#anyway she drops out of school but stays living in london splitting an apartment with jazza and works as a barista and ends up running into

[bitchthefuck1]

I feel like everybody has at least one highly specific AU that just rotates in their brain 24/7 like a rotisserie chicken

[kohanayaki]

.:Time And Time Again:. (Marauders Era x Reader) Ch 1

Old habits die hard— and so do feelings, apparently. Relive moments high and low from your life with the Marauders and co. as you tell your godson, Harry, about all the mischief you got up to back in your school days. Takes place mainly in the Marauders era but also has content congruent with the Order of the Phoenix timeline, with some cannon divergence, of course~

- Main pairings: Sirius Black x Reader, Severus Snape x Reader, James Potter x Reader, Remus Lupin x Reader, slight Regulus Black x Reader, and a bunch of friendships! Gender neutral pronouns :)

LINKS:   CH 1   CH 2   CH 3   CH 4   CH 5   CH 6   CH 7   CH 8

____________________________________________________________

Ch 1 .:Memories And First Meetings:.

12 Grimmauld Place was cold.

Not in the temperature sense of the word, especially in the heat of London summer, but something about it felt distant. Perhaps it was the cookie cutter exterior, dreadfully drab, although you knew its true nature was anything but. Despite its grandeur, the interior was as ornate as it was dull and unsaturated, like a black and white photograph in all its monochromatic glory. Maybe it was the fact that you knew what had happened here in the past, or the fact that you knew who was waiting here for you in the present.

You felt the strange sensation of stepping through the thick blanket of protection charms surrounding the house, as if your body were moving through molasses for a fraction of a second. The moment you were fully inside, you began to hear the hushed bits of a conversation echoing through the entrance hall from the dining room whose door was slightly ajar. The words became clearer as you neared the door.

“Harry's not ready! Have you gone completely mad?”

You found yourself grinning at the first voice, Molly Weasley's stern tone unmistakable.

“He's not a child, Molly.”

You froze as you heard the second one; you'd know it anywhere.

A heavy wave of emotion surged through you as you got near enough to the entrance to see the face of Sirius Black through the gap in the door. His time in Azkaban had taken a toll on him, you could tell. Heavy bags hung from his face, his cheeks hollow; although his gray eyes still held that spark in them. His hair was longer, somehow even more wild and unruly than before, but it suited him.

“Well he's not an adult either! He's not James.”

You caught a flash of ginger as Molly crossed the room, using her wand to aggressively clear away the plates on the table as she made her point.

“I know he isn't, but he can handle himself,” Sirius said, “and I'll be there to protect him.”

“How touching, Black. Perhaps the boy will grow up to be a felon just like his godfather.”

Your stomach dropped at the third voice. Shit.

Your presence remained unannounced, but as you peaked your head around the corner of the door frame you were met with Severus' stoic face, an imperceptible crease of distaste in his brow as he regarded Sirius. As your view widened you saw that Lupin sat to his left, a human wall between the two former foes.

You stilled at the door, taking a deep breath in an attempt to settle your irrationally rioting nerves. It's not as if you didn't know they would be there, but it had been so long since you'd seen any of them. So much has changed. . .

“You stay out of this, Snivelus. I don't care what Dumbledore has to say about your supposed reformation, but I know better.”

“Don't you have to go play fetch elsewhere?”

“Oh come on, you two,” Remus sighed.

Well, maybe not much has changed after all. 

“Still resorting to playground bickering, are we?”

Several heads snapped in your direction at your words, and you were met with various reactions. Molly's face immediately split into a smile and she rushed around to table to greet you.

“(Y/n), dear! So nice to see you again,” she pulled you into a surprisingly strong hug and you couldn't help but join in her laughter.

“It's good to be back,” you admitted, “Charlie says hello, by the way.”

“Oh, I'm going to give give that boy a talking to,” Molly huffed, “you aren't his owl, dear. The least he could do is write home and say so himself.”

“Romanian mountain ranges keep a wizard busy,” you grinned, “He says he tries to keep in touch.”

“Sending home a bag of petrified dragon scales with a note that says 'look at this!!' is hardly keeping in touch,” she retorted, fussing about with your jacket's collar that had become wrinkled from her embrace.

Even from across the table you could feel Sirius' eyes on you, grateful that you had Molly's whirlwind greeting as a scapegoat for your flushed face.

“(Y/n). . .” he said softly, getting up from his seat.

“Hey,” you smiled, fighting the lump in your throat as he wrapped his arms around you. He was so warm, still wearing that damn leather jacket he'd somehow been reunited with after his imprisonment.

“What are you doing here? They told me you were out working in America,” Sirius said, eyes twinkling as he held you at arm's length.

“Well, I suppose I'm sort of working everywhere these days,” you said. As his words registered in your brain you turned to Molly with narrowed eyes. “You didn't tell him I was coming?”

“I thought it would be a nice surprise,” she said coyly.

You shook your head, turning back to Sirius.

“I'm so sorry, Molly said I could stay here so I thought she already ran it by you—”

“No, no, of course you can stay!” he said enthusiastically, “I'm glad you're here.”

He seemed gentler than he was before, certainly more mellow than in his youth, but that energy that was so quintessentially him remained buzzing beneath his skin, and Merlin, you'd missed it.

After realizing how long the two of you had spent practically holding each other you coughed awkwardly, slowly drifting apart. As you looked around the table your eyes caught Severus' and you thought your heart stopped for a moment. To the untrained eye he probably seemed just as uninterested as ever, but the look of shock in his eyes was so blatantly apparent to you that it threw you off guard. You managed to cast a small smile in his direction, but his expression remained unchanged while yours dropped. You felt your stomach twist up in knots as you thought about what had happened the last time you saw each other.

Lupin looked between the pair of you before getting up from his own seat and coming to your rescue. He extended his arms with a kind smile, and you happily shifted your attention to him.

“It's about time London had its best auror back in town,” he said.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, Moony,” you said playfully, hugging him tight, “It's good to see you too.”

“Are you hungry?” Molly asked, pulling a chair out for you.

“Oh no, I had something on the way here,” you said, taking a seat, “thank you, though.”

It felt surreal to be back here, where it all started. The faces were different—some new, some missing—but the same determined feeling remained.

“Now, where were we,” Sirius said, his confidence returning to his shoulders as he addressed the table.

“We were just talking about how Harry isn't ready to be tangled up in all this,” Molly said sternly.

“I think he should decide that for himself,” Sirius said adamantly.

“Well of course the boy would say he wants to fight, he's—”

“Listening in right now,” you pointed out, jutting your head in the direction of the open door where Harry stood, half obscured by the shadow of the stairway.

The boy flushed, backing away slightly as he was caught. But his eyes lit up as they landed on you, and you felt a tug at your heart as you saw your best friend in their bright green hues.

“(Y/n), you're back,” he said in disbelief.

“And here to stay for a bit, apparently,” you said with a smile.

Molly looked between the two of you before letting out a sigh.

“You know what, we should stop for the night anyways,” she said with a wave of her hand, “We've kept the children up long enough with our chatter, and (Y/n) ought to get some rest as well. Off to bed, the lot of you.”

Some of the other adults exchanged some knowing smiles as she shooed them out of the room. People slowly trickled out through the doorway, goodbyes exchanged, and before long it was just you and your godson left.

You had been lucky enough to meet Harry at the end of his third year, and he'd broken the news about Sirius' innocence to you. You so badly wanted to be there for Harry sooner, but between your strained relationship with the Ministry and cleaning up the mess with MACUSA in the States, you always seemed to be called away from the boy. You wanted nothing more than to take him away from that horrid house—you knew how nasty Petunia could be firsthand. Nonetheless, he seemed to be doing well, and you were happy that you'd grown closer over the last few years even if you couldn't be there in person all the time.

“I've got another little souvenir for you, by the way,” you said, having migrated to the living room.

Harry seemed to perk up at that. Since your visits had been so sparse, you began to make it a tradition to bring him back something magical from whatever part of the world you'd been working in.

“You mentioned you were struggling in Potions the last time we spoke,” you said, rummaging through your bag, eventually producing a small, gold-rimmed vial full of a deep maroon liquid. Small black clouds seemed to tumble in a miniature cyclone inside the glass.

“Dragon's breath essence,” you grinned, “nicked it off of Charlie before I left Romania. Put a few drops of this in your salamander blood the next time you brew a Wiggenweld potion and you're set to pass with flying colors.”

“Brilliant!” Harry said, eyes wide, “that's on our O.W.L.S. this year.”

“I know,” you said cheekily, “you didn't hear it from me. Personally, I think an Outstanding in Potions as a requirement to become an auror is utter rubbish. Don't get me wrong, it's important to know your way around a cauldron, but to hold someone back who excels at Defense Against the Dark Arts and Charms just because they can't cook up a sleeping draught? I don't know, it doesn't sit right with me. And I've heard Severus is hard enough on you guys as it is.”

Harry seemed surprised at your casual address of his professor but shook it off quickly.

“But you're ace at Potions, and it seems like you really like it,” he said.

“Yeah, well I—” you faltered a bit, “I learned from the best. . .”

“Professor Slughorn, you mean?” Harry questioned.

Your eyes widened at that.

“Yeah,” you lied, recovering fast, “Well, Slughorn was a great teacher but terrible at throwing parties. He had this thing called the Slug Club and the dinners were just awful. Your mother was the first of us to join and she ended up roping me into it, and before we knew it we were all standing around in these ridiculous outfits taking swigs of the firewhiskey your dad snuck in just to get through the night.”

You smiled fondly at the memory, and you could see Harry living vicariously through the emotions on your face. You were grateful for this moment; this was the longest you'd actually gotten to sit down and talk together in a long time.

“Were you always friends?” Harry asked, “with my parents, I mean.”

You had to laugh at that question.

“With your mum, yes. Your father, well, not exactly. . .”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~   1971    ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your body swayed gently with the movement of the Hogwarts Express as you walked up and down the isles, looking for someplace to sit. Most of the carriages were packed tight with large groups made up of upperclassmen not exactly looking to expand their circle.

As you approached the back of the train a mostly empty car caught your eye, occupied only by two children your age, or at least that's what you guessed from their black ties and basic robes that marked them as unsorted first-years like yourself.

One of them was a brooding looking boy with messy, shoulder length black hair and shockingly pale skin, leaning against the wall of the train and halfway through a book that seemed well beyond his years. Sitting across from him was a pretty red-headed girl who was admiring the rapidly passing scenery through the window.

“Excuse me, do you mind if I sit with you?” you asked, sliding the screen door open.

The boy's brow furrowed, clearly about refuse when the young girl beat him to it.

“Of course not!” she beamed, her smile infectious. You didn't miss the sharp look she shot over to the boy who simply rolled his eyes in response. After you muttered a small 'thanks' she scooted over closer to the window so you could sit next to her.

“My name is Lily,” she said, extending a hand, “Lily Evans.”

“Nice to meet you,” you smiled, “I'm (Y/n) (L/n).”

The boy quirked a brow at your last name, his expression shifting to something unreadable as he blatantly studied you over the spine of his book. After letting this go on for some time, you glanced over at Lily.

“Does he speak?”

“Perfectly well, thank you,” the boy said coldly.

Lily sent a disappointed look his way and his heart fell slightly, but he didn't need to be friends with anyone else, and he certainly didn't want other people becoming friends with Lily either. An irrational thought, he knew, but it was how his stubborn little brain worked at the time. They didn't need anyone but each other. Wasn't that enough?

In any case, he expected his behavior would be enough to scare you off (it usually worked on other people), but to his complete and utter surprise, you began to laugh. It started off as a light giggle, soon growing into full on laughter. He stared at you in open confusion as you were nearly brought to tears from your fit.

“You're funny,” you stated honestly, managing to speak through your chortles.

The boy was taken completely aback by your candor, actually at a loss for words. Lily joined in the laughter at your simple remark.

“So you do talk, I guess you must have a name too, then,” you said teasingly.

He blinked once. Twice.

“. . . Severus Snape.”

“That's a cool name.”

The heat that crept onto the boy's face surprised no one more than himself, and he buried himself in his book quickly to hide it. Another surprisingly frank statement from you, and not one he'd ever heard before.

If he thought you were full of surprises then, he had no idea what was coming to him.

_____________________________________________________________

The minute the Sorting Hat was placed on your head, it was immediately intrigued.

“Now here's an odd one,” it chuckled, “loyal, compassionate, empathetic, and yet a razor wit. A calculating, ambitious mind, and yet a relentless sense of adventure. All this, and with your bloodline to take into account as well. Your family has quite the history here, (L/n).”

Hushed whispers fell across the Great Hall among the older students and even some of the faculty at the hat's words, and you shifted uncomfortably in your seat.

“Though, I sense a different sort of mentality in you,” the hat continued, “you desire to challenge the old ways,” it paused for some time before going on, “do you truly have no preference, child?”

You were surprised at the question. You knew your family's reputation— it had been ingrained in you from a young age— but that didn't sway you, nor did it scare you. When you really thought about what house you wanted to be in, you truly couldn't think of an answer. It wouldn't change who you were, after all. Whether you donned red, yellow, blue, or green, you stood firmly in the knowledge that you would always be (Y/n) (L/n). Having made up your mind, you shook your head at the hat's question, and although its face was obscured from your view, you could almost sense its grin as it knew you were telling the truth.

“Well then,” it chuckled, “It is truly rare that I get an opportunity such as this. Let's make it interesting, then, shall we? Better be. . . Slytherin!”

Snape sat, slack-jawed, as you bounded over to the applauding Slytherin table and plopped down next to him. You rested your chin atop your folded hands, looking largely unbothered, a glint in your (e/c) eyes. He chuckled under his breath despite himself.

Full of surprises indeed.

___________________________________________________________

Your first encounter with James Potter was of a different sort.

It was the very beginning of your third year when you'd first met him properly. You had a few classes together, and Lily would rant about him constantly pestering her; occasionally you'd see the Gryffindor, along with another unfamiliar boy in his house, sprinting through the corridors, Professor McGonagall not far behind and demanding them to stop. But other than that, you'd never really interacted with him.

Ever since you'd met on the train you and Lily started to hang out more and more, with Snape “begrudgingly” tagging along. The Slytherin had been slow to warm up to you, but you were relentlessly kind and infuriatingly persistent, and eventually he found himself enjoying your little quips and comparatively sunny disposition. By the end of your first year, the three of you were nearly inseparable, and your bond only strengthened throughout your second. But third year is when things started changing.

Snape sat in the shade among the thick, overgrown roots of the old oak tree by the Black Lake, nose deep in an advanced Potions textbook he'd swiped from a fifth year as he waited for you and Lily to return from Transfiguration, the only class you didn't have together. This became your usual spot, with Lily sitting in the grass beside him and you on the branch above him, legs swinging as you absentmindedly sketched in your notebook. A comfortable silence would settle between you, something you'd all grown to enjoy; there was no need for constant conversation, it was enough sometimes to just enjoy each others' presence.

The silence he was reveling in alone, however, was promptly interrupted as rowdy laughter reached Snape's ears. Sure enough, a few figures emerged from the curve of the hill, revealing none other than James Potter, flanked by the curly haired boy he'd been seen running around with earlier along with two other Gryffindors: a short-statured boy with dirty blonde hair and another, taller and leaner, with long scars that ran along his face.

Snape didn't pay them much mind until he realized that they were heading straight for the tree— straight for him. Snape had noticed right away how the Potter boy had tried to befriend Lily as soon as she was sorted into Gryffindor, and it was safe to say he was less than fond of him despite having never really spoken to him before.

“You've got to be joking,” James snickered as he walked up to the tree, looking Snape up and down, “This is the guy Evans has been ditching us to see?”

Severus' eyes narrowed. So now he had a reason not to like him.

“Get lost,” he said, turning back to his book.

“What, you think you're too good to talk to us, huh?” James scoffed at him, clearly miffed.

As if on cue, the curly haired boy snatched the book out of Snape's hands, holding it out of his reach as he fumbled to get it back.

“Toss it, Sirius!” James called out. The boy, who he now knew as Sirius, threw the textbook like a frisbee, and Potter caught it easily.

As Snape angrily rose from his seat to get it back, the two boys continued to throw it between themselves so he couldn't grab it. Fed up, the Slytherin drew his wand but was quickly outmatched.

“Expelliarmus!”

Snape's wand flew out of his hands and straight into Sirius', who held it above his head. Just as the black haired boy jumped up for it, another spell flew towards him, this time from James.

“Winguardium Leviosa!”

Snape grit his teeth, staring helplessly at his wand as it hovered higher and higher out of his reach.

“James, come on, I think that's enough,” the taller boy near the back said.

“Don't be a bore, Remus, we're just having some fun.”

“I-I think he's right, guys.”

“Shut up, Peter.”

While his gaze was trained on his wand a harsh shove threw Snape to the ground, tears of frustration welling up in his eyes.

“No way, is he really crying?” James taunted.

“He is,” Sirius goaded on, “just look at him snivel.”

“You're right, maybe we should call him Snivelus, it suits him better.”

“Nice one, James.”

Snape winced as he was harshly pulled to his feet by James who sneered at him.

“Come on then, Snivelous. What are you gonna do?”

“Relashio!”

James' eyes widened as he suddenly felt himself repulsed back by some invisible force, his grip on Snape's robes forced to loosen as he was flung backwards. You stared the shocked Gryffindors down, wand at the ready for another spell as you ran to stand between Severus and them.

“Accio!” another voice called out, Snape's book and wand whizzing past their faces and into Lily's hands.

James staggered to his feet, trying to look unbothered by the fact that he'd just been knocked down, and by a spell that he hadn't even heard of yet.

“Look at that, boys,” he said, feigning confidence, “guess Snivelus needs a couple of girls to come to his rescue. You should ditch this loser, Evans.”

Before Lily could lash back, you stepped between them.

“What's that supposed to mean?” you scoffed.

“I'm sorry, who are you?”

You felt your forehead twitch, itching to smack that smug grin off his face.

It was Sirius who spoke next, recognition filling his gaze.

“Wait, you're the (L/n) kid, aren't you? Well that's just perfect, you two freaks can go study the Unforgivable Curses together.”

That struck a nerve in you.

“You don't know anything,” you said, not lowering your wand, “now get out of here before I knock you down too.”

“Aw, I don't know, Sirius, they're kind of cute all flustered like this,” James smirked.

You felt anger flare up in your chest, and it was Lily's turn to step in for you.

“Leave us alone, James,” she ordered.

When none of them moved you exhaled sharply, taking another step forward.

“Or I can just turn you into a flobberworm instead,” you said, “might be more fitting.”

Sirius laughed off your threat, but you could have sworn you saw a twinge of concern in his eyes as he looked over to the rest of his friends for backup.

“Let's just go, James. Come on,” the one named Remus said, trying to be the voice of reason.

The bespectacled boy frowned, shoving his wand back in his robes.

“Fine,” he said, “they aren't worth it anyways.”

He turned promptly on his heels, Sirius right behind him and Peter scampering after. Remus stayed behind for a moment, regarding you three.

“I'm sorry about them,” he said, “really.”

Your brow creased in suspicion, but you nodded, not quite smiling but offering up a neutral expression at least before he turned to catch up with the rest of his group.

“You were kidding about (L/n) being cute, right?” Sirius said as they headed back to the common room. When he was met with silence instead of a clear 'of course I was' he nearly had a stroke.

“Are you kidding, James?” Sirius said incredulously, “They're a Slytherin! They're just another dark arts dabbler who doesn't care about anything but their blood status.”

James only shrugged.

“Normally I'd agree, but they seem different,” he said. When he turned to see Sirius' unwavering expression he sighed, “I was just saying that to get a rise out of 'em. Don't worry, this won't be the last time we mess with them and Snivelus.”

Meanwhile, you were still out sitting by the tree, brushing the grass out of Severus' hair.

“That was amazing, (Y/n),” Lily said, wide-eyed, “How did you manage to learn that spell? And you already learned the worm-morphing jinx too?”

“Sev isn't the only one who's been learning ahead,” you said, “but that worm thing was a total bluff.”

“I didn't need your help,” Snape muttered.

You blinked down at him, shaking your head and unable to fight the smirk that crept onto your face.

“Sure you didn't,” you huffed, helping him up to his feet despite his protests, “don't be so dramatic, we won't tell anyone if that's what you're so worried about. Now come on, we're gonna be late for dinner. If Wilkes hogs all the Yorkshire puddings I'm blaming you entirely.”

Severus said nothing, only taking his book and wand back from Lily before you three walked back to the castle arm in arm, the smallest hint of a smile playing on his lips.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“It seems like so long ago,” you said, reminiscing, “Although I suppose it was, but I don't want to think about that too hard— I'll start to feel old, Merlin forbid.”

Harry's eyes were full of disbelief at your story.

“So you, my mum, and. . . Snape were friends?”

“Believe it or not,” you grinned, “unlikely trio as we were, it just sort of worked somehow.”

Until it didn't, you thought grimly, but forced the thought aside. You could tell by how quiet Harry had gotten that something was bothering him.

“My dad really did that?” he asked quietly.

Your gaze softened and you turned to fully face him.

“He was dumb and immature at the time,” you said, “we all were. There's not much else to be when you're thirteen. Each of us made plenty of mistakes, too many to count. And your mum. . . she was good for him. He always told me that she made him want to be a better person. People can change. In my opinion, there are few things someone can do that makes them truly irredeemable, and your father never came close to doing any of those things.”

You thought it better to mention that Snape probably didn't feel the same way.

“In any case, we should be getting to bed,” you said, getting up from the couch, “if you ever want to hear any other stories about your parents, I've got plenty of them.”

“Yeah,” Harry said, smile brightening his whole face, “yeah, definitely. Thank you.”

As Harry walked off to his room you sighed, making your way as quietly as you could up the creaky stairs. Just as you were about to retreat into your own guest room, your eyes snagged on the slightly ajar door at the top of the stairwell.

You stalled in front of it for a moment, wondering if you were out of your mind or not. When you had unapologetically settled on 'yes', you moved to knock on the door when it suddenly swung open. You practically leaped back at the proximity as you were met with Sirius standing in the doorway, stormy eyes wide. He'd shed his leather jacket for the night, leaving him in a dark maroon button up with the top few undone. Your senses were draped with the heady scent of his cologne, and you found yourself grasping at words to say.

When Sirius got over his initial shock he laughed sheepishly, running a hand through his curls out of habit.

“I was about to see if you were awake,” he admitted with a small grin, “Seems we both had the same idea.”

Read chapter 2 here !

[prose-for-hire]

The Powers that don’t

💜I got a special request for a longer fic in my inbox a couple weeks ago and I’ve been working on it for a bit!💜 

Pairing: Spike x fem!reader

Request: Imagine: The watcher's Council had found a young woman in a graveyard one night (from the year 2020) Giles was called by the council To look after the young woman while they figure out how she came to be. While fighting along side Buffy and the gang, Spike is crying over Drusilla leaving him as Spike encountered with the young woman takes a very happy turn. Oh personally: Laid back, kind, charming, sweet and sarcastic

Warning: Mention of covid-19. Blood mention. Spike kills people (not described graphically). Siring. 

Requested by: @everlastingartist​ - hope this is okay love 💜🖤

A/N: Snapshots of your growing relationship with Spike. Time moves on pretty fast, I didn’t want to split this one up into parts but I suppose I usually move time on in my ficlets so you should be used to that by now if you follow my writing lol. There’s an extra gif (as a treat) in the middle to split it up! I had a blast with this one! (WC: 5k)

You were waiting in the queue to get into the supermarket, having to wait two metres behind those queueing in front of you. It was a normal day, that was until you blinked. This is how you found yourself in a graveyard. In the middle of the night.

“What the-” you looked around, confused. The mask over your mouth muffling your words as you spoke. You were sort of laid-back, even with this - being dropped into somewhere so clearly not where you were meant to be - you adjusted quickly. You had been in the supermarket queueing apart from the rest of the customers and now you were in a graveyard in what appeared to be the middle of the night.

“Now!” A stuffy looking man with a very British accent called, pointing towards you .A young woman tackled you to the ground. On instinct, that you weren’t aware you possessed until now, you blocked her blows and pushed her off you, panting hard. Eyes widened as she felt you were human. She got up, helping you up.

“Uh, Ow” You muttered, “So, hi, sorry to bother you - do you know where I am?”

“London, England” He enunciated the words, clearly proud of the place they were in.

“Great. How about when I am?” You ask, eyeing the girls choice in outfit. You were all for individual style but something about it made you feel as if you had been dropped straight into the 90s. 

“1998, of course” They confirmed your suspicion. The pair frowned at you and then at each other. 

“Oh, so I’ve travelled in time!” You decide, as if this was an inconvenience than a major revelation. You moved back subconsciously as they approached you. You weren’t used to people standing so close and so it was unusual when the girl offered you a comforting gesture - a hand on your shoulder. This gesture awarded her a glare from the man and she quickly dropped it. The man then looked at you with a curiosity that surpassed the usual time-traveller-crazy. He was squinting at you as if he had been waiting for this.

“Come with us” he ordered, didn’t ask. You shrugged and followed.

You spent a couple of days there, the man introducing himself as a watcher, his job to watch over the girl and train her. They had a special interest in you, something about a prophecy of one from the future,  telling you that you had some kind of potential too. You were packing up, which was fairly simple as you only had the clothes on your back and a now unneeded face mask. You had been told you were taking a trip. Someone that could help you figure where to go from here.

Meanwhile, in Sunnydale, California:

“Mr Giles. We will need you to undertake further duties. The council is stretched and this woman is a special case. She maintains that she is from the future. I believe it may be the one from the prophecy your slayer has discovered. We will need you to watch her while we do our own research on this prophecy”

“Ok, Quentin. I shall greet her at the airport”

When you finally arrived in Sunnydale, laden with several scrolls and some books for you to give to a ‘Mr Giles’ about a prophecy that hadn’t been explained to you, a friendly older man welcomed you.

“Uh, hello, y/n. I’m Rupert Giles, you will be staying with me. I hear that you have travelled a long way to be here”

“Yeah and the rest” You mutter, before smiling apologetically and greeting him properly, “It’s nice to meet you, you have a really nice home” You offered, ever the charmer, as you looked around it approvingly.

Eventually, a group of people perhaps a little younger than you arrived their curiosity getting the better of them. 

“This is Buffy, Willow, Xander and Anya” Giles introduced as you greeted them warmly.

“Hey, your names are all straight out of a graphic novel or something” You smile, introducing yourself as y/n. You had been briefed that Buffy was a slayer, that there was but one in a generation but you hadn’t been entirely certain what it entailed. Th others whispered slightly, about the latest demon not quite sure how much they could trust you yet as Giles caught that you may feel a little left out.

“Well, ah, yes, thank you. Shall we set you up in the spare room?” Giles offered, taking your bags and showing you the way. You just rolled with it, picking up the fast-paced lifestyle that you would have to be accustomed to in Sunnydale. 

With you being laid back and fun for the others to be around, you fit in almost straight away. They started to be less secretive around you and started to clue you in on everything. Although, they weren’t entirely sure what a potential was yet themselves. Which was fine by you, you might not be here long enough to find out anyway. Giles was the only one that knew of a prophecy that had started to come true since you arrived.

They were helping you find a way home. Some of them more reluctantly than others. Willow had started to teach you little tricks and tips about simple spells, so that you could show off to the others. Buffy and you often gossiped together, she liked that you often had a friendly ear for her problems, offering another perspective that Willow didn’t have. 

Life became normal, but you felt yourself lacking something you couldn’t quite put your finger on and it wasn’t returning back to 2020. Everyone was coupled up and some days you started to feel a little lonely. You continued to research a way to get home, often in vain. You weren’t so urgently wanting to leave, you had a life here in Sunnydale now but Giles was insistent you at least had the option to return to your time period.  

It had been a few months now, and you were getting used to life in Sunnydale. Buffy ran at the vampire, with you, willow and Xander trailing behind. The three of you worked together to shepherd the vampires into Buffy’s line-of-fight so that she could stake them more easily. You became a part of everyone’s lives and you almost forgot about where you had come from, until of course it was brought up again.

You became fast friends with the gang, a true member of the Scoobies. They asked you so many questions about the future it was as if your life before then had been a dream. You were all walking back from the graveyard after a long night of slaying when they mentioned the future once more.

“There’s a big virus... it’s pretty bad back there… or forward, in the future” You say softly, thinking of how different everything was compared to now and how much you had taken little things for granted.

“I knew it! I called it: the next apocalypse would be a big virus infecting everyone” Buffy said excitedly, then realised you had a little frown. Things really had felt scary for a while there. She stopped talking, a hand on your arm to reassure you. You smiled at how close you had become, finding her one of your best friends. You were so grateful for the Scoobies as you walked through the streets, deciding to make an impromptu trip to the Bronze. 

When you arrived, the music was buzzing and the vibe in the place was exciting. You smiled around the room, nodding along to the music, barely noticing the conversation until you zoned back in. They were discussing a vampire, someone they called Spike. You decided you wanted to ask who they were talking about.

“Oh my God, that’s right - you weren’t here” Buffy sighed, having to launch into another account of what had happened with Angel. Your eyes widened at the story they had managed to forget to inform you about, even to your laid back demeanour it made you a little spooked about how friendly you had been with Angel. 

“So, what’s up with this Spike? Is he evil?”

“If you’re scared of peroxide you should start running” Xander smiled, and Willow explained he had bleach blonde hair. 

“Well, uh, there was talk of torture with railroad spikes and-”

“He’s killed slayers in brutal ways”

“But he was mostly big on the talking about killing us but he never manged to do anything... too busy with his precious Drusilla” they shrugged, as if this was normal gossip. In the same breath, they started to talk about a girl from their school, Katy, who they saw parking with a guy that wasn’t her boyfriend. 

Not even a week after this conversation, you were in the Magic Shop, needing a few ingredients - you had promised to help Willow with a de-lusting spell. She had told you, in private, what had been going on with Xander so you had it a priority to rush to the store.

As soon as your eyes met his, you felt the missing piece you had been lacking. His presence filling you up in ways you never knew you were empty. You were drawn to him, even though you knew how dangerous he was, you couldn’t help step towards him, despite the fact he was standing over a dead body.

It was the store owner. You had really liked her, she was always extremely kind. Your look of horror changed to one of concern though, at the state of the vampire in front of you. He looked almost... broken. As if he had suffered a great loss. Your head told you to run, get into the sunlight as soon as you could, but something made you stand stock still. You knew who he was. You had been told about him only a few nights ago. But the horror stories hadn’t scared you away. Not even the scene before you had scared you away.

You both just stared, as if you were studying something fascinating. For some reason, unknown to him, he didn’t lunge at you. He launched into a rant about his woes. You were used to this, your personality meant people often confided in you.

“She dumped me! She didn’t even chop my head off or burn me to ash, I mean, she doesn’t even care about me that much!” 

“Hey, it’s okay I’m sure she’ll change her mind. I’m sure you have lots of... nice qualities” You offered. He sighed over-exaggeratedly, pacing and stepping over his discarded meal before leaning against the wall and sliding down it. He crouched, head in his hands as he continued to speak.

“But she cheated! With a chaos demon! Have you seen one of those? They’re all goo and antlers” he shouted, tears spilling from his eyes that he angrily wiped away. You cautiously sat beside him, also leaning against the wall.

“That sounds pretty gross to me” You offer nodding along, your hand hovering as if you wanted to offer a comforting gesture but you weren’t sure if he would bite your hand off (literally). However, your fears subsided when he leaned against your shoulder, sniffling slightly. His tears starting to subside at your words, nodding along. The big, scary bad guy didn’t seem so bad. He was in pain.

“Then, you deserve better, Spike. It hurts now, but this might be good for you. Some time to look out for yourself, pick up the, uh, pieces” You offer, wavering at the end as his face had shifted. He was starting to get mad. He realised he had been vulnerable with you. That he was taking comfort with you. A human. A potential, he had even overheard from the witch. This wouldn’t do. He could feel himself falling. One ounce of kindness and that’s all it took for him to start falling. God, sometimes he hated being love’s bitch. 

He squinted, how did you know his name? Oh, right, you must know the Slayer. He’s just been vulnerable with one of the Slayer’s little slayerettes. He scowled at you, a dramatic change from his previous apparent sensitivity as he loomed over you. 

“Bugger off, I see you - you’re the Slayer’s mate aren’t you? Well, I don’t know what game you’re playing but you can bloody well- you can bugger right off!” He shouted, grabbing your jacket, balling it up in his fist and pointing in your face. His face changed, his bumpy forehead shifting his features. You just stared back, everything had happened so fast you weren’t sure what could be said. Even now, you just wanted to reach and hug him. And, if you had I’m sure he would have hesitated but hugged back. But you didn’t and for some reason, he dropped his hand from your clothing and stalked away. 

The next time you saw him, was a few days later. For some reason, his mind had started to move from Drusilla’s betrayal and he had a new object of his affection. You bump into him late at night as you walked back home after helping Buffy patrol, he still looks a little upset. He was definitely a little drunk and so, you took pity on him. He insulted you when he first saw you, trying to keep up the façade but it quickly melted away at how genuine you were about how he was doing. He softened, even slightly, nodding along to your words. He followed you to your door, already starting to miss you as the key turned in the lock.

“Come in?” You offered over your own shoulder as you stepped over the threshold. He squinted, unsure if he had heard you right before smirking. 

“You’re just asking to be eaten up, aren’t you?”

“No, I can just see you’re hurting. Talk to me, I won’t tell a soul” you promise, setting out two mugs and offering him a drink. He nodded, taking the mug and hugging it to him. The warmth comforting in a way that he wondered if your embrace would be the same. He knew it would. And now, as you spoke, he couldn’t stop thinking about it. 

After this, another moment where he hadn’t eaten you despite having a very easy chance, he took comfort in the fact that you were kind but not naïve. Kindness was his weakness and you weren’t like the scoobies, there was something about you. Like you had knowledge, not just because you appeared to be a few years older. Like you could truly understand.

When he left in the early hours of the morning, only because the sun was threatening to rise, he still insisted he was going after Drusilla. But instead, he couldn’t help sticking around. 

He realised he didn’t want to go back to Drusilla. He wanted kindness. He wanted you. He decided to lay low, staying in Sunnydale for you. To even catch another glimpse of you.

He became increasingly besotted with you. A small grain of affection growing into a vast and deeply rooted feeling of love.

After a while of accidentally bumping into him late at night, you realised Spike had moved back permanently. He was often found hanging around the place you had started renting after you moved out of Giles’ when you realised that this wasn’t a temporary stay in Sunnydale. He pretended he had been looking for you, saying that there was a gang of vampires that had taken over the east side of Sunnydale and that Buffy was busy with something else. He suggested that you both checked it out seeing as Giles had in fact determined, and now told you, that you were a potential. A slayer-in-training.

Spike drove you both. The car smelt of cigarette smoke and as if he had spilled an entire bottle of jack on the back seat. The whole way there he tried impressing you with how evil he was, despite the fact he was out doing Buffy’s job. You pointed this out to him, not wanting to upset him but because it was a valid point. He explained it was the principle of the thing, he wasn’t turning good. Not for anything. 

You were fond of him, and he loved everything about you. How caring you were. How sweet your smile was to him. How you knew so much about being in a time you’re not really from. He found you were incredibly easy to talk to, having now poured his heart out on more than one occasion. Another thing is that often, he didn’t feel the need to talk - he just wanted to hear you talk about everything and anything.

This was what you were doing on the car journey. You were explaining about music apps and how you could have all of your music, not just the beat up cassette tapes Spike had littering his car, on one tiny device. He listened, fascinated about everything you would tell him of the future.

You parked up and waited in the car a while, waiting for any sign of this illusive vampire gang. 

After a while, Spike turned the heat up a little, noticing you were cold. He slipped his duster off, not making eye contact as he offered it to you. You smiled and took it, but then realised what the gesture could mean. You slipped it on, bundling it around you the best you could before looking back to him wit ha little furrow on your brow.

“Is, uh, this a date Spike?” you ask finally, not able to stop yourself grinning at his reaction. 

“What?! No! Uh, unless you… y’know… wanted it to be?” He muttered, noting your smile. It made him melt. You nodded confirmation, a small smile. You’d love a date with him. He nodded, mirroring you. Then you both stared ahead of you, not sure what else to say. You were overthinking it now. 

A date with a human?

A date with a vampire?!

But when your eyes met again, none of it mattered. You grinned, reaching your hand to lay on top of his. Squeezing slightly, giving him that sweet smile he loved so much.

You were supposed to be predator and prey and yet it was nothing like this. Neither of you could deny your feelings. He couldn’t lie and say he magically didn’t think about the way your blood would taste, but he never wanted to hurt you. It was almost physical, he ached for you to be happy.

He moved to look back at you in the passenger seat and couldn’t help smiling, although it ended up on the other side of his face when the vampires you had been looking for found you instead. They had been real and not made up as an excuse to talk to you. You had fought together, perfectly in sync with the other, having each other’s backs on instinct. It was the best first date you had both ever had, ending in a passionate kiss as the last remnants of vamp-dust fell to the ground.

After months of researching the prophecy of the ‘Future one’ that Giles decided had to be you, you had also become Spike’s girlfriend. This was on the down-low to begin with, Spike was definitely seen as evil and not just because he had done a deal with some questionable demons in order to make some money and hoped to get the chance to kill Buffy at the same time. You navigated your relationship around this, trying to steer him and Buffy out of each other’s way the best that you could. 

Spike stalked in, blood smeared around his mouth that he wiped off with his shirt sleeve, trying to look at least a little presentable when he realised you were waiting up for him.

He softened when he saw you sleepily cuddled on the sofa, the glare of the tv lighting up your face. Coming back to see you was heaven, if he believed in any of that stuff. You made this crypt a home and coming back to have you waiting in the early morning was bliss. He wanted you to move in, but you kept your apartment for appearances in front of the Scoobies. 

He moved to you, cupping your cheek and pulling you in for a kiss. It was soft and slow, but full of meaning - as if he was sucking the soul from you. Replacing it with his love. His promise that souls didn’t matter when it was love.

“What was that for?” The meaning behind his kiss almost waking you up completely. Knocking the breath from your lungs. The sleep from your eyes. Eyes a little wider, smile a little brighter. 

“I love you, pet” he shrugged, sitting beside you on the sofa.

“I love you too, even though you taste suspiciously like the red-stuff” You can’t help still smiling sleepily. He sat beside you on the sofa, allowing you to settle in beside him. He let you lay against him and you snuggle into his side as he wrapped an arm around you. His soft whispers match the soothing caress as he rubbed your arm as you started to drift into sleep. You felt so safe with him.

You would never have guessed that not an hour before this vampire had been terrorising humans, draining them and taunting them. He of course never told you that was what he did, and he could never for a second imagine hurting you that way, but you had suspicions and you tried your best to not bring it up or ask him to try animal blood.

You trusted him, for better or for worse. By this time, you had been dating for almost a year and a half, for the most part hidden from the others. Willow knew, being the most understanding of the group. Anya had her suspicions but the others weren’t aware.

A while after all of your friends found out about your relationship with Spike (they had walked in on you both in a compromising position that no amount of excuses could explain), you got a call from Giles. He had still been looking up a way for you to go home and he had finally found one. 

It was time for you to choose. Between the prophecy and going back to the future.

“Y/n, I’ve found it! You may go home” he offered, an aged scroll and a tablet with runes carved on it in his hands. You stared, in shock. You knew what this meant. It meant you could go back home to your family. Your friends. Your life before you met them all.

“I, uh…” you just stared. Things had been rocky for a while, you had been under suspicion for your relationship with Spike when they had found out, but everything had been getting back to normal now. You had barely thought about returning to 2020. You had made a life here.

“You do not have to do anything with this, y/n. You may, ah, wish to think about it. Or I could put these to one side if you ever did in the future want to go back. But I will be the first to say that you are one of us. None of us will take any pleasure in saying goodbye” Giles knew your fears, that the group would want you to leave because of your relationship with Spike. They weren’t pleased with it, but the arguments were over now. Everyone was still fond of you.

“Thanks, Giles. Can we keep this between us for now?” You asked and he nodded, hiding everything away safely until it was needed. 

Since that talk with Giles, Spike noticed you had been off with him. He tried asking, but you had snapped and he had become irritated. You had stormed away in the middle of the day so that he couldn’t follow you, avoiding an argument. You took your time coming back, having to think over everything. Should you go back to 2020 or stay in Sunnydale (with perhaps a perilous prophecy to fulfil).

When you returned, you told him everything. An honesty you both had tried to maintain throughout your relationship. You poured your fears, your apprehension and then he looked in your eyes, took your hands and offered you another option. an option you had never even considered until now. Your eyes widened, could he really love you that much?

“You’ll never be able to go back, love. Think about it. I’ll understand if you’d rather try to look for that portal again to get back home” “I love you and I want you to stay here... with me” He finally said it. What you were hoping for him to say. Your grin spread across your face, nothing would have taken it from you. This moment, it was special.

“I want this, Spike. I want you” You confirmed, “You are home to me”

“You think you can handle an eternity with me?”

“I can give it a try at least” You smiled as he rolled his eyes.

He stared into your eyes, testing if you were serious before casting his gaze back to your neck. He could feel the steady beat, your trust in him. 

He leaned in, you braced yourself. He held your head back, cradling it. His mouth lingered despite his lusting for your blood. His face shifted, fangs now protruding from his mouth, the same eyes now a different colour scanning the unmarked skin there.

It was as if in slow motion. He whispered his affections for you, landing a soft kiss on your pulse point before his jaw opened. He moved in, teeth starting to pierce your flesh. You winced, hissing slightly and he paused but your hands moved and you nodded your continuing consent. He continued to intake your blood, swallowing the thick viscous liquid as if it were his last meal on this plain. 

When he managed to pull away, he sliced his palm, offering you your first taste of his blood. You gladly accepted, licking the cut before sucking hungrily. You pulled his hand closer to your mouth as he stroked the back of your head with his other hand. Your eyes darkened, wanting him, wanting to be filled with his blood. With anything he wanted to give you and offering your soul in return. Your soul was his to take.

This was forever. Bound by the love coursing through your veins. This was big for him, he had never sired anyone romantically before and he knew he never would again. This was a bond he only wanted with you. He loved you so much, to have you by his side was a gift to you both. 

You drank until your body slumped and he had to hold you up. Taking on your weight, laying you down on his bed. lovingly placing the covers over you. He lay himself beside you, on his side facing you, over the bedclothes. He stroked your cheek, it was as if you were sleeping. But you had no heart beat. You weren’t breathing. Your skin was hardening, marble-like. He smiled at this, a thumb gliding across your cheekbone.

He wasn’t grieving, he was in anticipation. Hoping your kindness, charm and laid-back nature wasn’t lost during the process. This had gone wrong for him before and he was desperate for all of the human qualities to be with you during your reawakening. 

After what felt like an age, your eyes opened and the first thing you saw were his sparkling blue eyes staring back. The smile on your lips mirrored his as your face shifted for the first time. Elongated fangs and a ridged forehead were now the new addition to your features, and he loved you more for it.

“I never would have thought… after everything” you sighed, having woken up from what felt like a sleeping-beauty style 100 year sleep. You thought about where you had come from. How you had met, how he had threatened you, how the Scoobies - your friends - had reacted to your relationship with Spike. It had all been worth it to be here with him like this.

Your joints were stiff, your senses heightened. But your love for him was just as deep as it was before. Your genuine nature bruised a little, maybe grazed but not removed from you the way some vampires appeared to have their good qualities surgically taken. 

“Well, the Powers-that-bloody-don’t have a funny way of working things out” he shrugged, not able to stop himself smiling that it was really still you. 

“Now, come on pet, I want to show you the afterlife properly” He smirked, pulling you up from bed to follow him, about to show you the joys of the hunt. He could tell you would be hungry, he was ready to show you everything. He was so pleased he had truly found someone that loved him the same way he loved them. Someone he could cherish, that would cherish him in return. Someone he could hold long into the day and not worry about some other vampire coming along and catching your eye. You were both in deep. And happily so.

This was the start of your un-life together. Little did either of you know, in a couple of months time, Spike would no longer be able to kill a living thing. A chip would be embedded  into his brain. You would stay by his side, a precarious truce with the others still. Your soul almost intact, but never quite in the room. Your love for him would never die, even through the tough times that were coming. 

Your prophecy something you would have to encounter eventually, but you could both face anything as long as you were together. Bound together for an eternity.

[paradisobound]

(1) New Text

Summary: Dan is a very lonely person and for the past few years Dan has received a text message simply saying 'merry christmas' until one year a present shows up in front of his doorstep.

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: It looks like Phil is stalking Dan but I promise he’s not. 

Genre: Fluff and slight Angst with a happy ending 

Written for the @phandomreversebang! This was originally supposed to go with art made by @rwdaf but Alex had to leave so I decided to continue the fic anyway and finish it! Also thanks to my lovely beta Melissa @loyal-phan! You did the last little touches that helped a lot! 

2011

It’s been a tough year. Dan says to himself as he pours some leftover wine into a glass and then puts the bottle away in the cupboard. Christmas was always stressful for him and this year wasn’t any other exception. It was another year of being alone. Another year of feeling lost and like his future wasn’t going anywhere anymore. It was another year of rejections from jobs and working at the local bookstore just to pay rent, living paycheck to paycheck.

But as he tossed back the rest of his wine, he let out a loud sigh and clanked the empty glass onto his counter. There was always the promise of new year. In the next two weeks, it would be 2012 and maybe 2012 would finally be his year.

He just wished the universe would give him a break every once and awhile. He hasn’t felt like he’s gotten a break since he dropped out of law school the year before. His parents had warned him about this; about how he wasn’t mature enough to possibly drop out of Uni and move to London. But he did it anyway.

Now though, he feels like maybe they were correct. What was a nineteen year old supposed to do in London if they weren’t going to Uni or they weren’t already affluent? Maybe it was a dumb idea. But if he went back to Wokingham, it’d be like he admitted defeat with his tail between his legs.

He didn’t want that. He didn’t want his parents to know they were correct and he couldn’t possibly do this.

He dropped the glass into his sink along with the other dishes that were settled there and turned the faucet on, washing out the strong scent. He then flicked off the light over top of his sink and walked back into the living room to the sight of a tiny tree in the corner and a beat up couch with an old TV thrown on the floor on top of a cardboard box.

He should be ashamed of his lack of possessions. He should be embarrassed at the fact that his TV was sitting on a broken box and his couch had more tears than fabric. But he can’t bother to be. He’d buy more furniture if he could.

He grabs his remote,  turns on the TV, and the BBC is talking all about Christmas and he begins to feel a little bit sick. He’d love to go home and spend the holidays with his parents so he wasn’t alone but his parents decided to go to India for Christmas and his work didn’t allow him the time off.

He turns the TV back off and settles into the corner of his couch, letting his body fit into its normal mould. He fishes for his phone out of one of the creases on his sofa and holds it in his hand. He unlocks it and sighs when he notices that no one has sent him any messages yet.

Dan had to admit that that stung.

None of his family had said anything to him and now, it was nearly midnight on Christmas Eve and he knew he was going to wake up tomorrow to the same disappointment.

Not having anything to look forward to, he slowly gets up from his sofa and heads down the short hallway to his bathroom. He quickly strips his clothes and takes a quick shower to try and sober his thoughts from the wine.

When he steps out, he wraps his torso in a towel and heads to his room, picking up a pair of old pyjama pants on the floor and hiking them up his legs. He throws his towel in a heap with the other laundry that he doesn’t have the time to do and then fishes for a shirt.

He eventually ends up on his mattress on the floor, the one that he can’t afford a bed frame for, and yanks his sheets up over him to combat the chill that’ll seep across his room when his heat turns off sometime in the night to conserve it.

When he falls asleep, he tries to ignore that tomorrow is Christmas and instead thinks about the bar he might go to tomorrow night to forget about everything along with all of the other sad and lonely people in London.

He dreams of nothing and when he wakes up, he feels nothing. He finds himself struggling to get out of his bed but the chill in the air is hovering over his skin, begging him to get up and get a warm coffee.

Dan eventually makes his way to the bathroom and then to the kitchen where he begins to pour some instant coffee into a mug, followed by some hot water. He stirs and watches the water turn brown and when he brings the drink to his lips, he nearly gags at the putrid taste. But it’s all he can afford so he stomachs it down and tries to pretend that it’s giving him a caffeine buzz and a liquid warmth.

He takes his mug with him into the living room and he tries to act surprised when he sees the bare tree thrown in the corner with no presents underneath. He doesn’t know why he still expects to find some magical gifts left for him but Santa isn’t real and no one is going to come into his apartment and deliver any to him.

He finds himself walking over to his sofa and plopping down, sitting on something hard underneath his butt. He shuffles and reaches under himself to pull out his cell phone that he had just sat on. As he goes to set it down, he notices that when the screen flashed on, he had a text message.

Dan hadn’t been expecting any text messages today.

He looked it over and a feeling of warmth spread over his chest.

It was from a number he didn’t recognize. He wasn’t even sure how someone would have gotten his number, but the message was enough for him. All it read was Merry Christmas with a copy and pasted Christmas tree but it made Dan smile stupidly big.

So maybe his family wouldn’t wish him a Merry Christmas, but this strange number had and that was something.

2012

Christmas Eve finds Dan out with friends in the town centre, enjoying a few drinks at the local pub. It’s the first year that he’s had friends to spend Christmas Eve with and to Dan, it was nice.

But as he takes a sip of a raspberry beer and looks outside to the soft blowing snowflakes under the lamplight, he almost wishes he was back at his flat. For one, it was slightly cold in the pub and the alcohol hasn’t worked in his system yet. Two, his friends weren’t too keen on doing anything besides get shit-faced and Dan wasn’t looking into actually getting drunk.

He more or less just wanted to get his mind off from the fact that he, once more, didn’t have the availability to go home for Christmas so he was alone all over again for another year. If it wasn’t for his friends—which now he think that term is used very lightly—inviting him out after work, he would still be alone in his flat.

“Got a lot on your mind?”

Dan looked up from his beer at his co-worker Jessie. She was a nice person. Always smiling but not so happy that she’s unbearable to be around. She was a nice balance. He enjoyed working with her at the restaurant.

He shrugged. “Normal thoughts, really.”

She nodded. “Same.” Her lips smacked and then she raised her own glass to her lips.

He watched her slowly move a strand of dark hair and tuck it behind her ear before she pursed her lips and rose her glass back to them. Dan had to admit that Jessie was quite pretty. Maybe even beautiful.

Wait, he shouldn’t be thinking about Jessie like this. He was lonely. It was Christmas Eve. This was stupid and he was thinking recklessly. Isn’t there also a rule that you shouldn’t do anything with a coworker?

He shook his head.

These were stupid thoughts.

He continued to mindlessly chat to Jessie across the pub table until the bar announced they were doing one last round. Eventually, he found himself leaving with her, both of them dizzy but not intoxicated.

They shared a taxi—just to split the cost— but Jessie still ended up in his flat that night, sharing a bed with him in more ways than one. He rang in Christmas with him and Jessie tangled between scratchy cotton sheets.

When he woke up the next morning, she was gone. But he knew that would happen. As awkward as it was, it was going to be even more awkward when he has to see her at work the next day. But he wasn’t in the correct mindset to deal with that today.

He grabbed his phone, fully aware to have an array of mixed texts that would range from his mum wishing him a Merry Christmas to his brother asking when he was coming home.

But instead, he had a message from an unknown number. It read Merry Christmas. Have a good year :) and Dan was confused. He didn’t know where it came from or who it was. But then he saw the message with the Christmas tree from last year.

The same person had sent him a message again this year...should he be creeped out? Probably. But is he? No. Because the fact that this person cared enough to text him again made him happy.

He responded back, just saying Merry Christmas.

He won’t get a message back but he doesn’t care.

2014  

This is the first year that Dan has a real Christmas tree in his flat. Maybe because this is also the first time that he’s not alone in nearly three years. This year, he gets to share Christmas with his boyfriend Carter.

It was Carter’s idea to get a tree. Dan was so used to not having one that he didn’t even notice that much of a difference whether or not they have one, but Carter insisted and Dan has to admit that it does fill the empty corner of his flat.

It feels good, different, but good, to finally not be alone on a Christmas Eve in London. He was so used to the feeling that when Carter insisted on them staying at their flat for Christmas, he very nearly declined. But now that he’s here, sitting in front of the fireplace that is now being lit, snuggled on Carter’s chest, he’s glad for their decision.

They’d already exchanged their gifts: Carter gave Dan a nice candle set that he had been wanting and in return, he gave Carter the new Armani sweater he couldn’t afford himself.

And now it’s just them. Dan has to admit that it feels good to not be alone on Christmas for once.

The sound of the doorbell ringing from inside the flat draws Dan from his haze. He slowly moves up from his position on Carter’s chest and looks towards the door. “Did you invite someone over?” Dan asks, standing up to walk to the door.

Carter shook his head. “I mentioned to my friends that we were just having a lay in tonight but I doubt any of them would come here.”

Dan nodded slowly. He had mentioned to his coworkers that he wasn’t going anywhere for Christmas but he seriously doubted them being here as well. The only possible answer was maybe his neighbor or something but he wasn’t sure.

He looked through the peephole in his door and peered into the hallway but no one was there. He was going to shrug it off as a prank or he took too long to answer the door so whoever was there assumed he wasn't home, until he happened to notice a wrapped box.

He opened the door slowly and looked down, seeing the messily wrapped gift sitting on his welcome mat. He bent down and picked it up, looking it over. The tag on the bow said hope you like your gift! Merry Christmas, Dan xxx

“Dan, who was at the door?” Carter called from the living room.

“Oh,” Dan turned around and shut the door, walking back to the living room with the gift in hand. “Someone just dropped this off.”

Carter put his hand out as if he wanted Dan to hand it to him so Dan passed the gift to him. He looked it over and then read the tag, “Was this from one of your parents?”

Dan shrugged. “I’m not sure. I can call them tonight, but I don’t think they would have left me a gift. That’s strange.”

“Are you gonna open it?” Carter asked. “This looks slightly suspicious.”

“It might have been a neighbor or something.” Dan countered. “I do have an elderly neighbor down the hall so it might be her.”

Carter handed him back the gift and Dan slowly began to take it apart, ripping the already messy wrapping. He slowly opened the box and came face to face with a brand new Studio Ghibli film, still wrapped in plastic, inside the box with a small note. He pulls it out and finds himself unable to stop smiling.

He was a nerd for Studio Ghibli films and this new version of My Neighbor Totoro was just amazing. But Dan still had no idea who it was from. So he slowly opened the note, despite Carter still staring at him.

Hey Dan! I hope you don’t find this weird but I remember you saying that you enjoyed Studio Ghibli films. I meant to give you this earlier but I chickened out. I hope you don’t find this creepy, or weird. I don’t mean it to be. I just want to be able to give you a gift that I think you’d like. Hope you don’t already have this one! It sounded like you had many already xxx

“Who was it from?” Carter asked, peering his green eyes over the top of the paper to see what was written.

“I think I have a secret admirer.” Dan says with an incredulous laugh. “This person literally knows who I am but I have no clue who they might be.”

Carter’s eyebrows furrowed and his blonde locks fell down his forehead. “Dan, that’s really creepy. This person could be a stalker.”

Dan quickly shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think it’s just someone that wants to be my friend.”

“That’s pretty much the definition of a stalker.” Carter presses.

Dan rolls his eyes. “It’s fine, Carter.” He leans over and presses a kiss to Carter’s cheek. “I promise.”

Carter gives him a look of I don’t believe you but I trust you and the conversation ends. Dan takes the gift to his bedroom and places the note in his bedside drawer along with other miscellaneous items.

That night, after he and Carter got ready for bed, he hears his cell phone vibrate next to him and he slowly picks it up to see a familiar message from a familiar unknown number.

Hope you liked your gift and it didn’t come across as weird. That’s the last thing I want. I hope you have a great Christmas Dan!

Dan falls asleep with a smile on his face. He might not know where he will be in one year, but he does know that this same number will be here for him.

2015

“Doing anything fun for Christmas this year?”

Dan looked up at his longtime co worker Phil and shook his head. He didn’t have any plans because he was back to his lonely self again for Christmas this year after the unexpected break up with Carter that September. He kind of figured that he’d be alone again come Christmas time. Carter had acted pretty strangely following the gift that Dan had gotten at Christmas.

“No,” Dan answers truthfully. “I’m probably just gonna sit home and have a few drinks and then go to bed at nine.”

Phil laughs in the most unique way, with his tongue poking out between his teeth. Over the last four years that he has worked with Phil, they haven't even talked to each other that much. Just little hit or miss convos if they walked by each other while on the floor. But ever since Dan got promoted to senior bartender and Phil became a manager at the restaurant, they saw each other a little bit more and more each time they worked.

He’s grown used to Phil. His charismatic charm and his childlike presence was refreshing in this place that caused them both hell on a daily basis. He liked when Phil would waltz over to the bar and take a seat to talk before the restaurant even opened to the public.

“Literally me.” Phil said with a laugh. “I’m probably gonna watch rom-coms with my dog Buffy and then pass out for the night.”

Dan stopped what he was doing—which was just staking the glasses under the bar—and looked up at Phil. “You have a dog named Buffy?”

Phil nodded with a smile. “Named her after my favorite person in the world!”

“And who might that be?”

“Buffy Summers of course!” Phil answered, turning on the stool to sit at the bar. “The only good vampire slayer to ever exist.”

Dan smiled at him. “You were a Buffy nerd?”

Phil nodded, his mouth curling up into a massive smile. “I still am and I’m proud of it.”

“That’s amazing.” Dan answered. “I’ve never even seen that show before.”

Phil looked actually offended at him. “You’ve never seen Buffy?!”

Dan shook his head. “Before my time, mate.”

“How old are you?”

“24.”

“Ahh.” Phil said, smiling at him. “You’re just a baby.”

Dan scoffed. “Says Grandpa over here.”

Phil laughed. “I’m 28.”

“Still old.”

The conversation stalled for a moment so Dan went back to stacking his glasses again. But Phil started speaking once more. “So you really have no plans for Christmas? A bit sad, don’t you think?”

Dan let out a sigh. “I mean, yes and no.” He says. “I’m mostly always alone on Christmas so that doesn’t really bother me anymore, but each year since I moved to London and began working here, I’ve been getting this text from an unknown number that tells me Merry Christmas. Last year, this number got me a gift and left it on my doorstep.”

When he looked up from the glasses, Phil wasn’t looking at him. His attention was diverted to the a small speck of dust on the counter. He picked at it with his fingernail and didn’t say anything for a moment. “Do you know who the unknown number is?”

Dan shook his head. “Wouldn’t be an unknown number if I did.” He said. “I don’t know. I’m not creeped out by it in the least. I think it’s rather endearing that someone is sending me a message every year. But I’d like to know who it is.”

“Did you text the number back?”

“One year I did.” Dan says. “But they never replied.”

“Maybe you should try to text them again.” Phil says, finally looking up. “I’m sure they mean no harm.”

Dan nods, but notes the odd behavior that Phil suddenly began to show. The wheels in his head turn but he doesn’t make heads or tails of it in that moment.

Later that evening, after Dan has been home from work for a while, he texts the unknown number.

Dan: Hey, this is Dan. You text my number every year for Christmas and I’m curious to find out who you are.

When two hours went by and nothing had been texted back, Dan gave up and threw his phone across the bed. Maybe Carter was right…maybe this was creepy.

***

Christmas Eve came and went with nothing from the number. It left a slight pit in Dan’s chest. He got so used to receiving these messages that to not get them anymore was slightly sad.

It was stupid to get attached to an unknown entity but he had anyway. And now it’s Christmas and he’s sitting alone, with a dead tree in the corner undecorated, and nothing to even open.

He’s about to sleep his day away, not even waste his breath, when his phone vibrates.

You said you wanted to know who I am...so come open your door.

Dan felt goosebumps flow up his spine. He could run and not open the door. Or he could call the police. Or this person could be harmless.

He hoped it was the later because he was already up and walking to the door out of curiosity. He made it to the door and looked out the peephole, but he couldn’t make out who was standing there.

He undid his locks and then grabbed the handle and twisted, letting the door come open with a swing.

Standing on his doorstep was Phil. The same Phil who was his co worker. The one he had just started getting to know…

”Surprise?” Phil asked, his hands in his pockets. “I feel like this is weird so I can leave.”

Dan shook his head and stopped him. “No! No! Please, don’t go. I just...I have some questions?”

Phil let out a sad sign. “Well, Dan. I can probably answer them all right now.”

“Well, come in at least.” Dan insisted, moving out of the way.

Phil slowly walked inside of his apartment and dragged his feet. When they got far enough inside, Dan shut the door and ushered for Phil to come to his kitchen to sit down. So they walked there and both took a seat.

Phil takes a deep breath and Dan sees his eyes fall to his hands in his lap.

“Ever since you walked into the restaurant for your first day of work, I’ve had a crush on you. But here you were, this beautiful brown eyed man and I was just this lanky emo boy who had no business liking you. I was too scared to ever say anything to you. I don’t think I could even if I wanted to.” Phil stopped. “So I asked around and got your number and that’s when I sent you the first text.”

Dan sucked in a breath, watching the raven haired male continue to speak, pushing his glasses back against his nose before he ran his hand through his quiff. “I never was going to give you a present. But I really really wanted to after talking to you briefly about Studio Ghibli. So I got your address from Jessie and came here. I was gonna wait and give you the gift myself when I came to your door but I realized how god awful it looked and I ditched.”

“Phil,” Dan says carefully. “I would have loved for you to give me my gift in person. I was so happy to get it, you have no idea. For the past four years, your messages were what got me through the holidays. I loved knowing I was gonna get a message from you...I just wish you came forward sooner.” Dan says with a laugh. “You’ve been pining over me for four years now, that’s too long.”

Phil lets out a watery sigh. “I feel like this is stupid because I probably look creepy now and I’ve ruined any friendship we may have and…”

Dan let his hand reach out and steady Phil’s that was shaking at his side. “I loved what you did, Phil. There is nothing creepy about it...well, maybe on paper it is but to me it was so endearing.”

Phil looked slowly up at him. “It was?”

Dan nodded. “I’ve never been so miserable as I have been every holiday since I moved here. If you’d have come forward sooner, I might have been less lonely on Christmas.”

“What do you mean?” Phil asks, his voice soft and quiet.

“Phil,” Dan begins. “Do you wanna go out to coffee with me sometime this week?”

2016

Just like almost every other year since 2011, it comes as no surprise that Dan is once again alone on Christmas. But this year, it’s different.

Dan’s not alone because he has no one to spend Christmas with, in fact, it’s the exact opposite. He has a loving boyfriend now, and many more friends. And he even spent Christmas Eve with some of his co workers who were doing fun Christmas parties.

This year was different because Phil had to go home for Christmas to the Isle of Man, so Dan was alone because of that. Not because he had no one to be there for him anymore. He had Phil, who very nearly almost didn’t go home so he could spend the holidays with Dan.

But it’s been a year since they’ve began to date, and Dan doesn’t want to intrude on the family Christmases yet. So he told Phil to go and he’d stay back this year and look over the flat.

It feels good though, to know that when he’ll eventually get sad and begin to miss Phil a lot, that he can just text Phil and ask him to Skype. It also feels good to know now, that he won’t be alone anymore for Christmas.

He’s in it for the long haul with Phil by his side.

On Christmas morning, he checks his phone and smiles.

He has a message from that familiar unknown number, except it’s not unknown anymore. It’s contact now says Phil <3 and he knows that each year, he’ll forever be getting that message wishing him a Merry Christmas.

But now it reads “Merry Christmas, love! Hope you have a good day! I’ll be home tomorrow afternoon but I love and miss you lots. Skype later?” instead.

[echo-bleu]

Clubbing (in the library)

This is a gift for @nearly-conscious (who I can’t see to tag) for their birthday. Their prompt was Hermione/Padma, crushing over common interests.

I haven't written in this fandom since I was seventeen, and I'm not a big shipper, but it was a lot of fun to write. I hope you like it!

Happy Birthday! :)

Title: Clubbing (in the library)

Fandom: Harry Potter

Words: 2178

Summary: “I thought you would be there.” “Where else would I be?” Padma shrugs. It's nine-thirty, and all the other students have already left the building for the night, but Padma likes nothing more than having the library for herself. “I don't know,” Hermione smirks. “Clubbing?” “Yeah, that sounds like me."

Relationships: Hermione Granger/Padma Patil

Also on AO3 and FFnet.

--

“I thought you would be there.”

Padma looks up from her homework. Hermione drops into the chair next to her, her book bag making a thud as it hits the floor. She's wearing jeans and a comfortable sweater rather than robes, and she looks vaguely tired, like she just spent the whole day studying. It's probably the case, Padma reflect. Mid-terms are just around the corner, and trying to complete two completely different degrees must be exhausting.

It came as a surprise to almost no-one when Hermione, once her NEWTs over, couldn't choose between the high level Muggle university course she was offered and magical studies. The Wizarding university, to which Padma now also belongs, is small and less structured than its Muggle counterparts, so it's fairly easy for Hermione to follow all her courses without needing a Time Turner, but it's still at least twice the workload.

“Where else would I be?” Padma shrugs. It's nine-thirty, and all the other students have already left the building for the night, but Padma likes nothing more than having the library for herself.

“I don't know,” Hermione smirks. “Clubbing?”

“Yeah, that sounds like me,” Padma groans.

Over the years of being the two most bookish students of their year at Hogwarts, they've become casual friends, although Hermione always had too much of an exclusive relationship with Harry and Ron to be close to anyone else. Padma, after her twin sister started to become interested in very little else than boys, make-up and Divination, spent most of her time in the Library, usually on her own. Oh, she was never friendless and she still has frequent contact with all the Ravenclaws and most of the Hufflepuffs of her year and the year above, but she hasn't had a best friend since Parvati stopped filling the role. She loves her sister, but they're not confidants anymore.

But since the day she and Hermione first put foot in the university building four months ago and recognized that they didn't know anyone but each other, they've gotten closer. They usually study together in the evening, for one thing. Hermione doesn't have a boyfriend to go home to since she and Ron split up on the first day of term−something about different plans for the future−and Padma has no particular wish to step back into the drama that is her parent's house too quickly, most nights.

“Can I join you?”

“In what, my very energetic clubbing? Sure,” Padma smiles.

“Thanks. Midterms are coming way to fast. All this studying is going to kill me.”

“You love it. Admit it.”

Hermione blinks Padma with a very endearing look of naked surprise. The banter is coming almost naturally, but it's something they've never done before.

“Not at two in the morning on a Sunday,” Hermione answers. “Otherwise...okay. I do. It's just so interesting!”

“Our courses or the Muggles ones?”

“Both! The history of the Wizarding World is fascinating, but it's incredible how much social theory we're just missing out on. The Muggles have studied it all! Race, gender, oppression, intersection, it's all right there and we just ignore it.”

Padma shrugs. “Does it make them better?”

“Yes! No! Uh−” Hermione blushes. Padma laughs. She loves to see Hermione flustered.

“Yes or no?” she pushes.

“It's complicated!” Hermione exclaims, apparently out of words. “Some things are better, like, you know, slavery is outlawed in the Muggle world.”

“We don't keep slaves,” Padma frowns, her thoughts going straight to her ancestors enslaved by the East India Company. She's learned that history early on, the one she's never going to be taught about in college. The English wizards and Muggles working side by side to colonize India and abuse its inhabitants.

“What about the Elves?”

“They're not slaves!”

“Aren't they?”

Padma comes up with a vague memory of Hermione's fifth year crusade to free the House Elves. It seemed like madness, at the time.

“They don't get paid,” Hermione continues. “They punish themselves for things so mundane as being late or failing a task!”

Padma tilts her head. “Okay, you're right, they don't get paid. But where did you read that Elves punish themselves?”

“I saw them do it! The Malfoys'−” Hermione stops herself. “Never mind.”

“My parents' Elves are treated like they're part of the family,” Padma says. “They would never accept any money, but they have a day off a week, and they seem happy with their situation.”

“I guess I haven't seen many elves, and maybe they didn't have good masters. The Hogwarts Elves seem happy too. But still, masters. Coming from a Muggle background, it's...very odd. Outdated, I guess.”

“I never thought of them as slaves,” Padma says.

“That's what I mean when I say we need to bridge the gap between the Muggles and our world. They have so much to teach us, if only we were willing to listen. And we could bring them a lot, even without going into magic.”

She launches into a tirade of all that the magical community could do for Muggles, which seems to include, in no distinguishable order, better garbage disposal, gay marriage rights, library index cards and a non-capitalist economy. Padma is lost in the references to Muggle law and technology within the first minute, but she nods in all the right places, admiring Hermione's enthusiasm. This girl could change the world, she thinks.

It's funny, because it could be argued that she already has. But looking at her, it seems obvious that Hermione's prime was not the year she spent on the run under a tent with her two best friends, or the spells she threw at Death Eaters during the battle of Hogwarts. Her prime will be in many years, when she accomplishes all she strives for and cuts the ribbon in front of a brand new school for Muggle and Magical studies. Padma can see it in her mind's eye, a strangely attractive older Hermione with a pair of scissors in hand, a wide smile on her face, waving at her.

Why is she imagining herself looking back and laughing in pride, two steps behind among the school's new teachers?

“Do you have books that need to stay here?” she asks suddenly, taking advantage of Hermione needing to breathe between two rapid-fire sentences.

Hermione opens her mouth, frowns, and closes it again. She looks down at the pile of books peeking out of her bag. “No, they're already checked out,” she says. “I did that before coming to find you.”

“Good,” Padma says. “'Cause I want to get out of here.”

Hermione deflates. “Alright,” she says. “The Library's about to close anyway. I...I guess I'll see you tomorrow.”

Padma stares at her for a second, agape at the misunderstanding. “No, I mean we should get out of here together,” she says. “To...somewhere else.”

She hasn't thought this through. She can't invite Hermione home, not with her parents there and her younger siblings−Parvati is probably spending the night at Lavender's again. She curses that family tradition forbids her from getting her own place. It's not that her parents lack the money, but a young woman living on her own is just not done.

“Clubbing?” Hermione offers with a smile, looking relieved.

Padma snorts. “Clubbing sounds right,” she says.

“I do have an apartment,” Hermione hesitates. “If you wanted to−”

“Are you inviting me to your place?”

Hermione bites her lip. “Sure. It's not big, but it's quiet.”

“Sounds good. Let's go.”

Padma is very curious about Hermione's apartment. She follows her friend outside the library to the Apparition point, where Hermione offers her arm.

“I can give you coordinates if you prefer,” she says, “but I'm pretty good at Side-Along.”

Padma smiles. Since nearly all adult wizards and witches have their own license, Side-Along Apparition is considered quite intimate, unless you do it with children. She could be reading this wrong, because Hermione isn't very easy to read on the best day, but she's now fairly sure the hints she's been dropping have been received loud and clear.

Hermione's grin when Padma takes her arm is like a confirmation. The trip is nearly instantaneous, from London to Oxford, and smoother than most Side-Along Padma has been on as a child.

They land into the entrance corridor of a one-room apartment. It's warm and cozy in a bookworm kind of way, one wall lined with a giant bookshelf and another with a large desk. The sofa bed is swarming with pillows and comforters, looking more like a nest than a bed. It looks exactly like Hermione, and Padma is impressed that she's managed to create that feeling in just four months.

“It's nice,” she says. “I like what you've done with it. I could live here.”

Hermione blushes again. “It's comfortable,” she says.

She kicks off her shoes and drops onto the nest-bed, so Padma imitates her. She stays far enough to give Hermione some personal space, hoping secretly that that space will shrink as they get comfortable. It doesn't have to be tonight, she promises herself. But then, sitting on her friend's bed at ten in the evening on a weekday, the opportunity seems perfect.

“How is it going on the Muggle side?” she asks. “We're close to campus, right?”

“Yes. The university is very old, older than ours. It's weird to have to hide when I'm doing magic, but it's been fine so far.”

“And the studies?”

“I'm missing a lot of Muggle references and stuff that Muggles learn in school. I'm doing my best to catch up but...for once I'm not at the top of my class.”

“What? Hermione, a mediocre student?” Padma asks in mock-shock.

“Most of the students here were the best of their year in high school too. That or they come from old money.”

“So you've finally met your match.”

Hermione laughs. “Something like that. So, why choose History and Anthropology? I can't imagine that's what your parents wanted for you.”

“No. They wanted me to become a doctor, or at least some kind of well-paid job with a high social standing. But Parvati threw them off even further by going into an Apprenticeship with a seer, so I got off easily. The way they figure it, I'll marry straight out of university and stop working to raise kids. They don't see what kind of worthy job I could do with those subjects.”

“My parents don't really understand magic at all,” Hermione says, “so they were relieved when I chose to pursue a Muggle degree as well. Relieved enough that they didn't care what subject it was in.”

“But why did you choose it?”

“Hey, I asked you first!”

“Okay. So, Binns was horrible, but I like learning about history. I'd bring library books to his classes and read them under the table.”

“Me too!” Hermione exclaims. “But who didn't?”

“Anyone who wasn't in Ravenclaw beside you?” Padma jokes.

“Um, I guess I wasn't really aware of other people,” Hermione admits sheepishly. “I'm a real dork, aren't I?”

“A very adorable one,” Padma says without thinking. She didn't mean to say it out loud, but Hermione blushes in the most delicious way.

“Anyway,” Padma continues, “I think...I've always been in between two cultures. I was born here, but my parents never even learned English. They just use translation spells whenever they need to, but mostly they only have Indian friends. Home is like...like we were in India, but in downtown London. You look out the windows, London. You look inside, Mumbai. I had an Indian tutor and an Indian maid and I played with Indian kids. Sometimes it feels like I'm not English at all.”

“So you wanted to learn more about English history?”

“That, and I'm fascinated by how different cultures see the world in a whole other way. We're all human, and yet−”

“I know! I felt like such an outsider when I first came to Hogwarts. Wizards have this whole culture and traditions that no one ever tells us about! We have to figure it out on our own, and honestly I'm surprised there aren't more Muggleborn students who drop out. It's so confusing!”

“Do you still feel like an outsider now?”

“No. Not much, anyway. I still miss things, but I've grown with magic in my life for years now, and I've read everything I can on Wizarding culture. Now I want to branch out.”

“Into Muggle culture?”

“Yes, because it's what I was born to and that's where I feel out of place now. But also other magical cultures. You know, different countries, people, species even…

“Maybe we could go together to Mumbai some day. I could show you some things.”

Hermione smiles. “Maybe we could,” she says slowly, biting her lip nervously.

Padma can't take any more hesitation. She bends closer and kisses her. It's sweet, though awkward and uncertain.

“That okay?” she asks, pulling away slightly to look at Hermione's reaction.

“Yeah, it's okay,” Hermione nods. “Very okay.”

“Should we do it again?”

Hermione doesn't answer and just pulls her closer.

[plotbunny-hutch]

Hermione Granger and the Firebird 4/4

Part 1 here

Part 2 here

Part 3 here

Nagini. 

Nagini is . . . oh, boy. 

So, previously on Hermione Granger and the Firebird: the Giving Cup, Helga Hufflepuff’s sacred goblet, once used to bind alliances and give strength to the weary, is dead. Before that, it did its damnedest to tear apart Hermione and her Hunt–and it nearly did. Viktor and Ron came close to killing each other. Mila, Darina, and Aleksi aren’t talking to each other. Tihomir is . . . well, he’s being Tihomir about it, which means that everyone keeps an eye on him when it’s his turn to cook. Tiho’s dad thinks a little baneberry in the tea adds variety to family meals and keeps the kids on their toes. Sirius won’t leave dog form. 

Oh, and everybody has Horcrux nightmares. 

So, running low on sleep and patience and general sanity, the Hunt makes a stopover in Godric’s Hollow. There’s an old Order safehouse there. And Harry has never seen his parents’ grave, or the place where he was born. 

Okay, and Hermione wants to meet Bathilda Bagshot and maybe gloat a little about the Wiltshire Smythe/Devonshire Smith thing. Wouldn’t you?

Now, in their youth and excitement to be done with this damn Hunt and finally get some sleep in a proper bed and never talk to their fellow Hunters again at least until they get really bored, our brave heroes make an elementary mistake. They split up. 

Harry doesn’t really feel like visiting his parents’ grave and having a lot of feelings in front of a bunch of Bulgarians, even if he did kind of save their lives and even if they do feel indignation on his behalf both loudly and frequently. They’re proving to be awfully handy in a scrap–but they’re still Hermione’s friends, really, not his and Ron’s. Viktor, meanwhile, has some serious shit to say to Ron, and Mila, Darina, and Aleksi have some serious shit to say to each other. 

So, with Hermione and Sirius in tow, Harry heads for the graveyard. Viktor takes Ron out to the safehouse’s broom shed to see if they can salvage enough brooms for the Hunt. Viktor and Tiho are the only ones old enough to Apparate, and Tiho isn’t great at Side-Along. Only a few hastily-enchanted Portkeys and some serious cardio have kept them ahead of the Death Eaters. The remaining Bulgarians set about fixing dinner and checking wizarding radio for news. 

(The news, by the way, is not great. There seems to be a roving band of young radical terrorists on the loose, staging Death Eater attacks through the countryside in order to continue their lawless spree: three ex-Hogwarts students, expelled by order of the Minister, and a gaggle of foreigners, one of whom rather eerily matches the description of international Quidditch sensation Viktor Krum. If you happen to see any of these hooligans, seek cover and report your sighting to the Ministry at once.)

“I know you care very deeply for Hermione, and you are very good at apologizing,” Viktor says over a pot of old broom polish, “But between apologies, I do not think you are very good at being her friend.” 

“James and Lily were family,” Sirius says, barefoot in a snowy graveyard, holding Harry while he cries and Hermione looks awkward. “I shouldn’t have left you. Not with Hagrid, not with anyone, I never should have left you.” 

“I hate what I said to you, and I know I can’t ever make up for it,” Mila says to Darina and Aleksi. “But it’s killing me to see it drive you two apart. Please don’t let me being stupid wreck this. It’s good for you. And I want you to be happy more than I want you.” 

“Hm,” Tiho says to the stewpot. 

“I’m . . . going to give you two a moment,” says Hermione, inching off stage left as Harry and Sirius weep on each other. 

The Hunt is changing her. It’s happening faster all the time. She used to be able to spend all day in the library; just the thought of it makes her itch now. The others complain and pick at blisters around the evening campfire, and get distracted in mid-conversation, and slug about in the morning. Hermione has walked across half of England in the last three weeks, and she feels like she could run forever. 

But she can’t, because her Hunt needs her to stay close. So she doubles back and forth along the trail. She does her hand stretches and picks idly at the hilt of her sword. Hermione can be patient. 

Well, she tries, anyway. 

Bagshot House is close, so close, and she knows that the boys will only be bored if they come with her. She spares a guilty thought for Aleksi–but no, he’ll forgive her, if she takes lots of notes for his capstone paper and maybe writes him an introduction letter. 

So she goes to Bathilda Bagshot’s house, which is obviously a terrible idea. She has a lovely time over tea, gloats only a little bit about the Smythes, and takes lots of notes for Aleksi’s capstone paper. She says her goodbyes to Bathilda Bagshot, a sweet old witch who doesn’t seem to get out much, and sets off down the street. 

Which is when the Aurors pop in and Stupefy her. 

Hermione wakes up wandless and, more horribly, swordless in one of the Ministry’s charming detention cells. It might even be the same one she was held in after the Tottenham Court Road attack. 

“Seriously?” She shouts at the ceiling. “It takes you thirty bloody minutes to respond to a Death Eater attack in the middle of London and two seconds to pick up a delinquent student in the arse-end of the West Country?” 

Which is how she discovers that she is officially no longer a student. 

Oh, she thinks, in a distant floaty sort of way, this is what being dead must feel like. 

“Focus on your studies, dear,” her mum had always said, sternly, and “Don’t you ever jeopardize your future,” her dad had always said. They worked so damn hard to give her a good life, and this had always been the deal: you work hard enough to make opportunities possible, and we will make them happen for you. 

Mum, dad, I’ve been expelled. Hermione could die of shame. 

She reaches – stops – drops her hand into her lap, empty. No sword. Right. 

She looks at her hands for a minute: gloved in scars from fingertip nearly to elbow. Callused from sword drills. Dirty under the fingernails. A splinter, dug into a callus where she can’t feel it or reach it with her teeth. Empty. 

She keeps her eyes on her hands when the Aurors come in, when they manacle her hands and walk her down the hall towards the trial room. 

She’d stopped studying Muggle maths in primary school; she’d kept up her science reading, because it was interesting and because it helped her spellwork, but she hadn’t taken proper Muggle exams in ages, and would Hogwarts even give a transcript as proof of enrollment? What are her options? Does Hermione even have options anymore? Or has she thrown them all away like an idiot, waving a wand and toting a sword and swanning about like a hero when there are no heroes––

It is at this point that a minor hell breaks loose. Historians would later sit down and agree that, more or less, this is what happened on the thirtieth of October, 1995: 

In Godric’s Hollow, Hermione’s Hunt became aware that they had lost their Huntswitch. A panicked wizarding househusband (Reginald Cattermole, age 47) shouted at Harry and Sirius as they crossed the street in front of his house that he was calling the Aurors. The two sprinted back to the safehouse, where a brief consultation with the radio-operating group clarified that they were all wanted fugitives, at which point Ronald Weasley, age 15, said “Where’s Hermione?”

At approximately 2:10 p.m., the Hunt mounted their hastily-repaired brooms and began the long flight from Godric’s Hollow to London with all haste. 

At approximately 2:30 p.m., an alleged Death Eater (Amycus Carrow, age 52) spotted the Hunt in situ and loosed spellfire, shooting down Darina Dimitarova, age 16. 

Alexi Nikolov, age 16, and Mila Ganina, age 17, immediately dove to render aid; on finding Dimitarova badly injured, Alexi cast a yet-unidentified Dark curse; Carrow’s dismembered body was later found by Muggles in Dunkeswell, Yarcombe, and Chard. 

After a brief argument, Ganina remounted her broom and rejoined the Hunt while Nikolov stayed to administer emergency healing. 

At approximately 3:30 p.m., while flying over Salisbury, another Death Eater sighted the Hunt, heading towards London; after consulting with Peter Pettigrew (age 35, widely believed to have been possessed by You-Know-Who, age indeterminate due to spectral status), Bellatrix Lestrange, age 44, gave chase by broom with a squad of junior Death Eaters. 

At approximately 4:00 p.m., Sirius Black, age 36, peeled off from the Hunt to engage the pursuing Death Eaters, shooting down three before a third struck him with an artritoma curse, forcing him to make an emergency landing. 

At approximately 4:15 p.m., while flying over Epsom, a small force of wizards and witches formerly associated with the vigilante group known as the Order of the Phoenix rose to engage with the remaining Death Eaters; one, with a hex later described as a repurposed cooking charm, dispatched Lestrange. 

The leader of the nominal Order force (Kingsley Shacklebolt, age 42) made it known to the remaining Hunters that Voldemort had announced his intent to attack the Ministry of Magic. Spurred on, the now united force (numbering about thirty) made for the Ministry to oppose him. 

At 4:36 p.m., a blasting hex brought down the gates of the Ministry, opening the way for a large force of Death Eaters, as well as a small pack of werewolves. 

In the ensuing combat, another blasting hex caved in the passage between the Ministry detention cells and Trial Room 3, nearly killing Hermione Granger, age 15, and her escorting Aurors. 

At 4:41 p.m., the Hunt and the Order descended on the scene, pincering the Death Eaters between the broom-mounted force and a small band of Aurors rallied by Percival Weasley, age nineteen. 

At 4:53 p.m., Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter, age 15, found Granger half-trapped beneath rubble (and by all reports extremely cross) and levitated her free. Weasley and Potter attempted to dissuade her from joining the battle while unarmed; in reportedly strong language, she insisted on finding her weaponry, then. 

At 4:59 p.m., probably guided by some arcane Hunt magic, Granger discovered the Sword of Gryffindor (bonded to her some eleven months previous) bound with gleipknots in a Ministry holding cell; reunited with her primary weapon and with little hope of recovering her wand in a timely manner, she then joined battle. 

At 5:07 p.m., Death Eater reinforcements arrived on the scene with a Peruvian darkness hex cast simultaneous to a choking, noxious fog. 

With the majority of the defending force struggling to breathe and outlook grim, Granger did something extremely inadvisable with the Sword of Gryffindor which cleared the fog, resulting in distinctive scarring and hair loss patterns on survivors of the First Battle for the Ministry, as well as a permanent scorch mark on all the walls of the Ministry Atrium at a height of roughly seven and a half feet. 

Fog cleared, it became obvious that Pettigrew, clearly possessed by You-Know-Who, had taken the field. 

At 5:15 p.m., Gryffindor’s Sword in hand, Granger rallied the defending force for a charge at the remaining Death Eaters. Both sides took heavy casualties; the defending force retreated deeper into the Ministry

At 5:28 p.m., defending morale, faltering at the failure to completely repel the Death Eaters, was bolstered by the arrival of reinforcements from Hogwarts: the full complement of teaching staff (less one Severus Snape, age 34, who as a double agent was at the time embedded in the invading force) as well as several students who had begged, borrowed, or stolen their way into combat. Rubeus Hagrid, 65, was accompanied by a number of magical creatures which later proved instrumental in defeating the Death Eaters during the three-day Siege of the Ministry. 

At 7:34 p.m., another large-scale blasting hex caused a number of internal collapses in the Ministry, killing some dozen members of both forces and dividing the defending force in two. By strange accident, much of one defending force was of an age to have fought the first war against Voldemort; the other was primarily at or below the age of adulthood and included Granger and what remained of the Hunt. 

Injured but still mobile, Ronald Weasley assumed the role of strategist to the Young Defenders, orchestrating a series of guerrilla attacks on the invading force throughout the remainder of the night. Meanwhile, Granger determined by Hunt magic that the remaining Horcrux was mobile and within the Ministry but mainly stayed in the Atrium with the bulk of the invading force. 

(“Bets that he’s wearing it?” 

“Ugh.”)

At sunrise on the 31st of October, the latest strike force is returning from their predawn raid. 

“Bagged a werewolf!” One of the Gryffindor upper-years brags. Hermione thinks of Professor Lupin with a shudder. 

“Did you sleep at all?” Viktor’s hand is warm on her shoulder, only a faint tremble showing the strain of the last three weeks. Had it only been three weeks? It felt like an eternity since she sat across from him in his uncle’s library and said I’m doing it with or without you, but please let me do it with you. 

“A proper Huntswitch doesn’t need sleep.” 

“Hah. After year and a day of training, maybe. You have been Huntswitch three weeks.” 

Cheeks burning, Hermione looked up at him. “Well, I don’t have the luxury of time. I’d better be a proper Huntswitch now or we’re all doomed.” 

“Doomed? Now I know you have not slept.” Viktor grinned at her fondly. “Hermione Granger is never doomed.” 

“Pff.” 

Light down here in the shattered Ministry has gone strange, blue witchlights clashing with cheery mock-electric fixtures on the blink. Cormac McLaggen and Katie Bell have broom-lamps for night flight pinned to their robes, casting dark orange beams in whatever direction they face. Shadows are confusing and colors are wrong. 

“Go ahead, Ron,” Hermione says, when everyone has assembled and for some reason is looking at her. Ron’s the one running this meeting. What are they looking at her for?

“Er, right. So this is us, near as we can figure,” Ron marked their rough map of the Ministry, “And most of the Death Eaters are still in the Entry Hall, with You-Know-Who. There are two exploratory forces here,” the holding cells, probably freeing or killing prisoners, “and here.” The Department of Mysteries. “We think the Order are fighting them there, Angelina saw spellfire before she doubled back.” 

“How many are left in the Entry Hall?” 

“Forty-odd, last count. Could be more coming any moment. And we’re thirty-two.” 

“Thirty-one; I don’t want Tiho fighting with that concussion.” 

“Thirty-one.” Ron rubs his nose, lost in the map. Then he looked up. “How do you feel about brooms?” 

“Not great.” 

“Oh, then you’ll love this.” 

Hermione does not love this. Whatever wizarding storybooks say, wielding a sword from broomback is an absolutely terrible idea; even more so when you have someone else riding sloth grip underneath you. 

“It’ll slow us down, but it’s the only way to get everyone in the fight,” Ron had said, glowering at his figures as he scratched in the earth exposed by shattered cobblestones. “And with our shock troops, you won’t need to be fast.” 

Now, Ron is fifteen, and his grasp of Muggle combat theory is shaky at best. When he says shock troops, he literally means shocking troops; students of apparating age who show up in the middle of the invading force, grab whatever elbow is handy, and apparate across the room, deliberately splinching their passenger along the way. Which is a pretty shocking experience. The twins are experts and manage to teach the trick to a handful of others; the remainder are picking it up as they go. 

Meanwhile, the broom riders are providing cover fire and targeting the werewolves, who the shock troops don’t dare apparate close enough to bite. And Hermione, with Viktor on sloth grip steering because he’s probably the only one who can manage it, is near the end of her Hunt. 

“I think he is wearing it,” she shouted down to her pilot, “Every time he moves, it–,” and then she claps eyes on Nagini. And she knows. 

“Bloody fuck, another living one.” 

Here’s the thing about living Horcruxes: being one is pretty damn miserable. Harry describes the first fourteen years of his life as one long low-grade migraine, blurring his vision and making things like sports nearly impossible. He doesn’t wear glasses anymore. And that’s not considering the emotional and spiritual feedback, the constant internal struggle of a self against another self. Hermione can’t imagine how strong he is to have survived that and still come out, at the bottom of it, a really decent person.

But other things can happen to a living Horcrux, stranger and darker things: Parseltongue in a boy who has no blood link to any known Parselmouth, a well of power stronger than any fifteen-year-old wizard really ought to be, the willpower to survive even a partial Dementor’s Kiss. 

Harry was a Horcrux for fourteen years. Nagini has been for going on eighteen, though Hermione has no way of knowing that. She does know, as she knows it is her prey, that something is very wrong with this snake.

It’s big, for one, bigger than any natural venomous snake; it moves with a near-human intelligence across the field, striking at shock troops and occasionally catching one. 

(Hermione can’t look at the falling troops, can’t look, can’t let herself watch)

“Okay,” she shouts at Viktor, “New plan. Kill the snake.” 

But of course, she’s a Horcrux, nearly indestructible; no spellfire on earth will kill her. Maybe Fiendfyre could, but Hermione can’t make Viktor burn her friends along with her enemies. She just can’t. 

Her hand goes to the sword. Right. End this like it began; the old-fashioned way. 

In a maneuver that will define wizarding warfare for the next century, the two barrel down from the air. Viktor casts a binding hex, trapping Nagini for a few crucial seconds as he pulls up and Hermione falls from above like a star, like a dying phoenix, sword burning in hand. 

When she wakes, there is ash. Flakes of charred cloth and broomtwig float down around her; indistinct twitches and moans happen at the edges of her vision. She can’t seem to make her hands let go of the sword, awkwardly angled half-under her. 

Oh. And there’s Harry. And Voldemort. 

Voldemort wearing Peter Pettigrew is a horrible sight. He moves wrong, and breathes wrong, and looks awful around the edges, like bits of him are fading in and out of existence. He looks – bubbling, like a cauldron about to blow. Hermione should know, she’s been Neville’s potions partner for years. 

And when he speaks, everything in Hermione twitches to end him. 

She has been hunting pieces of this man’s soul for sixteen months; now he stands before her, fatally weakened by blow after blow, harried as by hounds, torn as by arrows. The Hunt burns in her. It wants blood. It will not be denied. 

She is not sure how Neville is there, but he is, scrabbling through ash and rubble to pull her from the blast zone that was Nagini. He practically shoves a potion down her throat, and then another, and then he dumps another one over her head when she can sit up. She’s vibrating now. She needs to kill it. Her throat’s not working right, but she looks at Neville and the sword and Voldemort, who is still taunting Harry, and he understands. Neville has always been good at reading people. 

They stand, boy and girl and sword, and they walk: slow, painful shuffle-steps muffled by ash. The twitches and moans are clearer now; they are people, or what’s left of them. Hermione doesn’t look. She just walks, firmer with every step, leaning on Neville whenever she wobbles and still gripping her sword. 

Never drop your sword, Gyorgi says, though your hands bleed. He would be proud. 

And now Voldemort has cast a spell, and Harry another, and the two meet in the middle. 

Your wand has a brother, Ollivander says. Once there was a phoenix that gave two feathers, only two in all the world. 

This is Voldemort: he has never, not once in his life, looked aside from his goal. He has not wavered; he has not strayed. When fled, he chases. When pushed, he pushes. Hermione sees him, the horrible twisted bubbling back of him as he throws every inch of strength into pushing against the brother-bond, and she sees what he could have been. Sometimes you just get a wizard born for the Hunt. 

But he’s wrong, twisted in every way, barely even a person anymore; the Hunt is all that’s left of him, hungering endlessly, ravening without cease. And Hermione is a Hunter too. 

Together, Neville and Hermione lift the sword. Almost gently, they thread it between the third and fourth ribs of a man who was once Wormtail and is now the eighth Horcrux of Tom Marvolo Riddle. Harry’s brother-bond holds the man who tried to kill him once and failed. Harry’s brother-bond holds him until his bones are all that’s left. It’s almost gentle. No blowback. No death-throes of a divided soul fighting to live. Only the end. 

Hermione is very tired. She would like to sleep now. 

She startles awake in the Hospital Wing. 

“Hush now, dearie, it’s over. It’s over.” Cool hands on her forehead and where is her sword–

Hermione is very tired. She would like to sleep now. 

She startles awake in the Hospital Wing. 

“Hey, easy. Easy. Hermione? It’s me, it’s Ron. You’re all right. We’re all okay.” And then, yes, her sword is there, hilt familiar as her own skin. “Here, Madam Pomfrey said not to let you have this, but I think she’s bonkers, who wouldn’t want a sword in your shoes. Or, er, hospital gown.” The words are helping; she focuses on them, pins all her attention to that voice. “So, er, it’s been a few days. More like a week, I reckon. Er. You did it. Personally, I mean. You killed Voldemort.” There’s a pause, and a wet sniff. “Congratulations?”

And then, oh no, he’s crying. Ron’s crying. “I–I thought I killed you, I thought I sent you off to die, Hermione, and you’re – you’re –,” 

“‘m l rt.” 

Sobs. Well, honestly. Hermione clears her throat and tries again. “‘m ull-rht. Ron.” And it hurts, but she grabs his hand anyway, because that’s what being a friend is. 

It takes a few more weeks before she can even walk far enough to visit Viktor in the next bed. Ron had insisted that they be installed next to each other, apparently, which Fred or maybe George had whispered to her with a wink at the end of a big group visit. Most of the shock troops had come through all right. The broom troops had actually been worse off, at least those still in the air when Nagini had gone up like a dying star. Muggles were calling it a sewer explosion. 

Viktor is alive. That’s probably the best that can be said about his condition. He might walk without a cane someday, one of the nurses from St. Mungo’s had told her with a sympathetic look. He isn’t quite up to speaking yet, but on a nice overcast afternoon when the sun isn’t too bright, he likes to sit with her and hold hands. Hermione sees many more awkward letters full of Feelings in her future, but right now, she can’t quite bring herself to care. 

Oh, Fudge is dead, by the way. Some Undersecretary defected to the Death Eaters and killed him during the siege. She’s still at large, and so are at least two high-profile Death Eaters. But most of them are dead. 

Hermione doesn’t let herself know any more than that. She’s going to be at least half a year healing from these last three weeks, Madam Pomfrey has told her in no uncertain terms. She’s made her first kill (has in fact killed her first kill several times, depending on how you count it) and the Hunt is sated for now, but it still lingers in her. It would be so easy to choose this prey, to say yes and run what’s left of her feet to rags after them. So she doesn’t. 

There are letters for her. A devoted throng of second-years headed by Colin Creevey are screening out howlers, but that leaves so much silent mail. Strangers thanking her for saving the Wizarding World. Foreign governments (oh, that’s Mila’s mum’s handwriting) offering her sanctuary (she did sort of technically invade the Ministry, didn’t she?). Hunters in the Americas congratulating her on her first kill and welcoming her to the Hunt. All sorts of people. Oh, and a letter from her mum. 

Viktor thumbs a tear off her cheek and gently takes the letter out of her hands. 

There are funerals. Lots of funerals. They never get easier. 

“They want to give us Orders of Merlin,” Harry says, standing awkwardly at the foot of her bed, not really sure what to do with his hands. “For killing Voldemort, you know. You, me, and Neville. I made sure they knew who did it,” he says, defiant. Harry has never wanted to be a hero. Heroes do too much standing alone for his liking. Harry would much rather stand with his friends. 

“Okay,” Hermione says, kind of at a loss. “Do you think they’ll still make us take our OWLs?” 

Harry blinks at her and then starts to laugh. Then she does, too. 

“Seriously, I haven’t studied at all.”

“Well, if they won’t give us an extension for saving the world, I bet we can retake them next year.” 

Next year. And the next, and the next. Hermione has a sword on her hospital nightstand and scars on her fingers. She’s still not quite sure where her wand is. She’s been absent from school for two entire months and might still technically be expelled. But with all those years stretching out before her, free from Voldemort and Death Eaters and fucking Horcruxes, Hermione feels rich. 

They talk about prophecies at the Order of Merlin ceremony, and when Dumbledore finally recites the damn thing even though she warned him not to, Hermione could just scream. 

Divination. Ugh. 

But the medal looks nice enough on her chest, opposite the strap of her baldric, and she’s finally healed enough to stand and walk around for a few hours without aching, so she even mingles a little. But then Viktor waves to her from a nice corner seat, Mila and Aleksi and even Darina beside him. Hermione tows her boys over to sit with her Hunt and gossip and tease each other about Mila’s dashing new facial scar and Viktor’s wheelchair biceps. Between that and the finger food, it’s not a bad evening all round. 

So long as they don’t replace that ugly fountain with a statue of her, Hermione thinks she might even chalk this one up as a win. 

There’s so much that Voldemort does not know, so many powers beyond his comprehension. He knows nothing of love, or friendship, or compassion. He doesn’t really know very much about Dementors and brother wands. The power of a good sharp murder stick is also foreign to him. 

But above all else, he does not know the power of Hermione Granger. 

THE END

[jocelynscloset]

Moonage Daydream Chapter 1 - Me and Bobby McGee

Part 2

Title Song & Inspiration : Me and Bobby McGee (View story playlist here)

Summary: 70s Adam Driver AU (multiple part fic) part one. The reader picks Adam up on the side of the road and they get to know each other...

Warnings: nothing for this part, but potential sexual content later on...

Word Count: 1,304

Feel free to tell me what you thought/send a request through my ask box

You’re cruising fast down the highway, Joplin filling up the silence in your truck while you bop your head to the steady beat. The sun is warming your skin through the windows, and your sunglasses are sliding down your face with every bump you roll over on the unkempt road. Your hair is blowing in the wind coming through your window, and you’re happy.

You see him in the distance, and you slow cautiously, contemplating offering a ride. He looks harmless, though he’s massive, and you can tell even though you’re at least 200 feet away. He’s far from town, though, and you know you’re probably the only person who’s not a truck driver who’ll be down this road for a while. 

You are driving away from the middle of nowhere, where your folks are settled down next to the Santa Clara river, and you guess that he’s probably looking for a ride the extra 50 miles to LA. You decide to give it a shot. Either way, you have a crowbar under your seat, so if he tries anything, you’re covered.

You roll to a stop and you reach across the center console to roll down the window. “Hey there, stranger.” You greet.

“Hey, I’m Adam. I was hoping to catch a lift to LA, if you’re able.” You nod and gesture for him to get in.

“Hope you’re not a murderer. I have a gun on me, and I’m a good shot.” He laughs at that, and assures you he’s perfectly normal and harmless. “How long have you been out here on the highway?” 

“Just a bit. I started walking about 2 hours ago. There was a party a few miles back in Santa Clarita and my ride forgot me.” You nod and he continues. “I’m a student at USC, but I took a weekend trip to visit some family.”

“Really? I was visiting my parents in Buckhorn, over on the riverside.” 

“You grow up there?” You shrug and reach up to pull down the shade. 

“I suppose, but I spent most of my time in Santa Clarita with friends. I was hardly ever home, especially during the summer. There isn’t much to keep a teenager occupied in Buckhorn. I had to drive to Clarita for school anyway.” He nods as you tell him about Buckhorn and the camping spots and some stories about when you were a teenager and you’d sneak away to Santa Clarita for parties in Oakmont, one of the more wealthy neighborhoods in the town.

“Sounds fun. I spent most of high school in my room studying or in my best friend’s garage.” You smile at that, and you both continue talking about your teenage years.

“We’ll be in LA in about 20 minutes if traffic is good. Where are you looking to be dropped off?” He shrugs, and you let him think.

“Maybe a diner somewhere. I’m pretty hungry and I’m not quite sure I want to go back to my friend’s place yet. They’re usually there all day and leave at night, so I’ll wait until they’re gone.” You nod and continue driving in silence until you hit the LA traffic. You see a long line of cars blocking the flow of the freeway, so you decide to turn into the parking lot of a tiny roadside diner. It looks quaint and not too busy, so you decide to treat your guest to lunch.

“So, what’s your story?” He asks you, as you both sit awkwardly at a corner booth in the diner, which is less busy than you thought it would be around lunch time. You shrug, thanking the nice waitress that brings you both cups and pours coffee in them.

“I was born here, and I grew up in Buckhorn. I’ve been here my entire life, and I’ll probably be here for the rest of it.” He smiles lightly and brings the warm mug to his lips. 

“I meant, like, your real story. The one that hasn’t started yet.” You tlt your head at that question, but you figure you’ll give it a shot. 

“Well, I’m a musician. That’s something, I guess.” He nods and looks at you to continue. “I’m in a band, we play new wave, and I’m the lead singer and guitarist. I live in a tiny two bedroom apartment, and I used to live there with my best friend until she ran off to London with some British guy she married in Vegas.” He sends you a sympathetic look and you shrug once again. You’re starting to feel very comfortable around this man, who is a total stranger, and for some reason you feel like you could tell him your deepest secret without hesitation. 

That feeling scared you.

“Interesting. I didn’t beg you as the singer-type, but the guitarist part suits you.” You smile and cast your eyes to the mug in front of you, which you have yet to touch. You sigh and take it, lifting it to your mouth and taking a big gulp of the steaming liquid.

“How about you? What are you doing in the city of angels? You don’t seem like the struggling artist type, to me.” He chuckles and sets his nearly empty mug down.

“I’m a Junior at USC. History major.” You smile and nod, casting your eyes down to your the mug, watching the dark liquid swish around at the slightest movement. You’ve always loved history, but in Buckhorn there was nobody who wanted to talk about anything other than fishing or the next party in Santa Clarita. You were starting to wonder how you never met this boy in high school. Oh right, he didn’t party all the time, hence college.

“Yeah, you definitely seem like a history major to me.” He smiles again, and for some reason, you feel this sense of.. pride, from getting him to smile. To you, it seems he’s a little closed off, reserved, and you’ve always loved getting into the hearts of people like that.

“Yeah, I’m a typical nerd. I’d like to think I’m a little less geeky than the usual type, though.” You almost respond too quickly at that. You want to tell him he’s too attractive to be considered a nerd, and that being well over 6 feet and built like a tank kind of excludes you from that title. Thankfully, you catch yourself and just nod. Nodding’s harmless, right?

The waitress returns and you both order your food. It arrives not too long after and you spend a good half hour eating together and discussing everything you can think of, from the Vietnam War to each other’s recent musical discoveries. Before long, it’s well past 2 PM and you’ve got to drop Adam off before heading to band practice.

You two split the bill and hop back in your truck. Adam reaches into the center console and pulls out a cassette tape; Fleetwood Mac’s recent album, Rumours. You smile when you hear Go Your Own Way playing through the speaker, and you two drive the last 20 minutes to the train station next to your apartment in South Pasadena, where you had decided to drop him off.

“Here’s my number. I live up the street from here, so feel free to stop by sometime if you have the chance.” He smiles at you and nods, taking the napkin you had scribbled your name and number on in the bathroom of the diner during lunch. 

“Will do. Thanks for the lift, and I enjoyed talking to you.” You both get a little lost in the moment, smiling at each other awkwardly for a good 10 seconds before he pulls the truck door open and steps onto the asphalt. He turns the corner and he’s out of your sight, and you wonder how you could feel so happy and.. satisfied, after one afternoon with a stranger.

Hopefully, he’ll be around again soon.

I really hope you guys enjoyed the first part of this new fic I’m starting with the 70s Adam concept. You all seemed pretty enthusiastic about it, so I created a plot for it and planned it out to make it a full on story. I have a lot of good stuff in store for all of you ;) Please leave any feedback you can, and feel free to leave any comments and reactions for me! If you wanna fangirl about 70s Adam, or any other type of Adam, I’m always willing to fangirl over on my spam blog, @bestbitterbetterspam. 

Also, if you want to be added to the taglist for this story, leave a comment down below letting me know!

Send me concepts to write about or send a request through my ask box!

Spam Blog // Ko-Fi // Masterlist *Any support over on Ko-Fi is very much appreciated. I’m a full time student, and have to stay caffeinated enough to write stories, so any contribution helps!*

[spaz8550]

Stay

Ch 29

A week later Sinead was in Boston. She flew in on a muggle plane since Minister Flannery didn't want to risk setting up a long distance Floo connection. Danny met her at the airport and they went to her father's office to meet him for lunch. John agreed with his daughter not to alert Helen to the visit because she was still raving about Severus and the others she had met. 

After settling in Sinead went to visit Maggie's grandmother and sister, Maggie had asked her to check in and make sure they were both ok. Sinead could see that Maggie's grandmother was starting to slow down and she knew that caring for the girls was difficult.

The second day in Boston Sinead headed to Salem to meet with Minister Flannery. The meeting was a long one he wanted a detailed timeline of what had gone on since her arrival in London the previous summer. The date for the council was set for two days giving Sinead some time to meet with the shop owners who were carrying her line of products. Sinead also looked into possibly having a brewing station in Salem that would supply her orders in Salem and Boston but she couldn't find someone with a high level of experience that she could trust. 

Sinead met with the coven she was a part of and presented what she knew. A few of the members seemed more interested in what was going on but no one volunteered to go except Bill's son, who was moving to London with his father soon anyway. Sinead was kept busy with an invite to a ministry run ball in New Orleans two days after the panel was set to meet. The day of the panel Sinead stood in the Ministry building with Margaret, the elder who had predicted Sinead's future if she went to London.

"You will be fine, dear. Just answer their questions and stay calm." Margaret gave Sinead a quick hug. The doors opened and Minister Flannery stood before them.

"Welcome Sinead. Margaret, I'll take it from here." Margaret forced a smile as Sinead followed the Minister into the large meeting room. She was introduced to the other Ministers before she took a seat and the questions began.

The first topic of discussion was why Albus Dumbledore was removed from his position of Headmaster of Hogwarts. Several people were using bewitched quills and parchments to take notes. Sinead was shielding her mind and felt a someone try to breakthrough. She scanned the room to see a dark haired wizard she knew to be the Headmaster of the New Orleans wizarding school to be glaring at her, she knew his name was Roberto Lamas. 

The next topic of discussion was Harry Potter. Sinead kept her answers vague and only reported what she knew to be common knowledge. 

The Order of the Phoenix was the next topic discussed. Sinead answered questions about what the order was focused on but she refused to name members since it would be public knowledge. 

The last topic was he who must not be named.

"Why not just call him by his name?" Sinead asked.

"You are a fool to do so." Sneered Roberto.

"I agree, we should call him by his name." Minister Flannery said backing up Sinead. 

Many of the people in the room seemed uncomfortable and the information presented seemed to made everyone feel much more tense.

"Sinead, thank you for coming here to present this information. We are all grateful for this opportunity to hear about what is happening. Now we are going to discuss everything we have learned and hopeful come to a decision." 

Sinead nodded and stood. After getting outside she let out a sigh and made her way over to the shop that was selling her items. Many people in the shop were happy to see Sinead in person and a few people asked for her to autograph their shampoos bottles. When Sinead arrived at Danny's apartment her mother was sitting on the couch.

"Hello mother." Sinead said as Danny looked away guiltily.

"Sinead, I want you to hear what I have to say. I don't approve of your relationship with Severus but I'm your mother and I won't let you push me away."

"Mom, I've put up with you trying to control me my whole life. I put up with your requests so I could do what I wanted. I'm not giving up being a witch and I'm not giving up Severus." 

Danny frowned.

"Sinead, let's think about this. I'm your best friend and you know I have your best interests at heart."

"Danny, please don't do this. We always promised we'd never get involved in each other's relationships." 

Danny nodded.

"I know and I want to say one thing, just think about your possible future with him. I know you want to get married and have children. He's in his mid-thirties-"

"Stop, this intervention is ridiculous. Dad was in his 30s when I was born and this topic hasn't even been brought up between Severus and I-"

"Honey, we are thinking about you. He does seem like the paternal type-"

"Mom, I'm done. Either we drop this or I'm not going to talk to you until you get over this. Daniel, I can't believe you right now. I've never once butted into your love life and I'm so hurt that you joined in on this attack. I'm going to pack up my stuff and check into a hotel until it's time to go home. Mom, don't you dare think about showing up tomorrow when I go over Uncle Gs for dinner because he is well aware of what is going on and he supports me."

Helen stood shocked as Sinead moved around the apartment throwing her things into her bag muttering under her breath. Two hours after the failed intervention Sinead lay on her bed in the hotel where she would be staying. She had contacted her father and he was beyond pissed and she was sure somewhere in Boston her mother was also at a hotel because of her actions that day. Her father seemed like he was growing tired of Helen's behavior and Sinead wouldn't be surprised if her parents actually finally split up. She knew for years her father put up with her mother for the same of the family but Sinead had been living on her own for years. 

Sinead knew it would be late but she called Maggie hoping that her friend might still be awake. For the first time since her aunt and grandfather's deaths Sinead broke down and who was usually the cried listened to everything Sinead said and even offered to come back to Boston for support. Since Sinead was only going to be home for a few more days she told Maggie to stay in London but she requested that the girls come over her house the day after she got home.

In London an Order meeting was called to discuss the change in several of the Death Eaters movements. Maggie was staring off when Albus asked if she had heard from Sinead.

"Sinead presented everything to the Ministry and is going to hear the results of their discussion at a ball in New Orleans. I was going to fly there since her mother was giving her a bad time again and that idiot Danny joined in." 

Severus looked down at his hands. He hadn't heard from Sinead but he felt like something was wrong.

"That poor dear." Molly said as Albus frowned not really knowing what was going on.

"Her mother is giving her a hard time because of me." Severus said as Sirius went to open his mouth but Remus kicked him under the table.

"Not know." He gritted as Sirius glared at him.

"Sinead's mother is a piece of work anyway. That woman made it difficult for her to be a witch. I was amazed Sinead was so level heaved after meeting Helen." Trent said as Sophia shook her head.

"I know she'll be ok. Sinead's the strongest person I know."

[tabloidtoc]

National Enquirer, October 5

You can buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Cops in the Crosshairs

Page 2: Fears for the health of Ryan Seacrest as Keeping Up with the Kardashians which is his cash cow is being put out to pasture -- Ryan is pulling his hair out about the potential loss of revenue and racking his brain trying to come up with something that can replace it 

Page 3: Ellen DeGeneres is in a panic fearing she may lose her daytime TV show and wife Portia de Rossi in the wake of the scandal that’s tarnished her once pristine reputation as the Queen of Nice -- Ellen is in the deepest funk of her life as most of her high-powered Hollywood pals have been ghosting her and she is convinced there may be no coming back from this -- what’s more Ellen is concerned additional bad news may drive away her wife Portia 

Page 4: Kelly Clarkson has vowed to remain silent about the nightmare behind her divorce from Brandon Blackstock to protect her kids -- Kelly is known for oversharing but she’s keeping her lips zipped about Brandon because she never wants her children to know how bad things really were with their dad 

Page 5: Cardi B’s divorce filing from Offset described her marriage as irretrievably broken -- Cardi accused Offset of cheating in 2018 five months after the birth of their daughter Kulture and Offset seemed to own up to his infidelities on Instagram -- following the massive success of WAP Cardi finally listened to pals who have been telling her to toss the cheater but she wants the break to be amicable and will accept a joint custody arrangement for Kulture 

Page 6: Kanye West is crowing he personally engineered the downfall of Keeping Up with the Kardashians and that he’s the one calling the shots in his marriage to Kim Kardashian from now on -- Kanye hated the show and his constant negativity wore Kim down and killed it for her too and without her it couldn’t possibly go on -- Kanye believes Kim’s appearance on the show was at the heart of all their problems and now that she’s out of there he’s got every hope they can fix things 

Page 7: Endless renovations at their Los Angeles mansion have left George and Amal Clooney at each other’s throats and the feuding twosome are on the brink of a $500 million divorce -- the construction work which has soared over budget to more than $1 million has confined them to close quarters with their twins Ella and Alexander and they’re constantly bumping heads, love-hungry Katie Holmes is heading for a showdown with new boyfriend Emilio Vitolo Jr.’s scorned ex Rachel Emmons who was blindsided by Emilio and now she’s demanding answers from both him and Katie -- Katie knew Emilio was engaged to the designer but launched a steamy fling with him anyway and Rachel is not finished with Emilio or Katie by a long shot 

Page 8: Hollywood Hookups -- Ray J and Princess Love split again, Kaia Gerber and Jacob Elordi dating, Cassie Randolph gets a restraining order from Colton Underwood 

Page 9: Queen Elizabeth snubbed Tom Cruise’s request for a private chat and it’s got the snobby superstar’s nose out of joint -- the Scientology poster boy got the bright idea to drop in on the British royal while filming the latest Mission: Impossible movies using London as a base because he is a huge royal fan but so far no one from the palace has responded and Tom’s ego is hurt because almost no one refuses the opportunity to meet with Tom and no isn’t a word he’s used to hearing and being ignored happens even less -- Her majesty would barely know who Tom Cruise is and he’d be just another American pipsqueak to her and Hollywood is not exactly her favorite place at the moment 

Page 10: Hot Shots -- Kristen Taekman of The Real Housewives of New York City in California, Riley Keough at the beach in Malibu, Frances McDormand offered the Vulcan salute before the L.A. screening of her film Nomadland, Jennifer Lopez at a lunch date in NYC, Bruce Willis out and about in Brentwood 

Page 11: A skin cancer scare has friends of sun-worshipping Caitlyn Jenner worried she’s playing Russian roulette with her health -- Caitlyn recently revealed a doctor took all the skin off her nose and reattached it to patch up a skin cancer scar -- she’s been treated for skin cancers on her cheek and nose but she’s a self-confessed tanning freak and can often be seen playing golf under the blazing California sun, Sofia Richie is getting revenge on ex Scott Disick by flirting up a storm with Will Smith’s son Jaden Smith and a string of other studs -- her phone was ringing off the hook with hot guys wanting a date and now that Sofia’s finally got Scott out of her hair she plans to show him what he’s missing

Page 12: Straight Shuter -- Gavin Rossdale plays tennis (picture), Kelly Ripa is fuming over Drew Barrymore’s new talk show and it’s been made clear to A-listers if they appear on Drew’s show they will not be welcomed back to talk with Kelly and Ryan Seacrest any time soon and the competition between talk shows to book big-name celebrity guests has never been more intense, there’s a new stud in town at ABC and it’s got World News Tonight anchor David Muir’s knickers in a twist because weekend anchor Tom Llamas is horning in on David’s spotlight, Britney Spears and her little sister Jamie Lynn Spears are looking for a home together because Jamie Lynn has accepted that she’ll need to help look after Britney for the rest of her life and Britney can afford to buy a house with separate wings so they’ll each have their privacy but Jamie Lynn can keep an eye on Britney 

Page 13: In the latest sex scandal to hit the Fox News network senior legal analyst and former New Jersey judge Andrew Napolitano is battling back against allegations he sexually abused a New Jersey man in the 1980s, frail Ryan O’Neal reconciled with daughter Tatum O’Neal after 17 years but he’s a long way off from doing the same with son Redmond O’Neal -- ailing Ryan has distanced himself from his only child with the late Farrah Fawcett since Redmond was arrested and charged with attempted murder and assault with a deadly weapon and brandishing a knife and battery in 2018 -- Ryan sees Redmond’s troubles and demons as his alone to conquer and may even cut Redmond out of his will 

Page 14: Crime

Page 15: Reality show train-wrecks Kate and Jon Gosselin have renewed their toxic battle as the bickering exes engage in an ugly war of words over child abuse charges 

Page 16: Goodfellas movie gangster Ray Liotta has taken his whirlwind romance with brunette stunner Jacy Nittolo to the next level by tying the knot -- his new bride’s father was a real-life killer Stewart Woodman who was found guilty in 1990 of the execution-style slaying of his parents, Zac Efron’s summer lovin’ with an Aussie waitress seems to have already hit a sour note -- Zac has been living the high life Down Under with Vanessa Valladares since he hit up her boss for her number two months ago but by early September the pair were caught on camera in an outdoor cafe reportedly locked in a heated argument about their future -- this has been a fun fling for Zac but the reality is he has to head back to the U.S. and attend to his career while Vanessa is just a kid and her whole life is in Australia 

Page 17: Denise Richards is ditching The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills in a desperate bid to save her marriage -- the endless rehash of former co-star Brandi Glanville’s allegations they shared a same-sex fling despite Denise’s denials has pushed her relationship with alt-medicine guru Aaron Phypers onto life support 

Page 18: American Life -- I was trapped in wildfire hell 

Page 19: Garth Brooks and Trisha Yearwood plan to tell their story in a no-holds-barred documentary -- the country duo hopes to mimic the success of Walk the Line which was a biopic about Johnny Cash and June Carter’s fiery romance and they’ve been talking to producers and writers -- they’ll also discuss their weight battles and food binges and how they got back in shape with clips of Garth working out and Trisha whipping up some of her healthier meals 

Page 20: America’s colleges infested by spies -- enemy nations using top schools to steal vital secrets and recruit moles 

Page 22: They Stayed After Partners Strayed -- cheating scandals that couldn’t tear star couples apart -- Jay-Z and Beyonce, David Letterman and Regina Lasko, Woody Harrelson and Laura Louie 

Page 23: Ozzy and Sharon Osbourne, Jada Pinkett Smith and Will Smith, Kevin Hart and Eniko Parrish 

Page 26: Jaime King is locked in a vicious war with estranged husband Kyle Newman who has accused her of being a chronic drug addict and alcoholic and cleaning out their bank accounts -- Kyle also claims Jaime was abusing drugs during her two pregnancies and that their son Leo was born addicted to opiates -- Kyle said he makes $750 a month now as a writer and claimed he had to give up his directing career to look after their family and after their unsuccessful settlement talks in June he claimed Jaime went to Canada to film her show Black Summer leaving the boys with him for four months without support or any funds 

Page 27: Hoops phenom Maya Moore recently revealed she married Jonathan Irons the man she put her high-flying sports career on hold for as she helped free him from prison following his wrongful conviction more than 20 years ago -- Maya considered one of the greatest WNBA players ever ditched the league in 2019 to focus on social justice issues and secure Jonathan’s release -- Jonathan now 40 was only 16 when he was slapped with a 50-year sentence for burglary and assault in Missouri 

Page 28: Cover Story -- Cops in the crosshairs

Page 32: Acting legend Diana Rigg’s dying regret was that she never took advantage of the steamy chemistry she shared with Avengers co-star Patrick Macnee -- their sexual tension drove the series and young Diana always wanted to make it a reality but Patrick was married to Katherine Woodville at the time 

Page 34: Health Watch 

Page 36: Film femme fatale Sharon Stone is 62 but griped that folks are still angling to get an eyeful of her rack -- she compared her situation to Marilyn Monroe’s where she did movies that mattered but she still couldn’t get completely out of being that thing, Duane “Dog” Chapman claimed his late wife Beth haunted him after he found new love with fiancee Francie Frane 

Page 42: Red Carpet -- Robert Pattinson 

Page 45: Spot the Differences -- Laurence Leboeuf and Kenny Wong on Transplant 

Page 47: Odd List 

[dezembergirl]

Homework (Apart 5)

I fell in love with writing happy and fluffy Noorhelm, so that’s why I kinda stopped writing this story. It’s so much for emotional complex and  straight up heart breaking to write. Buuuut I got over my self and wrote another chapter.

I really hope you like it! (Also I tried to quicken the pace, so we can get to the better parts sooner.) <3 for sticking with me!

Fandom: Skam

Pairing: Noorhelm

Story: Apart

originally published at ao3

Eskild had pulled every trick - unpacking Noora’s stuffed rucksack multiple times included - to persuade her from moving. She wasn’t leaving the Kollektiv, not really; not like London. But she could assure Eskild she’d be back next weekend all she wanted, he kept pouting and begging.

She would have never presumed to ask Eva anyways, but when her friend had offered to share her room for a couple of nights until her mother returned from Brussel, Noora couldn’t refuse. The empty house was less crowded than the city flat she shared with three more or less agreeable living companions. Even Eskild couldn’t argue with the lack of beds at the Kollektiv and the past nights on the couch had left her spine aching for a real mattress.

Sprawled on Eva’s bed and a pillow tucked under her chin she scrolled through her phone. It really was a bad habit, especially since her thumb paused on William’s unanswered chat every time. It wasn’t as if she didn’t want to reply; Noora knew just how hard it was, waiting for an explanation, even a quick hi, anything but silence. She remembered the sleepless nights she had spent last spring, sulking in her own bed and alternated between praying for a single word from him and cursing William for not replying to a any of her texts. She put the phone down and leaned back against the propped up pillows.

«I hate irregular verbs.» Eva had her books and papers scattered across the duvet and pillows, struggling with a Spanish homework.

Not being back at school yet, Noora had nothing to distract herself with and there was only so much cleaning one could do. (Scrubbing the wall at seven in the morning two days ago might have taken it a step too far.) She hated the empty space in her head, it reminded her of London and all the things she had left London for. So when Eva had kept on nagging about her dropping grades, she had been more than glad to look over her essays and papers for her.

«They’re not so bad once you get them into your head.»

«Spanish doesn’t agree with me. I should have chosen German.» Eva sighed and Noora laughed.

«Because that would be any easier?»

«At least it doesn’t have the Spanish r.» to Noora’s amusement Eva tried to roll the r and failed miserably.

With a groan Eva forced her attention back to the paper and Noora continued scrolling through the chat. It read like a diary of the growing distance between them. The last ‘I love you’ was weeks past and she scarcely remembered the last time he had said it to her in person. It must have been some hectic morning where he would quickly kiss her goodbye, mumble the words and disappear for the next 8 to 10 hours.

She scrolled back to his newest message.

William: Noora??

It wasn’t because she didn’t love him anymore, she still did. Maybe too much, but he had changed in ways she had barely recognized him some days. Not just because he had swopped his simple pants and fitted sweaters for perfectly tailored suits and dark blue ties that seemed to strangle all life from his body. She missed the person that had made her cocoa every other night and she could have talked about absolutely anything with at 2 am. He knew so much about her, everything there was to know - except maybe for the spelling of her name, but that was mystery even her parents hadn’t been able to explain. Eva was her best friend, the first girl she had met in Oslo, but there were things they didn’t talk about. Eva’s family was fucked up as well with her mother always traveling but until William no one had ever comprehend what it meant to have family and still not have family at the same time.

She was grateful for the things Mari had told her. It might not have been right to hear it from her but every time she had tried to ask William about it since, the pain in his eyes had made her drop the topic instantly. He had only managed to tell her how he used to play with Amalie, read her stories and would slip under the covers with her to keep the nightmares away. Noora had never known a sibling of her own but William’s choked words as he remembered his little sister mangled her heart. She had scarcely ever seen him cry before that. Mari had been right, he had perfected the art of hiding his feelings, even from her. (Had he cried now that she had left him?)

Maybe that was the problem, they were too fucked up. Or was it that William had finally found the family he had never had in Oslo. Noora had only ever met his father once, two days after they moved into the apartment. He had been there to give William something work related and had only acknowledged her with a quick nod, not waisting any time on niceties. Though she appreciated the honesty, his cool demeanor had felt especially out of place compared to William’s almost childlike excitement.

He had had daddy issues written all over him and no one, especially not his father, had ever looked close enough to care. Now that he did give him attention it had changed everything. She should have been happy for him, for finally finding some family member that showed any signs of interest, but that wasn’t was family was supposed to be. Just like her, he had probably never experienced genuine love or honest affection before, and this came close enough.

Was it because she wasn’t so sure what William would have chosen, her or his dad? Not that she would have ever posed such an ultimatum but she wouldn’t put it past his father. Maybe this was his answer, he chose London over Oslo, work over her. Noora knew it wasn’t a fare assessment, she was the one who had left and it was pathetic to think he would drop everything to chase after her the second he discovered her disappearance. (It was selfish, but every time someone knocked on the door or entered a room, she would hope it was him, just for a split second.)

She continued to stare at the unanswered message, the brightness of the display making her eyes strain. When her phone vibrated, the surprise almost caused her to drop it. Her mouth went dry when another white bubble appeared under his last one.

William: Chris told me you’re in Oslo, can you please answer

She wasn’t sure if it was good or bad that he knew where she was.

«Eva,» she looked up from her homework. «Have you told Chris that I’m back?»

«Hmm» Eva furrowed her brows, «Was that supposed to be a secret?»

Noora swallowed and pursed her lips. Eva had a point, it was no secret and explaining why William’s best friend knew more about his girlfriend than William himself was a topic she didn’t want to tackle. Eva was still twirling her pen between her fingers studying Noora, who very clearly wasn’t typing a reply to William’s text.

«If you wanna talk about it …» Eva carefully said.

«I know,» Noora nibbled at her lip. «It’s just there is nothing to talk about.»

Eva didn’t look convinced but dropped her eyes back to her Spanish homework.

For now, she hadn’t told anyone exactly why she was back. Only that everything was okay and she had missed her friends. Thankfully, no one had been bold enough to ask any more than that. Sometimes she would catch them staring, studying her face as if they expected her to collapse in front of their eyes at any second. She would have to tell them the truth at some point but for now she was grateful that Sana had stifled any tactless questions Vilde was no doubt itching to ask.

William: just please say something. I am so sorry!

Her buzzing phone send shockwaves through her body and she had trouble concentrating on the words on the screen. She was sorry too, more than he knew.

This would have been so easy if it had all been his fault, his doing alone. But the truth was complex and she knew that running wasn’t the appropriate way to deal with their problems, but staying would have killed the last bit of life in her soul. Why couldn’t he be the asshole she had seen in him a year ago, self centered, caring for none but himself and no one she could ever fall in love with?

What was worse, that she knew that he cared, maybe even more than she did - only he hid it well - or that he had stop caring about her; if he hadn’t, he hid it even better.

She knew that that was what they all assumed when they stared at her. The pity filled eyes, because surely William Magnusson had returned to his old ways and had sent her back to Oslo with a broke heart. The urge to defend him battled with the still intact peaces of her broke pride. They wouldn’t believe her, Eskild hadn’t when she had tried her best to explain how she was the one who had done all the leaving. She didn’t want to imagine the look on Sana and Eva’s faces when they discovered what she had actually done. How she had been too weak to face Nico at the trial, how she had lied to everyone and had left William with nothing but an empty apartment.

Her eyes were glued to his name on top of her screen and she had to bite back the tears. Noora wanted to scream at him, make him see all the things her head couldn't find words for and her mouth was to cowardly to pronounce. She wanted to say something, anything at all.

She couldn’t.

She wanted him here, at her side to wipe the tear from her cheek and make all of the last months undone. Instead she stared at Eva, still struggling with her essay and swallowed down the childish wishes.

They went to sleep early and Noora was thankful for a full night’s sleep in a real bed. She closed her eyes.

If he really loved her, he would come after her; maybe Eskild was right.

[ficsforfangirls]

A Carry On Dictionary: Letter D

Letter A     |     Letter B     |      Letter C     |      Letter D     |     Letter E

Letter F (Rated: M)     |     Letter G     |     Letter H     |     Letter I     |     Letter J

Letter K     |      Letter L     |     Letter M     |     Letter N     |     Letter O

Letter P     |     Letter Q     |     Letter R     |     Letter S     |     Letter T    

Letter U     |      Letter V     |     Letter W (Trigger Warnings)     |      Letter X

Letter Y     |     Letter Z

AO3 with the whole collection <3

deplorable; {dih-plawr-uh-buh-l} 

causing or being a subject for grief or regret; lamentable action

Watching Simon and Baz try to deal with each other in this awkward romantic minefield is hardly what Penny would consider to be fun. For a year Simon has been keeping Baz in this are-we-aren’t-we limbo while Baz has been treading softly the line between caring too much and not enough. Something about them isn’t quite syncing up yet and, honestly, her working theory is that they’ve put too much distance between themselves. Baz is living on campus at the London School of Economics while Simon is working odd jobs doing seasonal working here and there when business requires extra hands.

 Simon thought that because Baz had been his roommate at Watford that they’d shared too much time together to really learn how to be a healthy couple living apart. Perhaps that was true at first, but now? Penny is sure that if they don’t get the nudge they need to be reminded that their feelings are larger than their fears.

 That’s why Penny upped the ante by hanging mistletoe everywhere. Not just in doorways, not just by windows, but literally every six inches there’s mistletoe hanging from the wall. It’s not in a perfectly straight line, either, so that no matter what, there will be kissing. Penny personally wants to see Simon and Baz kiss each other at least one hundred times before midnight.

 Because at midnight Micah is going to propose-ish…

 There have been talks for a couple of weeks that at the end of Penny’s break year that she would accept an internship overseas to be closer to Micah. Their long distance relationship has remained strong and loving despite the odds against them, and the thousands of leagues too. Of course, the plan was always that they would reunite either in American or in London. Leaving her family behind would be hard but in the end, it was Micah who would have to give up a job. Penny had nothing to lose. She was a good enough at Watford that she could easily attend anywhere should she wish.

 Anyway, Baz arrives at the flat before Simon gets off of work. Being a non-imbecile, he notices the mistletoe straight away. “What’s your game, Bunce?”

 “All of the kisses, Basilton. All – of – the – kisses!” Her plan wouldn’t work if she didn’t have a partner in crime. She doesn’t explain everything, such as the proposal (which is really Micah officially inviting her to America by giving her a copy of his house key and a lease agreement which would add her name to the contract). Penny doesn’t even tell him why she wanted to do this. Baz doesn’t ask either.

 In fact, he shakes his head, “You’re deplorable, you know. He thinks you’re this pure scholar with no ill intent. But this?” Baz gestures all around the flat to make his point. He laughs and then continues, “This you telling him how to be in a relationship. I don’t exactly want to push him away.”

 Penny shrugs, setting her mouth to the side and at an angle. Worry grabs her features and forms them in such a way that it reflects her thoughts. Even if she doesn’t need to actually convey to him what she thinks might be happening, she does. “You guys have this invisible chasm settled between you. I’m not sure that either of you even sees it.”

 Baz considers this and waves her off once he’s tossed the concept to the side. Before he leaves to the living room, though, he mutters over his shoulder. “I’d consider myself lucky to get one kiss. Let alone one hundred of them.” The sharpness of his words is indescribable. Penny can’t forcibly fix their relationship any more than she can tell them how to live their lives. With Baz being a vampire and Simon sporting cartoony wings and a tail, there is no ‘normal’ for them. She could never truly understand. Love is something that she does understand, though, and she can see it in their eyes.

 “Deplorable?” she whispers, peeking out the door to the street where Simon would soon be dropped off. “I thought I was more desperate, really.” In a huff, she slams the door shut and walks straight to her bedroom where Micah is talking a nap. She curls up next to him and huffs dramatically this time to wake up her boyfriend.

 “Hm?” With half closed eyes, Micah listens as she gossips about the boys. Here and there he makes a comment. In the end, she admits that she knows she is pushing too hard. She just wants Simon and Baz to be happy, especially before she leaves. Once she accepts Micah’s offer, she’ll be leaving within the month. She wants to start the New Year by his side in America.

 Meanwhile, Baz is sitting on the couch. If Penny is deplorable, then what does that make him? For months he has been stressed about the ‘chasm’ developing between them. Aside from that, he couldn’t remember the last time Simon has kissed him with great passion. He’s lucky to get a peck on the cheek anymore. Surely something has upset him, but was it Baz or someone else? Helping Simon is impossible if he doesn’t ask for it, and especially if he doesn’t let on that there’s even a problem.

 There are other words that Baz thinks of that describe the way everything feels in this lull between years. Tomorrow is New Year’s Eve but only just a few days ago it was Christmas. The time between holidays is this rift of yearning for something new while clinging to something old. Baz wants to revive his relationship, destitute and hopeless as it feels, but a part of him can’t help wanted to be free of the debacle entirely. If Simon isn’t ready – then why pretend to be a couple?

 They’re not even that, really.

 Simon interrupts his thoughts with a loud thud. “I’m alright!” he shouts, clearly having slipped and fallen on the ground. Baz rubs his hands over his face, effectively pushing the loose strands of hair out of his eyes and behind his ears. Standing with a great deal of effort, Baz decides that the only way to move forward is with honesty. He meets Simon at the door underneath the first mistletoe.

 Arm stretched straight up, he is pointing directly to the leaves and berries. “Kiss me,” he directs. “Kiss me under every mistletoe in this house or leave me.”

 “Okay?” Simon hesitates for a moment but then rolls onto his toes and kisses Baz on the lips. It is a lazy exchange. That doesn’t matter, though, because it still is an exchange. “May I ask what brought this on?”

 Baz shakes his head. An understanding forms between them. It hurts too much to say. Simon won’t push him anymore than Baz would. This ultimatum he’s presented to Simon, it’s Baz’s way of talking. Never having been the sort to express himself plainly, it has always been an action-based form of communication between them. The only surprise is that Simon accepted it without protest.

 So they moved six inches backwards. Their steps aren’t in sync, their movements are uncomfortable at best, and their kiss is reminiscent of teenagers fumbling through an awkward smooch than anything else. Incremental improvements are made as they slink through the hallway into the kitchen where they break apart only long enough for Simon to eat a red velvet donut leftover from breakfast. It is adorned with green frosting and red sprinkles. He washes it down with strawberry milk, which personally makes Baz sick to his stomach.

 “Need a break?” he remarks with as little sass as he can possibly manage while Simon stares at him with a distinctly blank expression. For a split second his brown scrunch together and then his features flatten once more. “No, why would you think that?”

 “Then where to?”

 Simon takes an unexpected step towards him, sliding his hand around his waist and pulling him close. They are pressed against one another when Simon tilts his chin up just enough to signal for Baz to dip down. This kiss in tender in a way the previous ones hadn’t been and the linger flavors in Simon’s mouth is alluring. He not only tastes human but he tastes of decadence.

 Moving towards the living room doesn’t take much time, even with the breaks for their kissing, and once they get to the couch, it is Simon who pulls Baz by the belt loop onto his lap. They sit here without kissing, and it looks quite silly since Baz is much larger than Simon, but there he stays with his buttocks planted against Simon’s knees. “Penny’s going to move.”

 It shouldn’t have come as such a shock to Baz, and yet it did. Micah had come to Christmas and he wasn’t staying long, but he brought three very large suitcases. It should’ve been obvious. He was going to ask Penny to go back with him. She had nothing going on here. Her income was tutoring money she earned by helping students at Watford. Penny hadn’t even considered getting a more permanent job during the year she’d been out of school, either. This was always the plan.

 “I’m sorry, mate,” Baz’s entire body softens against his partner. “Do you know what you’re going to do about the flat?”

 Simon decidedly doesn’t reply. Instead, he pushes Baz off and readjusts on the couch so that they can lay there watching television. It was something that Simon absolutely enjoyed and eventually became one of Baz’s favorite pastimes. Lounging around with the best person in the whole world, in his opinion anyway, had a variety of benefits for his mental and emotional health. It took a lot more effort to peel himself away than to sink back against Simon, and that seemed like a pretty great thing to Baz.

 Penny and Micah slink out eventually but they don’t say much. The four of them watch a couple of movies that were just added to Netflix and the chill, in the innocent way and old fashioned way, until Micah and Penny decide it’s time for dinner. Simon never decides because he’d eat nonstop all day. Baz would have to compete with the food for access to the redhead’s mouth.

 Of course, Baz is in that predicament anyway, so maybe it wouldn’t have been too bad after all.

 “I was thinking take-out. Anyone opposed to subs?” Nobody speaks up and so Penny gets the orders from everyone, except Baz, who asks for a bottled water. Since being outed as a vampire, he doesn’t bother faking it for his friends. He’ll drink occasionally but never more than that. With paper in hand, Penny and Micah offer to grab the food and bring it back without even inviting the boys. As far as Baz is concerned, he would rather stay home anyway.

 Simon says he wants to go plug his phone in and invites Baz along for the ‘ride.’ As instructed, they kiss every six inches all the way to his door. The pecks that Simon granted to Baz over the last five or six months make the kisses the share now look explicit. Their tongues dance over one another, deeper and harder each step closer they take to his bedroom.

 Once inside, there are no mistletoes, but it doesn’t deter the boys. Breaking long enough to close the door and actually plug in Simon’s phone, they are soon full and proper snogging on the bed. Little more can be said about their activity until Baz pulls away and looks in Simon’s eyes. “I want you to know that this wasn’t entirely my idea, and I’m kind of a prick for saying you had to kiss me so many times.”

 Simon shrugs, “I figured it must be important to you. Wouldn’t have asked otherwise, right?”

 “I didn’t ask,” he laments, guilt apparent in every way on his body. “It wasn’t right for me to demand it.”

 Sitting up and curling himself into a bit of a pretzel, silence settles in the space between them. It isn’t an uncomfortable sort of quiet, though, because it is clear that they both need it. The reality of it all comes down to one simple truth: they weren’t lost, just busy. When Simon fills the room with his voice, he chirps his acceptance of the terms in a kind tone; “I don’t have the same sort of urges that you do so I think I forget that you need that affirmation. Sometimes I don’t even realize that I want you that way until you make the first move. I’m sorry.”

 “There’s nothing to apologize for, Simon, and you bloody well know it,” Baz barks in prompt reply. It isn’t Simon’s fault that their cravings for physical affection is mismatched. It isn’t Baz’s fault either. Not once did he ever pressure Simon to do something he didn’t want to do, and the fact that he’d presented an ultimatum with the mistletoe made him feel worse than deplorable. “I don’t deserve you and the only person here that should be apologizing is me.”

 “Nobody has anything to be sorry about and I think we should pink swear to drop it,” Simon declares with waving arms and a squeaky voice. This was quite enough chatting for the pair of them, honestly. The time had come to move onto whatever topic they could discuss next that wasn’t nearly as heavy and serious. But before they do, Baz makes a proper request.

 “Can we seal it with a kiss?”

 Growling with a low rumble that sends chills down Baz’s spine, Simon makes a move towards the vampire with his wings spread and his tail wagging back and forth. It is corny in the most attractive way. “It’d be my pleasure.”

[officialydonefanfiction]

Split Across the Continents Chapter #7

Unit J HQ Sophie finished her shower slowly, mulling over what Sam Jones had said. Major missions like this were quite rare for someone her age as they were usually delegated to the older and more experienced agents, then again, Sophie’s last mission had record breaking effects as she had handled it far beyond the parameters of what was expected which had ended with her saving the lives of almost a hundred people directly and several thousand indirectly. It had gone so well that she had been promoted to a rank normally held by the fifteen to sixteen year old agents. Not much came with this promotion apart from bragging rights and on occasion the better missions. Benjamin’s last mission had been a partial success but his epic failure in the fitness department had prevented any type of promotion. After her promotion, Sophie had rubbed her promotion in his face so much that Benjamin hadn’t spoken to her for days until they were forced to go to Wales. Karma’s a bitch was the last thing that Sophie thought before her phone rang for the second time that day. “Hi Sophie, it’s Elaine.” Sophie internally groaned at this. Elaine was her handler, essentially a mixture between parental figure, social worker, teacher, and a huge pain in the ass. She was the sort of woman who didn’t like her whole intelligence career being thrown away to act as a glorified form teacher but underneath that, Sophie guessed that she might actually care about her.

“Hi Elaine.” Sophie said carefully trying to predict the reason she was calling. She had done all her homework, she hadn’t failed the training exercise, she had been mean to Benjamin but then that wasn’t anything new. “We need to have a talk about your mission preparedness. You have only just returned from your last mission and before that was Level One training so your last solid month in school was almost six months ago.” Elaine continued as Sophie groaned. “But I can’t go round turning down missions… thats the whole reason I went through three months of hell to begin with!” Sophie exclaimed as she started to try to run a brush through her tangled mess of curls. “I am going to put you through academic assessment then if you pass, you will be deemed fit to go on this mission. But bear this in mind Sophie, you haven’t actually seen the mission dossier yet or had the briefing so you might turn it down anyway.” Sophie nearly laughed at this, nobody ever turned down a mission. It was as effective at shutting down your intelligence career as having your face on the front of the evening news. Nobody did that and hoped to be offered a place on a good mission. “Why do I have to do academic assessment? I was above everyone else my age anyway.” Sophie whined. “We train you to be the best you can be at everything. Six months away from school is bound to have had an impact and we need to assess it before you can be deemed mission ready.” Sophie made a face at this before hanging up. She was well aware that this wouldn’t help her case at all but she had just spent a weekend on a cold mountain, she was ready to be pissy.

“Good evening, Sophie,” The ever calm voice of Sam Jones radiated through his office. As one of the most senior mission controllers, Sam had one of the biggest offices and true to his nature it was tidy with little whale paper weights organizing everything. The old leather couches near the window fit right in with the old building aspect of HQ but the shiny Macbook with the adjoining screens around his desk contrasted so greatly that it made Sophie’s eyes hurt. Sam motioned for her to sit on one of the couches whilst he approached her with a shiny manilla folder bearing the name “Operation PixieDust” written on it. The name was so random that Sophie almost burst out laughing. Sam motioned for her to open it and as she did, a dossier with the same name fell out as well as some background reading. Her last mission had been thrown together last minute and she hadn’t had time to read a mission briefing but clearly this one had some more time behind it.

Mission Dossier for Sophie D. Please don’t remove this from Mission Preparation. A brief history of drug smuggling. Drug smuggling has been one of the largest and most difficult of all illegal activities to shut down since the signing of the International Opium Convention in 1912. Since then specialized task forces have been set up around the world to combat this with hundreds of major organized crime rings and gangs heading the distribution. Before the use of heroin was prohibited, it was commonly used as an aesthetic for surgeries with its derivative, morphine, still in common use today. It’s effects are powerful and combined with its deadly addiction, leaves its users completely under it’s control often leading them to steal from family, friends and have been known to commit murder in order to achieve their next high.

Andrew Henderson was born in the 1972 in North London to wealthy parents who founded their success on a small private airline called Henderson Air. He was described by his teachers to be intelligent, but easily distracted and they predicted a bright future for him if he was able to knuckle down. During his teenage years, Henderson was expelled after being caught selling cocaine to his peers at school. His drug test indicated that he was a fairly regular user. After completing rehab, Henderson attended sixth form college where he studies business, geography and mathematics achieving high grades in all of them. He was then later expelled from Bristol University after being caught yet again with cocaine in his room. After serving a brief prison sentence in 1993, Henderson dropped off the radar. Henderson resurfaced in 1999 when he was found to have known links to a cocaine smuggling gang that the leader, Rick Greyson, was arrested for in 2002. It is believed that Henderson escaped the initial wave of arrests and took over as leader and reestablished connections across the globe with Henderson smuggling drugs in at as many as 16 different ports in the UK. Police are unable to make any arrests due to inability to tie him to any crimes. Henderson changes burn phones every week and it is impossible to send any adult agents to infiltrate as Henderson will suspect them.

The American connection began when it appeared that AHG cocaine was being smuggled in to the US from the UK in the bags of school children on a school trip. AHG cocaine has since been found entering the US through ports as well as through the air. American DEA have since been investigating many other schools on the exchange program funded by AHG. So far, 20 schools within Washington DC, New York City, San Diego, Boston, and Seattle have been found to have AHG cocaine within them. AHG uses children as their dealers for several reasons as children receive lighter if any prison sentences, children have easy access to users and they are always on the lookout for ways to make extra cash.

The Unit J mission: In Washington DC, a navy officer was found to be murdered with his ten year old daughter having links to AHG. The Naval Criminal Investigative Service (NCIS) believes that the murder of Lieutenant Marcus King is related to the DC gang of AHG and upon further questioning of his daughter Sarah King, Sarah admitted to having been threatened by AHG. Unit J agent Sophie's job is to infiltrate the DC gang of AHG and gather intel regarding the running of AHG within DC. She will be posing as Sophie Hayes, a ten year old girl who has been recently expelled from her British boarding school in the UK and instead is attending James Morgen Middle School where she will attempt to become involved with AHG. Sophie's history of expulsion should allow her to become more involved with AHG as her expulsion shows an ability to take risks. She will be living with two NCIS agents (to be determined) who will pose as her parents who will attempt to find out more about AHG from the adult perspective.

This mission has been classified as MEDIUM RISK as it involves close interaction with known violent gang members as well as involvement with drugs. There will be a mission controller working directly with NCIS in Washington DC but the agent should be advised that she will be working independently for the majority of the mission. Unit J agents are reminded that any voluntary Class A drug ingestion will cause for them to be expelled.

Sophie finished reading the mission briefing and looked up at Sam. “Why the hell is this mission called Operation PixieDust?” Sophie asked him trying to hide a grin. “It wasn’t mentioned in the briefing but we believe that the cocaine used, has a street name of pixie dust. The Americans thought it up, not me. Have you got any real questions about the mission?” Sam smiled sheepishly. “Do they know I’m a kid or are we going to spring it on them like last time?” Sophie asked remembering back to her previous mission. She had been staying with an Israeli Intelligence officer who hadn’t been told she was ten until she showed up at the front door. “They will shortly. I have already spoken to the head case agent, someone called Gibbs? Seemed like a miserable git but  you can’t always get the most positive ones. If you agree to the mission then we will probably fly out to DC in the next week or two.” Sam added. “Of course I’ll take the mission. I’ve never been to America before.”  Sophie smiled really hoping that she could skip her educational assessment before Elaine got on her case again. Sophie opened the folder and started to settle into some background reading, boring but essential, and started on the cold slice of pizza in Sam’s office. “Just one thing, Elaine has mentioned that you need to have an educational assessment. The american middle school you will be going to will be well below your usual standard so I will talk to Elaine and make sure that your normal school work will be sent with you to DC and you can try to catch up what you missed. This is likely to be a couple of months long so we can’t have you skipping school for that long.” Sophie groaned at that hoping that that memo had been lost. “Hey, it’s better than you being deemed unfit for missions over something as stupid as an educational assessment.” Sam chided. “I’ll do the stupid educational assessment.”