday I can be big enough to win an Oscar. I wanna be like Freddie, where kids who look like me can start believing that they can succeed too.”

You loved that idea and what it represented. The only thing for you was that actors were away a lot, and you wanted to raise a family. With a partner.

“How does that dream fall in with your desire to have a family?” you asked.

“Lots of actors have families,” he said. “I’m already settled in LA, where most of the jobs are, and that’s where I’d want to raise my family. And I’d work with my partner to make sure my schedule didn’t interfere with important things. I know it won’t be easy, but I am family oriented, and I know I can do both. But the last thing I wanna do is settle.”

“Settle?” you questioned.

“I mean, I don’t want to take some safe, nine-to-five job just because I want to get married and have a family,” he said. “I want to pursue my dreams so that my kids will have someone they can really be proud of. Someone who didn’t give up on his passion.”

You smiled. “I like that. You’re a very driven person, Rami, I hadn’t noticed that about you before.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re learning now,” he said. “I am driven and focused and there’s a lot I want out of life.”

You both paused to sip your drinks.

“What about you?” he said. “What are you passionate about?”

“I’m most passionate about family,” you said. “I didn’t really have those connections as a kid. My family isn’t very close. I want that unit, that strength that comes with being together.”

“That’s a beautiful sentiment,” he said. “Is there anything else?”

“Like what?” you wondered.

“Like hobbies,” he said. “Y/N, don’t you have interests besides that?”

“I read a lot,” you told him. “And I like fashion and beauty, but those are just normal girl things.”

“Are you kidding?” he returned. “There’s a lot there to go with. Do you ever design your own stuff?”

You blushed. “I...well, I do sort of have this dream of starting my own clothing label.”

“That’s awesome!” he said excitedly. “Tell me more!”

“Well, I’d want to use all recycled materials so we’re not being wasteful,” you said. “That way it’s like thrifting, but you’ll still get the latest styles. Everything would just be re-designed and…” you trailed off. “Sorry. It’s kind of a silly idea.”

“Not at all!” he insisted. “I think it’s a great idea. Environmentally friendly and everything. That’s amazing, Y/N. Don’t doubt yourself.”

“You certainly help me believe in it,” you replied, all embarrassment fading away at his enthusiasm. 

“I want to help you believe in yourself,” he said. “It’s important to me.”

“It is?”

“Yes, Y/N,” he said. “I want to be there for you. I’m falling in love with you and I want to help you see yourself through my eyes.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You grinned. 

“You’re falling in love with me?”

“More and more every day,” he assured you.

With that, he kissed you. Rami’s kisses were always deeply passionate and romantic. It made you feel like you two were on the cover of a romance novel or something. You felt like you were in your own romance novel because you were falling for Rami too. He was just so special.

Rami: I really am falling in love with Y/N. I can just see a wonderful future with her as my wife. She’s everything you could ever want.

After Rami, Joe wanted to see you. Your time with Joe went as well as it usually did. You laughed together a lot and discussed the date. He reassured you that he was falling for you. You were tempted to say it back, but hesitated. You felt strongly for Joe, but there was still more to explore there.

Allen pulled you after Joe. You were still holding back with Allen, and you felt that he was too. He had told you more of his story on your one on one, but since then, you hadn’t had a serious conversation. You didn’t feel uncomfortable around him or anything, but there was something more you wanted. Like he was only giving himself partially to this. You wanted him to give everything.

Richard came next. Similar to Allen, he held back from you. He had divulged even less information about himself. Less than any of the other men there. Richard was fun and easygoing, but you wanted him to dig deeper. He just wasn’t going there. You needed to find out why.

Taron followed after Richard. Taron was not afraid of giving his heart to you, and you could feel it ever since that one on one. Every time you spoke to him, the relationship moved forward, in the right direction. You always looked forward to your time with him, and today was no different.

There was a piano in the private box, and Taron made good on his promise to play for you. He began with “Your Song” by Elton John, one of your favorites. His voice was swoon-worthy, and you loved listening. Each time he sang, you pictured him in your house together, singing your kids to sleep or just serenading you before bed. He felt like home to you.

“Life really is wonderful with you in the world, Y/N,” he said as he finished. “It’s becoming pretty difficult to imagine my life without you in it.”

“That’s sweet,” you said. “I’d have a hard time without you, too.”

“Really, Y/N,” he said. “I’m falling in love with you. Hard.”

You met his gaze, heart racing with joy.

“I’m so happy you told me,” you whispered. “You’re amazing, Taron.”

He kissed you. Short and sweet because neither of you could stop smiling.

Mike and Kenny also made things difficult on you because they both told you they were falling in love as well. You felt like all of them deserved roses tonight, but you knew who you wanted the rose to go to. As you all gathered back in the original box, you picked it up off the table.

“Thank you all for an incredible day,” you said. “We got a bit of a rock concert and I got to see you all just have a good time. But I wanna give this rose to someone who really proved himself today. Who showed me something new and moved our relationship forward.”

You found Rami’s eyes.

“Rami, will you accept this rose?”

“I will,” he assured you, getting to his feet.

You pinned it to his jacket as he kissed your cheek. Then, you bid them all goodnight. You were still riding the high of the day when you remembered that the following day, you had your two on one with Ben and Luke.

The date card arrived for Ben and Luke while the rest of the men were at the cocktail party with you. Gwilym retrieved it and read it out loud.

“Ben and Luke,” he said. “I want us to grow. Love, Y/N.”

“Let’s just get this over with,” Ben groaned.

“What, eager to go home?” Luke taunted.

Ben rolled his eyes and went to his room for the night.

The next day, Ben and Luke each placed their luggage by the door. Whoever went home, the producers would come and take their luggage to the airport. The two men were driven by car to meet you in a lovely garden and park. Everything was blooming so it was the perfect time of year for a date like this. You just wished you weren’t dreading it so much. One of them was going home, but you felt like you needed time with both of them. Hopefully today would be enough.

“Hi, guys,” you greeted, trying to sound chipper as they hugged you one by one. “So today, we’re having a picnic in the park. It’s really beautiful here, so let’s have a good day, yeah?”

“O’course,” Ben agreed.

“Definitely,” Luke added.

“Okay, let’s go.”

You led them over the set up that was reserved for you. It was a small table with three chairs around it. You sat first - in between them - and then poured everyone a glass of champagne. The champagne was more for you, really. The tension in the air could be cut with a knife, and you needed to feel at ease. These two had such animosity between them.

“So, Luke, you wanna go talk?” you asked.

“Sure, yeah,” he agreed.

You walked around a hedge to another small table. You took a swig of your drink and then looked at him.

“So, I know you’re not over everything that happened in Asheville, and neither am I,” you said.

“No, I’m over it,” he protested. “Really, I’m not mad at you anymore. I wanna move on.”

“I wanna move on too,” you said. “But I feel like we have to talk about this because this is a disagreement on something fundamental, and I don’t think you understand that.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Like, you were angry at me for taking off my clothes in front of Joe,” you said. “Because of your beliefs, you felt like it was disrespectful. I don’t know any other way to tell you that I don’t share those beliefs and you can’t force them on me.”

“I don’t want to force them on you,” he said. “But I think that you should be more aware of our feelings in this and behave - y’know - properly.”

That familiar anger stirred in the pit of your stomach.

“Okay, Luke, I behaved just fine -”

“Really?” he scoffed. “Getting naked in front of a guy on your first date with him is fine behavior?”

You could have screamed.

“Oh my God,” you sighed. “Let’s get one thing straight, okay? I can do whatever the hell I want. This is my journey, it’s my body, and whatever I decide to do with it is up to me and not subject to your approval.”

“Y/N, I’m just trying to help you,” he said gently. “I prayed about it, and I feel like my purpose here is to save you.”

“To save me?” you questioned.

“You’re being led astray by these other men,” he said. “But together, we can -”

“Okay, Luke, stop,” you said. “We’re not getting into theological arguments today. Clearly, it doesn’t matter to you that I don’t want to hear it. The other thing we need to address is why you lied about Joe and Ben.”

“I didn’t lie,” he insisted. “I know what I heard.”

“But none of the other guys heard it,” you reminded him. “And if they said it out loud, they said it to someone with ears, so they must have heard it. Just be honest and tell me why you did it.”

“I know I heard that conversation, Y/N,” he said firmly. “I’m not a liar.”

“So literally every other guy in that house is?” you challenged. 

“Y/N, please,” he begged. “I love you. I want this more than anything. And look at what we’ve overcome.”

“Luke, we haven’t overcome anything!” you cried. “We’re still working this out because you’re not being honest with me!”

“I’m telling you my truth!” he returned. 

A beat passed in uncomfortable silence.

“Do you believe me when I say that I love you?” he asked.

You held his gaze. Then you took a deep breath.

“No,” you said heavily.

He looked away, unable to form words.

Ben: I’m kind of nervous about today. She’s kept him around long enough for me to think there must really be something there that I’m not seeing. I just hope my connection with her is stronger.

You and Luke returned to where Ben was still waiting. Nothing else had been said. You grabbed Ben’s hand and led him away next, desperate for some relief. Luke made you feel like every step of this process was such a battle. Ben excited you, and you hoped he still did.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Okay,” you said. “I’m sorry to put you through this, I know it’s not easy.”

“No worries, love,” he said. “You’re worth all of this. Every part of this journey.”

You smiled, and you felt warmth returning to your body. You realized within seconds of talking to Ben that Luke made you feel cold and closed off. Ben made you feel warm and open. That was the feeling you were looking for.

“How are you?” you asked him.

“I’m perfect, now I’m with you,” he replied. “I’m not going to lie, watching the other guys going out with you throughout the week isn’t easy, but I’m here for the long haul. I’m ready to stick it out if it means you and me at the end.”

You leaned into his chest and hummed happily. He wrapped his arms around you. Then he pressed his lips to the top of your head. You felt cared for and respected.

“I can’t tell you how relieved I was that you believed me last week,” he said. “Knowing that you trust me, and you’re willing to hear from everyone, it makes me fall for you all the more. You’re fair and kind and patient. I dunno how you put up with the lot of us.”

You giggled and then looked up at him.

“Well, you’re all so handsome, it’s hard to stay mad at you,” you teased.

“I see,” he joked back. “You’re just in it for the eye candy.”

“Haven’t you heard?” you asked sarcastically. “I’m actually looking for a trophy husband.”

He chuckled. “It’s almost hard for me to joke about, since I actually like almost everyone.”

You smiled. “Really?”

“You’ve got a fantastic group here,” he said. “As heartbroken as I’d be if it’s not me and you, I know you’d be in good hands.”

“That’s so sweet, Ben,” you said. 

You felt such a soft affection for him in this moment. That comment made one thing abundantly clear to you: Ben wanted only what was best for you, whatever made you happiest, even if it wasn’t him. You wondered how he’d never been in love before, when he gave it so freely and selflessly. Your value to him did not hinge on your behavior with the other men.

You chatted with Ben a while longer, just trying to forget about what Luke had said. Plus, you liked Ben a lot and enjoyed talking to him. It was quickly becoming more than liking him, which scared you a little, but you knew he would be there to catch you once you fell. You were still teetering on the edge.

Your decision was made when you returned to where Luke waited. There was no need to give him any more chances. You didn’t trust him anymore, and you had such different beliefs, it never would work out. You sat down and picked up the rose.

“I’m gonna be perfectly honest and say that this was not a very difficult decision for me today,” you said. “So far, this has been the easiest decision I’ve made.”

You looked at Ben and decided to get right to it.

“Ben, will you accept this rose?”

You heard Luke suck in a soft breath as you and Ben stood up. You pinned the rose on him and hugged him tight. Then you looked at Luke.

“Can I walk you out?” you asked.

“Yeah, okay,” he said, still dazed.

“I’ll be right back,” you told Ben.

You and Luke walked together toward the car that was waiting to take him to the airport. Ben heaved a relieved sigh and sat back down with a wide grin on his face.

Back at the house, Joe was closest to the door when he heard it open. The producer was there to take the luggage.

“Guys!” Joe yelled. “It’s happening!”

The rest of the men rushed to the door to find out who it was. They watched with bated breath as the producer’s hand stretched out and grabbed Luke’s luggage. They all roared with delight and began jumping and hugging each other as the door closed again. Luke was leaving at last!

“Hold on, let me get champagne!” Gwilym cried, jogging to the kitchen.

They all followed him, still laughing and congratulating each other. Gwilym handed out the glasses and Joe stood on the counter to make a toast.

“To Ben,” he said. “For getting that f***er out of here at last.”

“To Ben!” the others echoed before taking a drink.

“And to Y/N,” Rami said. “For making the right choice.”

“Y/N!” they cried, and they all downed their drinks.

Back on the date, you walked Luke to the black van waiting for him. You stood outside the door to let him say something. 

“I just…” he trailed off. “I don’t understand.”

“I’m sorry, Luke,” you said. “We’re just too different. We have different beliefs, different values. And we couldn’t move past those things.”

“But I love you,” he said.

You shook your head. “I don’t think you do. I think you love the woman that you want me to be. The version of me that you created who does take part in your faith and share that with you. But that’s not who I am.”

“I…” he lost words again.

“I really am sorry,” you said. “I hope you find that person.”

“Thanks,” he said dully.

You opened the door for him. He slid into the seat. You closed the door and watched the car pull away. You were certain you had done the right thing. Luke was so wrong for you in so many ways. But you meant what you said. You were sure that girl was out there somewhere for him. But he was not for you.

You hurried back to Ben and leapt into his arms when you saw him. You kissed him as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

“It’s just you and me tonight, baby!” you cried. 

“Thank God!” he returned.

That night, you and Ben went to a fine restaurant and had a wonderful dinner. It was similar to your one on one, where the conversation flowed. You talked about serious things and lighthearted things. Neither of you brought up Luke again. Ben looked as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

After dinner, you walked around nearby and saw a street performer playing the cello. The melody was soaring and beautiful. Ben spun you into his arms and began to sway with you. You wrapped your arms around his neck and stood with him, heart full. He opened his eyes to meet yours.

“Y/N, I’m falling in love with you,” he said simply.

You saw how much he meant it in those beautiful green eyes of his. Tears welled up in yours. You were no longer teetering. You slipped right off the edge.

“I’m falling in love with you too,” you returned, without thinking.

You were not supposed to say “love” to anyone but the person you got engaged to, but you didn’t feel bad about breaking the rules for Ben. He had shown you today how much you meant to him. And he meant that much to you too. If you weren’t with him at the end of this, you wished only for him to have a happy and fulfilling life. You genuinely hoped he was at the end of this though because you weren’t ready to let him go. You weren’t sure you ever would be.

The following day, you once again decided to cancel the cocktail party. You knew where your heart was, and you didn’t want to drag out the whole night when your mind was made up. So when you arrived at the hotel, you were ready.

The hotel had a lovely ballroom on the first floor where you were having the rose ceremony. You walked in and forced a smile. This was going to be a pretty tough one. Two men would be leaving that you really liked.

“Sorry again for the cocktail party,” you said. “But I really am just trying to follow my heart.”

You waited a beat before picking up the first rose. There were only four.

“Joe,” you called.

He walked forward proudly.

“Joe, will you accept this rose?”

“I will.”

He returned to the group. You picked up the next rose.

“Taron,” you said.

He beamed at you and jogged up.

“Taron, will you accept this rose?” you asked with a smile, since his was contagious. 

“Of course.”

You pinned it on him and he walked back over. You saw Richard take a deep breath.

“Richard,” you said.

He exhaled before walking over.

“Richard, will you accept this rose?”

“Always.”

As Richard returned to the group, Chris Harrison walked out.

“Y/N, gentlemen,” he said. “This is the final rose tonight. When you’re ready, Y/N.”

You picked up the rose. You found the man you wanted to give it to.

“Allen,” you said.

You saw the relief wash over him as he approached you.

“Allen, will you accept this rose?”

“I certainly will,” he assured you.

He walked back over to the group. Mike and Kenny looked dejected, and you understood why. It was never easy.

“Kenny, Mike, I’m sorry,” Chris said. “Take a moment, say your goodbyes.”

They took a while to say goodbye to the guys, which did sort of make you feel good. You liked that the remaining men were friends.

Kenny came up to you first.

“I’m sorry,” you said, suddenly choking on the words. You weren’t sure when the tears started. “You deserve so much -”

“Don’t, Y/N,” he said gently. “It was a pleasure getting to know you.”

You nodded and he pulled you into a hug. 

“You’re gonna be amazing,” he whispered to you.

With that, he left and headed to the car waiting for him. Mike came up next. You actually sobbed. Mike was such a wonderful man, and you hated that you weren’t there with him.

“I’m so sorry,” you sniffled.

“It’s okay,” he assured you with a smile. “You’re beautiful and strong, okay? I know you’ll find your happiness.”

“You will too,” you replied softly.

He reached over to wipe away a tear with his thumb.

“Good luck, Y/N.”

He too, departed.

The remaining men moved forward to engulf you in a group hug. While you were sure of the decisions you had made, you hated to hurt people, and both Kenny and Mike had told you they were falling for you. But you couldn’t get there with them, and it was terrible. They were great guys. You just knew they weren’t right for you.

“So,” you said, fanning your face a bit. “Next, we’re going to -”

“Y/N!” someone bellowed from the lobby of the hotel.

Your brow furrowed. 

“Is that…” you trailed off, eyes going wide with horror.

Then he appeared in the doorway of the ballroom.

“Luke!” you cried. “What are you doing here?!”

“I’m not giving up on us,” he said, marching toward you.

His body language looked dangerous. Joe was closest to you and you reached for him. He immediately caught on and wrapped his arms around you, placing himself between you and Luke.

The other men stood in front of the two of you, not allowing Luke any closer.

“She sent you home, Luke,” said Richard darkly. “You can’t be here.”

“I just wanna talk, Y/N,” Luke said, ignoring Richard and trying to look around him. “Y/N, please! I just wanna work this out!”

“Well, I don’t!” you returned. “Just go!”

“I know there’s something here!” he insisted. “There’s gotta be! Don’t give up!”

You peered at him around Joe’s arm.

“No, there isn’t!” you shouted. “You’re scaring me, Luke. Just leave.”

He moved forward, but Ben placed a hand on his chest.

“Not a step closer,” Ben warned.

“Just stay out of this,” Luke spat. 

“She asked you to leave, Luke,” Allen said. “So go.”

“No, I’m not giving up,” Luke said. 

“Oh, my God,” you whispered into Joe’s chest. “Oh, my God.”

Joe lowered his lips to your ear. “Don’t worry. We’re not gonna let him anywhere near you.”

“This is just crazy,” you went on. “He’s acting crazy.”

“Y/N, please!” Luke continued to plead.

Chris Harrison at last approached, accompanied by security guards. Chris went directly to you.

“What do you wanna do, Y/N?” he asked. “Do you wanna talk to him?”

“No!” you insisted. “I want him to leave!”

“Okay,” Chris said. He turned to Luke. “Luke, it’s time to go.”

The security guards stepped toward him, but he stepped away.

“Wait!” he pressed. “Wait, Y/N - just - please. Look me in the eyes and tell me you don’t want me here. That’s the only way I’ll believe it.”

You met his gaze with a scowl.

“I don’t want you here,” you said venomously. “Get out.”

He sighed, shoulders sagging. Then, he straightened up, turned on his heel, and stormed out. You hoped that was the last you ever saw of him.

“You alright?” Joe asked.

You nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.” You looked at Chris. “He did actually leave, right?”

He nodded. “We made sure of it.”

You took a deep breath.

“You wanna tell them where we’re going next?” he asked.

You let yourself smile, even though you were still a bit shaken.

“Yeah,” you said. You addressed the men. “Guys, we’re going to Killarney, Ireland!”

Allen whooped and pumped a fist in the air. You laughed. You knew he’d be excited to be back home in Ireland. But the rest of the guys seemed excited too. You gazed at them in awe. It was hard to believe that you had already narrowed it down to seven guys. Seven incredible guys. You couldn’t ask for more.

That night, as you packed in your hotel room, you heard a knock at the door. For a moment, you feared Luke had come to speak to you again, but you told production you didn’t want him near you. Still, you peeked through the peephole before answering. The man behind it took your breath away. You thought your eyes were playing tricks on you. It couldn’t be! Could it?

You opened the door apprehensively.

“Jamie?”

To be continued…

[cucumberkale]

Us Against the World

"And that bleeding wound where Danny had been ripped from Tim’s chest had begun to heal."

Tim had come to The Magnus Institute with one goal in mind: finding out information about the thing that had destroyed his family. What he hadn't planned for was finding a new family in Jonathan Sims and Sasha James. But after their little family is relocated to The Archives, it all seems to start to fall apart.

And Tim isn't willing to let what he's found go without a fight.

Written for @do-not-feed-the-archivist as part of the @tma-valentines-exchange

https://archiveofourown.org/works/29438268 

Out of everyone working in the Archives, Tim had known Jon the longest. When Tim had first joined The Magnus Institute as a new researcher, with his heart still bleeding from Danny’s death, he hadn’t planned on making friends. His only goal had been to find answers and to get revenge for his brother’s death. But on his first day, Tim had seen Jonathan Sims slip into the breakroom, his eyes down and head held low, as he tried to avoid attention. Tim had heard the whispers and gossip from the other employees. He knew what they said about Jonathan Sims. He knew what they thought about Jonathan Sims. Jon was The Institute’s biggest skeptic and Tim had come looking for answers to the supernatural that Jon didn’t even believe in.

But Tim couldn’t help but want to be friends.

He soon found himself working hard to get in Jon’s good graces. Hard work and dedication seemed to be Jon’s love language and, after five years in a publishing house, Tim was used to hard work and long hours. He stayed late and came in early, when he could, to help with the graduate students’ papers and researchers’ pet projects. He lent a helping hand whenever he could. He stood up for Jon in the breakroom to the other employees when Jon wasn’t there to defend himself.

The progress was slow and almost unnoticeable. Tim thought it was like trying to lure a stray cat into a house. Every time Tim thought he had a breakthrough, Jon put up more walls and pulled away. He seemed just as determined as Tim had been originally to not make friends.

Eventually, though, the stray cat that was Jonathan Sims came inside. Tim had earned a genuine compliment from Jon on one of his reports. After that, it was easier between the two. Jon had laughed at all of Tim’s poor “Dad Jokes.” Jon had agreed to eat lunch with him. Tim had earned Jon’s hard-won trust, and Jon’s hard exterior had broken down.

Then Tim met Sasha James.

The two hit it off together instantly. Sasha loved to joke and laugh, and Tim loved the feeling of making others smile. And Sasha was just as dedicated to her work as Jon was to his. It didn’t take long after meeting her for Tim to realize that Jon and Sasha would get along well. It took even less time for Jon to grow fond of Sasha.

After that, it was the three of them spending early Monday mornings at work and late nights at the pub on Friday night and lazy Sunday afternoons at Tim’s flat together.

And that bleeding wound where Danny had been ripped from Tim’s chest had begun to heal.

Jon was quick-tempered and sharp with his tongue but cared deeply for his friends. Sasha was knowledgeable and curious but loved to pull practical jokes. And Tim had his own little family again.

All of that changed when Jon had been offered the promotion to the Head Archivist position. Jon had given them the news over pints at the pub that Friday night, asking Tim and Sasha to join him as his assistants. Sasha had smiled and congratulated Jon on the offer. Tim had bought the next round and made a toast to Jon’s new job. But in private, Sasha had complained and ranted and yelled to Tim how it hadn’t been fair, how could Jonathan Sims have been given the position when Sasha had worked at The Institute longer. “He doesn’t even believe in this shit!” Sasha had yelled.

Their little family had changed: Jon wasn’t an equal anymore, he was their boss. Everything in Tim’s life had changed again.

And without telling any of them, Elias had given Martin Blackwood the third assistant position. Martin had been thrown into the mix and, after “The Dog Incident,” Jon made his displeasure for this stranger known.

It had been only a month and things between the four of them seemed to only be getting worse. The statements, the Real Statements, left them all feeling drained and anxious. Even though they had evidence, Jon still refused to accept that any of the encounters in the statements could be real. He went as far as to create ridiculous scenarios to try to explain them away.

And Jon had been getting worse.

Tim had seen Jon at his lowest. More than once, Tim had to calm Jon after waking up in the middle of the night, screaming from a nightmare and disoriented from waking up in Tim’s flat. Back in Research, Tim had seen his own dark, tired eyes reflected at him from Jon. But it had gotten worse. Jon had started working long hours, even longer hours than his time in Research. The dark circles under his eyes had only grown larger and dark. He had started to lose weight, his cheeks growing gaunt and his eyes sunken. And when alone, Jon held himself smaller, hunching his shoulders in as if trying to shield himself. It seemed like Jon was at the beginning of a spiral that Tim had already been down, and he didn’t know how to help.

Now, Jonathan Sims was running late.

And Jonathan Sims never ran late.

Tim had been blankly staring at the same page of the statement he had been working on all morning, unable to understand what he had just read. Instead, he found himself anxiously glancing at his phone screen every few minutes to check the time. As the morning dragged on, and Jon still hadn’t arrived to work, Tim found it harder and harder to focus on anything else. He was trying to be discrete about it. Tim had caught a concerned glance from Sasha more than once that morning. Every time, Tim had flashed her a reflexive grin before trying to look occupied with his work.

There wasn’t anything to worry about.

Jon was fine.

In all the time that Tim had known Jon, Jon had not been late for work without giving an advance notice. Jon had a daily routine that he liked to follow. He arrived early to gather the assistants’ assignments for the day and to deliver them to their desks. On most days, by the time Tim arrived at a punctual nine o’clock, Jon was already in the middle of a project of his own.

Tim knew he shouldn’t worry. He tried to remind himself that Jon was a grown, competent, adult man.

But Jon had broken his daily routine of the past month.

And Jon had been slipping lately.

It was now half-past eleven and Jon still hadn’t arrived to work.

Martin walked back into the assistants’ bullpen, balancing three cups of tea. Sasha took hers, giving Martin a quick “thank you” and a small smile as she turned back to her own work. Martin handed Tim his cup slowly, a look of concern spreading across his face as he looked to the old clock hanging on the wall.

“Is Jon in yet? I haven’t seen him all morning,” Martin asked.

“Not yet,” Tim said, taking a sip of tea. “I guess that means you haven’t heard from him yet either, then?”

Martin shook his head. “I doubt he would call me first, anyway,” he said, rubbing his thumb in circles around the cup. Martin glanced over to Sasha, “Have you heard from him? Did he say anything to you?”

Sasha sighed, looking up from her work. “Nope. I’d have let you both know, anyway, Martin.”

“I know you would, but…” Martin paused for a minute, looking between the two of them. “This is weird, right? Jon not being in. I thought he had a reputation about not missing work. Did Rosie leave a message that he called off?”

Tim shook his head. “I ran up to ask her earlier on my break and she said she hadn’t heard from him. Elias hadn’t said anything either. It’s nothing to worry about, he probably got caught on the Underground or something and doesn’t have any service.”

Sasha let out a quiet laugh. “Honestly, if something bad had happened, letting Elias know would probably be the first thing Jon did. At the very least, just so we’d all know he wouldn’t be at work.”

Martin didn’t look convinced though. He frowned, his round face pulled into worried lines, reaching up to rub at the back of his neck nervously. “I…I guess I’m just on edge. Those statements, the ones that don’t record properly, they make my skin crawl. I had to start doing research for the Vittery case this morning and, ya know,” Martin made a face, like he had just tasted something sour.

Sasha glanced at Tim, meeting his eyes for only a moment before she turned back to Martin. “Yeah, we know,” she said. “But Jon hasn’t gotten himself into anything spooky, I’m sure.”

“Yeah,” Tim said, trying to make his voice light. “He’d probably give a lecture to any monsters about how they don’t exist. He’d logic his way out of any trouble.”

“Do you think we shou-” Martin started to ask, when the heavy oak door of the Archives slammed into the wall, the sound of hurried footsteps echoing around the quiet Archives. A few moments later, Jon had rounded the corner, looking haggard and worn. He was wet, scowling as he peeled off his sodden jacket and hung it up to dry on the coat rack near the entrance to the Archives. Strands of dark, wet hair, usually neatly combed, were plastered to the sides of his face, with a few curly wisps sticking up at odd angles. His glasses were smudged with raindrops and his cheeks flushed. He was breathing heavily from running.

“Jon!” Martin said, his voice high and tight. Jon shot him a glare, opening his mouth for a retort.

Before he could say anything, Tim cut in. “We’ve been worried. You alright, Boss?”

“Martin’s just made tea,” Sasha added, holding up her cup to demonstrate. “It’s really good today, you look like you could use a cup.” Sasha gave Martin a pointed look. He jumped up nodding, slipping past Jon to the breakroom.

Jon let out a huff of air at watching Martin go and started for his office. Before he could get there, Tim stretched out an arm to stop him. Not touching him, Tim never touched him; Jon did not like to be touched. “Seriously, Jon. Take a seat and have a cup of tea. You look like you need it, it seems like you’ve had a morning.”

Jon glared at Tim, his whole body tensing as Jon’s chest puffed up. Shit, wrong words, Stoker. Before Tim could try to put the fire out, Jon sighed, pulling his glasses off and running a hand down his face. “Yes, alright,” he said, sounding tired. “That sounds nice.”

Tim smiled, grabbing a chair from the empty desk, and pushing it over to Jon. Jon had begun to run his fingers through his hair, trying to bring it back to some semblance of tidiness and professionalism. “Lay your earthly woes upon us, Boss.”

Martin came back, handing Jon a steaming cup of tea. Jon took a small sip and let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry about being late this morning. I…I was in Bournemouth this weekend. I had planned to be back in London last night, but there was a delay with my train, and it was delayed until this morning. Th-there weren’t any buses leaving last night, either so I had to take a train this morning, and with morning commuters, it had taken longer than I had planned. I was taking the Underground back from the station, and of course, you know how that can be, and I didn’t have any service.” Jon took a quick breath before taking a long drink from his cup, his glasses fogging from the heat of the tea. “I hope I didn’t cause any delays in your schedules.”

Sasha shook her head, “We all were just working on the projects you gave us on Friday. But what were you doing in Bournemouth this weekend? It’s a little too early in the season to be going to the beach.”

“Oh,” Jon said, adjusting his glasses. “I…I was raised in Bournemouth.”

“Have a fun family weekend, then?” Tim asked, elbowing Jon’s side.

“Uh, act-actually,” Jon stammered, his face flushing ever darker than before, “I was in Bournemouth for a church service.” He swallowed, looking down at his shoes. “It…the anniversary of my parents’ passing was this weekend. My grandmother always liked to attend their memorial mass. And, well, now that she’s gone too, it didn’t feel right to…to not go.”

The Archives fell silent. “Oh,” Tim said flatly. “Oh, Jon, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

Jon shook his head, taking another sip of his tea. “It’s alright. I don’t really tell anyone. I don’t really tell anyone because I know how they all act. I was too young when they died to really remember either of them. How can you miss something you don’t remember, right? But I know it always meant a lot to my grandmother, so I still try to make it to their service every year. And hers as well, of course. I’m the only one left, so someone has to do it.”

“You,” Sasha started, looking at Jon with an unreadable expression on her face, “You don’t have any other family?”

Jon looked over at her, his shoulders stiffening. “No, it’s just me now.” Martin made a choked noise, reaching a hand up to cover his mouth as he turned away. “It’s fine,” Jon said, his voice growing harder as he looked to Martin, sitting up straighter, his shoulders curving in slightly. “I’ve been on my own for a while now. And I’m certainly not looking to be pitied.”

“I wasn’t-” Martin began, but Jon cut him off as he got to his feet.

“That’s enough. I have work to finish, as do the rest of you. Martin, I want the research for case #0150409 on my desk by the end of the day. Sasha, I want you to try and get into contact with Mrs. Rosswood from case #0110711. And Tim, I want you to keep working on the statement I gave you last week.” Before any of them could stop him, Jon had placed his half-drank cup of tea on Tim’s desk and had hurried into his office, the door slamming shut behind him.

After their conversation that morning, Jon hadn’t come out of his office for the rest of the day. Tim had offered to stay late, to make sure that Jon went home. When seven o’clock had come and gone, and Jon was still in his office, Tim gently knocked on the door. “Jon,” he called, hoping for an answer. The office was quiet; Jon wasn’t recording a statement. “Hey, it’s getting late. You want to walk out together?”

There was a moment of silence before Tim heard the scrape of Jon’s chair against the stone floor. In a moment, the door to the office pulled open, Jon peeking his head around the corner. Tim didn’t know what he expected Jon to look like after an entire day in his office, but Jon looked fine. Normal. Like nothing had happened at all that day. “I’m sorry, Tim,” Jon said. “I need to finish looking over these reports for Elias before I go home. You should get going.”

“Are you sure?” Tim asked, keeping his voice quiet. It was just the two of them in The Archives. Tim could hear the clock in the assistants’ bullpen ticking loudly. “I don’t mind waiting, or if you need any help, I could lend a hand?”

Jon shook his head, talking a half-step backward as he began to push the door close. “No, it’s alright Tim. There’s nothing about it that you can help me with. I just need some time to finish it. I had planned to finish them this morning, but well, you see how that went. Good night, Tim.” Jon closed the door.

“Night, Jon,” Tim said. He got ready to leave slowly in case Jon had changed his mind. Tim dragged his feet as much as he could but, eventually, he had to give in that Jon wasn’t going to be leaving anytime soon. “Night!” Tim called loudly, with his foot on the first step out of The Archives. He hoped Jon would shout back for Tim to wait, that he was coming, and the two could walk to the Underground together, like they had done back in research. But the office was quiet. Tim let out a sigh, turning and walking up the stairs alone, his footsteps echoing in the quiet. Life in The Institute wasn’t as simple as it used to be.

Tim arrived at The Archives early the next morning, cursing under his breath as he pushed open the heavy, wooden door to the basement. He was balancing a carrier tray full of Styrofoam cups of tea and a brown paper bag filled with muffins and bagels from the cafe on the corner that Sasha enjoys, and praying that he wouldn’t spill anything.

Tim headed straight for the breakroom, gently placing the carrier tray on the sticky plastic table. Tim debated for a moment before grabbing a muffin from the bag and heading back to the bullpen. He hadn’t planned on arriving so early, but he thought he would have to wait in line at the cafe for breakfast and planned to leave his flat early.

He wanted to talk to Jon about yesterday. Tim wanted to talk to Jon to make sure he was alright, that he wasn’t slipping, and that he knew that he had friends. That even if Sasha was upset that she hadn’t been given the Head Archivist position that she still liked Jon. That Tim was there to support him. And even Martin wanted to help.

Jon had been pulling away more and more and Tim was afraid that soon it’d be too late to get him back. Had they been back in Research, if Jon had told either him or Sasha about his parents and grandmother, Jon would have been invited back to Tim’s to spend the night, just so he didn’t have to sit with his thoughts alone. Tim knew what that was like, to grieve alone. And Jon was grieving; he had snapped back at all of them so quickly, Tim knew him well enough to know he was deflecting. And Tim decided that having a treat for breakfast when everyone arrived to work might help to soften Jon up.

Tim sat at the breakroom table, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone as he waited for the others to arrive. Martin came first, looking surprised at Tim’s earlier arrival, and then Sasha. Tim asked each of them to stay in the breakroom with him instead of sitting at their desks and explained his plan. They were going to show Jon just how much they cared. Tim wanted this conversation sooner rather than later.

As nine o’clock approached, and Jon still hadn’t arrived, Tim started to get nervous. He was thinking about trying to call Jon, when Jon walked into the breakroom, two files in his hands. He looked surprised, his dark eyes growing large at seeing the three assistants in the breakroom and not at their desks. Tim hadn’t seen Jon arrive and hadn’t heard him all morning. Tim didn’t think Jon was stealthy enough to make it past all three of them without being noticed, but then Tim realized that Jon was still wearing the same outfit from the day before. “Jon,” Tim said, seriously. “Did you sleep here last night?”

Jon fidgeted for a moment before leveling his glare at Tim. “Good morning to you as well, Tim. Yes, I did. There is a cot in document storage that I used. It was too late last night after finishing my work for me to justify going home, so I simply stayed. Now, if you’re all finished with your breakfast-”

“We’re not,” Tim said, firmly. “And this breakfast is yours too. Take a seat, let’s chat.”

“Tim,” Jon said, his voice flat. A warning. Jon expected a fight.

“We’re friends, Jon,” Tim pleaded. He wanted Jon to remember the late nights they had spent together in research and the too-early mornings with a hangover after a late night at the bar. Tim’s little family had been falling apart at the seams and he needed Jon to remember what they had been. “You can talk to us.”

Jon shook his head. “Tim, there really isn’t anything to talk about. I don’t understand why you’re so insistent about this?”

“Because obviously you’re hurting,” Martin said softly. “Even if you don’t want to admit it to yourself. Especially about your parents and grandmother. You hid in your office all day yesterday. That means something is wrong.” Jon bristled, pulling himself up to bite back, but Martin continued. “It isn’t healthy to just keep feelings bottled up. And you don’t have to talk to me, or well any of us, but if you want to, all of us are here to listen.” Sasha nodded, giving Jon a smile.

Jon looked between the three of them. Tim had made sure that their little intervention was in the breakroom so that Jon didn’t feel cornered. It was even ground and Jon could run if he wanted. But Jon didn’t run. He shifted his weight back and forth, looking uncomfortable. “This,” he started, raising his head to look between the three assistants, “this isn’t a big deal. There are plenty of individuals who have lost their parents or don’t have family left. There are plenty who have it worse than me.”

Sasha nodded, “That might be true. But that doesn’t lessen your pain; that doesn’t stop you from being upset. And you deserve to feel happy, just like they do.”

Jon didn’t take his eyes off Sasha, but he wrapped his arms around his stomach, curling his shoulders in slightly. He looked so small, Tim thought. His glasses had slid down to the tip of his nose, a few wispy strands of gray hair hung loose by his ears. The four stood in silence for a few moments before Jon started to speak again. “I…I was a deeply annoying child.” Martin made a noise of protest, but Jon raised a hand to stop him from talking. “I was, I know I was a…handful, especially for my grandmother. She was my father’s mother and she raised me after my own mother passed. I was so young; I really can’t remember my own parents very well. Just from photos my grandmother showed me and some memories that I genuinely can’t tell whether they were just dreams.

“I missed them, of course. And as long as I can remember, once a year, my grandmother would take me to a church service that was celebrated in their memory and then to visit their graves. It, when I was younger, it all upset me so much. I…I cried through almost every service. And there were other people from town who came to the services. But, well, my memories of my parents started fading and I grew up.

“When we went to the church service, I didn’t cry. I was there more for my grandmother’s sake than anything for myself. And there weren’t as many of our neighbors from town, anymore. It was just me and my grandmother and a few people who attended regularly, they didn’t know my family. It wasn’t even a proper mass, just a small service.

“I…I think I’m…I’m an awful person for feeling like this, but the service never really meant as much to me as it did my grandmother. I’m not very religious; praying never helped me, it never made me feel anything other than foolish. But my grandmother found peace with it. After I moved away, I tried to make it back for the service, but if it didn’t work, I didn’t feel badly about it. But then, my grandmother died and it…it didn’t feel right to not. Like, I was letting all those years of care my grandmother put in go to waste and,” Jon paused, taking in a shaky breath. He had wrapped his arms around his middle and had curled into himself. “It hurts,” Jon said, his voice high-pitched, “that she would put so much care into remembering my parents and not as much into caring about me.” His breath hitched, and Jon doubled over, trying to keep himself from crying. Tim didn’t move. Martin reached out a hand to try and comfort Jon, but Tim brushed him away. Jon didn’t like to be touched, not without his consent.

“And I still went to the service, even though it doesn’t mean anything to me, not like it did for her. And what did I get for it? A writeup from Elias for being late and now the three of you…the three of you, standing here, and…and watching me…”

“The three of us standing here and caring,” Sasha said. “Jon, you aren’t alone. You’ve got the three of us. You’re going to keep having the three of us.”

“Yeah, Boss” Tim said, trying to keep his voice light. “You’re stuck with us. ‘Till death do us part.”

Jon glanced up to Tim, then to Sasha, and finally to Martin. Martin smiled, looking away from Jon’s gaze. “My mum, well, she isn’t always the most…caring person either. I think I know how you feel. But you’re still doing it, I’m sure your grandmother would be proud.”

“And you’re no less of a person for having your own desires from your grandmother,” Sasha said. “You’re okay.”

Jon sniffled, though he still didn’t look convinced. Tim took a hesitant step forward, “Do you want a hug?”

Jon didn’t hesitate before nodding. Tim moved forward, wrapping Jon in his arms, and pulling him against his chest and laying his chin on top of Jon’s head. “More?”

Jon nodded again, pushing himself closer into Tim. Tim laughed, reaching out an arm to invite Sasha and Martin. Sasha swooped in, wrapping herself around Jon’s right side. Martin hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether he was invited or not. Jon shifted against Tim, turning his head to look at Martin. Martin took that as his invitation and moved forward, surrounding Jon on his other side. Martin was large, taller than the other three, and his hug enveloped all of them. Jon’s whole body shuddered, and he began to cry. Tim could feel his shoulders shaking as he let go.

“You’re not alone in this,” Tim said, shifting to rub between Jon’s shoulder blades. “Not in The Archives, not outside of The Archives. You’ve got us. Nothing you do is going to chase us away.”

“Our little family of four,” Sasha joked. “Us against the world.”

“Us against the world,” Martin repeated.

The four of them stood there for a while, holding each other, and being held. There were still problems they had to solve, and Tim knew there were still monsters outside, but for a few minutes everything was alright.

[voldemorthatesnose96]

ABRUPT

My second “first meet” AU of SOBBE. Please enjoy❤️❤️❤️

“Happy birthday to me... happy birthday to me... happy birthday dear Robbe... happy birthday to me...”

A lonely brunette hair guy blows the candle on his birthday cake—well, it’s not actually a cake but a single chocolate cupcake he bought earlier after walking from the morning shift at the mini market. Today is his 20th birthday and Robbe IJzermans is celebrating alone, again. His friends back home and his parents are congratulating him, of course, but it doesn’t feel the same when they’re all together.

Robbe is an exchanged student from Belgium and been studying at University of Central Florida (UCF) for two years now. Time goes too fast, and there isn’t a single moment passed without him missing home and everything.

It’s only eight in the morning. Even though, his body is tired but his mind is restless. Robbe’s already know this kind of situation. There won’t be any use if he’s trying to get some sleep. So instead, after eating his cupcake, he grabs the jacket, backpack and leave his humble flat—suddenly have this idea of going to the theme park and treat himself there.

———————————

It takes more than two hours by train from his flat to Universal Studios, and when he’s finally get there, he whispers to the air, “home!” and smiles to himself as his feet enters the theme park.

Robbe ALWAYS love the theme park, any kind of it; probably the second favorite place in the world besides the local caffe near the college. His inner child screams in utter joy whenever he sees rides such as roller coaster, haunted house—basically, everything.

Wizarding World of Harry Potter is the place where he can NEVER EVER get bored. So many things to do, too many things to buy, but he always saves the rides for later. For now, he just needs to take a walk for a bit to clears his mind. Not many people comes at this hour, so it’s a good thing.

After buying a cold butterbeer, Robbe’s first plan is to see the castle and takes a selfie (if he brave enough).

“Ah, what a beauty!” Robbe says while admiring the Hogwarts Castle from afar. He knows he’s a Hufflepuff through and through but would it be so much more amazing if this school actually exists in real life? A guy can dream.

When he’s satisfy enough looking at the magical castle, Robbe continue his walking to the ice cream parlour. When he’s almost there, for the tenth time since he got there, Robbe stumbles over his own feet and.... he accidentally trips his drink over someone’s t-shirt and also knocks down theirs.

“SHIT SHIT SHIT! I AM SO SORRY! SO SORRY!” He panicks without looking at the person. “I DON’T HAVE TISSUE! SO SO SO SORRY! I STUMBLED OVER MY FEET! YOUR DRINK IS FELL TOO! I’M SO STUPID! SORRY SORRY SORRY! I WILL—“

“Dude, stop!”

Robbe’s body freeze for couple seconds after he looks up and sees a guy around his age, wearing black everything but his bleached hair is making a beautiful contrast to the appearance. This guy’s looking... handsome? Devilishly handsome? In a way; and he’s looking rather pissed.

I’m dead, Robbe thought.

“I’m so sorry. I accidentally—“

“Yeah yeah, I heard you before. You accidentally stumbled over your feet, I know. I’m not deaf. But now what’re you gonna do to fix this? This clothes is expensive. Can you buy me another one?”

Robbe is super embarrassed right now. Cursed his feet and his too-clumsy nature!

“Look, I can make everything’s right again, okay?” He finally manage to find his voice and courage. “I can wash your t-shirt, even your jeans and buy you another drink. But please, forgive me! I’m sorry!”

Not long after, the bleached hair guy snorts and laughs loud; he’s too loud, almost everyone looking at them now.

“OH MY GOD, YOU SHOULD SEE YOUR FACE! YOU LOOK TERRIFIED. SMILE A LITTLE, DUDE! IT WAS JUST A JOKE!”

“W-what?” Robbe asks, genuinely confused.

“This fucking t-shirt isn’t expensive,” the bleached hair guy says after he finally manages to calm himself from laughter. “In fact, I wanted to burn it.”

“But why? It’s nice.”

“Nope, you should buy me a cup of stracciatella ice cream then I’ll talk.”

Robbe can’t believe this weird guy; a total stranger, a little bit bossy but also exciting at the same time can stunned him easily. Feels like there’s an invisible sign above his head that speaks “DANGER!” but to hell with this—it’s still his birthday and no danger will be happened at the theme park, as far as he knows.

“Yeah, okay.” Robbe says as he follows the handsome stranger to the ice cream parlour.

Robbe almost trips when the bleached guy abruptly dead-stop in front of him.

“What is it?”

“Almost forgot,” he says, as he turns around and offers his hand. “Sander, 22, Juilliard student.”

Robbe takes Sander’s hand. It feels warm and strong in his, “Robbe, 20, exchanged student at University of Central Florida.”

Sander smirks, letting go the handshake, “cool. Come on, then!”

After they buy some ice creams and eat them on the spot, both agree to ride a Harry Potter and the Forbidden Journey after this.

While they walking side by side, Robbe says, “now that I’m finally bought you an ice cream, mind to tell why you wanted to burn your clothes?”

Sander doesn’t answer for a minute or two. But when they walking pass the souvenir shop and Robbe’s being a little distracted by the wizard hat in the window, Sander says.

“Because my girlfriend gave it to me,” then he adds. “Well, an ex now.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nah, don’t be,” Sander shakes his head. His voice is surprisingly calm and playful still. “She was cheating on me. Here, at this very park.”

“ARE YOU FOR REAL?!” Robbe absentmindedly yell but quickly compose himself. “I mean, what? Here? That’s not possible!”

“But it IS possible, Robbe.”

“I’m sorry...”

“Stop saying that!” Sander giggles. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. I’m glad I could finally get rid of her!”

“Can we... can we just sit somewhere and talk?”

Robbe doesn’t know where he gets the idea but one thing for sure, he also have the need to pour his heart out too to this guy. They may just know each other less than 2 hours, but... don’t know, but Robbe’s already trust Sander; something that never happen with anybody else, ever. And mostly, he feels that Sander need someone to talk to, even though his exterior speak otherwise.

“Because it’s you, I’ll do it.”

Wait, what? What does it mean because it’s me? Robbe thought, feeling bewildered but doesn’t mind.

“Before I continue,” Sander says after they finally sit at the cafetaria. It’s so crowded now, that they have to wait for almost 15 minutes to get a seat. “Do you think I’m a bad person for saying those things?”

“About?”

“That I’m happy for getting rid of her.”

Robbe shakes his head and smiling softly, “not at all. I swear.”

“Okay, then,” Sander sighs in relief. “We’ve been together for nearly a year now. Ups and downs, of course. But never in my life, even for a second that I thought she’d cheated on me,” he sips his iced-tea before continuing. “Like I said before, I’m a Juilliard student, that’s in New York and she’s in USF, which means we had a long distance relationship. You can still keep up, right?”

Robbe nods, not saying anything.

“Long story short, I just got here yesterday and we’re supposed to have fun today blablabla... then when I came back from the restroom, she was supposed to wait for me near the giant globe but she was nowhere to be seen. Was looking for her for nearly half an hour when I accidentally saw her french-kissed this asshole near the haunted house. Well, I took a pic of them, sent her that and said ‘wow! A public porn!’. She still had the audacity to sent “I CAN EXPLAIN, OK?!” but I blocked her number after that. The end. Happily ever after.”

“Wow...”

Sander gives him a mocking snorts, “that’s it? Just wow? What’s wow about that?”

“Um, sorry. No, of course it’s not a wow. Not that kind of wow. It’s just,” Robbe takes a deep breath to calm himself. Damn this nervousness! “I can’t believe someone actually did that. Cheating and everything.”

Sander lets a huff and rolls his eyes, “but some people could. But enough about me. Let’s talk about you.”

Robbe is a bit perplexed by the sudden change of topic, “me?”

Sander smirks while pierce his stares at him, “only you.”

Why does everything he said does something weird to my heart and stomach??? Robbe thought with annoyance.

“What do you wanna know, then? Ask away!”

“Why are you here alone?”

“Because I want to.”

“Give me a better answer, Robbe.” Sander mocks.

Robbe gulps. He plays his thumbs as self-assurance that what he’s going to say next isn’t that embarrassing.

“Well, today’s actually my birthday and I’m celebrating alone for 2 years now. I’m from Belgium, by the way. I always miss it and my friends.”

Looks like there’s only single information that Sander catch because he says “happy birthday” without making any comment about other things.

After saying that, he smiles as his hand ruffling Robbe’s hair. This gesture make Robbe’s heart beats even faster than before. But it’s only a friendly gesture, right? Like what big brother usually do to his little brother? Or as a friend. Right? No matter what is, he likes it too much to care.

“Thanks.”

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

Robbe laughs at this, “no.”

“Boyfriend?”

“No but I’d love to.”

Sander’s green eyes widen, “so, you’re a...”

“Gay, yep!”

“Good for you,” Sander grins. “But did you realise that you just come out to a stranger?”

“You’re not a stranger anymore,” Robbe mumbles shyly as he holds his glass tighter. “I trust you, Sander.”

Both are silent for few minutes before Sander taking off a necklace around his neck and place in Robbe’s palm. It’s a gold necklace with a mini violin as the pendant.

“Yes?” Robbe asks, utterly confused. His brain’s momentarily has stopped working when their hands touch once again, but this time they linger.

“This is your present.”

“For what?”

“For your birthday, dummy!” Sander says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“No, Sander. I can’t! This is too expensive!” Robbe yelps but the bleached hair guy holds his hand even tighter.

“I need you to keep it!” He demands, “my mom gave it to me for my 4th birthday. It’s for a good luck and now it’s yours.”

“But—”

“I gave it to you, okay? Keep it,” Sander cuts him. “Or if you still insist, give it back to me when we meet again next time.”

“What?”

“I’m having a solo concert at Juilliard in two months. Would you be there?”

At this point, Robbe can never say no to him. Probably ever. He doesn’t know the reason why, but he’s certain that this sudden friendship will turn into something more. Hopefully. God, is he already whipped for someone he just met today?

“Are you gonna play a violin?”

“Yes,” Sander beams. “So? Would you?”

“I’d love to.”

“You promise?”

It’s true that they just met, it’s true that both doesn’t know each other that well yet, it’s true that this is quite abrupt but who would’ve thought, behind Sander’s devil-may-cry attitude, there’s an innocent and child-like insecurity? And Robbe is more than happy to get to know more about this special person.

This time, Robbe place his hand on top of Sander’s hand and whisper gently, “I promise.”

He isn’t sure how it’s gonna be, where it’s gonna lead but just them being like this—it’s more than enough. It left unsaid, but both already understand.

And that’s all that really matters.

[pandastern]

Gravity (Bakugou x OC)

Part 2: New Girl In Town (past)

Bakugou x Vigilante!OC

Warnings: angst, explicit language, violence

Word count: 2005

Genre: enemies to lovers ; angst ; romance

When a new student makes an entrance, Bakugou has a real bad feeling. There is something about this girl that just doesnt feel right. From the flaming hair to the calculating glint in her green eyes, everything about her just pisses him off.

Little does he know that his fate is intertwined with the person he despises so much, defining his future path in a way he would have never expected.

part1

“According to the papers the principal gave me, you got in here based on recommendation from... Europe?”

“Yes, sir,” Artemis answered as she followed her new home room teacher.

Shouta Aizawa was indeed a very successful pro hero, but despite his reputation as Eraser Head, he sure was one weird fellow.

If she hadn't known better, she would have taken him for some homeless person. The yellow atrocity he called a sleeping bag wasn't really working in his favour here though, she thought to herself.

Not that it really mattered, she supposed. After all, appearance wasn't always important. Unless, of course, you knew how to use it in your favour.

“Interesting. The semester has already started, though. Why do you think you can show up later in the course than anyone else? Just because you're an exchange student doesn't mean you get special treatment.” Aizawa's voice cut through her train of thought.

The slight edge to his tone didn't go unnoticed to Artemis.

“The transfer process took a little longer than it should have done. I also had an injury that needed to heal first,” she replied with a shrug. “I was told by the head office it wouldn't be a problem. I don't expect special treatment, sir. I'm more than capable of pulling my weight in class.”

Artemis understood that in this school, teachers made the rules. This kind of tyranny prepared each student differently for their eventual goal: to become a pro hero. Not that she was interested in that. Being a hero nowadays was nothing more than a job. Congrats, you could use your quirk, but at what cost? She wondered how many students were aware of all the restrictions that had been put in place for people like them.

“Do you, now? Your confidence is admirable, but let's see if your actions actually match your words,” the teacher scoffed.

Narrowing her eyes, Artemis studied the man in front of her. Hobo aesthetic or not, there was a danger that lurked beneath the surface, and she'd be a fool to underestimate him.

“All right, class, get in your seats and shut your traps. We've got a new student here with us today,” Aizawa said, kicking open the ridiculously large classroom door. “Ms Moon, introduce yourself quickly and take a seat. I've got a lesson to teach.”

The entire class of 1A perked up. A new student? That was something almost unheard of. Katsuki Bakugou let out a scoff. Another extra in this class. Great. He tore his crimson eyes from the window and looked towards the front of the class.

A girl stepped in. She was rather short for his taste (not that he had a particular taste in women – that was a fucking waste of time). Her long hair was tied up in a ponytail and was coloured... several shades of red. He had to admit he'd never seen such a strange colour combination. Red, auburn, ginger and bright orange ran through her hair, making it look as though her head were literally on fire. Was that a hairdressers' appointment gone wrong? Or had she really been born with hair like that?

Not that he cared, obviously.

Turning towards the class, the girl bowed politely and surveyed the room. Big, luminous, emerald eyes fell on Katsuki, sending a chill down his spine.

What the fuck?

“Hello,” she said. The accent in her Japanese was prominent, though not in a way that made him cringe as it did with so many foreigners, he had to admit.

“My name is Artemis Moon and I've transferred here from a school in Europe. I look forward to working with you all.”

It took just those few words to make the hair on the back of Katsuki's head stand. Something about this girl was... wrong. Again, those creepy catlike eyes met his, and the corners of her lips curved slightly upwards. Katsuki was quick to decide – he already hated her. From the way her posture was as straight as a goddamn soldier's to the calculating glint in her freaky eyes, everything about her just flat-out pissed him off.

He could hear Kaminari and Mineta high fiving each other in the back as the girl, Artemis, moved through the rows and took a seat between Uraraka and the pink girl whose name he'd already forgotten again. She smiled as she made exchanged a few words with them. This seemed normal enough, even though Katsuki could clearly see that the beaming smile this Artemis gave her classmates never truly reached her creepy eyes. How did no-one else notice that?

Morning classes were surprisingly unspectacular for Artemis' taste. Stuff like English wasn't too hard for her, but maths in Japanese was just murder. She'd already figured that as a foreigner, she'd have some sort of problem in that department.

At lunchtime, a very cute, bubbly girl named Ochako Uraraka took Artemis by the sleeve and practically dragged her to the cafeteria. Not that she particularly minded. Artemis was grateful at being introduced to her classmates in this friendly manner. It was a nice group, she found, easy to talk to and get along with.

“Say, Artemis,” a rather outgoing girl with pink skin named Mina (if she remembered correctly) asked. "How do you like UA so far? Is it better than your old school in Europe?”

“Well,” Artemis said, taking a bite from her tempura shrimp, “It's... different. UA High really does have a different standard. The students are nicer, too!”

She gave her new friends a wink.

“In my old class, everyone was constantly at each other's throats. That was because you got kicked from the course if you don't produce the right results.”

“What?!” Izuku Midoriya gasped. “That sounds horrible! What if you were having a bad day?”

“It wasn't as bad as that. But if you failed several times in a row, well, you were fucked.” Artemis shrugged.

The conversation moved along to where she was from exactly and what her family was doing. She made sure her answers were satisfactory but still vague. Neither topic was something she particularly liked to talk about. She hadn't made her way all the way to Japan to be reminded of the shithole she had come from, that was for sure.

As the conversation shifted back to the upcoming classes, Artemis suddenly felt someone's eyes burning into the back of her head. She turned and noticed the same boy from today's class sitting behind her. He'd been staring at her before, when she had introduced herself. If she didn't know better, she'd think he was plotting her death.

“Uhm...” She tapped Uraraka's shoulder. “What's his problem?”

Ochako followed her gesture to the ash blond boy sending a murder stare in her direction.

“Oh. That's Katsuki Bakugou.” She looked a little worried. “He's... something else.”

Raising a brow, Artemis turned to look at Mr Grumpy Pants again. She had the urge to go over and tell him that a picture of her might have lasted longer, but starting an unnecessary fight on her first day seemed like a stupid thing to do.

Suddenly, Bakugou shot up and stomped over to her. Did he have a mind reading quirk or something?

He stopped in front of her and glared down, lips pulling into a snarl. “I don't know who you are, but don't you dare get any fucking stupid ideas. You ain't special just cause you're from Europe or an exchange student. I'm the best person here and I'll stomp your ass into the fucking ground, so don't even try! Fucking loser!” Every word that came from his mouth dripped with arrogance and venom.

Wow, Artemis thought. What an absolute ass. Was he trying to intimidate her? She felt Midoriya shrink some sizes next to her and that told her everything she needed to know about this dick.

She put on her sweetest smile and beamed at Bakugou. “Hello, Artemis! Nice to meet you. My name is Grumpy McTwatface,” she purred in a sickly sweet tone. “Hello, Grumpy McTwatface! How can I help you?” She held out a hand and shook it with her other in a mocking handshake.

Across the table, Kaminari and Mina snorted into their soda glasses. A vein popped up in Bakugou's temple, throbbing dangerously.

“What the fuck did you just say? I'm gonna fucking kill you!” he roared.

Was he being serious? Right here in the cafeteria? Artemis couldn't help but let out a laugh. "Oh, boy. You have a pretty temper there, my man.”

The vein on his temple grew. This shouldn't be as fun as it was. She really shouldn't provoke an obviously short-tempered twat on her first day, but she'd never been good at resisting temptation. Especially if Bakugou's reaction was so damn rewarding.

Artemis turned towards her new friend and sighed deeply. “You know, I spent a summer in France once. My Brother and I still had some firecrackers left over from New Year. He dared me to stick them into those portable potties they have on construction sites, and since both of us were particularly bored, I lit them and did just that.” She gave Bakugou a side glance and continued nonchalantly, “The end product of that little joke reminds me particularly of you... Katsuki Bakugou, was it? A flaming pile of shit.”

He was fuming. Artemis could practically feel the rage radiating off him. The scent of nitroglycerin hung in the air.

Bakugou's hand shot forward, grabbing a fistful of her blouse and ripping her out of her seat onto her feet.

“I'm gonna blow you to bits,” he hissed.

She really shouldn't have risen to it. Artemis knew she should do her best to diffuse the situation. She knew that provoking this guy and making an enemy was a very stupid move. But something about him just asked for it.

“I highly doubt that,” she purred with a smirk. “Barking dogs don't bite.”

Artemis could see her own death in his eyes. Maybe it should have scared her, but the kind of life she'd lived up to this point had made her too destructive to fear for her own safety. His rage pushed her further. There was a thrill in this back and forth that she couldn't explain.

Before Bakugou could respond, the sound of a loud bell cut through the loud noise of chattering students in the cafeteria. Using this distraction, Artemis tore herself from his hands and grabbed her bag off her seat.

“Well, this was nice!” she chirped. “Shall we go?” She turned towards her new friends, who'd been watching the altercation with a mixture of astonishment and worry. Izuku, especially, looked afraid for her life.

“Don't think I'll let you off easy. I'll kick your ass in combat training!” Bakugou snarled at her before turning and stomping off.

“Good lord, that man needs a chill pill,” Mina sighed. “You should be careful, Artemis. If you provoke him too much, he'll go off on you.”

“Oh, I'm counting on it,” Artemis chuckled.

“All right, kids! Time for combat training.” Aizawa's somewhat bored voice echoed through the training grounds.

Artemis stood with her classmates in a little group as the teacher explained the rules of today's activity. His eyes remained glued to her. Something in Artemis' gut told her Aizawa was planning something she wouldn't appreciate. Maybe that was revenge for giving him lip earlier. She sighed and tugged on the jacket of her sports uniform. For a tracksuit, it was rather constricting. She preferred to have her arms bare. Oh well...

Feeling the burn of two crimson eyes on her, she shifted her attention towards Bakugou. He was staring again, shooting daggers at her. Guess she really had pissed him off big time.

“Artemis Moon!!

“Huh?” Artemis hadn't even noticed Aizawa had addressed her. “Yes?”

“I would appreciate it if you paid attention in my class.” The teacher raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms. “You and Bakugou, into the ring, now.”

Well, damn.

[ewokthrowdown]

Prompt number: 15 - “That’s what I’m talking about!”

Fandom fanfiction: Yuri!!! on Ice

Warnings, pairings: None, Victuuri

It was official. Yuuri and Phichit’s landlord was a dick.

“Right in the middle of the holidays and he puts the rent up!” Phichit was saying for the millionth time.

They were lugging boxes of their stuff into their new flat, just four days before Christmas. As though they didn’t have enough to do, what with the holiday work their tutors had set them, the various festive parties, and shopping for presents for their friends who celebrated Christmas. It wasn’t a big thing for either of them, but their friend Leo loved Christmas and it seemed rude when he always got them a little something. So it had become a tradition that their group all exchanged gifts, which meant they had to get four gifts for each of their group of friends, consisting of three other students; Leo, Guang Hong, Seung-Gil and of course Phichit and Yuuri.

“I know it sucks,” Yuuri agreed. “There’s just a two more boxes downstairs then we’re done though.”

“Okay, I’m just gonna get something to drink,” Phichit said, wiping his forehead and digging through the box marked ‘Kitchen’ for a glass.

“Okay,” Yuuri agreed, before telling Vicchan, his toy poodle, who seemed to want to be wherever Yuuri was, to stay.

Vicchan sat with a little huff and Yuuri headed back out into the hallway on his own, going over to the lift to push the button. Usually he’d use the stairs as a good way to stay fit, but with all the up and down they were doing that would get old pretty quickly.

Back down in the lobby Yuuri lifted another box. It was heavy, full of both textbooks and works of fiction. Well at least it was a good arm workout.

“Hey, new to the building?”

The voice came from behind him, and Yuuri turned to see the most beautiful human being he’d ever laid eyes on. He almost dropped the box.

The man was tall and slim, with a shoulder to waist ratio that looked like it was moulded by the fitness gods themselves. He had a sweep of silver hair, short but with a fringe. His skin was smooth and pale as marble, a jawline and cheekbones that could have cut diamonds. And his eyes... Yuuri thought he’d never seen eyes so blue.

Rather than a witty, interesting reply, what came out of Yuuri’s mouth was “mn-wha?” which he wasn’t sure was even a word. His cheeks were on fire, and if his hands were free he would’ve face-palmed.

The man grinned, apparently aware of his effect, and gestured to the remaining box.

“Can I help carry that up?”

“You don’t have to,” Yuuri managed to say, which was an actual sentence at least.

“It’s no bother,” the man said. “I was going to go to the gym anyway, so this is just like a pre-gym warm up.”

Of course he was on his way to the gym, Yuuri thought. You didn’t get a body like that without some serious work.

“Oh, well, if you’re sure it’s no trouble.”

“None at all.”

The man came forward and took the box with Phichit’s books in it. Yuuri’s own arms were starting to ache, but he was determined to keep hold of the box.

“I’m Victor by the way,” the man said once he’d lifted the box. “I live in flat thirteen.”

“Oh, we're on the same corridor then,” Yuuri said, carrying the box over to the lift and nudging the button with his wrist. “I’m Yuuri.”

“Well hey new-neighbour-Yuuri.”

God Victor’s smile was cute.

The lift pinged and they got in together.

“So do you work nearby?” Yuuri asked, trying to do a better job of conversing since his disastrous beginning.

“I actually work from home,” Victor said, his smile easy and charming. “I’m a photographer.”

“Oh cool, you should meet my roommate, he loves photography.”

“We’ll have to compare cameras. So what do you do?”

“I’m a student,” Yuuri said, glancing at the numbers as they climbed. He was very aware of how close they were standing in the little lift. “I study dance.”

“Oh so that explains it,” Victor said, eyes dragging up and down Yuuri’s body in a not at all subtle manner.

“Explains what?” Yuuri asked, butterflies dancing in his stomach.

“The fact that you’ve got the body of a dancer.”

Yuuri’s cheeks flushed even darker than they already were and he spluttered. Victor smirked.

“Do you like dogs?” Victor asked then, which was an odd segue.

“Um, yes,” Yuuri said, blinking in surprise as the lift doors opened. “I have a toy poodle.”

“You do?” Victor asked, his face lighting up. “But I have a poodle! She’s a standard so probably bigger, but what a coincidence!”

Suddenly Victor didn’t seem nearly as intimidating. In fact from the way he was bouncing along next to Yuuri down the hall he seemed quite dorky. It made him, if possible, even cuter.

“Well maybe our dogs can be friends,” Yuuri said, then realised what he’d said and flushed bright red. He’d basically asked Victor on a doggie playdate.

“I think Makkachin would like that very much,” Victor said, grinning at Yuuri as they reached his door and ducked inside.

Phichit was there, apparently bored with hauling boxes and now arranging their potted plants. Yuuri rolled his eyes. True, Victor had carried up the one Phichit would’ve needed to get, but Phichit didn’t know that.

“We’ve got the last boxes,” Yuuri said as he came in and bent to place the box down in the middle of the lounge.

Vicchan bounced over to lick his face, then went to jump up at the new person.

“They’re all up?” Phichit asked, turning to look at them and his eyes widening at the sight of Victor. “That’s what I’m talking about! Good job. And you might be?”

“Victor,” Victor said, stooping to pet Vicchan and cooing at him. “And you must be Yuuri’s roommate and Yuuri’s very cute dog, hello gorgeous, who’s a good boy? You are, yes indeed.”

Yuuri grinned at the sight of Victor fussing over Vicchan, who lapped it all up. Then Victor straightened and offered a hand to Phichit.

“Phichit Chulanont, at your very sexy service,” Phichit said, winking as he shook the offered hand. Victor laughed. Yuuri wanted to die.

“Yes well,” Yuuri interrupted. “It was very nice of Victor to help out.”

“It sure was,” Phichit agreed. “Would you like to stay for a cup of tea to say thank you?”

“I was actually on my way to the gym,” Victor said, gesturing over his shoulder with a thumb.

“I bet you were,” Phichit said, dragging his eyes up and down Victor’s body as Victor had just done to Yuuri. Yuuri elbowed him hard in the ribs.

“Maybe some other time,” Victor said, clearly fighting the urge to laugh. “It was nice to meet you. Maybe I’ll see you around?”

Though it seemed as though he was talking to both of them, his eyes were very firmly fixed on Yuuri.

“Sure,” Yuuri agreed, blushing, which seemed to be his constant state at the moment.

“Alright, see you,” Victor said, and with one final pet to Vicchan he headed out.

As soon as the door closed behind him Phichit punched Yuuri in the arm.

“Our hot neighbour wants to bang you!”

“Shut up! No he doesn’t.”

“Oh so those fuck me eyes he gave you at the end there were all in my head?”

“Well you do have a pretty overactive imagination.”

“Yuuri,” Phichit sighed, as Yuuri went to start unpacking their kitchen stuff. “Just because I was the one who told you about ninety percent of the students at uni are crushing on you does not mean I have an overactive imagination.”

“There’s literally not enough girls and gay guys to make up that percentage.”

“That’s how powerful you are, my man.”

Yuuri threw a tea towel in Phichit’s face.

~~~~~~~

“I’m home!”

Phichit’s voice rang through from the front hall to where Yuuri was in the kitchen, carefully pulling out a tray of cookies from the oven.

“Okaerinasai!”

“What smells so good?” Phichit asked as he stepped into their kitchen.

It was a day later and they’d pretty much done with unpacking, deciding to just get on with it and knock it out in one day.

“I’m baking cookies for Victor to say thank you,” Yuuri explained, nudging Vicchan out of the way where he was dancing around Yuuri’s feet, hoping for a dropped cookie.

“For carrying one box upstairs?” Phichit asked, coming over and hopping up to sit on the counter.

“Well it was a heavy box…”

“You’re whipped.”

“I believe you have to be in a relationship to be whipped.”

“Semantics.”

Yuuri ignored this and went to open up the cake tin for the cookies to go in once they were cool. He figured if he gave the cookies to Victor in a tin of theirs then Victor would have to return the tin and Yuuri would have an excuse to see him again. It was the perfect plan.

Yuuri put a timer on his phone for the cookies to cool, then went and played a little Super Smash Bros with Phichit before it went off. He put the cookies in the tin and tugged on his shoes.

“Good luck getting the booty,” Phichit called from the couch as Yuuri passed.

Yuuri gave him the finger.

Moments later he was stood outside of flat thirteen, hesitating. Before he could overthink his decision he knocked.

“Coming!” Victor’s voice called from inside and Yuuri felt his stomach clench in anticipation and nerves.

Moments later the lock clicked and the door swung open. Yuuri dropped the cookies.

Victor was in a towel, just a towel. He’d clearly just got out of the shower, his perfectly chiselled torso still a little wet, drops of water rolling over perfectly cut abs. Yuuri’s brain entirely short circuited. He felt like he’d been smacked over the head with a battering ram and all he could do was blink at Victor.

“Yuuri?” Victor asked, eyeing him with some concern. “Are you okay?”

“Guh.”

Yuuri wanted to die. He managed to pull himself back together enough and firmly looked anywhere but at Victor, his eyes fixed on the floor as he swooped to pick up the tin of cookies and held them out.

“I made you cookies to say thank you for helping with the box,” Yuuri explained, his cheeks hot enough to bake another batch. “They’re chocolate chip.”

“Oh!” Victor exclaimed, reaching out and taking the tin. “That’s so sweet of you! You really didn’t have to…”

“It’s okay,” Yuuri said, his eyes firmly fixed on the floor. “Well… bye.”

Then Yuuri fled.

Phichit laughed at him for a solid fifteen minutes when he managed to get the story out of Yuuri, who was still lying facedown on the floor of their lounge an hour later. Vicchan stood on his back in what was clearly an attempt to help.

~~~~~~~

Yuuri looked up from where he was stretched into a split at the sound of a knock on the door a few days later.

“It’s open!” he called, a little embarrassed that he was in such a tiny pair of booty shorts for doing yoga but figured that it was his flat anyway.

He looked over his shoulder to see Victor walk into the lounge. He dropped the cookie tin he was holding. Vicchan let out a bark of surprise at the noise.

“Victor?” Yuuri asked, perplexed by the stunned look on Victor’s face. At least Victor was fully dressed this time, though the jeans were practically painted on.

Victor mumbled something in what sounded like Russian and wiped a hand over his face, his eyes very wide and his cheeks flushed pink. Yuuri moved out of the splits and stood, turning to face him.

“Everything okay?” he asked, going over to where Victor was bending to pick up the tin.

“No, I mean yes, everything’s perfect, everything’s thighs, I mean fine!”

Yuuri had never seen Victor looking so flustered. It was kind of cute actually, the way his cheeks had gone pink and his eyes kept flitting to Yuuri then away.

“You finished the cookies?” Yuuri asked, reaching out to take the tin with a smirk, his confidence growing.

“Yes, they were very good,” Victor said, still looking flustered.

“I’m glad,” Yuuri said. Then, daringly, “I was just finishing up, want a cup of tea?”

“Oh, um, yes, that’d be nice.”

Half an hour later they’d exchanged numbers and agreed to a dinner date on Friday night. Though they didn’t wait until then to make out on the couch. Phichit walked in on them and whooped so loudly Victor fell off the couch. Yuuri tackled Phichit and gave him a noogie.

[kunrendeotaku]

Chapter 7

My max level cleaning and organization skills have my room once again returned to normal within only a few hours. Everything in its place, other than the fragile collectibles I had a small tear filled funeral for. I flop back onto my bed and let finally relax, the exhaustion of the very, very busy day getting to me. Still, one last check. I glance around and see all of my many knitted rugs from grandma covering basically every surface, my sturdy wood desk and dresser in their respective corners, my blessedly undamaged laptop sitting on my desk, my inspirational karate posters on the walls, my newly cracked television, and finally my thin, pale blue silk pajamas-currently on my body.

I nod to myself, satisfied with the final check, and slide under my wonderfully soft brown comforter. As soon as I close my eyes, I….do not manage to fall asleep. I feel a powerful thwack as a heavy object lands on my stomach, and my eyes bug out as they fly open. “Marco!” God, will my ears ever get used to that shrill scream? I really need to teach Star about inside voices. As you might expect, I find a blonde who looks like she’s just chugged three cups of espresso sitting on my stomach, bouncing up and down with an excited expression. “How can you be trying to sleep?! We’re having our first sleepover!”

Sleep grumpiness gets to me more than anything, and I grab the edge of my comforter. As the heavy girl tilts her head, I snap the brown comforter and toss her off of my bed with a hmph. She waves her arms wildly to try to catch her balance rather than falling flat on her face, and somehow manages to land on her feet. “Safe.” I take this time to finally appreciate what the girl is wearing, and see that Star also enjoys a shade of blue for her sleepwear. Darker than mine, and made of a lighter variant of the weird almost silk all of her clothes are made of, the blue nightdress has a half moon on the front. Below that, she’s traded out her leggings for thick striped socks.

The glance at her feet reminds me of our earlier shower adventure, and I blush for a moment. The embarrassment at least wakes me up enough to consider a conversation with her, and I grumble out “We’re literally living together. This does -not- count as a sleepover. Also, I’m exhausted. Can we do this tomorrow?” I’ve sat up in my comfy bed by this point, but by the end of my last sentence I can feel my eyelids rebelliously attempting to close. Star seems unwilling to allow me any amount of rest when fun can be had, however, and raises up her wand to point it at me.

“Shining Sugar Ru-” My hand snaps up to cover the front of her glowing wand just as the pink beam is almost finished charging, and I say “Nope. None of that.” I didn’t quite realize exactly how bad of an idea this was in my sleep deprived state, and later I couldn’t repeat this particular feat (no matter how much I wanted to) but apparently sleepy Marco couldn’t give two shits about how things should work. I flop back onto the pillow and begin snoring almost immediately while Star stares dumbfounded at the wand which had obediently stopped its spell cold.

The next thing I know, its Saturday morning at 6 am and I’m wide awake. I wish I could find it in myself to be annoyed at my inability to sleep in, but I have a confession to make-I’m a morning person, through and through. Just seeing the sun just past sunrise puts a massive smile on my face, and I find myself humming happily while dressing for the day. I head downstairs as soon as I’m in my standard hoodie with black jeans combo, and find my parents already hard at work in the kitchen. “Getting Star’s welcome cake ready?”

“Oh, yes Mijo! We’re currently wondering how much sugar is too much. She’s already quite the hyper girl, yes?” I snort at that. “She’ll be herself regardless, just put the normal stuff in. I wonder if she’s allergic to anything? Hey Mom, Star had, uh, a chat with you last night right?” The awkwardness of the question pierces through my early morning cheer only slightly, and seems unable to affect my parents at all. My mother answers “Yes, yes, she’s… got a lot to learn! But I think I passed on the basic girl to girl stuff.” She gives me a wink, then waves towards the living room. “Go put up the sign! We can’t have her first morning here be any less than wonderful! You know how homesick exchange students can get.”

I simply nod, glad that my parents share my morning person tendencies. We’ve long gotten into a habit where we throw a celebration for exchange students the morning after they move in-most of the time they can make it through the night on sheer excitement, but a lot feel worried when they wake up in a new place. I think if our tradition helps them feel at home, if only slightly. A few minutes later I have our balloons set up, along with the sign saying “Happy First Day on Earth, Star!”. With that, preparations are almost complete, and I begin thinking about my personal plans for the day.

I’ll likely be paired with Star throughout it all. She’s the target of those monsters, after all! So, first there will be a trip over to the school to pick up my bike, then I can show her around the town. Pick up some lunch at McDonalds (She’s sure to love that), then swing by Ferguson’s place to introduce her. Alfonso pretty much lives there, so she should meet with him too. I pull out my personal notepad and click a pen to start scheduling each thing down to the half hour, even knowing that considering my travel partner for the day -some- sort of chaos will happen and knock us off course.

By the time I finish, I see a sleepy looking Star still in her nightwear walking down the stairs, and I call my parents over quickly. We stand under the sign, cake lit with only a single candle, and yell out “Welcome Home!” Star jumps nearly a foot in the air, scrambling to aim her wand at us before letting out a gasp. Her eyes widen and she jumps again, this time with an excited squee. The energetic ball of fun rolls over the rail and begins dashing towards us, her stomping feet waking up the sleeping puppies who start a storm of yips and laser beams.

“Gimme gimme gimme gimme!” Star flexes her hands as she fidgets in place, only having eyes for the cake. My family and I share a somewhat bemused look, before my father hands it over. Our new foreign exchange student immediately smashes her face into the icing, to the mild horror of my parents. “I spent half an hour drawing her face on that.” My father’s voice trembles, but he manages a shaky smile when Star finally comes back up for air. “Its sho good! Thanksh for the cake!”

I find myself wondering if she can even taste what flavor it is by the way she’s inhaling it down, but before I can ask her she starts running back up the stairs with the half eaten cake. We never saw the plate we had handed it to her on after that-I personally think she stashed the whole thing in her secrets closet as a memento, though such realizations happened much later in our story. As soon as the blonde force of mayhem is out of sigh, my father flops onto the couch with a sigh. “Come on now Rafael, at least she was clearly happy, right? I mean, I think.” My mother pats his burly shoulder in an attempt to convince him that his work wasn’t in vain, though I find myself thinking she may have reacted the same had we given her a blank vanilla cake with bland icing. Star just seems easily excited by things.

My father has mostly recovered by the time Star skips back down the stairs. Fully dressed and with a newly clean face that only smells slightly of icing, she appears ready to take on the world. “Hey, I’m gonna take Star out to see the town. See you around dinner.” My parents wave back, their exuberance almost at normal levels. We all have some things to get used to. “Alright Mijo, have fun!” Star snags my arm and drags me out onto the street, nearly vibrating in place with her readiness to do things. “What’re we gonna do first?! Go dancing? Start a party? Head to your marketplace for some SHOPPING?!”

Ignoring her slightly odd terminology, I peel her hands off of my arm and inform her “We’re going back to school.” The crumpling of her happiness and the sad faces that pop up on her cheeks make me far more entertained than is probably healthy.

[yogaposesfortwo]

The Future of Yoga: The Change We Need

We look at diversity, equity, job security, and online teaching during a post-COVID era. This story is a component of a series covering the longer term of yoga during and after the coronavirus pandemic. Here, we take a glance at the challenging issues the yoga industry faces. Read more about the role unionization may play in addressing those challenges in our first story: As COVID-19 Reveals the Cracks within the Yoga Industry, Could a Universal Teachers’ Union Help Reshape Our Community? One month before the announcement of the permanent closures of the YogaWorks ny studios that were announced in April, I spoke with the changemakers on the front lines of unionization efforts on a Zoom call; a couple of YogaWorks NY teachers who formed the collective, Unionize Yoga—a first-ever yoga teachers’ union to become certified by the National Labor Relations Board (NLRB). Accompanied by a politician from the International Association of Machinists and Aerospace Workers (IAMAW), the union that represents them, the teachers discussed the important issues that were plaguing our industry long before the coronavirus pandemic had arrived, including a scarcity of diversity, job security, and benefits like insurance and paid leave . It was the first days of COVID-19. Social distancing measures and sanitization protocols were mounting because the word “quarantine” quickly became the new normal. Industry-wide shutdowns of yoga studios and cancelations of retreats and festivals soon rippled throughout the country and round the world, ny City prepared to shelter-in-place. Here’s what I asked them—and what I learned about what the longer term of yoga could appear as if during a post-pandemic world.

Is Industry-Wide Diversity and Equity Even Possible?

One of the most important problems perpetuated by the yoga and wellness industry is its homogeneity and reinforcement of said that folks like male teachers, but I’ve said, how does one know that folks don’t like black teachers—or any teacher of color?” It’s already hard enough for white individuals to form a living as yoga teachers—there aren’t enough jobs; we’re only too conversant in the unsettling statistic that for each one yoga teacher there are two more in training. during a market that’s already oversaturated with teachers who can afford the prices of teacher training—ranging anywhere from a fast-track online program for $500 to an in-depth offering with a renowned yogalebrity for $10,000—imagine what it’s like for minority groups vying for teaching positions who are, by the sheer demographics of the industry, outnumbered by the white majority. Demens says she’s looking forward to what a possible teachers’ union could mean for diversity within the industry at large. She’s looked to history for inspiration, and learned about the black sanitation workers in Memphis, TN, who had formed a union back within the 1960s. She says they too faced problems with unfair pay, and a scarcity of job security and safety. At the time, she says, black people weren't allowed to organize—but following two deaths from a dustcart malfunction and therefore the city’s refusal to exchange the defective equipment, the workers went on strike. “They went through such a lot , but they never gave up,” Demens said. “They fought hard and that they eventually won—and not only for themselves; what they did impacted the civil rights movement and therefore the fight for labor rights.” Demens points out how the win in Memphis helped many black people shift into the center class. “I think many of us , myself included, often feel overlooked—and that I even have no voice or say in what goes on during this industry or how I’m viewed within the community,” she said. While Demens doesn’t know whether a yoga union might be as powerful or effective as what had happened in Memphis, she acknowledges how unions can help people feel supported and of significance, and empower them to face up for what they believe . “Diversity is a problem everywhere—and it’s not really seen as something that’s missing. generally , we check a box if we've one person of color on a teaching schedule. It’s not fair to not even be considered. It’s not fair that even when I’m given an opportunity , it’s Monday at 2:30 within the afternoon. Who’s gonna come thereto class? My goal has been to try to to what I can to form yoga available to the folks that I know—people that appear as if me—and understanding the way to meet those people where they're . i feel that a yoga union would help make yoga classes available to more people. I’ve seen efforts toward this—my teachers offer scholarships to women of color. It’s healing to ascertain those shifts which thought and energy . I once taught a restorative class in Crown Heights at 4 p.m., to those women who were total BFFs; these old black women who looked a bit like my grandmother. The way they checked out me it had been like they were pleased with me, and once I checked out them I saw my grandmother. So once I teach now, I act as if I were teaching my grandmother. I’m not getting to shout at at her; I’m getting to set her up within the pose. As an Iyengar teacher all I can do is give commands—so it made me believe how could get more women like my grandmother to return to my class; more women like this. Whats missing is we'd like more stories like that. i would like to assist get these conversations going. one among my students recently reached bent me and asked me to start out teaching online classes. So I began to build a schedule that works on behalf of me . Before I had to require what I could get. Now I can run my classes the way i would like and provides my students what they have . An Asian women came to at least one of my classes to “rest her brain”—she said she was hurt by the toll the pandemic had taken on China, so I offered her restorative and pranayama. I wouldn’t are ready to do this before because i used to be always told I had to urge people moving. Now I can help people and provides them what they really need. With numerous people laid off and knowing that there’s some benefit they will get from class, I aks myself how do I make my clases more available and accessible to them.” –Deidra Demens, 500-hour Certified Yoga Teacher, Level 1 Iyengar Teacher

What Does Job Security Look Like in An Uncertain Future?

Some teachers may say they’re paid a good wage, but there are countless others who would argue they’re not. There are other teachers who would probably say that they've never been purchased their classes in the least . In my personal experience as an educator , I’ve made anywhere from $5 to $150 for one hour session, counting on whether i used to be paid per head ($5 = 1 student came) or a flat rate (corporate yoga or a yoga festival appearance). In most cases, yoga teachers work as independent contractors instead of as part-time employees of a studio, which, because the union points out, can save the studio money on unemployment insurance and workers compensation. YogaWorks has been an anomaly therein regard, since its teachers are employed either part- or full-time, and also are eligible surely benefits. But YogaWorks teachers need to work on least 10 hours per week to be eligible surely benefits—and Unionize Yoga believes that those benefits should be available to all or any . Still, generally speaking, yoga teachers rarely have job security, nor can most of them make an inexpensive living by teaching alone. There are many teachers who make it work by piecing together income from multiple studios, while others may rely solely on one because they’ve signed a non-compete clause. What happens when alittle , independent studio is struggling and has got to suddenly close, then those teachers are out of work? Or what happens when the economy reopens and we’re on the opposite side of the pandemic—how many studios will even survive and, what percentage teachers will still be out of work? very similar to the industry and aspects of the gig economy, the shortage of job security within the yoga world is being illuminated by the present depression . During quarantine and in survival mode, teachers have begun to understand the potential for generating revenue streams online without a brick-and-mortar studio. An unprecedented number of studios and teachers alike have migrated to measure stream classes and joined the Zoom boom, which, counting on time of day, scale of online and social media presence, and whether or not they’re giving content away for free of charge , may or not be understanding . There are teachers who’ve had upwards of 100 students during a single class, while others may even see just a couple in less desirable timeslot (what is that the new “prime time” for quarantine practice, anyway?). Other teachers, meanwhile, have expressed worry about those who’ve been giving their content away for free of charge , explaining that it devalues their expertise. Veronica Perretti, a former YogaWorks teacher and former NY teacher manager for YogaWorks, started her own online platform outside of the corporate mid-March, just following the announcement of the initial temporary studio closures. Though she had voted against the NY teachers’ union last fall, she’s still an advocate for teacher-owned businesses and believes that teachers should charge what they’re worth. “I replaced my monthly YogaWorks income within the matter of 1 week with my new online membership program,” Perretti said. “I think this is often subsequent frontier of teaching yoga.” She says this is often a flash for teachers to require ownership of their business outside of the studio and make a community that knows no bounds. “I don’t need YogaWorks to offer me a platform to show ,” she says. “I’m creating it for myself.” Just before the arrival of the coronavirus within the us , Unionize Yoga founding member Markella Los, gave up her group classes at YogaWorks and her position as an educator trainer, and subsequently, her involvement with the YogaWorks NY union. Her shift to specialise in one-on-one instruction and online community building was a timely one, and now, Los is committed to assist ing other teachers outside of YogaWorks mobilize and make solutions to help make the profession more sustainable. In May, Los launched The Connective, a web “teacher-powered” collective that aims to diversify the yoga industry and lift its standards. How The Connective holds up during a post-coronavirus world remains to be seen, since running your own business equates to even less protection when it involves job security, but Los seems optimistic, despite that the traditional could potentially pose more risk for teachers. “The current crisis is highlighting issues and insecurities of what it means to be an educator that tons folks already knew were there. Who gets to make a decision what the yoga industry seems like and who’s in it? What I could see happening is that inequities are further perpetuated, but in a web forum. I could see a direction during which business continues as was common , but within the ‘wild west.’ But what I also can see is a chance to course-correct; to arrange and have conversations around online teacher-owned businesses. There’s multiple ways for people to organize—it’s only limited by your collective creativity. Teachers are talking for therefore long about the thought or need for a yoga teachers’ union, and it never happened. It felt love it couldn’t be done. the very fact that we’ve shown it are often done shifts the scope of what is possible. Teachers reach bent us to seek out out what we did and the way to start out something on their own. we've a voice, we’re starting conversations, we’re connecting and being honest with what we’re all handling . Our goal has always been to boost industry standards overall—and for the profession to become more sustainable for anyone who wants to be in it. for much longer than I even have been teaching, people have talked about the thought or need for a yoga teachers’ union. They talked about it for therefore long and it never happened; it felt love it couldn’t be done. the very fact that we showed that it might be done shifts the scope of what is possible. It’s been a tremendous facilitator for conversation—teachers reach bent determine what we did and the way to start out something on their own. We’re starting important conversations; we’re connecting and being honest with what we are all handling . That’s been a hugely important profound shift. –Markella Los, 500-hour Certified Yoga Teacher; Yoga Tune Up YogaWorks, Trauma-Conscious Yoga Method, FRC Mobility Specialist

Are Yoga Teachers Entitled to Healthcare, Regardless of Hours Worked?

As London-based teacher Norman Blair wrote in his blog, “How can we stay well when working within the wellness industry?” Whenever an educator gets sick, they'll ‘power through’ and teach anyway (it’s only an hour, right?), putting the health of their students in danger also as their own. the choice , of course, is to seek out a sub. Either way, the teachers who are independent contractors don’t get paid once they don’t teach. Worse, when an educator is injured and out of labor , how can they still make ends meet? The COVID-19 pandemic has revealed how easily anyone can become ill, no matter their physical health. It’s a deadly reminder of the very fact that many Americans still live without insurance . Unionize Yoga believes that, like all trained worker , yoga teachers need and deserve benefits like healthcare. YogaWorks teachers, unlike most teachers at independent studios, are regular employees of the corporate , not independent contractors, which is why they’re eligible for perks like wage and which is additionally why they might legally form a union within the corporate . And though YogaWorks employees who work 10 classes per week (or equivalent) are considered full-time, consistent with Unionize Yoga, no teacher at YogaWorks NY had worked that a lot of hours. the amount of hours worked, of course, doesn't include the countless ‘invisible hours’ (class prep, travel, training, etc.), involved in teaching a category . Unionize Yoga says that healthcare benefits should be made available to all or any teachers, no matter hours worked. The common practice, a minimum of within the U.S., is that insurance usually applies only to those that work full-time, or part-time at a particular number of hours. But Unionize Yoga says that there’s no reason why a part-time teacher can’t be entitled thereto same fundamental right. YogaWorks, however, states otherwise, citing the company’s already existing benefits package as a rare exception within the yoga world—and the sole company within the industry to supply a leave policy. "YogaWorks is that the winner within the industry in providing benefits like health care coverage and 401k plans to full-time teachers, while also ensuring that each one among our teachers is an employee with all applicable benefits, including wage and hour protection, unemployment insurance, leave pay, family leave, and workers compensation,” a spokesperson from YogaWorks told me in an email. “We believe our extraordinary retention among our teachers, many spending decades with the corporate , may be a testament to our commitment to them and to the above market wages we offer altogether of our markets.” David DiMaria, a representative of the International Association of Machinists and Aerospace Workers’ (IAMAW) Eastern territory, works with new groups who’ve organized to make a union. He explains that independent contractors aren't covered by the National Labor Relations Act (NLRA), which allows unions to legally form within companies. However, very similar to Uber drivers did in ny , independent contractors can still organize—just not within an equivalent legal framework of a formally recognized union that gives workers with additional rights. DiMaria understands the political and financial challenges that accompany fighting for healthcare, but believes that if yoga teachers were to arrange in greater numbers across different employers, that it’s doable within the future . very similar to actors’ unions, which believe contributions made by multiple employers, he says that following an identical model could mean that nobody employer would need to bear the high cost of insurance for his or her employees alone, which teachers could qualify for benefits no matter the amount of hours worked. “It’s a very tough issue due to the character of labor . Some teachers teach one class every week and a few teach five. We are watching ways to supply some level of advantages for everybody , but we are so early within the process that it’s timely to inform . We are bargaining over different issues and it’s all contingent agreeing to the entire contract, we won’t have an agreement until each side ratify. But once we last met with the corporate there was movement on their end. consider it sort of a junior high school dance, it begins with people on opposite sides of the space , but eventually everyone starts dancing.” –David DiMaria, Eastern Territory Organizing Lead, IAMAW

Should Studios Prioritize Teachers’ Pay Over Student Numbers?

Yoga studios, regardless of what size, exist due to yoga teachers. and lots of teachers have said that enormous companies like YogaWorks and CorePower, which are owned by private equity firms, could compensate their teachers with better living wages (the teacher-led lawsuit against CorePower in 2019 cited underpaid wages). Unionize Yoga says that a good wage is one that increases over time with experience, and considers other factors like the rising costs of living. (A quick disclosure: As a former YogaWorks NY teacher, my flat rate, when averaged over time, was still superior in comparison with the smaller studios that had paid me per head.) the matter with YogaWorks’ pay scale, however, as some YogaWorks NY teachers have said, had been the shortage of transparency about its pay system. Christine Festa, a yoga teacher and coach in Southeast Florida who completed her 200- and 300-hour teacher trainings at YogaWorks NY and NJ, agrees, and says it’s the massive companies who should be leading the industry by example. “There shouldn’t be of these different teachers at different pay rates,” she told me, flagging nepotism together potential issue. “There should be a group structure that's shared among teachers in order that all teachers understand where they substitute the combination of things; in order that they know where they’ll go as they progress in their career.” Festa is notoriously outspoken on social media about problems within the industry at large, and coaches yoga teachers on the way to become more self-sufficient by generating new revenue streams outside of studios. Tamar Samir, another founding member of Unionize Yoga and a YogaWorks NY teacher since 2010, says she’s an advocate for teachers. She’s argued for transparency around pay, and for various ‘pay bands,’ or layers of pay, that increase supported experience (Samir has completed over 1,500 hours of training). She suggests that there has got to be how for both the studio and teacher to financially flourish together. Yet as an accomplished creative director and professor of design at Parsons School of Design and Pratt in ny , Samir doesn’t necessarily believe teaching yoga to pay her bills. But when YogaWorks announced that it might close its Westside studio in late-2018 with only three weeks' notice, she realized just how fragile the industry are often for the typical teacher. Though the corporate took measures to reassign teachers elsewhere, the relationships between those teachers and therefore the students who’d been coming to their classes were broken—an entire community dissolved almost in a moment . “One of the items i assumed about after being during this industry for 10 plus years was that I even have tons less to lose than people . It became very clear there have been inequities, and that i have seen an equivalent patterns repeat over and once again . There’s a dichotomy between how yoga is presented publicly and what teaching yoga is really like behind-the-scenes. We see Instagram posts where teachers look beautiful, healthy, and peaceful, but all folks know that that's not actually the case in the least . Many teachers live in small apartments and earning under the poverty level . So maybe they’re accomplished on Instagram, but they’re also doing a waitressing or bartending job that they are not telling the planet about. there is a quite hypocrisy that’s built into the profession; you've got to present yourself as a picture of health and prosperity. It makes it harder for people to advocate for themselves. That’s why we’re the reality tellers—we’re telling people what a yoga teacher’s life is basically like. Yoga is about solidarity and connectedness—which should be a no brainer for yogis. –Tamar Samir, Creative Director and Yoga Teacher

Should Seniority and Experience Be Rewarded?

In most other professions, a worker receives a raise in their salary supported their performance, whether by appointment to a higher-level position supported seniority or through adequate compensation supported experience. The yoga industry, at large, has no such pay structure. In most cases, an educator just out of teacher training could also be paid an equivalent interest rate that increases per student as an educator with 10 years or more of experience. this suggests that a lot of teachers are rewarded for his or her personality and following, versus experience, while others may simply get lucky and secure lucrative time slots for his or her classes. When compared with the restaurant industry, for instance , a server with more seniority often gets the higher section, and walks away with 3 times the maximum amount take advantage their pocket on any given night as a less experienced server in another section. But many restaurants now have mandatory tip pooling systems in an effort to be more fair to their employees across the board. While pooled class earnings for yoga teachers might not be the foremost practical solution, Unionize Yoga is lobbying for a transparent pay structure that rewards teachers supported their skills and knowledge , instead of leaving it up to the luck of the draw or a robust personality with an outsized social media presence to urge ahead. German-born Nora Heillman, a performance artist turned yoga teacher, moved to ny from Amsterdam in 2013 where she met her wife, Samir. She recalls the first days as an immigrant in ny when she took whatever work she could get, teaching very early or late in the dark for little or no money. But after five years, exhausted and depleted, she found herself wondering how she’d be ready to continue—or what would happen if she got sick or ever wanted to retire at some point. As a yoga and meditation teacher with 13 years of experience and quite 1,600 hours of coaching , Heillman says she’s cycled through 12 studios in 5 years, many of which have closed, including 3 YogaWorks locations at the time of this interview (Heillman had been an educator at YogaWorks since 2014). She recalls the frustration of going to an area where she finally felt financially secure enough to pay her bills, just in time for an additional studio to shut its doors. Heillman recalls the sense of urgency that followed the closure of the YogaWorks Westside location in 2018; the belief of the shortage of sustainability within the profession— even as sustainability was becoming a buzzword, she says. That’s when she, Samir, and Los began their initial discussions that led to the first formation of the Teachers’ Initiative. “There are teachers at YogaWorks who are teaching for 25 years. We don’t have regular raises or evaluation meetings per annum like other jobs, since that’s not a typical within the yoga world. Teachers need to fight for a raise or salary that they might wish to see themselves at. And sometimes, after a few years of teaching, maybe they’ll have an honest salary, on the other hand a studio starts to limit classes and convey in new teachers at a lower rate who’ve just begin of coaching , because it’s less costly for the studio. There’s no financial security for teachers with more experience. That’s why we’re advocating for teachers with the foremost experience, especially those who’ve been at an equivalent studio for several years. They’re those who should have first access to classes opening up. There must be some career path for growth; knowing that your salary will go up if you persist with the corporate . Some teachers’ salaries haven’t gone up in 15 years at YogaWorks and at other studios, when now we pay $1,000 more dollars in rent per month than we did years ago. It’s a pity when a studio loses a highly qualified teacher because they’re burned-out and throwing in the towel of the profession. I just take what's offered to me, but i do know it’s the louder personalities who get $30 more per class. If you are not a fighter, you would possibly be teaching for low pay your whole life. How would any folks have navigated the present crisis without having had the community we’ve created through the union? we actually do support one another through all of this.” –Nora Heillmann, Yoga Teacher

The Next Step for Yoga

We have found ourselves during a moment where everything is changing and nobody really knows what the post-COVID yoga world are going to be like—with or without a union. Digital platforms could morph into an amplified version of a contest , rewarding only those that are highly skilled at self-promotion and social media marketing. Many studios will close and businesses will inevitably fail. For people who survive and remain open, the longer term of yoga—at least the foreseeable one—is a special place then once we left it. A future that limits in-studio class offerings, ushers students into a building one-by-one to require their temperatures, then caps the space at 6 to eight students. A world where students are inhaling and exhaling into their face masks with their mats strategically placed six feet apart. a wierd new reality where fears of germs are but a continuing , where extreme disinfectant and sanitization measures put anyone who’s willing to steer into a studio jittery . In some ways, it might appear to be going back to the way things were is like trying to force a square peg into a round hole. Maybe there's no going back. Maybe this this is often our moment, as an industry, to change, collaborate, create, and innovate—to transcend beyond studio walls. As we glance toward the longer term , as uncertain because it could seem at the present , perhaps we might all enjoy identifying what we don’t want the industry to seem like by acknowledging what it isn’t. It’s never the past neither is it our attachments thereto . The solutions aren't getting to be found by forcing things to be as they once were. As my teacher and studio owner, Jill Sockman, said during a virtual government building meeting on concentrate May as she announced the closure of her brick-and-mortar space in Raleigh, Blue Lotus, (where I had taught and practiced before the pandemic), “We’re not getting to find ‘the yoga’ by fighting what is; we can’t avoid doing the hard thing because it’s uncomfortable.” Author: Andrea Rice Source: https://www.yogajournal.com/teach/future-of-yoga-post-covid Discover more info about Yoga Poses for Two People here: Yoga Poses for Two Read the full article