#most of the other fics were un professore so i might give that a go

[ktsphere]

Trying to improve my Italian so I went on AO3 and sorted all Italian language fics by most kudos to see what Italian media might be worth watching, and the top fic was hp omegaverse

[leiawritesstories]

Speak To My Heart

Rowaelin Month, Day 15: A bad day

Word count: 3422

Warnings: language, bit of depression, fighting. In short, there is angst in this fic. Hope the ending makes up for the rest.

Linguistics and foreign languages are two of my personal passions, so please bear with the bits of language talk that I couldn’t resist including. Brief word of clarification: a lot of expressions we use in English either translate into something extremely rude or don’t make sense in other languages. Translation companies have been trying for quite some time to make sure they don’t accidentally send a client a translated instruction manual that reads “fuck your mother” instead of “for questions, contact your local energy department.” All right I’ll get off my soapbox. :)

The phrases in foreign languages, marked with *, are translated into English at the end. Enjoy!

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

Rowan’s day had been shit. The second he walked through the door, he’d been bombarded with an endless slew of crash reports, malfunctioning equipment, faulty passwords, and best of all, having to rewrite half the security firewalls because one of the rash young idiots in his department couldn’t be bothered to check his work for errors before sending it to management. And management thought it was the department boss’s job to fix all of his employees’ fuckups.

He hated IT.

Even more so since being promoted to department chair. 

All he wanted to do was the fun stuff--program design and development, fixing the flaws in his own designs, and of course making those who tried to break into his company’s systems regret their pitiful existence. But Cadre Tech’s bitch of a CEO refused to let the best software engineer on her staff actually do his job. 

Most days, he could cope with the pile of useless shit she directed to his desk. Most days. Today was not one of those days. Probably because on top of all the meaningless tasks he’d had to field, he was also forced to sit through one of Maeve’s bullshit “department head strategy sessions,” where every department chair had to pretend they gave a single shit about any word coming from their CEO’s garishly red, pinched mouth. 

As if she knew anything her staff actually did. 

Thanks to the compulsory meeting, Rowan was stuck in his office at nearly ten o’clock, painstakingly combing through the final draft of the update to CT’s translation program. This program had shot the company to fame and fortune, or at least insane stock value. “A Google Translate that actually translates,” their marketing department called it, and by the gods, that stupid slogan worked. And made sense. Rowan knew the program was just as good as it claimed to be.

He’d put in the hours, alongside a team of linguists, software engineers, designers, and people fluent in at least one other language. Frequent were the sessions where the project whiteboard turned into a jumble of words in twenty or more languages, Spanish alongside Arabic next to a column of simplified Japanese characters spilling over into a row of Cyrillic lettering. Rowan himself spoke German and some Spanish, but even he was lost amid the cacophony of eighteen different people switching from language to language, trying to figure out how idiomatic expressions translated from one language to another and what words should never, ever be placed together. 

It took the team well over a year of bickering, or as they called it, friendly linguistic disagreements, to make it from loosely mapped concept to functioning program. By the time it hit the market three years ago, the software had been so well promoted that companies all over the world snapped up their chance to finally communicate properly with the client they’d offended years ago with a bad translation. 

At launch, of course, Maeve stood in front of a sea of shouting reporters brandishing microphones, smiling her serpentine smile, and proceeded to thank the creative team for all their “contributions” before taking all the credit herself. 

Said creative team went to the bar that had become their usual gathering spot that night to get drunk and shit-talk their horrible boss, not necessarily in that order. 

His favorite memory of that night was hearing the chief linguist, an outside contract with multiple advanced degrees who spoke eight separate languages besides English fluently, refer to Maeve as “quella puttana rugosa che non riusciva a convincere un cazzo a venire a dieci metri da lei se si vestiva da figa.*” The Italian speakers on the team were crying with laughter, and so was everyone else, once she translated it.

And then she downed another shot of vodka and hissed something that sounded like “sukya bliyad, no puedo mich betrinken con esta ordures.**” When everyone blinked in confusion, she sighed and relayed the sentiment in English. 

Nobody had laughed as hard as Rowan. Aelin Galathynius just had that effect on him.

She brightened his darkest days.

But she couldn’t ease the strain of today.

And it was all his fault.

~

Aelin glanced up at the clock on her wall and cursed in three different languages when she saw that it was nearly eleven. Without meaning to, she’d spent all afternoon and evening writing lesson notes on idiomatic expressions. She really couldn’t help herself once she got into the topic; it was her pet project.

And the subject of one of her dissertations. Yes, she had multiple. 

She’d worked her ass off for years to get through college, then through graduate and doctoral work while teaching at universities to offset costs, then earned a full-time teaching position at one of the top-ranked universities in the world. She got to teach linguistics, her lifetime love, and give guest lectures at other universities and at conferences, teaching people all over the world about the complexities and interrelatedness of language. Hell, she spoke ten; she’d be qualified to speak on linguistic relationships by virtue of that alone.

Gods, she was the chief linguist behind the most successful translation software ever produced. Even if the bitch who owned the rights to said software had literally threatened to sue over ownership rights if any of the people who’d poured their figurative blood and sweat and literal tears into building the program tried to claim a small piece of the credit each of them so richly deserved. 

That software and her role in its creation--even though Maeve Ond had claimed the public credit, the creative team spoke at interviews and made news features for their work in Cadre Tech’s massive success--had solidified her credentials as a professor of linguistics, had boosted her into her lecturer spot.

Last year, her university granted her tenure. 

She should have been overjoyed, and she was, but not as much as earning tenure deserved. 

Because there was nobody to share her joy.

Three years ago, in the wake of CT’s overnight jump to worldwide fame, Aelin fled a love she did not and never would deserve. 

She told herself she would never look back. But she did. Almost every day, she looked back at the life she’d shared with Rowan and tried to convince herself that she did the right thing.

Try as she might, she could never silence the whisper that echoed always in her mind. 

“You broke both of your hearts” 

Someday, she told herself, someday she would be back in Doranelle. Someday, she would have a chance to apologize. Someday, maybe she could fix the Rowan-shaped chasm that gaped wide in her heart. 

Yet here she was, sitting in a very nicely appointed hotel room in the university district of Doranelle, typing furiously away as if burying herself in notes and prep for tomorrow’s lecture could make the urge to contact Rowan disappear.

~

Three years earlier. Doranelle.

“Knock, knock.”

Rowan’s head jerked up from where it had most definitely not been slumped on his desk. “Wha--Oh. Hi, Aelin.”

“You’re falling asleep, buzzard, let’s go home.” He heard laughter in her soft voice. 

“As if you won’t just get home and start cross-checking every single one of the phrases on your ‘potential problem’ list.”

She chuckled, walking over to him. “Fine. We’re both perfectionist work whores. Doesn’t mean we don’t need sleep.”

“I know you too well to believe you’re actually going to sleep.”

“All right, you win. Come home now, I’ll make some food, and you can put me to bed.” She winked saucily at him, leaving very little doubt what putting her to bed would entail, and he was up out of his chair in seconds. 

“Hand over your computer, Fireheart,” he grinned as they walked into the small house they shared on the outskirts of the city. 

“What?”

“Your computer, love. I’m leaving both of our work bags on the shelf by the front door so we can actually catch some rest tonight.” He pressed a finger to her mouth to silence her protests. “Uh-uh, Ae, we have interviews tomorrow and I won’t let the genius behind this program’s flawless word-to-word be anything but well-rested.”

She sighed, but he saw the love in her eyes. “Here, then, my dear brilliant software engineer. Leave your notebook, too, because I know if it’s anywhere near you, you’ll be up at three in the morning scribbling blocks of gibberish and picking apart your faultless code until you go insane.”

Both of their work satisfactorily put aside, Aelin made good on her promise to cook Rowan dinner. 

And then he made very good on his promise to put her to bed. 

The next morning, they were both awake with the sunrise, content to lay curled in each other’s arms as the morning light spread across their room.

Rowan drifted back into sleep, waking for good when he caught a whiff of coffee from the kitchen’s direction. 

“Morning, you sleepy buzzard,” Aelin grinned, sipping from her mug.

Rowan dropped a kiss on her head as he reached for his mug. He took a long drink, sighing as the milky, sweetened caffeine hit his mouth. 

“I will never understand how you drink your coffee black, Fireheart.”

“Not all of us need to sweeten the hell out of coffee to drink it, Ro. Maybe if you can’t handle the real thing, you should go back to your pretty little cups of crappy cafe tea.”

“Mention my pretty little teacups again, Ae…”

She giggled. “You be quiet and drink your coffee-flavored milk, my love.  We both know you’re impossibly grumpy until you have caffeine in your veins.”

He grumbled something unintelligible as he drank his coffee.

They were nearly late to work that morning, even having planned an extra half hour to arrive, thanks to Aelin wearing what Rowan dubbed her “sexy professor suit.” She fixed the pins in her French twist in the car, making herself once again a portrait of professionalism, and slipped Rowan’s hand from her leg.

“Two hands on the wheel, Whitethorn.”

He pouted. “But I’m a safe driver and I want to hold your hand.”

“My hands are over here, love, not down by my skirt.”

When he pulled into his spot, Aelin closed her eyes and took a deep, slow breath. 

“You good, Fireheart?”

Gods, she loved hearing him call her that. “Yeah. I just…needed a moment to settle myself. To tell myself the cameras aren’t here to tear apart what I say.”

Rowan wrapped his hands around hers. “Dr. Aelin Ashryver Galathynius, the bland reporters are here to stand in awe of your expertise. Not a single word you say will come across as anything but brilliant and beautifully said.”

She squeezed his hands, her usual confidence returning. “I love you, buzzard.”

“I love you too, Fireheart. Let’s go talk about our amazing achievement.”

The day sped by in a blur of reporters, interviewers, teleprompters, practiced speeches, lights, cameras, and crew. When the last bleached-blonde anchor of the last interview of the day cut her crew’s cameras, Aelin flopped against her second-in-linguistic-command, Dr. Nehemia Ytger, the expert on ethnic African languages. 

“If I never see a news crew again, it’ll be too soon,” she sighed. “I’m beat.”

Nehemia snickered. “But we’re done talking about how proud we are that Maeve and her marvelous company have done such a grand service to the world.”

Aelin snorted softly. “Right. And now we servicepeople want to go home and take off our heels.”

“Amen to that.”

As the team filed out of the studio, Rowan made his way over to Aelin. “Holding up?”

“Not anymore,” she said, leaning casually into his side. “My heels are killing me, there’s a hairpin stabbing into my scalp, and I really, really need to pee.”

Rowan laughed, deep and husky. “Let’s get you home, then.”

“I’m stopping in the bathroom first.”

Just before she left the ladies’ room, Aelin heard voices in the break area. Familiar voices--Rowan’s, Maeve’s, and the snippy, borderline whiny tones of Remelle Frelau, who worked in the marketing department and had a hell of a boner for Rowan. 

“--looking at revenue over--” Maeve’s voice cut out, but from the gasps of the other two, the revenue was through the roof. 

“And it’s all thanks to this genius here,” drawled Remelle, who if Aelin had her guess was probably clinging onto Rowan like a platinum-blonde leech. 

“Ms. Frelau, this was the product of a team. No single person could possibly have made it happen alone.”

“Oh, call me Remelle, or even better Remy. And you’re the team leader, so you practically did create it by yourself.”

Aelin snickered to herself. Vapid bitch had no idea what she was saying. 

“That’s not how teams work, Ms. Frelau. We wouldn’t be here without Dr. Galathynius and Dr. Ytger’s language expertise, not to mention the creative genius of the engineers, graphic designers, linguists, and programmers.”

“Ms. Frelau, though her judgment is clearly biased, has a point, Mr. Whitethorn,” Mave said. “You demonstrated remarkable collaborative leadership qualities throughout this project, and I fully expect that you will continue to do so.” Maeve’s heels clicked away. Rowan’s voice followed her.

“Thank you, Ms. Ond, but I have to credit Dr. Galathynius--”

“Will you stop kissing that woman’s ass?” snorted Remelle. “Gods, she’s not worth your time or your praise; all she does is translate words into different languages and you idiots drool over that like it means anything.”

Aelin jerked like she’d been slapped. She knew Remelle was a self-centered, shallow, spiteful bitch, but she hadn’t known she would do this.

“--did more for this project than you and your useless whiteboard of catchphrases,” growled Rowan. 

“I don’t care what she ‘did for the project,’ Rowan, she’s never going to be good enough for you.”

“Thank you for caring about my welfare, Frelau, now please kindly fuck off.”

Aelin chose that moment to saunter out of the bathroom and head straight for Rowan, her face showing no hint of having heard that conversation. She did note with satisfaction Remelle’s vain attempt to march out of the room with some semblance of dignity. Too bad her heel caught on the seam of the hallway carpet and the break room’s tile flooring and she had to grab the doorframe to keep from collapsing. 

“You’re awfully quiet, Aelin.”

“Just thinking. Processing, really. It’s been a hell of a day.”

Rowan nodded. “I bet.”

“And hearing fucking Remelle rip into me for being useless…didn’t make it better.”

“Shit, you heard that?”

“Yeah. I heard that.” Her voice was hollow. 

Rowan pulled into their driveway and shut off the engine. Reaching across the console, he cupped Aelin’s face in his hands. “Aelin. You are brilliant. You are terrifyingly smart. You are a force of nature. Nothing, nothing you will ever do is useless. Don’t let that jealous bitch make you think you are less than the perfect woman.”

She smiled tentatively at him. “She…she told me before that last interview that I could never be enough for you. Because you--because of Lyria.”

Rowan raked a hand through his hair. “Ae, can we talk about this inside?”

That night, he told her about his former fiancé, Lyria. He told her about their whirlwind romance, their youthful dreams. He told her about the horrific crash that stole away Lyria’s life. A drunk trucker, a narrow pass in the mountains. He showed her the box in which he kept all the memories of that life. He cried. Aelin cried. He curled against her, let her comfort him.

“Sometimes, I wish she was still here. She’d understand everything. She always did.”

Aelin had no response. She let Rowan fall asleep, his weight shifting off her and into his bed, and looked through the box. Everything she saw served as another reminder that this was the first woman he loved, the woman who understood everything. 

She was worthy of him. 

But was Aelin?

The more she looked at Rowan and Lyria’s happiness, the more the answer solidified. 

No.

When Rowan woke up the next morning, Lyria’s box sat on Aelin’s side of the bed, a side that had not held Aelin.

He glanced out the window.

Her car was gone.

He got up and frantically paced through the house.

Everything she’d brought into his home was gone.

As was she.

~

Present day. 

Rowan opened his front door mechanically, pulled off his shoes, dropped his work backpack on its shelf, and was halfway to his bedroom before he realized he’d just opened his front door. His front door that was always locked. 

Someone was in his house.

Someone who either had a duplicate key or insanely good lockpicking skills.

Exactly one person owned a duplicate key to his house.

Aelin.

That’s impossible, she lives in Orynth, she can’t be here, he told the traitorous part of his brain that leapt with joy at seeing Aelin’s face again.

He turned around and made his way through the kitchen--nobody there--to the living room. He flicked on a lamp, casting a soft light around the room.

And nearly had a heart attack.

Aelin Galathynius sat on his couch. 

For a moment, he just gawked at her. She looked so…different. Older. Gone was the infectious smile that had captured his heart. Dark shadows smeared under her eyes, testament both to the long hours she devoted to her work and to recent sleepless nights. She was twisting a ring on her right hand, a familiar sign of her nerves. From his angle, Rowan could see a hint of dark script on her wrist. A tattoo. The Aelin he knew didn’t have tattoos.

“I’m not a ghost.” Her voice, weary and hollow, broke the tense silence.

Rowan crossed the room, propped an arm on the fireplace. “Why?”

“Why am I here? Why did I leave? Why did I cut you out of my life?”

“Everything.” He couldn’t keep the waver from his voice, but his eyes burned into hers.

She took a steadying breath. “I’m here to apologize, first of all. I’m here to face what I ruined and to try and start mending it. I’m here to come to terms with everything I broke when I left three years ago.”

Whatever he’d expected her to say, it certainly wasn’t that.

“I’m sorry, Rowan. I’m sorry I left like that. I was…I was scared.”

“You can’t just run away from your fears, Aelin!” He couldn’t keep the frustration from his tone. “You can’t just abandon someone when you have a bad day!”

“I’m sorry! I know I shouldn’t have left! I know I can’t run from my fears; I’ve spent the last three years trying and fucking failing to do that! But I don’t know what else to do.”

“Saying something about it would have been a good first step.” 

“I’m bad at emotions, Rowan. I tried. It wasn’t enough.”

“That’s not a good enough excuse.”

Aelin flicked a tear from her face. “I know.” Her shoulders slumped. “I’m so sorry, Rowan. I should never have left. I let some stupid comment root into my head and make me doubt myself. I made myself believe I would never be good enough for you. I left you. I loved you, and I still left you. I still love you, even though I’ve tried to suppress it. I can never make up for that. I…I just wanted to tell you how much I’ve regretted that horrible decision all these years. I want you to be happy, Rowan, I--”

“How am I supposed to be happy without a source?” He’d dropped onto the couch, close enough to touch her but still keeping his distance.

“What?”

“You didn’t just take yourself away, Aelin. You were my happiness. I’ve spent three fucking years trying to make myself believe I’m better without you in my life, and I can’t.”

She was unabashedly crying by that point. “What do you want me to do? How can I make up for abandoning you?”

“Stay.”

Her gaze locked onto his, both of their eyes pooling with tears.

“Stay with me, Fireheart.”

“But--”

“I never stopped loving you either.”

A choked sob ripped out of Aelin. Rowan couldn’t hold himself in check any longer; he reached out and tugged her gently into his arms. To his shock, she didn’t resist, burying her face into his chest as sobs shook her shoulders. When she calmed, he tilted her chin up.

“Will you stay, Aelin?”

“Yes. Even though I will never deserve your forgiveness, yes.”

~

Translations:

* = “that pinched old whore who couldn’t convince a dick to come within ten metres of her if she dressed up provocatively” (Italian)

** = loosely translated as “Fucking hell, I can’t get drunk off this garbage.” (in order, Russian (badly phonetically spelled out because Rowan POV), Spanish, German, Spanish again, French) (the Russian doesn’t directly translate, so it could mean several different variations of expletive)

~

Might there be a second part? Perhaps......

[crazybutgood]

International Tea Day!

(Drarry tea blend by Ela Spearlot)

International Tea Day is celebrated on 15th Dec in many tea-producing countries since 2005. Apparently, the UN changed the date to 21 May this year and I didn’t know until recently :( Oh well, I’m still going to celebrate it today, and I thought I’d use this opportunity to do something using two of my absolute favourite things: tea and Drarry. Here are some lovely fics involving tea that will warm you up like a good, steaming cuppa <3 (special thanks to @curlyy-hair-dont-care for her great feedback and for helping me put this together, and to @sitp-recs for your helpful tips and kind words)

Bite-sized:

Tea at three by @dorthyanndrarry​ (T, ~8.9k)

Draco Malfoy is the head potion brewer for the Ministry's onsite supply. Every day at three he goes to the nearest break room which coincidentally happens to be the auror break room, where he always seems to run into Harry Potter, who might also be waiting just for him. It's most certainly not the highlight of his day and he certainly doesn't hold anything other than friendly feelings towards Potter. It's just tea. Nothing more than tea at three.

A sweet fic where these two dorks finally get together with some help from their friends. Warnings for blood and injury in one scene.

A special blend of you and me by germankitty (T, 4.5k)

Draco finds a bunch of letters in Professor Snape's effects that were written by Lily Evans to her best friend at school, Marlene McKinnon. He passes them on to Harry, who consequently starts his own correspondence with Draco. (inspired by Tea and Lost Letters: Lily to Marlene by Kikimay)

A charming epistolary fic, featuring a great selection of teas, snarky and amusing letters that become progressively less formal and more intimate, and a delightful surprise by Draco at the end.

Portkey for Tea by @lettersbyelise (T, ~1.8k)

Draco is doing a two months residency at a Wizarding hospital in San Diego. Harry misses him too much to wait for him to come back to England.

How far would you travel for a special someone a cup of tea? Lovely established relationship fic with the two missing each other and Harry doing something about it.

Red Roses and Rousing Rumours by @dracogotgame (T, ~1.4k)

Draco's taste for rose water tea puts him in hot water.

A super cute one-shot where a misunderstanding on Harry’s part leads to Draco snagging a date with him (after being asked out in the sweetest way!)

Prompts: I love you - Over a Cup of Tea by @cibeewastaken (G, 362)

(this was my ask lol) Short one-shot of soft moments and tea flowers.

Prompts: I love you - On a sunny Tuesday afternoon, the late sunlight glowing in your hair by @cibeewastaken (G, 745)

Another lovely one-shot with sun tea and little Teddy trying to cheer Draco up. Featuring Teddy’s sweet innocence, shy boys in love and a confession that will warm your heart.

Why Is Our Teapot Wearing a Hat? by @ladderofyears (G, microfic, 50)

Adorable microfic based on the prompt ‘cosy’.

Rotten work by @prolix- (T, 792)

You start to cry after the war.

You tell Ron and Hermione that it's nothing, that it'll pass. You're just exhausted. It’s more than that, of course it is, but they don't question it. And you learn to hide the fact that you can still be found hunched over your kitchen sink after a party, fat tears rolling down your face, years after the war has passed.

He knows better.

Heart-achingly beautiful fic with lovely tea metaphors. Featuring sad yet tender moments between the boys, healing and hope. Warnings for implied/referenced PTSD, angst, crying and hurt/comfort)

Curl up with a cuppa to enjoy these longer fics:

Where There is Tea by @bafflinghaze (T, ~12.6k)

Somewhere in London, overlooking a garden, sits a little tea room. There, Harry finds tea, distraction, books, conversation, inspiration, himself, and Draco Malfoy.

Featuring Tea Master!Draco and Writer!Harry, this is a heartwarming story of supportive friends, coming out, self-discovery and a lovely buildup of friendship between Harry and Draco that blossoms into something more. Lots of amazing and familiar teas to look out for that you wish you were tasting along with the patrons at Draco’s tea shop.

Tea and No Sympathy by who_la_hoop (E, ~70k)

It's Potter's fault, of course, that Draco finds himself trapped in the same twenty-four-hour period, repeating itself over and over again. It's been nearly a year since the unpleasant business at Hogwarts, and Draco's getting on with his life quite nicely, thank you, until Harry sodding Potter steps in and ruins it all, just like always. At first, though, the time loop seems liberating. For the first time in his life, he can do anything, say anything, be anything, without consequence. But the more Draco repeats the day, the more he realises the uncomfortable truth: he's falling head over heels for the speccy git. And suddenly, the time loop feels like a trap. For how can he ever get Harry to love him back when time is, quite literally, against him?

Draco’s stuck in a time loop until he figures out what he has to do to get out of it — learning, growing and becoming a better person with much help from his mother, Hagrid, and Harry, and conversations over tea.

Headlights in the Snow by Saras_Girl (M, ~71.6k)

What’s big and purple and smells like tea? Harry is about to find out. 

Advent fic 2016.

Harry has bizarre adventures with Knight Bus conductor Draco and the lovely passengers. A cosy Christmas advent getting-together fic featuring fun bus rides and on-board tea.

Special mention of fics that I associate with tea also kind of in order to remember them:

For the greater good by @jadepresley (E, ~62k)

When Harry and Draco discover they’ve been bonded to one another, neither one of them is prepared for the secrets they slowly begin to uncover.

Together, they learn that they can’t escape their past, or the things that have been left hidden there, and that sometimes the only way to move forward is to look back.

An accidental bonding fic that I absolutely adore

Malfoy rolls his eyes. “I’m not a monster, Potter, you arsehole. Though I do think you’re delusional if you think the whole wizarding world doesn’t love you.”

Harry shakes his head. “No. They love the idea of me. They love the stories. But they don’t… they don’t know how I take my tea in the morning, do they?”

“Excuse me?”

Harry flushes. He hadn’t meant to say that. Bloody Firewhisky. “It’s just this thing I believe. And Emmet — my ex — never knew. It’s… nevermind, you’ll think it's stupid.”

“That’s definitely possible,” Malfoy agrees seriously. “But you should tell me anyway.”

“You’re a prat, you know,” Harry tells him. Malfoy just smirks, making Harry sigh. “Fine,” he concedes. “It’s just... The way you take your tea is one of those small details about yourself that no one else would really know unless they asked. But... someone who really gives a shit about you would know — they’d ask or they’d notice — because they’d care enough to want to know. And Emmet... well, he just never cared enough about me to learn how I take my tea.”

I love that this fic uses this idea, partly also because this is something I’ve thought of too, not just for romantic relationships but relationships in general, and I was so happy to see it used in this fic.

All Our Secrets Laid Bare by @firethesound (E, ~149.5k)

Over the six years Draco Malfoy has been an Auror, four of his partners have turned up dead. Harry Potter is assigned as his newest partner to investigate just what is going on.

Discovering this fic was one of the best things ever. It’s an emotional roller coaster. Harry and Draco eventually go from polite coworkers, to tentative friends, to lovers — of course with a lot of drama and angst in between. These two bicker about so many things. One of them is how Harry never makes the tea hot enough, and it’s used throughout the fic in many important and special moments of their relationship.

Happy reading!

[bellshells]

Nobody Can Know Part Four

It’s here! The finale of Nobody Can Know! This was actually really emotional for me, 52, 540 words later and this fic has come to an end. I have had the absolute best time writing this and I must send a massive shout out to @hinagiku0 for requesting this in the first place. I do have a bonus chapter in the works set in between parts two and three, but no time frame as to when that will be finished. Thank you to everyone who has come on this journey with me, and thank you to everybody who has liked, reblogged and taken the time to send me your kind words. You’ve made this aspiring writer very happy indeed. Thank you. 

Pairing: George Weasley x Fem!Slytherin Reader Warnings: Language, Angst, Blood, Smoking, Alcohol, Smut Summary: Christmas has come faster than anyone could have anticipated, but with everything so up in the air; it’s impossible to celebrate. The promise of a break away may give everyone the clarity they need.  Word Count: 17.4k+

“No, you can’t. That’s- no. I won’t let you.”

  George looked at you with a look of utter desperation, it made you ache. You bit the inside of your cheek to distract from the pain in your heart, it didn’t work. He shook his head and wiped at his face as a tear rolled down his cheek.

  “I’m sorry, George. I just need to think.” You whispered, you longed to reach for him, to comfort him; but your mind was made up. “I need some time away.”

  “Why? Love listen, please just talk to me. Tell me what to do.” George begged, he grasped your hand across the table and squeezed tightly. “I’ll do anything.”

You smiled sadly; you knew he would; he would do anything in that moment to keep you there. But was that enough?

  “I know George, I just feel…honestly I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus. I just need to get away from everything so I can sort myself out.”   “From me?”   “From you, from the shop, everything!” You answered tersely, you didn’t mean to be blunt with him, you were uncomfortable seeing George distressed. But he needed to understand that you wouldn’t be swayed.   “Do you still love me?” He asked, his face twisted in agony as you pulled your hand away and placed it in your lap.   “That’s never in question.” You stood and walked around the table to where George sat, he looked at you expectantly as you bent down. You pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll send you an owl when I’m settled, so you know how to reach me if anything happens.”   “Where will you go?”   “A friends.”

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

  Cokeworth was probably the most depressing place you had ever set foot in. The industrial town was still dirty from the smoke that the chimney of the old mill had puffed out. While in recent years it had ceased in its emission, the last century’s worth of grime had remained strong. It was a bleak, often sad reminder of the proletariat forefathers of the current upper working-class families who had purchased the many two-bed terraced houses for good rail links to Birmingham and Wolverhampton. You could never have imagined that Professor Snape lived somewhere like that, but really, you couldn’t imagine Professor Snape living anywhere other than Hogwarts. You had seen his office on many occasions, it was to be expected really; full of dusty books and rolled up pieces of parchment. It always smelled distinctly of cedarwood and myrrh, a scent you had almost absolutely convinced yourself that it was Professor Snape himself who smelled of such. You had promised yourself you wouldn’t dwell much on the last few days, instead you would take this time for yourself. You wanted to be kind to yourself for once, to just be you. You weren’t looking forward to the quiet though, your life had never been quiet.

  You walked for what felt like miles, all the streets looked the same, each house identical. It was disorientating, the numbers screwed on to each door seemed to ascend and descend in whichever way they liked. You were about to give up and go back the way you came until a little white sign on the side of a house on the corner of the street caught your eye; it had an arrow pointing in the opposite direction with SPINNERS END  written across it. You breathed a sigh of relief and started off in the direction dictated by the sign. 69, 67, 65- it was 65 wasn’t it? You pulled the crumpled bit of paper Professor Snape left you from your pocket and looked from the words there, to the grey wooden door in front of you.

If you are in need, you need only knock

  You knocked once on the door, you heard a click of a lock from the inside and it swung open slowly. There it was again, that smell. It was almost overpowering as you took a hesitant step into the house. From what you could see, it was immaculately clean. You dropped your suitcase at the bottom of the stairs and removed your heavy cloak from around your shoulders, hanging it over the bannister. The walls of the hallway were a dark green, but this didn’t surprise you. You would have been incredibly shocked it you had entered Professor Snape’s house and the walls had been painted magenta and mustard. You smirked at the idea and followed the hallway round to a room on the right, it looked like it should be a lounge. The walls were lined with books, every surface was littered with them too. There was a well-worn leather armchair in one corner with a drink’s cabinet close by. A table sat in the middle of the room and on the opposite side, a two-seat sofa. The leather of the sofa looked intact, like not a soul had ever sat on it. Whilst you knew that was near impossible, your heart ached for the lonely man who owned this house. Nobody should lead as solitary a life as this.

  You looked for a moment, long the lines and lines of books. Some looked to be incredibly old indeed, some without a dent in the hard spines. There were books in languages you didn’t know and some you recognised as classics in the muggle world. You ran your finger across the spines and sighed, you could imagine clearly that Professor Snape had read each and every one of them. You could see him in his chair, one leg crossed over the other- book in one hand and cigarette in the other. You smiled at the image you had created, you hoped he was happy here. You made your way out of the sitting room and back into the dark hallway, the stairs had a cupboard underneath them, the door painted the same green as the walls. You noticed a glimpse of the kitchen through a door which sat ajar, you pushed it open and stepped through. There were more books, many sat on the small dining table that sat in the corner. It was old, it reminded you pews at Hogwarts in its shape. The kitchen itself was cramped, although it had all the amenities one might expect, the claustrophobic closeness of the cupboards did nothing but remind you of the tiny kitchen in your flat. You walked over to the cupboards and opened them one by one, mugs and glasses, plates and bowls (four of each) and then one full of non-perishables. You laughed slightly at the tins of baked beans and scotch broth, a tin of rice pudding sat further forward on the shelf, as if picked out and then placed back.  

  You opened up a low cupboard next to the fridge and exhaled in relief at the sight of instant coffee, you pulled it out and unscrewed the lid. Giving the coffee a big sniff, you decided it was good enough to drink and sought to put the kettle on. After you had found the sugar and cutlery, you poured the contents of a tin of tomato soup into a pan and lit the cooker. Satisfied with your level of domesticity achieved, you placed your coffee and soup onto a tray and levitated it behind you into the sitting room. You scoured the books for something to read, and finally settled on a dusty black jacketed book called Dracula. The image of the author; a gentleman named Bram Stoker was still and aged, you could but assume this was a muggle book and you secretly relished in the simplicity of it. You settled into Professor Snape’s well-loved armchair and ate your soup quickly, quietly cursing when you burnt your tongue. You devoured the novel, your coffee forgotten until you squealed at the un-dead return of Lucy Westenra. You heart raced and you laughed, having fully immersed yourself in this novel. It was exhilarating. Your coffee was now cold as you brought it to your lips, and you yawned. It was dark outside now, but, in the deep December that could mean it was about five o’clock. Looking over your shoulders as if someone could catch you at any moment, you reached for the handle of the drink’s cabinet and marvelled at the assortment of alcohol stored within. You reached greedily for a bottle of port and padded into the kitchen for a glass, it was then you noticed a scrap of parchment next to the sink.

  (Y/N), it read in Professor Snape’s neat script,

Welcome, if you have decided to stay. I have left some muggle money on my desk in the second bedroom upstairs, along with an almanac of the values of it. There is some food in the cupboards, please feel free to help yourself to it. I am not expecting anybody to arrive, so please do not let anybody inside the house. I would be very much appreciative of that. You may write to me if you wish, I would like to know if you are there. Have a Merry Christmas.

Best,

Severus

  You raced up the narrow stairs of Professor Snape’s house, port and glass forgotten. The landing was small and had three doors that lead from there. One you assumed was the bathroom, you hoped it was as clean as the rest of the house. You continued to the next door along and opened it, Professor Snape’s personal study before you. You walked into the body of the room, absolutely in awe. He had enchanted the ceiling to reflect the night sky, the moon high above and stars twinkled through the heavy clouds. You stood for a moment and appreciated the craftmanship of this, it was silent in this room and the serenity of the night sky filled you with a sense of calm you hadn’t felt for the longest while. By the only window in the room sat his desk, it was surprisingly non-cluttered with minimal books. True to his note, there was an envelope marked Money. It was a curious thing, you peeked inside and found coins but also paper money too. What would muggles do if the paper money floated away? From the cursory glance you gave Professor Snape’s deconstruction of the value of each piece it seemed the paper money, or ‘notes’ as he called them were of greater value than the coins. But the coins together equalled the sum of notes. It was all very confusing, so you popped the envelope back on the desk and opened up the small drawer on top, thankful to find some parchment.

  The feel of Professor Snape’s quill in your hand was foreign and took some getting used to. You wrote two letters in total, one to Professor Snape to let him know you had arrived and to thank him again for his hospitality. He really had gone over and above what you had dared hope, and you sunk further into his debt. The other letter, was to George. Could it really only be a few hours since you had last seen him? You ignored the glassy state of your eyes as you sealed the letter and opened the window. A small silver whistle hung on a chain attached the inside of the sill, it had an owl in flight intricately engraved on the side. It was really quite beautiful, it glistened in the moonlight of the room and felt heavy in your hand. You brought the cold metal to your lips and blew once, but no sound came from the whistle. You looked desperately into the blackness of the street, the only light was the flickering streetlamp; only one was working and that one looked ready to be condemned. You noticed a speck in the distance, it grew bigger as it flew toward you. Your heart leapt at the sight of the black owl that fluttered its wings as it settled on the windowsill.   “This one first.” You instructed the owl as you offered the letter addressed to Professor Snape to it, it presented its leg and you fumbled in the drawers of Professor Snape’s desk for some string. “Fucking fuck fuck, where’s the fucking string?” You cursed, the owl gave an indignant hoot, and you made a face to it. Upon finding the string, you attached both letters to the owl’s legs and watched as it flew into the night.

  You trapsed back down the stairs and collected you dirty dishes and washed them in the sink. You yawned, fuck, you didn’t realise how tired you were until you caught your eyes closing of their own accord as you stood aimlessly in the kitchen. You collected your bag and made your way back up the stairs to the bathroom. You hadn’t expected a bachelor to take such good care of his home; the bathroom smelled strongly of bleach and the toilet was so clean you could’ve eaten your dinner off of it. No shower, you thought. Not a bit of wonder really, especially when you considered how old these houses were. You were thankful though, that Professor Snape must have charmed the brick somehow to keep the heat in, you wouldn’t even know where to start switching a radiator on. You decided against having a bath, it was far too late, and you didn’t fancy accidentally drowning to death as you inevitably fell asleep. You changed and popped your dirty clothes into the empty washing basket in the bathroom, making a mental note to write to Professor Snape and ask for instructions on how to use the washing machine. You felt a pang of loneliness as you walked across the empty landing, you and George never went to bed alone and you had missed his usual night-time burst of energy as you would get under the covers. It usually resulted in you making love for a few hours until you both passed out from exhaustion. No- you wouldn’t think about that.

  You pondered what to do. There was one bed. You hadn’t spared a second thought to the idea that Professor Snape had turned his second bedroom into a study, you cursed yourself as you stood in your knickers and stared at his wide bed. The bedding was black, of course and looked inviting in your sleepy state. You chewed on the inside of your cheek. It wasn’t appropriate for you to sleep in his bed, certainly not. You imagined how enraged he would be if he found out you had slept in his bed. But, he had let you stay here. Surely, he knew you would need to sleep? Maybe he thought you would have a sleeping bag, or even a blanket and you could sleep on the sofa that looked like it had never been sat on. You shook your head and chuckled, what a nightmare. Resigned, you pulled back the covers of Severus Snape’s bed and climbed in. You decided you would find your way to the town centre tomorrow and buy a pillow and a blanket and sleep on the sofa. But tonight, well one night wouldn’t hurt. You had imagined Professor Snape would sleep in a coffin, or perhaps a bed of nails in your youth. You hadn’t considered a large spongy bed, with brushed cotton sheets and pillows so soft your head could sink through them. The sheets smelled of freshly washed linen and you wondered if he had cleaned his house for you coming, you were grateful if he had and impressed if he hadn’t. Your eyes were heavy and closed almost instantly, you pulled the covers tight to your chest and slipped into a dreamless sleep.

********

  You were awoken by the sound of scratching. You opened your eyes and were confused for a moment why there wasn’t a sleeping redhead next to you. It had been three days since you had arrived in Spinner’s End and you felt almost at home now. You had a routine, you would wake up and have a bath, have some breakfast and read. You had managed to find the muggle supermarket and filled the cupboards full to burst. You often found yourself falling asleep in Professor Snape’s armchair. The evening would breach the windows of the living room, and you would drift away. It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t particularly exciting either. You felt the same pang of loneliness you’d felt the night before as you sat slowly and sighed. The black owl tapped its beak impatiently on the bedroom window, you rose unsteadily and pulled a t-shirt out of your open bag. The owl didn’t wait for you to let it in as you opened the window, it swooped into the room and landed on the bed, kicking it’s legs, like you hadn’t already noticed the letters tied to it.   “I haven’t got any treats for you, sorry.” You said as you attempted to untie the letters, at least, if the owl stayed still for a second. You finally prised the letters away and the owl flew out the way it had come. The morning air was freezing, more snow had fallen in the night and the whole street was bathed in an eerily white blanket. There were a few children already out in the street, their parents scraping ice from the windows of their cars. People still need to work, you supposed, regardless of how close it was to Christmas. You closed the window and climbed back into bed, it was still warm under the covers and you settled in to read your letters.

(Y/N), the first one read.

Glad to hear you have settled in. Yes, you may help yourself to some of the drinks in the cabinet, but if you touch my Lagavulin with your grubby little hands, I shall know.

You snorted as you read that. You inched deeper into the bed, craving more warmth.

I’ll be in London for New Year, believe me, it’s as much an inconvenience to you as it is to me. So, whilst you are more than welcome to stay in my house, be prepared for my arrival on 31st December. If you wish to stay until then, I will require you to buy food. Please let me know what you decide to do well ahead of time.

Best,

Severus

That was the third time he had signed off by using Severus and not Professor Snape or Professor S. Snape, Head of Slytherin House Hogwarts, Potions Master, Surprisingly Nice Person as you had almost expected him to. So, he was coming back for New Year? Blanket and pillows were definitely on your agenda for the day. You picked up the other letter. You knew it was from George and you felt a sinking feeling in your gut as you fingered the envelope. You weren’t really expecting a reply, you told him you had arrived safe and you’d write him again soon. You weren’t sure what in the letter you sent actually required a response.

My darling, George wrote.

I’m chuffed to hear you’ve settled in wherever you are. I’d like to think you’re being looked after, but I know you don’t need anyone to look after you. I really miss you, gorgeous. I know there’s not much I can say that I didn’t already say yesterday, but I would have felt like an absolute git if I didn’t tell you again. I’m not going to ask you to come home if you’re not ready, but I wanted to let you know that me and Fred are heading to mum’s for Christmas. Couldn’t quite face it in the flat without you. So, if you decide you want to come home for Christmas, you know where we are. I love you, (Y/N). I’ll do anything to show you that.

All my love forever, George xxx

P.S. I noticed you didn’t take any of your tampons with you, just say the word and I’ll send them to you. Wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable, love x

  You shot out of bed like a rocket. Your tampons? Oh fuck. You raced across the landing to the loo and as you sat down, you saw the same sight that had been staring you in the face for weeks.

Nothing. Nothing in your knickers.

You were late. More than late, it had been far more than a week ago since you were due on and yet, with all the stress of the last few days you had forgotten all about it. You sank onto the bathroom floor and cried. Big, mournful tears and sobs that wracked your whole chest. This couldn’t be, this wasn’t to be your life. With a sniff of resolution, you stood from the floor and looked at yourself in the mirror. You hadn’t realised how haggard you looked. There were dark circled under your eyes and your face was pale and gaunt. You ran a finger across your cheek and felt the hardness of your cheekbone that jutted out further than it ever had before. Merlin, you were far too young for any of this. In the year that you had spent being George’s girlfriend you had had more strife than you could have possibly imagined. Quite frankly, you thought, you had taken it like a champ. But this just seemed one ordeal too far. You were alone, alone and hiding in Severus fucking Snape’s house from your boyfriend. No family, no friends, nothing.  No, no more.

******

  You hadn’t been to this part of London before. You were quite shocked when she suggested meeting you here, you hadn’t anticipated she was one for the theatre. As you stared up at Her Majesty’s Theatre, the bright still photographs of the show stared back at you. A woman, with long curly hair in a pink dress seemed frightened as a masked man with dark hair loomed behind her. What utter drivel you thought, who would pay money to see this? You rubbed your hands together, now significantly warmer with your new gloves you had bought on your way into London; and scoured the busy street for her. You were starting to think she wasn’t coming when you saw an emerald green cape swish in your periphery.   “There you are! Merlin, I was beginning it think you were taking the piss out of me.” You said as you wrapped her into a warm hug.   “Never,” Pansy smirked, she pulled away from you and gazed intently at your face. “You look terrible mate.”   “Thank you dear, you are nothing if not horrendously honest.” You looked at Pansy with a sly smirk. It felt so wonderful to see her again, her arm entwined easily with yours as you started back toward Leicester Square. “Why did you want to meet in front of that theatre?” You asked.   “Oh, I saw the show last week with my parents and it’s an easy location, tucked out the way a bit yet still in central London.” Pansy seemed to have blossomed in the time since you had last seen her. her hair had grown long and glossy, and she was pretty, very pretty.   “You? You saw a musical?” You couldn’t help the laugh that left your lips. Pansy rolled her eyes and pushed you playfully.   “Don’t judge unless you’ve seen one yourself. The music is to die for.” She smirked and lead you up a busy street. “Do you want to look at the Christmas Markets?” Pansy asked as she picked up a bauble from a nearby stall and inspected it. You wondered if it was a mistake to meet in such a crowded place so close to Christmas but, as she had reminded you, less chance of bumping into somebody you know.   “Actually Pans, I need to talk to you.” You replied, she nodded and lead you across the square to a café, all of the tables were either taken or dirty. You both looked over your shoulders as you pointed your wand at a table in the corner and the dirty mugs and plates stacked and ended up on the next table over. “What do you want? I have muggle money.” You said as you reached into your purse and pulled out one of the paper notes; you remembered they were worth more than the coins. Pansy looked from the paper note in your hand and to your face and burst out laughing. “What?!” You demanded. Onlookers from other tables began to stare in your direction as Pansy doubled over laughing.   “Oh, fucking hell, (Y/N). You are so clueless.” She managed through her giggles. “You’re going to pay for two coffees with a fifty-pound note?”   “Is that wrong?” You asked bewildered, surely it was right to take the biggest one?   “Merlin, just put that back in your purse before someone steals it out of your hand and I’ll get the coffees.” Pansy replied, you could see her shoulders still bobbing up and down with laughter even as she queued for your drinks. You couldn’t help but smile too, it had been so long since you had seen her last, too long.

  Pansy ended up taking longer than you anticipated ordering drinks. Your stomach began to rumble, and you felt sick. You ran a hand through your hair and sighed, you needed to speak to Pansy about the situation. You had nobody else to turn to. You stared aimlessly out of the window at the last- minute Christmas shoppers frantically move from shop to shop. You wondered if George would have taken the things you had bought for his family back to the shops, or if he would have wrapped them terribly and dished them out. You cringed at the idea of Molly seeing George’s wrapping and thinking it was yours. Out of the corner of your eye you saw a flash of gold and a suitcase whizz pass the window. Your heart raced as you made eye contact with him, Mundungus Fletcher. Behind him he pulled a trolley you saw old ladies carry their shopping in full of tat. He raised a ringed hand up and waved at you through the glass, a sneer fixed on his stupid face. You reached for your wand, but he was too fast, he weaved through the crowd and was gone. You searched for him wildly with your eyes, you craned your neck to try and see further, but it was no use. He had disappeared as quickly as he appeared. You tried to quell the hatred that bubbled under your skin and took a deep breath.   “Who was that?” Pansy asked as she set a tray on the table. She passed you your coffee and a slice of cake and put the tray on the floor.   “Nobody.” You muttered. You thanked her and took a sip, you grimaced as you swallowed it. Muggle coffee was terrible, watery and bland. It made you long for home, the kitchen staff at your parent’s house were always at the top of their game. It had spoiled you really, you had made such an effort to learn how to do everything yourself. You wouldn’t be one of them. You refused.   “What did you want to talk about?” Pansy said as she shovelled a forkful of cake into her mouth. You bit your lip; you didn’t know how to say it. “Oi, you haven’t dragged me all the way to London just for a coffee so talk.”   “I’m late.”   “What do you mean?”   “My period’s late.”

  Pansy’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth; her eyes wide with shock. You tapped on the table nervously and glanced over your shoulder. You would be mortified if you found yourself in another situation like the one of the last few days.   “How long?”   “Nearly two weeks now that I think about it.”   “Shit.”   “What do I do, Pansy?” Your eyes brimmed with tears as you watched your friends face flit between emotions. Pansy’s usually stern face softened, she ran a hand over her beautifully quaffed hair and sighed.   “Have you been to St. Mungo’s?” She asked, you shook your head.   “I didn’t know I had to. I only realised this morning and that’s when I wrote you straight away.”    “Right, okay. So, first thing you need to do is go to St. Mungo’s, you’ll see a mediwitch and they’ll make you drink a potion to see if you’re…pregnant or not.” She whispered, you nodded tearfully.   “Is that it? I just need to go to St. Mungo’s?”   “Well, you need to make an appointment first. Only-” She stopped short, she frowned, and her brow furrowed.   “Only?” You prompted.   “Only, it’s the day before Christmas Eve (Y/N). They’ll be no appointments until after the New Year, I’m sure.”   “Is it the 23rd already?” You asked, “Fuck me, I didn’t realise.” You paused. “So I have to wait?” Pansy nodded and swallowed another mouthful of cake. She pondered for a second before she sat up straight in her chair.   “Unless…”   “Unless?” You asked, you were growing impatient.   “There is the old-fashioned way of finding out. The muggle way, it’s just as effective. My sister had to do it before she was of age and she had it off with one of the Black cousins.”   “Which is?”

******

  You shifted your weight uneasily from foot to foot. You were in Piccadilly Circus waiting outside of a, you think Pansy called it a chemist? She didn’t trust you to not have a breakdown in the middle of a muggle pharmacy so left you to wait outside. It was bitterly cold and the snow had begun to fall harder than before. You watched as muggle pedestrians tried to weather their way through the flurry. How had it gotten to be the 23rd of December without you noticing? How had you let yourself not notice that your period was late? Very, very late, you cursed. You couldn’t help but be slightly angry at Fred and George, you had worked your fingers to the bone over the last few weeks to make sure the sop was stocked to the brim ready for Christmas. You had been exhausted, and still found time to cook and clean for the boys too. No, stop that, you thought. You were just irritable and nervous. You weren’t angry at the boys; you loved the boys; and were so proud of everything they had achieved in such a small space of time. Its natural to have bumps in the road, you just hoped there wouldn’t be a bump of another kind making an appearance.

  You shook your head to try and rid yourself of these thoughts. It was no use to anyone to berate yourself, you placed a hesitant hand on your stomach. You prayed silently to Merlin, to anybody that could possibly hear you. You whispered the words over and over again in your mind, please don’t let me be pregnant please don’t let me be pregnant please don’t let me be-   “Got it!” Pansy thrust a plastic bag in your direction, followed by a handful of coins. You cocked your head to the side in confusion. “Your change,” she announced and placed the money in your hand. “Merlin, you know absolutely nothing do you.” You offered her a tight-lipped smile as she linked her arm with yours and you hurried away from the pulsing crowd.   “Right, let’s go to your flat and get this over with.” Pansy stated, she pointed to the designated apparation point and looked at you expectantly. The thought of going into an empty flat filled you with a dread that quickly turned to sickness, a bile that rose in your throat. You shook your head and slumped against the wall behind you.   “I can’t Pans, I can’t go back there now. Not today, I’m not ready.” You muttered, your hair fell into your face and shielded it from Pansy’s view. You felt Pansy put an arm around her shoulders. She pulled you close to her and enveloped you in a hug. The tears you had been holding in since you left Severus’ (could you even call him that now?) house fell from your heavy eyes as you clutched to your friend for dear life. She rubbed your back and swayed you from side to side.   “That’s okay, we don’t have to go there. Let’s just go to where you’re staying.”   “I can’t take you there either!” You laughed through your tears, Pansy laughed too and brushed her thumb across your cheek.   “Fucking hell, you truly are off grid, aren’t you? Don’t do break-ups by half.”   “We haven’t broken up, Pansy. I just needed some time away. I haven’t been on my own since…since-”   “Shh. I know, I know. I was just winding you up.” She pushed you back gently and held you at arm’s length. “Now stop crying please, you’re making me uncomfortable.” You laughed again and smiled weakly at her. You exhaled deeply and nodded. You needed to pull up your big girl pants and be an adult.   “I’ll owl you as soon as I know.” You said, Pansy’s face fell into a look of concern as you took a step back from her.   “Have I not shown you, you can trust me, (Y/N)?” She replied, she looked hurt and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.   “Yes, of course you have, Pansy. I just- I need to do this alone.” Pansy sniffed in indifference and crossed her arms over her chest. You felt instantly guilty, you loathed to upset your friend, especially when she had gone above and beyond for you; but you needed to do this by yourself.   “Fine. But you should let George know, it’s as much his concern as it is yours.” Pansy said stiffly before she turned away from you and disapparated with a small pop!

  You were still for a moment. The snow had turned to sleet and it seemed to soak you through to your very bones as you stood. How had everything turned into such a mess in such a small space of time? Of course, Pansy was right, you needed to tell George. He had a right to know what was going on as anybody else and another feeling of guilt flooded over your already aching chest.

******

  Desdemona was waiting patiently on a streetlamp as you approached Severus’ house. She let out an almighty hoot as you spotted her in the encroaching darkness, she flew quicky from her porch and nearly into your face.   “Bloody stupid bird,” You muttered as you extended an arm. Desdemona landed roughly; her talons pinched your skin under your winter coat as she offered the letter in her beak. Your heart sank as you took it, it could only be from your parents. “I don’t have anything for you. Go home.” You ordered her, if you didn’t know any better you could have sworn she rolled her eyes before she took off into the sky. You watched her fly for as far as you could see her, her tawny features hard to make out after a while. With a groan, you let yourself in to the house.

  You settled in Severus’ armchair and kicked your shoes off. The letter from your parents held tightly in your hand, it felt heavy and you were anxious yet reluctant to find out what it said. You sank lower into the comfortable leather and brought your knees to your chest and teased open the envelope. It wasn’t a howler, that was for certain. A smaller envelope dropped out of the initial one, and a folded piece of parchment landed on your lap. Ignoring the small envelope, you picked up the note and noticed immediately it was written in your father’s hand.

Daughter,

I understand you have moved to Diagon Alley with your partner; congratulations, I’m pleased you have found happiness. I must admit, this is to be a strange Christmas without you here with us. I will leave your stocking above the fireplace like always. I wish for you to understand that you are always welcome here, this is your home. I am your father. You will always be my little girl. I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you.

Enclosed you will find your Christmas present; your mother gave her blessing for me to send it to you.

Merry Christmas, my darling.

You clutched the letter to your chest as you sobbed. You traced your finger over your father’s words, as if you could touch him through the parchment. You missed him more than words could say, you hadn’t anticipated how much so. In the time that had elapsed since you had last seen him, it was easy to forget the good things, the best things about your father; instead remembering him as the distant man who told you to run instead of protecting you. But he had, from the coldness of your mother, from the sneering remarks of the other noble families as a child and finally from your torment as you sat alone at Christmas.

  You padded solemnly into the kitchen and retrieved the bottle of port and the glass tumbler you had set out the night before. You poured yourself a healthy measure and as you brought the glass to your lips, you stopped. You remembered the white plastic bag you had flung on the floor at the bottom of the stairs when you arrived back, your stomach gurgled, and you bit your lip. What were you to do? Well, you knew exactly what you should do. You should write to George immediately, or better yet, go straight to The Burrow and you could do this together but- there was a part of you that felt that if you were to go to him now, you would be conceding. You would be letting yourself down. You hadn’t run straight into George’s arms the minute Mundungus’ plot was uncovered, if you were to go back now after two nights away from him would make you look weak. You demanded space, you demanded time to think and get away; you deserved it! George had to understand that he had hurt you immeasurably and not everything could be solved by a kiss and a cuddle.

  Regardless, if it turned out you weren’t pregnant then what would have been the need? You would have gone back to him at the first sign of trouble like always, and you weren’t prepared to it this time. If you were pregnant then yes, you would go to him. You would sit down and have an adult conversation over what to do next; but if you weren’t? You could perhaps enjoy this time to yourself before you returned to him. Before you decided what it was exactly you were to say to him. The layers of guilt that had so far weighed heavy on your chest eased slightly, your affirmations to yourself that this was the right thing to do, seemed to have assuaged you some. It was time, you knew it was. It was now or never, and it was most certainly, now.

  You read and re-read the instructions on the side of the box as you sat on the toilet. Your hand trembled as it held the little white stick, you parted your legs and pushed your hand between them; no idea if the stick was in the right position. When you were satisfied that you had done what you needed to, you pulled the stick away and popped the little blue cap on the used end. The box said it would take two minutes to give you a result, so with that, after thoroughly washing your hands, you returned to the living room. You placed the ‘test’ (it was most unlike any test you had ever taken in your life thus far) on the table face down, so you couldn’t see the little window and picked Dracula up from its perch on the nearby shelf. It was then that you noticed the small envelope your father had sent on the arm of the chair. You opened it gently, unsure of what it could be. Onto your lap fell an incredibly delicate silver choker encrusted with brilliant emeralds and littered with small diamonds, given to your mother when your grandmother died. You lifted it to the light and watched how the jewels caught the light. This piece of jewellery had been in your family for generations, You had admired it since you were a little girl, it had sat pride of place around your mother’s neck for special occasions, and you had tried it on- once or twice. Your mother would have been furious if she had found out. Your heart swelled with pride as you traced your fingers lovingly across it, that your mother wanted you to have it. Progress perhaps?

  A thunderous banging on the front door caused you to yelp in fear. You reached into the pocket of your jeans and produced your wand, you waved it frantically across the room and with a puff, all the candles were extinguished. You were plunged into darkness. Your heart pounded in your chest as you inched slowly out of the living room; wand raised- you weren’t sure what use it would be in the dark, but you refused to cast a Lumos. Severus had said he wasn’t expecting anyone at the house, and to not let anybody inside. You swallowed your fear and allowed yourself a second to think. The only people who would know what this house was, would either be one of two kinds. Muggles, probably drunk, banging on the wrong door or the darker alternative. The one you hoped to Merlin it wasn’t. The banging recommenced as you entered the hallway, you flinched at the sound but continued in your progress toward the front door. The early evening had well given way to night, and the only thing you could make out through the panes of glass in the door, was the shadowy figure that once again brought its hand up to bang against the wood. You crept silently along the hallway, with each step your pulse quickened as with trembling hand, you slowly reached for the catch. You felt a trickle of sweat run down your neck as you clasped the metal knob and turned it ever so slightly, you aimed to open the catch and fling the door open to the surprise of the intruder. You hoped to catch them off guard. As soon as you heard the click of the door, you flung it open.   “Stupefy!” You exclaimed, but he was faster.   “Expelliarmus.” Your wand flew from your hand and landed in his, bloodied and shaking. You blinked, unmoving as he reached for you. His other hand grasped onto your shirt as he tried to stand up straight. You recoiled backwards; it was instinctual. You noticed the hand which held fast onto the front of your shirt was also drenched in blood.   “Don’t scream.” He breathed, “Don’t scream, just…help…me inside.” You managed to nod and grasp him under his arm, as with the other he left bloody handprints along the wall. He kicked the door closed behind him as you helped him into the lounge, and with a big heave, assisted him to the sofa. “Why…is it so…dark?”

  In a second, every candle was lit, and you were able to get a good look at his face.   “What happened to you, Severus?” You asked horrified, he had a large gash on his cheek that bled freely. He clutched his side, and you noticed a flash of skin underneath his hands, he was wounded, badly. Bleeding profusely, what the fuck do you do? “Tell me what to do.”   “Dittany.” Severus whispered, “Cupboard in…bathroom.” You raced from the lounge up the stairs as fast as your feet could carry you, you wrenched open the bathroom cupboard and frantically searched for Essence of Dittany. You noticed that your hands were also covered in blood, his blood as you twisted and turned every bottle until you clasped your hand around the brown bottle.   “Give it to me.” Severus said weakly, he reached for the bottle, but you shook your head.   “No, you can’t-”   “I didn’t ask for…your opinion witch, give…me the…bottle.” He wheezed through gritted teeth, his face was a mass of blood now, like he had somehow tried to quell the bleeding but had somehow made it worse. You hesitated for a moment before you handed the bottle to him. He reached forward with a surprisingly steady hand and applied three drops to his cheek, his face contorted in pain as a small puff of green smoke rose around him. He winced as he tried to sit up, “Help me,” was all he said. Again, you supported his arm and helped right him. “My coat, I can’t reach-” You reached for his buttons and swiftly tried to undo them, he writhed beneath you, obviously in a copious amount of pain.   “Sorry!” You breathed as you reached his midsection, you could see clearly now the wound on his side. It looked as if he had been sliced, the blood was thick and dark as it oozed out of him. Tears stung your eyes as you panicked, you felt so very overwhelmed and with no idea how to help him. You tried to gently manoeuvre his arms through his sleeves, his jaw clenched and with two tugs, you managed it. He pulled his shirt up to his chest and granted you a look at how thin he was. You almost cringed at the sight of every rib in the poor man’s body, his stomach and what you could see of his chest were absolutely littered with scars; some old, some new.   “You will have to help…with this one.” Severus said, he looked better, if that was possible. The wound on his cheek shone purple, as if it had been there all along. The only tell-tale sign was the blood beginning to dry there. You rolled him onto his side and took the bottle from his hands, opening it quickly. You placed a gentle hand above his wound, just to the side of where his ribs jutted out. Severus flinched one and then relaxed as you tenderly brushed your fingers against his skin.   “Ready?” You asked, he gave a curt nod and you applied four drops of the Dittany across his wound. Severus, to his credit, let out a groan of pain whilst his whole body shook under the strain of new skin closing the wound. The puff of smoke was larger this time, you held your breath as it passed over your face. You held him in place until his breathing slowed, he looked at you askance and motioned to be helped up. “Do you want some water?” You asked as you pulled his shirt back down, covering him up. Severus shook his head.   “Whisky.” You rolled your eyes but knew better than to argue with him. You stood and brushed your hands against your jeans, you were sticky with his blood and felt uncomfortable. You hurried over to the drinks cabinet and pulled out a bottle of the amber liquid. Severus held his hand open and you passed him the bottle, he pulled the cork out with his teeth and brought it to his lips.  

  You watched him as he took sip after sip of the whisky, the colour eventually returned to his cheeks and you felt satisfied to leave him for a moment. You wandered into the kitchen and doused your hands with soap, scrubbing them hard to remove the blood. You fought back tears as the image of Severus writhing in pain engrained itself into your mind. You had never seen so much blood in your life and shuddered as you remembered the smell of the smoke as his skin knit together. You found him asleep on the sofa as you entered, bottle tipped to the side and his face peaceful. Carefully, you slipped his shoes from his feet and propped his legs up onto the sofa. Your wands lay together on the floor, you retrieved yours and Accio’d his duvet and a pillow, laying the latter under his head as you covered him in the blanket.

  You retrieved your cloak and settled into the armchair, you pulled it up to your chin and hooked your legs over one of the arms. It wasn’t comfortable, not in the slightest, but you couldn’t justify leaving him in his state. Your hand closed around your wand and pressed it against your chest, ready, just in case. For what- you didn’t know.

******

  “Sleep well?”

  You awoke with a start. Severus sat across the room from you, he was upright on the sofa. He still looked weak, but his eyes sparkled with humour.   “Like the dead.” You offered feebly; you arched your back; oh, fuck it was agony. You winced and Severus chuckled, your neck was stiff as you craned it to look at him.   “Nice choice of words.” You grimaced as you swung your legs onto the floor and ran your hands through your hair. You were surprised to feel the ends were dried red. Oh, of course. You shuddered as a fleeting image of the previous night’s bloody work crossed your thoughts. Brushing it off, you stood. “Coffee?”   “Please.” He answered, he looked more tired than you had ever seen as he watched you lazily. You returned a few moments later with two mugs of coffee, his black obviously, Severus nodded in thanks. You drank in silence, neither of you looking at the other. After a while, you stood without speaking. You felt disgusting, you were covered almost head to toe in Severus’ blood, although you had scrubbed at your hands- you hadn’t realised how messy it had been.

  You allowed yourself to cry in the bath. The water was hot and as you sank beneath the surface, you felt pathetic. You sobbed, more than you had in days. Your throat hurt and your eyes were swollen. Your heart hurt, why? Were you scared? Scared that someone might come after Severus and you would be caught in the crossfire? Or guilty that the man who had shown you so much kindness had been so dreadfully hurt and you hesitated in answering the door.

  He was sat in the same position that he had been in when you left him. He didn’t look like he had moved a muscle.   “Are you in pain?” You asked quietly, you felt stupid asking him stood in your Christmas pyjamas, but you were quickly running out of clean clothes.   “Immensely,” Severus answered wryly, he pointed at the coffee table. “What’s that?” Your gaze followed the direction of his pointed finger and your stomach fell.   “Nothing. Don’t worry.” You replied quickly, you snatched the pregnancy test and thrust it into the pocket of your pyjama bottoms. How the fuck had you forgotten about that? Your heart raced; you could know. You could know now, all you had to was look at the little window and it would tell you all you needed to know.  “Is that a pregnancy test?” Severus asked, the whisper of a smile tugged at his lips as you blushed.   “No.” You lied, why would he know what a pregnancy test looked like anyway? Especially a muggle one. Severus shook his head.   “If you say so.” He paused and watched you, your hair dripped big, wet droplets onto your shoulders. “Bring me some parchment and a quill, I need to write a letter.”   “Do you not think you should rest?” His face was aghast as you questioned him, you squared your shoulders and met his gaze.   “I promise not to exert myself too much moving my wrist.” You gave him a look of annoyance as he made a gesture as if he were writing. You rolled your eyes again, he chuckled once and then grasped his side in pain. Good, that serves him right for being a dick. You smirked to yourself as you retrieved parchment and a quill along with the silver whistle and thrust them into his hands.   “Would you like something to eat?” You watched him as, even with the sheer amount of pain he was in, his hand was steady as he wrote fluidly across the page. Severus ignored you as he continued to write. You sat in the armchair and watched him for several minutes, you noticed he brought the feathery tip of his quill to his lips every once in a while, in thought. It was almost hypnotic, watching his hand glide across the parchment, the only sound the scratching of his quill.

  The test in your pocket burned with anticipation. You reached for it deftly, careful not to make any sudden movements so as not to disturb Severus. Your fingers grasped it and pulled it out slowly, you shot a glance in his direction, satisfied that his attention was firmly placed upon his writing. You turned it over and…nothing. You panicked and turned it over, upside down and back to front. The little window that displayed the result was empty- no lines.   “Did you not read the instructions?” Severus called from the other side of the room. You gave him an uneasy look. “It quite clearly states that results disappear after twelve hours.” He hadn’t even looked up from his parchment, or so it seemed. You raced from the living room to the bathroom and plunged your hands into the wastebin in search for the box. He was right, of course he was right. Why wouldn’t he be right? You felt the blood drain from your cheeks as you slowly made your way back down the stairs.   “Idiot.” Severus mumbled, just loud enough for you to hear as you paced the length of the room. What were you to do now? It was Christmas Eve; you couldn’t face going back into the crowds. “I need you to take this to The Leaky Cauldron.” Severus’ deep baritone distracted you from your thoughts as he passed the parchment he had been writing on in your direction. You rose from your chair to take it from him, he had closed it in on itself over and over again until it appeared miniscule in your hand. Some kind of enchantment to dissuade the prying eyes of those unintended to read it, you supposed.     “What is it?” You enquired, turning it over in your fingers. Severus motioned you forward and held his arms out to you.   “You don’t need to know. Help me up.” Severus muttered and as you placed your arms around his back, your chests flush together; you blushed at the close proximity. He placed his hands onto your shoulders and supported himself to a standing position. “I need to go to the toilet.” He took two steps and swayed, he grasped hold of your arm to steady yourself.   “I can apparate us upstairs, Severus.” You stated, he grimaced and placed your arm under his.   “No, I’ll be sick. Help me and I might be able to help you with your problem.” He gave you a strained smirk and you nodded. You wondered what he could mean as you slowly supported him up the narrow staircase. You waited awkwardly outside of the door for a moment while he relieved himself, you accio’d his duvet and pillow and returned them to his bedroom, taking care to clear up the clothes you had scattered around the floor. When he emerged from the bathroom, you noticed his face was wet. He had attempted to wash his face rather unsuccessfully and you suppressed a laugh. You helped him into bed and pulled the covers over him, he seemed to relax under your care; letting you wipe a warm flannel across his face to remove the stains of his blood and hummed contentedly.   “You can do the rest yourself,” you announced. He opened his eyes and regarded you, “You can piss off if you think I’m going to give you a bath.” He laughed at this, a real smile appeared on his face and you smiled back, it was nice to see.   “Agreed. I can manage for now.” He sighed, “How late are your courses?”   “My courses?” You looked at him quizzically, Severus grimaced and pinched the bridge of his nose.   “Your period, (Y/N). How late?” You blushed again and fiddled with the hem of your shirt, he looked at you expectantly as if he had asked you a question about the ingredients of a potion.   “Two weeks.” You answered, Severus nodded slowly and looked to the ceiling as if in thought.   “Yes, I think I shall be able to help you. Let me sleep for a while, deliver that letter for me and when you come back, we can eat, and we shall get to the bottom of this.” You sighed; you really didn’t want to go back to The Leaky Cauldron.  “Who shall I give it to?”   “Give it to Tom, he’ll see it gets where it needs to go.” Severus replied, his eyes closed again.   “Am I to say who it’s from?” Severus opened one eye and gave you a dark look, he wet his lips and frowned.   “Obviously.”

*******

  You hesitated before pushing open the door to The Leaky Cauldron, it was midday, and the pub was filled yet again with people making merry. You fought your way to the bar and waited to catch the attention of the young witch behind it, your neck craned in each direction to catch a glimpse of her. She appeared finally, two large trays of glasses hovering behind her as she began to rearrange the glassware behind the bar.   “Excuse me!” You said as you waved your hand, she noticed you and gave you a smile.   “Oh, hiya!” She said warmly, “Can I get you a drink?”   “No thank you,” You replied, “Is Tom available?”   “He certainly is,” A voice behind you said, you whirled round to be met with Tom’s smiling face. “Can I help you, miss?”   “Yes actually, I was told to give you this.” You showed him the tiny piece of folded parchment, Tom’s eyes flashed from it to yours and gave you a concerned look.   “Is this from…”   “Severus Snape, yes. He told me you’d know what to do with it.” You levelled, he took it from your hand and placed it into the pocket of his shirt.   “I assume there must be a reason why he sent you and not delivered it himself.” Tom replied with a raised eyebrow, you refused to let your mind wander to the events from the night before.   “Yes, but it’s not for me to say so- can I leave it with you?”   “Of course, I’ll see to it that everything is in order, tell him.” Tom replied, “Merry Christmas, miss.”   “Merry Christmas, Tom.” You watched as he withdrew into the crowd, you turned to the witch behind the bar. “Merry Christmas.” You smiled, she offered you a grin in return and waved her hand.   “Merry Christmas.” She replied cheerfully.

  You didn’t want to go into Diagon Alley, but your feet carried you over the cobbled stones to the dismay of your heart. Despite the growing tensions in the wizarding world, the wonky street was abuzz with people; not unlike the shoppers you had seen in Piccadilly Circus with Pansy. There was a long queue outside of Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes and you smiled sadly as you approached the window. The display you had spent so long working on looked magnificent, snow fell from behind the glass and tiny enchanted swans swam in a small lake, surrounded by miniature fur trees and families of deer.     “Penny for your thoughts?” You noticed Fred’s reflection in the glass appear next to you. You wrapped your arms around him and squeezed tightly.   “I thought you’d still be at The Burrow!” You exclaimed, he laughed and hugged you back. You pulled away and looked into his face, he looked well and cheerful. You had learned the differences between him and George over time, subtle though they were.   “Well somebody’s got to be here to run the shop,” Fred said as he gestured to the busy building, “I’m going back tonight.” You nodded in understanding and he placed your hand in the crook of his arm. “Fancy a walk?”

  Fred led you passed the bustle of the shops and back towards the apparation point.   “You okay, Freddie?”   “Yeah yeah,” He answered quietly, it must be difficult for him to see you- to know what had transpired between you and George. “Look, I don’t want to bombard you with questions or anything, (Y/N). But I need to know; is that you and George done? You left things so up in the air with him, and he’s putting on a brave face don’t get me wrong but…he’s my brother, and I can tell he’s hurting.” You bit your bottom lip, you hated to think about George in pain; but you just weren’t ready to talk about things.   “No, Fred. We’re not done…but he really hurt me, he said some awful things to me; accused me of terrible things and it’s going to take some time for me to be ready to have a conversation about it. Let alone forgive him.” You paused and wiped away a tear that fell onto your cheek. “I suppose I just never expected he could be like that. It surprised me.”   “Bloody surprised us all mate. When George came flying down to the shop floor after you left, ranting and raving- I’d never seen that side of him before. And Merlin, when Snape arrived at mum’s with Mundungus Fletcher, I thought he would wind up with a wand suspension the way he was trying to hex Mundungus.” Fred exhaled with a small laugh, you matched it with a smile. “He’s a good bloke, (Y/N). You mean everything to him. Believe me, I’ve had to share a room with him for the best part of two decades. If you’re not ready to talk about anything, can I at least tell him I saw you today and what you said? I’m sure it’ll make him feel loads better if he knew you hadn’t, you know, broken up with him without him realising.” You considered it for a moment, if Fred told George he had seen you today; it might make him want to find you. He had really respected your space so far and you were grateful for it, but the thought of making Fred keep something like this from his brother was too big of an ask. Plus, you were also keeping a huge secret from him, but you couldn’t tell Fred before you told George- it wasn’t right.   “Yeah, of course, Freddie. Tell him, you can also tell him Merry Christmas and that…I love him.” Fred made a gagging noise and you smacked him on the arm. “I need to go.” You pulled Fred in for one last hug and squeezed enough for him and George. He chuckled as you walked to the apparation point and gave him a big wave goodbye.

*******

  Severus stayed upstairs all afternoon and well into the evening. You couldn’t blame him though, it looked as though he had been through a massive ordeal and he needed time to recover, you couldn’t begrudge him that. You found a magical cooking book in one of the cupboards and coupled with some of the food you had bought at the supermarket, you managed to cook a reasonably tasty meal. Severus made comments about the quality of the steak, but you expected nothing less. You suspected it was only to save face though, as twice when he thought you weren’t looking, you saw him close his eyes and savour the taste of the food. You had served him in his meal in bed, he had managed to prop himself up on the pillows and you sat at the foot of the bed. It seemed quite personal really, but you found yourself savouring the intimate moments you shared with him. It made you feel like he did actually care for you, as more than an ex pupil, as a friend. He asked you about The Leaky Cauldron, who you spoke to, how you got home. After a moment, you felt brave.   “Who did this to you, Severus?” Severus sighed and passed his empty plate over to you.   “Nobody.”   “I find that extremely hard to believe. I need to know if I’m in danger.” You asked him earnestly, he met your gaze with a softness you seldom saw from the man.   “You’re in no more danger now than you have been in the last three days. Please don’t concern yourself with my welfare.” He answered, you suspected he intended to seem sterner than he came across. You wondered if he couldn’t muster the energy to chastise you.   “It’s a bit difficult to do that when I have to take you to the loo every time you want a piss.”   “You’re vile.”     “Pot, kettle, black. I found your blood in my ear this morning. That’s vile.” You laughed and he managed a laugh too. “I’m just glad I was here when you arrived last night.”   “Whether you were here or not, I would have gotten inside one way or another.” He levelled nonchalantly.   “Would it really be so horrendous to just say ‘thank you’?” You let out an exasperated sigh and flopped backwards on the bed. He eyed you with annoyance, but you could tell it was fleeting.   “Yes, actually. For me anyway.”     “Well I’m not surprised. You’re just annoyed I’m working off my debt to you.” You winked and rolled from the bed, you picked up your used plates and took them downstairs.

    You returned when he called for you. You held two glasses of port in your hands and found him in his study.   “When did you get in here?” You asked with a smile, pleased to see him on his feet, if not slightly unsteady.   “I am an enigma of a man, (Y/N). I wouldn’t expect your tiny brain to even begin to comprehend me.” Severus answered with a smirk, you passed him the glass and he raised it to his lips and drank deeply. “Delicious.” It was then you noticed the cauldron bubbling contentedly on his desk. You wandered over to it and inspected the shimmering, iridescent silver liquid, it smelled foul; like rotten eggs and you recoiled.   “What the fuck is that?” You demanded as you covered your nose. Severus had his back to you; he ran a finger along one of the shelves which held bottles of all shapes and sizes and plucked a large green bottle with a jade lid. You watched as he carefully unscrewed the top and dropped a tiny drop of the liquid onto a sprig of lavender. The flowers wilted instantly, and he dropped the whole thing into the cauldron. A great lilac cloud erupted from the cauldron and dissipated as Severus waved his hand.   “This, (Y/N) is a pregnancy test.” Severus replied with a satisfied smile. He beckoned you over to the desk and you sighed as the smell had gotten progressively worse with the addition of the lavender. The liquid had changed from its silver to a dark burgundy, it still held its iridescence as it bubbled.   “Is this what they use in St. Mungo’s?”   “Merlin no, they use a potion so convoluted there you could have had the baby by the time you receive an answer.” Severus sniffed, “This is Enfantin Inventim, it’s old. Really, very old. They stopped using this in everyday practise about three hundred years ago. It’s notoriously difficult to prepare and can often lead to an incorrect result.”   “Should we use it then? If it can give an incorrect result?” You asked anxiously, the last thing you needed was to wait another day. You needed to get on with your life, one way or the other.   “Do you think I would prepare something that would achieve anything other than one-hundred-percent accuracy?” Severus snapped. He had a point; he was a potions master for a reason.   “Okay, what do I do?”   “It isn’t pleasant, (Y/N). Do you trust me?” You considered it for a moment and then nodded, he offered his hand to you, you took it and he pulled you towards him forcefully. Severus winced with the effort and forced your hand open. He quickly drew a pearl-encrusted dagger across the length of your palm, easily opening the flesh. You howled in pain and tried to pull your hand back, Severus clasped it into a fist and squeezed tightly. Blood began to fall from you hand and he brought it over the cauldron, the potion drank your blood hungrily and after you parted with ten drops, the potion began to cloud over.  

  “Stand back.” He commanded, he gave you a scrap of cloth and you pressed it hard into the palm of your hand. “If the liquid turns white, you’re pregnant. If it turns black, you’re in the clear.”   “How long do we have to wait?” You whispered and closed your eyes.   “Not long.” In that moment, you wished George were by your side. He would know exactly what to say, and even if he didn’t, he would make you laugh. You imagined his hand around your waist and his lips pressed to your head in a gentle kiss.   “Severus. If I am…you know. What do I do?”   “I imagine what women have done for a millennia-”   “No, what I mean is-” You paused, unsure of how he would react. “Do I have a- do I have a choice?”   “Of course you have a choice. I can put you in contact with some discreet mediwitches. They’re friendly and would have you sorted in no time.” “Okay.”

  You waited for what seemed an age. You tended to your wounded hand and shot a scowl in Severus’ direction when he likened it to a scratch compared to his. The cauldron continued to bubble, it produced green smoke and spat out occasionally. You couldn’t take it anymore. Severus stirred it dutifully and you told him you’d be back in a moment, trapsing your way to the bathroom. You paced back and forth frantically. You couldn’t stand the waiting idly by, you had fashioned a bandage for your hand out of the cloth and some rolled up toilet paper when you caught your reflection in the mirror. You moved towards it and placed your hands gently on the sink underneath it.   “You need to sort your fucking life out, (Y/N).” You said to your reflection, you stared deeply into your own face. Hardly even recognising the person reflected back to you.   “(Y/N)!” You heard Severus shout from the study. “It’s done.” You supressed the bile that rose in your throat and took a deep breath. You stepped uneasily back into the room to see Severus’ neutral face waiting for you. He stood with his hands behind his back.   “Have you looked?”   “Yes.”   “What is it?”   “For fucks sake, have a look.” He snapped; he shook his head with a scowl as you inched toward the cauldron. Your hands trembled as you peered down into the now still liquid. It was black. The liquid was black.   “It’s-”   “Black.” He answered with a smile.   “I’m-”   “Not. Pregnant.”

  You cried out a tremendous cry of relief. Big tears rolled down your cheeks as you moved to Severus in two swift movements and threw your arms around his shoulders. He swayed with surprise.   “Ow. Careful.” He murmured before he patted you awkwardly on the back. When you pulled away, you beamed triumphantly up at him and he returned your smile. “You can thank me by releasing me.” You complied with a laugh, a genuine laugh. You felt like a weight had been lifted from your chest, you breathed easier than you had done in weeks.   “Thank you, Severus. I suggest you stop being nice to me or I’ll forever feel indebted to you.” You laughed, you noticed Severus’ expression alter slightly. “What? What did I say?”   “I feel like I haven’t been quite honest with you.” Severus said quietly, “Don’t interrupt me, just let me finish, yes?” You nodded and took a step back. You waited patiently for Severus to speak, he seemed to mull the words over before he was satisfied.   “You asked me a while ago whether I’m this involved with all of my old student’s lives, and I think we both know the answer to that. When I returned to Malfoy Manor after I took you to The Burrow, your father took me to one side.” You eyed him suspiciously as he wet his lips before continuing, “He knew what I had done and asked for a favour.”   “Of course he did.”   “Shut up, I’m not finished. He asked me if would be able to keep an eye on you, he knew I had connections almost everywhere, and he wanted reports of your whereabouts. And I agreed.” You stared unblinking at Severus. “He offered monthly payments if I could tell him where you were going, what you were doing, who you were seeing etcetera.” Severus squared his shoulders and took a sip of his port. “He just wanted to know you were safe.”   “So he paid you to spy on me?”   “In essence, yes. I never accepted the money though.” Severus levelled, you covered your eyes with your good hand and sighed.   “That’s why you let me stay in your house.” Severus nodded grimly and gestured for you to sit. You did so and chewed on your lip. You felt a multitude of emotions, not one of them good.   “There is one more thing, (Y/N). That night in The Leaky Cauldron where Mundungus saw you and I for the first time. He was there on my orders.” Your mouth fell agape. No, no absolutely not, that couldn’t be. Severus couldn’t possibly have ordered the hurt that Mundungus inflicted. You stared at him again, stony faced as tears began to trickle down your cheek.   “I heard you though, I followed you into the alleyway when you confronted him.” You said feebly, your lip quivered.   “I know, I made sure you would hear so not to suspect me. I was annoyed at him though, that was never part of the plan. He went rogue, so to speak.”

  A heavy silence descended between the pair of you. Severus, his usual staidness reduced to slumped shoulders and a guilty expression. There was a plethora of things you wanted to say, questions you wanted to ask him, but you couldn’t find the words. He finished his port and hobbled out of the room, your heard him enter the bathroom. You sat still, positively unable to process everything he had told you. Was there anything in your life that you held control over? When he appeared in the doorway, his face was ashen with pain and a thin layer of sweat appeared on his brow.   “Do you have any cigarettes?” You asked him slowly. He nodded and pointed downstairs, you pushed passed him and retrieved them from his discarded coat. You carried the remainder of the bottle of port back with you and sat on the floor. Severus moved slowly passed you and collapsed into the chair, the evidence of his exertion etched into his face. You filled his glass with the ruby liquid and then pressed the bottle to your lips and took three deep swigs. He raised an eyebrow as if to complain but thought better of it.   “Did you ever care about me, Severus? Because if it isn’t already clear, I care about you.” You pulled a cigarette out of the packet and lit it, you threw the packet into Severus’ lap, a little harder than you intended. He winced and lit his own cigarette.   “Of course I care.” You scoffed and took another swig from the bottle.   “And are you going to tell him about this? My father?” You pointed to the cauldron full of Enfantin Inventim. Severus shook his head and took a sip.   “No, I did this for you.”   “Why should I believe you?”   “You don’t have to, I suppose. I can’t force you.”

  You were silent again after that, you took long drags of your cigarette until the heat became too much as it reached the filter and burned your lip. You finished off the port and dropped the stub into the now empty bottle. Severus didn’t remove his eyes from your face, as if he were waiting for you to explode. You had every right to, you could go and punch walls and kick holes in doors, but what would that achieve?   “I’m trying really hard to be angry at you.” You whispered. Severus’ look of surprise almost took you off guard.   “And?”   “I can’t.” Severus sighed and slipped further into the chair, he finished his cigarette and beckoned for the empty bottle. He dropped the stub in slowly, his face contorted with pain as he stretched. You watched as he did his usual action of wetting his lips, his tell-tale sign that he was about to speak.   “I do care about you, (Y/N). There’s a goodness in you that one doesn’t always see when they’re brought up in the circles we frequent. I’m satisfied knowing I played my part in ensuring you got out of it all. You remind me very much of somebody I knew a long time ago, someone I wished I could have done more to help, but it wasn’t within my power. This, on the other hand, was very much within my capabilities. I’m not sorry.” His face settled into a frown and you sighed with exasperation.   “Fucks sake.” You muttered, you rose from your spot on the floor and made your way to Severus. You dipped your head and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. “You’re an arsehole.”   “Believe me, (Y/N). That is one of the tamer names I have been called in my time.” He smiled ruefully and found your hand and gave it a squeeze.   “If I ask you a question, will you promise to answer it honestly?” You asked, you saw the faintest hint of humour flash across his eyes.   “I shall try.”   “Was it the Dark Lord who hurt you last night?” He looked at you thoughtfully, a smile tugged at his lips. Severus lifted his chin and placed a finger on it and brushed it over his lips.   “Yes.” You didn’t quite know what to do with the information, you weren’t quite sure why you asked the question. You simply nodded and gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Please don’t worry about me, (Y/N). I know what I’m doing.”   “Still.” Severus shrugged, he looked to the clock on the wall and then out of the window into the night.   “If you leave now, you could make it to The Burrow by midnight. Bring in Christmas with your loved ones.” He said quietly, you wondered if you saw the slightest twinge of remorse on his face. You cocked your head to the side.   “You want me to go?”   “I think we both know it’s time for you to, what’s the expression, ‘get your shit together.’” You snorted and threw your head back as you laughed.   “You could come with me, if you like; to The Burrow?” Severus shook his head, his hands outstretched in front of him.   “No thank you, I prefer my own company.”   “What will you do? Will you be okay if I go?”   “I have weathered much more serious casualties than this one by myself. I shall be fine. I will travel back to Hogwarts in the morning ready for my Christmas Dinner.”   “Are you sure?”   “Go,” Severus stated with a small smile, “Get out of my house.”

******

  It was five to midnight when you knocked on the door to The Burrow. You didn’t want to just burst in, just in case they were asleep or busy with family time. Your fingers flew to your neck where the intricate choker your father had sent you sat at the base of your throat; it was a special occasion after all. You knocked again and stood back to take a look at the house. There were a few lights still on even at this late hour, you strained to hear any noises on the other side of the wood and were about to knock for a third time when the door flew open. Ginny stood in fluffy red pyjamas, wand raised and a look of shock on her face. You launched yourself at her and she you, you engulfed each other in a vice like hug.   “I knew you’d come.” She whispered, “George is going to wet himself.” She led you through the house where only Molly, Ginny and Ron sat by the fireplace in the living room. Molly clasped her hands to her mouth as she struggled to get out of her chair quickly.   “Oh! My dear!” She said as she tottered toward you, she pulled you close to her chest and rocked you back and forth. “I am so happy you’re here; we can finally celebrate now.”   “Please don’t, you’re going to make me cry.” You said as Molly pulled away and placed a warm hand to your cheek.   “Welcome home.” She whispered. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

  The sound of feet thundering down the rickety staircase made you jump, Ginny arrived breathlessly at the bottom and George immediately behind her dressed in his pyjamas. Your eyes met across the expanse and you opened your arms to him. He crossed to you in a flash and placed two hands on your face and pressed his lips hungrily to yours. You tossed your arms around his neck, and his arms moved down your body and hugged your waist. You pressed your forehead to his and sighed.   “Merry Christmas.” You breathed; a whisper of a smile played at George’s lips.   “Merry Christmas.” He replied, he laced his fingers with yours and beamed at you. “Do you want to go for a walk?”

  Most of the snow had melted in the fields surrounding The Burrow, and you were grateful for it as George almost dragged you along a beaten path to a wooden bench under a tree, a good quarter of a mile away from the house. He pressed a hand to the seat and shrugged;   “It’s not wet, just cold.”   “I can handle cold.” You sat close to him on the bench, his arm around your shoulders as you both gazed up into the crisp night sky. There was something about the way the stars looked from here, like you could reach out and touch them. Lonely clouds like tiny whisps of smoke littered the sky occasionally, and you took turns in those moments where the stars weren’t visible in giving the other a kiss.   “Merlin, I missed you.” George said into your hair, he stroked the side of your face with a gloved finger and you melted into his touch. “I’m so sorry, (Y/N).”   “There’ll be plenty of time to talk about it, George, but I need to tell you something.” You replied, his gaze softened as he placed another tender kiss to your lips. You sighed contentedly at the feeling of warmth that spread through you, you were home. He squared his shoulders and shifted slightly on the bench, so to face you more.

  He listened intently whilst you told him of everything since you had last seen him. He nodded and occasionally asked the odd question like; “Was the inside of Snape’s house full of bodies?” and “God, I can’t believe you slept in his bed. Was it a coffin?” The only thing you neglected to tell him was of Severus’ attack, you didn’t know how deep the waters were that surrounded his area of his life and you didn’t feel like it was your place to share that information. When you told him of your pregnancy scare, his eyes widened, and his jaw clenched.   “(Y/N),” He said sternly, “You should have told me straight away. That’s not fair.”   “I know love, I feel awful about it. That’s one thing I’m truly sorry for, George. I promise not do anything like it again.” He nodded, seemingly content with that and kissed the tip of your nose. You began to tell him of the plot your father had embroiled Severus in, and George’s hands clenched into fists.   “That fucking snake.” George muttered, “How are you not furious?”   “Believe me, I tried to be,” You answered, “We talked about it and I decided there’s more important things to be worried about. I don’t blame him for what he did and neither should you, okay?”   “Fine. But I’m not happy about it.”   “I’ll take it.”

  When you climbed into bed that night, it was nearly two in the morning. The rest of the house was sound asleep as you and George became reacquainted. His hands found themselves tangled in your hair and you moaned quietly as he pulled softly, his mouth lathering your neck in kisses.   “Fuck, I’ve missed the sounds you make.” George breathed into your ear, you tipped your head back and found his mouth with yours. His hands travelled from your hair down to your hips, he pulled you close, and you felt his already hard member as it pushed against his boxers. You brought a hand down and cupped it, he hissed at the contact and bucked his hips forward. “Please let me fuck you, (Y/N). It’s been too long.”   “Yes, oh, fuck yes. Do it, George.”

  He wasted no time in pushing your knickers over your bum, and you wiggled frantically in an attempt to free yourself from them. He pulled his boxers down and climbed between your legs, he rubbed his cock against your folds and spat into his hand, rubbing it along his shaft for extra lubrication. When he pushed into you, you moaned together. It was like for one split second, the earth stopped. Everything stopped. You could hear your heartbeat in your eyes as you pulled George’s head down to kiss his lips. You ran your tongue along his bottom lip, and he shuddered. He rolled his hips against yours, and you grasped onto his shoulders tightly. George pulled out almost completely, before he pushed into you again; fully sheathed inside you. He did this three more times before you cried out;   “Please! I can’t take it anymore!” With a growl, George thrusted hard. His hips snapped backwards and forwards at intense pace, he lifted your legs above his shoulders, allowing him to bury himself deeper within you. You gasped at the sensation of being utterly filled by him, your brow furrowed as you struggled to keep your moans quiet. He continued this pace, his cock now slick with your juices as you bit down hard on the back of your hand. He pushed back slightly and reached a hand in between your legs, parting them slightly as he began to furiously rub your clit. Your eyes rolled back into your head as overwhelming pulses of pleasure coursed through your veins, you moved your hips with his, suddenly desperate for release. George let your legs fall from his shoulders as he grasped your hips, moving you with ease along his throbbing cock. You groaned, as George pressed harder against your mound, drawing from you a string of curses as you trundled towards your orgasm.   “Fuck, I’m going to come, George.” The surprise in your voice was palpable, the swiftness in which George was going to make you come was incredible. You panted hard against his shoulder as with a grunt, his nimble fingers rubbed you to completion, his cock hitting the delicious spot inside you. As you reached the peak of your high, George followed. He groaned as your walls tightened around him and he spilled his seed deep into your quim.   “Sorry,” George breathed, “I couldn’t hold on any longer.” You smiled and kissed him, it was tender and held every ounce of love you had for him. He deepened the kiss, rolling his tongue around with yours as his hand cupped your breast. “I’m going to fuck you so hard as soon as we get to the flat, you won’t be able to walk for a week.”   “Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Georgie.” You smirked, he tweaked your nipple between his fingers and brought his mouth close to your ear, his voice deathly low.   “I’m going to make you come, over and over again. You’re going to beg me to stop. Then I’ll fuck you, I’ll fuck you the way you ought to be fucked. Rough and hard because naughty girls don’t get fucked nicely.”

  Your skin flushed with heat as he nibbled at your earlobe, desire already building between your legs. You cast a look to George, who looked about two seconds away from falling asleep and giggled.   “Do you want to be the little spoon?” You asked, he didn’t answer, instead he rolled his body away from you and faced the wall. He pushed his bum out and you gave it a playful slap.   “Don’t get any ideas.” He muttered and you grinned as you wrapped your arm around his middle. He laced his fingers with yours and hummed contentedly as the room gave way to the quiet of the house.   “I’m so happy you came back.” George whispered; his voice heavy with tiredness.   “Me too. I love you.” You replied with a yawn.   “Love you too.”

  George complained the entire way back to the flat. He had insisted on carrying your bags plus gifts you had received over Christmas, including but limited to; a lovely scarf Molly had painstakingly kitted for you and a hilariously ruffled gilet for George. You couldn’t help but grin consistently as you walked ahead of him up the back stairs to the entrance of the flat, his hat had slipped over his eyes and he lost his footing. Your suitcase lurched backwards, it manged to bump comically every step before it lay still at the bottom of the stairs.   “Right!” George announced, he dropped the rest of the bags and grabbed hold of your hips. You yelped in surprise as George hoisted you over his shoulder, fireman style and proceeded up the rest of the stairs. He near enough kicked the front door open and moved swiftly through the flat and into your shared bedroom, he ignored your giggled protestations and flung you down onto the bed. He was on top of you in an instant, his knee pushed your legs apart and his mouth descended onto your throat. He sucked and nibbled at the sensitive skin and began undoing the buttons of your coat.     “Off.” He ordered as he opened your coat and tugged at the bottom of your jumper. Dutifully, you sat up and removed the offending items of clothing. His gaze was ravenous as he watched as you tucked your hair behind your ears and waited for further instructions. George’s gaze flashed down to your breasts. “Off.” He repeated. You felt your breath hitch in your throat as George removed his own coat and shirt, his hands moved to his belt and he slipped both his jeans and boxers from his body, his already hard cock sprung against his stomach as you followed suit. You threw your jeans across the room and your knickers next.

 “So beautiful,” George commented as he ran a featherlight touch across your cheek. “Such a good girl.” You melted into George’s ghost like touch and shuddered. You kept your eyes on him as he brought a hand down to his cock and rubbed along the length slowly. “Touch yourself, (Y/N) I want to see you make yourself come.” Your eyes widened with shock for a moment before a smile crept across your mouth and you brought your hands to your breasts. Was it a show he was after? Then a show he would get. You placed your fingers on each of your hardened nipples and tugged slightly, your lips parted slightly at the sensation. You heard George as he took a sharp intake of breath as he gripped the head of his cock. You trailed one hand slowly down your body and shuffled down the bed as you lay your shoulders back onto the covers. You reached your throbbing cunt and spread your legs wide for George to see, he moaned as you brought your fingers over your clit and rubbed a sweeping circle of it.   “That’s it,” George moaned, “Let me see you- oh! Good girl.” You watched as George began to pump himself faster, your name fell from his lips as you plunged two fingers between your slick folds. You matched George’s pace as you fucked yourself with your fingers, you closed your eyes and fisted the sheets with your free hand. Pleasure built within you as with each pulse of your fingers, you found your sweet spot. “Come quickly, (Y/N). I want to see how fast you can come.”

  You took your fingers out of your entrance and brought them now coated in your juices and recommenced the rubbing of your clit. You moaned as you rubbed tantalisingly quick circles on the electrified pearl between your legs. Your toes curled as you felt your orgasm build in the pit of your stomach, you moaned, and George answered it with a moan of his own. Your hips bucked from the bed as you pressed harder with each swipe of your fingers until you came, it was fantastically intense and your voice, thick with desire called out for George.   “Come here.” He demanded once you had recovered. His cock was impossibly hard and almost screamed for attention as you crawled slowly over to where he sat. George placed a hand on your head as you took him in your mouth, you placed a tender kiss to the tip and licked the little drops of precum that had gathered there. He sighed as you pushed your lips down the length of hi and relaxed your throat, allowing him a small thrust. His gentle hand became a fist in your hair as he pulled you back, almost pulling you away from his cock; but your hand reached around the base of him and began to pump him. Your tongue swirled around his tip and George’s head rolled back as you wrapped your lips around him and swallowed. You found a rhythm and George’s hand on your head helped you keep time; you could see the muscles in his thighs tense as you hummed around him.   “Fuck. That feels good. Such a good girl.”

  At George’s praise, you sucked him faster, hollowing your cheeks and your grip around his shaft tightened. George’s hips began to lift off the bed as he thrust into your mouth. There was nothing you loved more in this world than to feel this man come undone under your hand, you moaned against him and he slid further into your throat. That was enough for George, who parted with four thick spurts with a cry of pleasure. You swallowed it up and wiped your mouth, you pulled away and gently massaged your aching jaw. You watched the rise and fall of George’s chest as he recovered from his orgasm, arm slung over his eyes.   “I love you.” You whispered, you felt tears sting your eyes and you sniffed. George sat up and looked at you, his face etched with concern.   “I love you too, what’s the matter?” He asked, he pulled you close and bundled you into his arms. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and you nuzzled your face against his neck.   “Nothing, nothing. I’m just so happy.” George chuckled and hugged you tighter, you popped a leg over his and hummed as happy tears fell from your eyes.   “Me too.”

**********

  “No, those need to go to the stockroom, Fred. I’m not having them cluttering up the flat. There’s already zero room in here as it is.” You gestured around you to the boxes of stock that stood tall in your tiny living room.   “Right, and I’m telling you there’s nowhere to put them. We need more space.” Fred sighed and placed the box full of love potions on the floor. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. Angelina appeared from behind a tower of boxes, her face aghast as Fred opened his arms to her. He placed a kiss on her shoulder.   “We’re drowning in all this.” She said, you shook her head at you; a silent communication that the boys had finally lost the plot.   “What do we need to do?” George called from the doorway, he levitated three coffee’s behind him as he held a beautiful bouquet of flowers in his hand, a bottle of champagne in the other. You grinned as he rushed to you, he presented the flowers to you and you sniffed them gratefully. Roses, lily’s and daisies. Your favourite.   “They’re beautiful, George! Thank you!” You placed a loving kiss to his cheek and traced a lily petal delicately with your finger as George put the champagne in the fridge.   “Congratulations my love! And happy second anniversary.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and pulled you in for a hug.   “This mine?” Angelina asked, she pointed at one of the three coffees suspended behind George’s shoulder.  “Oh yeah sorry, Ange. This one’s yours love.” George smiled and dished the coffees out; Angelina gave George a warm smile of thanks as you sipped happily.   “Where’s mine?” Fred demanded; George patted his pockets sarcastically.    “You weren’t here, mate.” He shrugged, Fred huffed and turned his attention to you.   “Congratulations I suppose, (Y/N). Still think you’re wasting your time being a Healer.” Fred said, Angelina wasted no time smacking his stomach.   “You think I’m wasting my time being a Healer…as we’re about to go into war?” You said, despite the seriousness of your words, a smile tugged at your lips as you knew Fred was just sorry to lose you from the shop. You had spent the last year and a half revising your arse off to be fast-tracked through the training programme. It was the only way you could think of to give back an inch of the kindness you had received. You had received your lime green robes this morning, an immensely proud moment indeed.   “All I’m saying is, you could have been junior assistant manager. I had the badge made for you and everything.”   “Ignore him, (Y/N).” Angelina said as she rolled her eyes, “We��re all really proud of you. Well done, babe.” You handed George the flowers and tossed your arms around Angelina’s neck for a hug.   “Thank you, Ange. What did I ever do without you to help reign dear Freddie in?” You laughed and she laughed with you.   “Think there’s anyway we can back out, Georgie?” Fred whispered dramatically to George who just grinned ruefully.   “Not a chance.”   “Too fucking right. You’re stuck with us now.” Angelina replied, an arm slung round your shoulders. “We still need to work out what to do with these boxes.”   “There’s no room for them in here.” George offered, he waved his wand over your flowers and they arranged themselves beautifully in a vase.   “No,” Angelina agreed, “I think we all know this flat isn’t big enough for four people, couples or not.” You nodded and made your way back to George, he hoisted himself up onto the kitchen counter and you settled between his legs.   “What are you thinking?” Fred asked his girlfriend; Angelina shrugged and sipped her coffee.   “We were thinking,” You replied, “Turning this upstairs flat into a staff room and overflow stockroom. You’re selling so much, so obviously have to have the stock to sell. There just isn’t room for us in here anymore. Plus, I’m pretty sure the staff would love to be able to come up here and have an actual cup of tea on their breaks.”   “We think we should move.” Angelia said, “Separately.” She added softly. George’s hand stiffened around your waist. You wished that Angelina had waited a day or two before dropping the bombshell, but the pair you had spent the last month speaking of little else. You and George needed your own space, and Fred and Angelina needed theirs as much.   “You want us to move away from each other?” Fred asked incredulously, you offered him a small smile.   “Not exactly.”

**********

  The portkey dropped you in the middle of a field. You were on your lunch break and only had half an hour before you needed to be back at St. Mungo’s. George looked stressed as he straightened his tie, you could tell he was nervous. You took his clammy hand in yours and gave it a squeeze.   “You okay?”   “Yeah,” He replied in a strained voice. “It’s just a lot of money to part with.” You sighed and dragged him in the direction of Fred and Angelina who stood waving at you. You approached them with hello’s and hugs and waited.   “What time’s he meant to be coming?” Fred asked as he checked his watch, you followed suit and checked the upturned watch pinned to your robes. Only twenty minutes left.   “Any minute now.” Angelina asked. You all looked in opposite directions, scouring the grassy horizons for any sight of the man in question. What you didn’t expect, was for him to surprise you from behind.   “You can never expect a group of Gryffindor’s to be on time.” You felt a grin widen across your face as you saw Severus fold his arms across his chest.   “Excuse me, I’m one of yours.” You replied, he shook your hand rather formally but gave you a brief wink as he dropped two sets of keys into George’s hand.   “Is it all sorted?” George asked the potions master, Severus nodded.   “Yes, I watched them as they signed the paperwork this morning. All in your names now, though I don’t see why you had to have me do it. I’m very busy.”   “Because I don’t trust anybody else.” You countered, “I needed to be one-hundred-percent sure my parents wouldn’t try any funny business.”   “They were quite happy to get rid of these cottages if you ask me. They have no need for them anymore, especially given that they’ve sold the house in Rouen.” Severus said, he looked up at the old stone walls of the two cottages.   “The price of war, I suppose.” Fred quipped; Severus cocked an eyebrow but ultimately smirked in agreement. You broke away from George and the others and placed your arm through Severus’, wandering a few steps.   “Thank you again, I really appreciate that.” You whispered; your heads close together. Severus placed a hand on top of yours and patted it softly. “Are you still coming for lunch on Sunday? It’s my only day off this week.”   “Are you cooking?”   “No, George is.”   “Yes, I shall arrive at twelve.”

  You waved as Severus made off into the distance, when there was no longer any sight of him. Angelina turned to you, and then back out to the cottages. A pair of great stone cottages with an adjoining garden stood before you. That had been built hundreds of years ago by twin farmers who tended the surrounding fields. They were acquired by your parents in the sixties; and now were to make new homes for you and George, Fred and Angelina. It was fitting really that another pair of twins would live in them all those years later, making new memories.   “How long have you got before you need to be back at the hospital?” George whispered into your ear. You glanced down at your watch.   “Fifteen minutes.”   “Plenty of time.” He breathed, George grabbed your hand and dragged you laughing towards the front door of your cottage. The door slammed behind you as he placed a hungry kiss to your lips. His hands where everywhere at once, slipping your robes over your head and grunting in your ear.   “This is our house, (Y/N). I want to hear how loud you can be.”

Of course, you complied; you wanted everybody to know that you were his, forever.

[freddiesaysalright]

Soft in Love Part 4

A Gwilym Lee x Student!Reader Fic

Summary: Y/N is an acting student in her last semester of college. When a professor unexpectedly can’t make it for the senior capstone class, a very famous (and handsome) substitute is called in. When they connect, they face a few challenges.

Word Count: 3k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural​, @someone-get-a-medic​, @bensrhapsody​, @deakyclicks​, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession​, @minigranger​, @crazyweirdocalledfriday​, @benders-diamond-earring​, @im-an-adult-ish​, @anincurablefangirl​, @kiainspace​, @lookuptotheskiesandsee​, @god-save-the-deaks​, @assembledherethevolunteers​, @misslolasworld​, @not-john-watsons-blog​, @spacedustmazzello​, @theindiealto​ If you’d like to be added let me know!

A/N: Here it is! Sorry this took so long, my weekend was crazy and then I wanted to put that Brian fic out :)

Warning(s): None! More pining, some jealousy, yadda yadda

Part 1  Part 2  Part 3 

Part 4 here we go!!!

He took one look at Sloan and immediately threw the car into park before climbing out to help you. With his assistance you got her lying down in the back seat. You were careful to place her face down in case she vomited. 

You looked back toward the house where the three guys were standing, watching you. Gwilym walked around to the passenger side and opened the door for you.

“Y/N!” he called through the rain. “Come on, I’ll take you home.”

You jogged over and slid into the seat. He closed the door behind you gently. Then he resumed his spot behind the wheel, rolled the window up, and drove away. He went slowly, minding Sloan in the back.

Now that it was quiet, you could hear your heart thundering in your chest. You took a few shaky breaths. Your arms were already feeling sore from where you had strained to carry Sloan down the stairs and into the street. It made you feel weak and tired.

“Are you alright?” Gwilym asked.

You looked at him a moment, just taking in his kind voice. You nodded.

“Yeah,” you said. “We almost weren’t. But we are. Thanks for stopping.”

“What happened?” he wondered.

You explained the whole nasty business to him. The corners of his mouth turned down when you described it, and you thought that even frowning, he looked rather handsome. Then you reprimanded yourself again. You shouldn’t think of him that way.

“I’m sorry,” he said simply. “That’s terrible.”

You told him to take a left to get to Sloan’s place.

“I know,” you agreed. “I’m just glad I got to her before something...even more terrible happened.”

“She’s lucky to have a friend like you looking after her,” he said.

“I should have been looking more closely,” you replied, looking at your hands in your lap. “If I hadn’t gone to talk to fucking Daniel…”

Gwilym glanced over at you. You hung your soaking head as your body trembled. Instinctively, he reached over and took your hand.

When Gwilym’s warm fingers interlocked with yours, you stiffened. The logical part of you screamed to put him off, push him away. This was inappropriate. The other part of you - a frightened girl - told you to accept the gesture. You needed the comfort anyway. Throwing logic to the wind, you gave his hand a grateful squeeze. His hand remained clasped in yours all the way to Sloan’s apartment.

Gwilym parked on the street and then together, you carried Sloan up to her place. She was a little more aware now, but still unable to walk. It was slow going to get her up the stairs, and her place didn’t have elevators. She and Andrew were on the fourth floor.

When you made it, both red-faced and panting, you retrieved Sloan’s keys from her purse and unlocked the door. Gwilym carried her the rest of the way to her room to give you a break. He placed her carefully on the bed. 

“Can you step out for a bit?” you asked. “I’m gonna get her clothes off.”

“Of course,” he agreed, and left, closing the door behind him.

With a sigh, you got to work. You peeled off her tanktop, shorts, bra, and underwear and threw them in the hamper. You untied her shoes and removed them before tossing them into her closet. Then you draped a blanket over her. You hoped she was comfortable.

At last, you went back out to the living room. Gwilym was looking at the bookshelf, seeing what Andrew and Sloan had in their collection. Neither of them were very big readers, but they had some things they’d enjoyed from classes, as well as scripts from previous shows they had performed in.

“You really are a nerd, huh?” you teased.

He chuckled. “Guilty as charged.”

A beat passed.

“Do you want me to take you home?” he offered.

“If you don’t mind,” you returned. “I’ll just leave a note for Andrew.”

His brow furrowed and then un-furrowed quickly.

“Oh, right, I forgot your phone is dead,” he recalled.

“Sloan’s is on her charger, but it takes a minute to boot up,” you explained. 

You went into the kitchen and retrieved a pad and pen. You began scrawling a quick note to Andrew saying that Sloan would need water and painkillers in the morning. As you wrote, you began to shiver again.

“You’re soaked,” Gwilym said. “Can you borrow something of hers?”

You shook your head. “Sloan’s smaller than me by a lot. I’ll just have to wait until I get home.”

He frowned. “Wait right here.”

With that, he exited the apartment. You heard his footsteps disappear down the staircase and you pondered what he could be doing. Shrugging it off, you finished your note. When you heard steps coming back, you opened  the door for Gwilym.

“Here,” he said, holding out a hoodie and sweatpants.

“Are these yours?” you asked, hesitating to take them.

“Yes, you can return them whenever, I don’t mind,” he insisted. “But you should get out of those wet clothes or you’ll get sick.”

“I’ll be fine -” you started to say, but he cut across you.

“Y/N, you’re the star of the show,” he said. “We can’t have you losing your voice or anything.”

You blinked. You had almost forgotten about class and the musical.

“I guess that’s true,” you admitted.

He smiled as you took the offering at last. You went into Andrew’s bathroom to change, stripping all the way down. He was right, it was better to take off the soaked outfit from earlier. Gwilym’s clothes were large, but cozy. The pants had a drawstring so you could keep them up. The hoodie went to your thighs. It all smelled like him, warm and inviting. You brought the collar to your nose and inhaled deeply.

You emerged from the bathroom, feeling a little insecure about how you must look with his clothes hanging off you. But he smiled so kindly at you, you forgot about anything other than that smile. It knocked the breath out of you.

“You’re a tree,” you blurted out, giggling.

“Are you warm?” he asked with a chuckle.

In more ways than one, you thought as you looked at him.

“I am,” you assured him. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” he replied. “Ready to go?”

You nodded. “Yep!”

He paused. “Actually, Y/N, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”

Your stomach twisted into a knot.

“Um, okay,” you said. “What is it?”

“This week, you’ve been sort of...standoffish,” he said. “Have I done something to upset you?”

You sighed, guilt washing over you. Your treatment of him had been unfair. He’d done nothing wrong, and you had punished him for things people might say or suspect. Now, after he’d come to your rescue, it felt especially wrong.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “A few people made some comments to me and I took them way too much to heart. You haven’t done anything, I swear.”

He heaved a sigh. “Thank goodness.”

“And I seriously can’t thank you enough for everything tonight,” you went on. “I’ll never be rude to you again.”

He chuckled, the sound ringing through your ears and snatching up your heart.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you home.”

He offered you his hand again. You smiled and took it. Together, you left the apartment, and you used your spare key to lock up behind you.

Once again, Gwilym opened the door for you. The rain had thankfully stopped, so you didn’t get soaked as you climbed in. He got into the driver’s side and cranked the engine.

“So, where do you live?” he asked.

“On campus in the dorms,” you told him.

He raised an eyebrow at you.

“It’s part of my scholarship,” you explained. 

“I didn’t know you were on a scholarship,” he returned.

“Yeah, my parents couldn’t afford to send me to school,” you went on. “They both work in a restaurant, and have for their whole lives. If I wanted to go to school, it was on me to get the money.”

Something like pride made his heart swell.

“That’s incredible,” he said, trying to sound cooler about it than he felt.

You shrugged. “I auditioned for several schools. This one was the best way and had the most to offer. I was lucky to get the chance.”

“Well, you’re talented enough, so I’m not surprised they offered it to you,” he said.

You looked out the window to hide the blush rising to your cheeks.

“What are you thinking of doing after graduation?” he wondered.

“I’m not sure, really,” you told him. “I’d like to maybe go to LA and work in the movies. The trouble is, I don’t have any connections out there. That’s the only real way to get a good part.”

“I hate to admit it, but that’s usually true,” he said. “Unless you have a really great agent. But if you’re starting out, you need to be careful.”

“Yeah, I won’t be tricked into doing porn or anything like that,” you joked. “Not that the porn industry wouldn’t be lucky to have me, but I’ve got slightly higher ambitions.”

He laughed. “I’m glad to hear it.”

A beat passed.

“Well, if you ever need it, I’ve got lots of friends and colleagues in Los Angeles,” he said. “I’d be happy to set up a meeting.”

Your heart soared at the idea.

“Really?” you gasped.

He looked over at you and saw your thrilled face and it made him ache to hold you.

“Sure thing,” he said casually. “You’ve got my email.”

“That would be amazing, Gwilym, thank you!”

You finished your phrase by placing a grateful hand on his arm. That hand eventually met his, and there it remained for the rest of the ride. When he pulled up to your dorm, you found you were very sorry to be letting go of it.

“Thank you again for everything tonight,” you said.

“No problem,” he said. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

You nodded. You gazed at him, and he turned to meet your eyes. The look was charged. Something lingered between you, some words unsaid.

“You should get in,” he said, finally breaking the silence. “It’s late.”

“It’s the weekend,” you reminded him lightly.

“I know, but still,” he returned.

“Alright,” you conceded. “Thanks again. I can’t say it enough.”

You squeezed his hand.

“Goodnight, Gwilym.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

On that note, you reluctantly climbed out of the car and stepped onto the sidewalk. Gwilym watched to be sure you made it inside before pulling away and heading back to his hotel room. As he drove, he felt his hand tingling from where you had touched it. It was already itching for you again.

“Oh, God,” he sighed. “That’s terribly inconvenient.”

The next day, you called Sloan to make sure she was alright. She said she was and thanked you for getting her out of there. Either because she was too tired or she really didn’t want to know, she didn’t ask how exactly you’d gotten away from the party. Then again, she didn’t know that both your phones were dead. She probably assumed you had called a Lyft. And you weren’t going to let her think any different.

On Tuesday, when you arrived to class early, it was just you and Gwilym again. You smiled at him, which he returned and then you took a seat beside him on the stage.

“How’s Sloan?” he asked.

“Fully recovered,” you told him. “We hung out on Sunday and she said she was sort of shaken up, but otherwise perfect.”

“That’s understandable,” he said.

He swallowed, and you felt that he was holding something back. The truth was, the more Gwilym thought about it, the more he felt that getting close to you was a bad idea. He liked you, probably too much, and that put you at risk. When you had fought so hard for a chance, and you were so close to finishing, he didn’t want to be the reason you lost everything. He wasn’t worth it.

“Y/N, I think it’s best we tell no one it was me who took you home that night,” he said nervously. The last thing he wanted was to upset you.

“I actually agree,” you said. “I don’t want people to get the wrong impression. I haven’t told Sloan or Andrew.”

He heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness.”

Your hand rested on your thigh, which was so close to his. The temptation to close the gap, just inch closer and feel the warmth of him, was overwhelming, but you resisted. While you agreed with what Gwilym said, you understood the underlying implication - that there needed to be distance between you. So you left it.

Then, Daniel walked in. Your eyes snapped up and got missile lock on him. You leapt off the stage - startling Gwilym - and marched toward your ex with a ferocity neither of them had ever seen in you before. You shoved Daniel hard in the chest.

“Did you know?!” you demanded as he stumbled backward.

He looked at you, dumbfounded. 

“Know what?!” he returned.

“Don’t play dumb, Dan!” you pressed. “Did you invite me to that party just so some friend of yours could try and get Sloan?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“I don’t believe you!”

You lunged at him.

“Hey!” Gwilym interjected, grabbing you round the waist and holding you back from scratching Daniel’s eyes out.

“What happened after you went inside?” Daniel asked.

You looked in his eyes as you struggled against Gwilym. Dan’s eyes were shocked - worried even. He was telling the truth. You came to a stop, relieved. While Daniel wasn’t a perfect person, he at least would not stoop to that kind of malice.

“Sloan got drugged,” you explained. “Someone tried to rape her.”

“Shit,” Daniel whispered. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I invited you because well…” He glanced nervously at Gwilym, but then shrugged. “I was trying to hook up with you. I just knew you wouldn’t come without Sloan.”

“Good lord,” Gwilym said under his breath and you bit back a laugh.

“Did you get home okay?” Daniel asked, and he was genuine.

You glanced at Gwilym and then back at Daniel.

“Yeah, everything was fine,” you said. “Sorry for accusing you.”

Gwilym finally relaxed his arm and pulled it away from you. He was still holding down the surge of protectiveness he felt when Daniel said he wanted only to have sex with you that night. 

“I forgive you,” Daniel said. “I really am sorry that happened.”

“Thanks,” you said stiffly.

The rest of the class started to filter into the auditorium and Sloan and Andrew approached. Daniel turned to Sloan.

“You okay?” he asked.

She blinked at him, stunned.

“Yeah,” she said slowly. “Thanks, Dan.”

“Cool,” he said, and patted her arm before going to his seat.

She met your eyes and you could only shrug. Gwilym had already walked away and was back at the stage, greeting the others.

“Welcome back, everyone,” he said. “I think today we’ll start working on Skip to My Lou. It’s a complicated number with a lot of moving parts, so I want to begin work on it early. How does that sound?”

The class murmured their agreement and you took the stage.

Once again, Gwilym was struck by how well you knew the material. He also realized how good an actress you really were when you took Daniel’s arm, beamed at him as if delighted to be there, and began singing.

“Put on your Sunday, go to meetin’

And I’ll take you by the hand

If you will be my dancin’ partner 

We will dance to beat the band

So join the promenade

And lead the big parade

And if you don’t come home at all

Your Pa will understand!”

Gwilym began choreographing more of where he wanted everyone for the line dances and figuring out how it looked on the stage. He made slight adjustments here and there, stopping through much of the song to get it just right. Your eyes were fixed on him as he worked, and your admiration of his talent and dedication was difficult to ignore.

You didn’t notice his frown in one part of the song. Where you danced with several of the guys.

“I’ll be glad to go with you

So prithee do not tarry

But if I do, it’s up to you

To let me dance with Harry…”

You changed hands and went to the next guy in the line as the class sang back.

“Skip to my lou!”

“Charlie…” you continued on to the next.

“Skip to my lou!”

“Johnny…” you danced a turn with Andrew.

“Skip to my lou

Skip to my lou, my darlin’!”

As you all made your way through the number, Gwilym was becoming really proud of all of you. His students. It felt a bit strange to say, since he had not started the semester with you, but it was true. 

With the last ten minutes of class, he wanted a rough run through of the song. He shouted out directions as you all moved to follow them.

“Lost my partner,” Andrew sang.

“Skip to my lou!” the cast answered.

“Lost my partner…”

“Skip to my lou!”

“Lost my partner!”

“Skip!” you shouted with a giggle and danced away.

The twinge of satisfaction Gwilym felt at your dismissal of Andrew - even though it was in character and meant to be teasing - made one thing perfectly clear. Staying away from you was  going to be much harder than he anticipated. 

The number went great and he congratulated you all.

“Give yourselves a round of applause,” he said. “We are well on our way to a fantastic show.”

Everyone clapped, and you hugged Andrew and Daniel. Gwilym frowned again, that same feeling bubbling up from when you danced with them.

He was in more trouble than he bargained for.

[chamyl]

my GO fic recs

I’m going to put my faves here so I stop losing them (and also for Xy who asked ❤️).

Sorted by rating and then by length, NSFW ones under the cut.

Long-Term by idiopathicsmile Gen, 1712 words Take, for instance, the couple she’s consulting with this afternoon, for their upcoming October ceremony. Seemingly mismatched in every respect. The plump, fair-haired one looks like a parody of an absent-minded professor, as sketched by someone who didn’t bother to do much actual research; his clothes are so outdated it teeters on costume. He’s wearing a bow tie, and not in that reinvented hipster way. This is a bow tie unacquainted with the cycles of fashion, a bow tie that has never heard the word irony. His partner is a rangy, black-clad ginger in snakeskin boots. He has the look of a hungover rocker about him, and would somehow, even without the sunglasses he has fully committed to wearing indoors on a cloudy afternoon. He’s sprawled almost defiantly in his chair and keeps throwing dubious glances around Dr. Blackwell’s office, as though expecting a lightning bolt to strike him down for merely daring to be within spitting distance of a church.

all i need, darling, is a life in your shape by deadgreeks  Gen, 14243 words After everything, Aziraphale and Crowley, by unspoken agreement, begin sharing their lives. - Why? Aziraphale wanted to ask him, why millennia of the way things were, and now this? But while Crowley seemed to have little issue upending every unspoken rule they’d ever written for themselves, Aziraphale was not so flexible, and they had spent thousands of years never quite addressing whatever it was this had stemmed from. Words, Aziraphale had always felt, were for bickering about where to eat for lunch, or hashing out ontological debates, or other trivial nonsense; there was no need to trifle with the imprecision of language, with phrasing and the possibility of being misconstrued, when it came to important matters if the other person simply understood, without needing it said. Six thousand years ago, when Aziraphale had met Crowley on the wall of Eden, watching the first two humans set out to begin the rest of history, something deep within him, more central even than his Grace, had thought, oh, it’s you, and that had been enough for him--for both of them, he assumed--for three millennia. However much he wanted to ask, he didn’t know how. The words simply weren’t there. [My notes: I never gave a shit about the meaning of flowers BEFORE.]

The Nesting Habits of Angelus Principalum by obaewankenope No rating, 5453 words “Angel,” Crowley draws out, dragging the word along behind him as he somehow manages to emulate a snakes slithering while in human form along the north corridor—between the shelves with books on space and science-fiction—looking at their contents suspiciously. “Is that—it—is that a 3D model of the moon? How—where did you even get that?” Aziraphale bounces a little on the balls of his feet. “I do know how to use the internet dear,” he says, somewhat proudly. “I even have accounts on a handful of websites not dedicated to books.”

The Orchard by liesmyth Mature, 2581 words Crowley always had an affinity for apples. Or: Crowley eats some fruit, tempts an angel, and gets more than he bargained for.

First Feast by reserve Mature, 3636 words “Do you feel different?” Aziraphale asked. His gaze was intent, flicking between Crawly’s mouth and eyes. He was twisting his plump, fruit-reddened fingers in the folds of his robe like he couldn’t manage to keep still. He was squirming. “Give us another taste,” he whispered. Crawly dropped the forbidden fruit. Crawly lunged for him.

Penance by Blissymbolics Mature, 5910 words And for a while, it’s enough. It’ll happen, Crowley tells himself. This time, it’ll finally happen.

Through Every Door by darlingred1 Mature, 15328 words What would it hurt, really? It wasn’t like Crowley had anything better on. No more orders, no more quotas, no more Arrangement. Aziraphale would never have to know. “Wonderful. I’m the demon on my own shoulder.” And he’d lost his angel, hadn’t he? All he had left were thoughts, memories…fantasies. And he had a very good imagination. (After thwarting the end of the world, Aziraphale begins to avoid Crowley, and Crowley accidentally awakens his own repressed lust.) My notes: that's a lot of words but I only noticed once I was DONE reading.

Part and Parcel by sabinelagrande Explicit, 2576 words Aziraphale catches Crowley off guard.

Taking the liberty by CartWrite Explicit, 3463 words After swapping bodies (but before their respective sides come for them), Aziraphale spends the night in Crowley's flat trying to figure out how to talk, walk, and be convincing as Crowley. Trouble is, he's such a convincing Crowley, he starts to convince himself to... well. Things get out of hand.

The Weight of Well Tailored Clothes by reserve Explicit, 5097 words After the crêpes, Crowley helps Aziraphale get his clothing back. Then he helps a bit more.

bent to the very earth by Ark Explicit, 5634 Use me, please, Crowley had said, so Aziraphale takes him at his word.

A Home at the Beginning of the World by stereobone Explicit, 5867 words "Oh," Aziraphale says. "I think Crowley might have moved in with me." [My notes: everyone and their mom has read this fic. I'm recommending it anyway.]

Moving Furniture by LittleLynn Explicit, 6393 It was strange, Aziraphale’s bookshop had not burned down - though that was not what was strange, given all that had happened in the past week his bookshop miraculously un-incinerating itself barely even registered. No, what was strange, was that Aziraphale’s bookshop was still standing and yet somehow he found himself staying at Crowley’s place anyway.

Born Of Frustration by juliet Explicit, 7599 words “I want you!” Crowley shouts back. “I’ve wanted you for a long fucking time, angel, and don’t try to pretend you don’t know that. I want you, and I want you to make up your fucking mind. I am done with hanging around waiting for you to decide.” Crowley has had enough.

Spin Cycle by surveycorpsjean  Explicit, 7793 words All their roads have led them here. [My notes: 🔥🔥🔥 also poetic.]

You, Soft and Only by thehoyden Explicit, 9400 words He hadn’t expected a sudden lapful of angel. “Very sorry about this,” Aziraphale said, and kissed him. [My notes: I CRY. Possibly my most favourite.]

All Things Considered by emmagrant01 Explicit, 10135 words The world hadn’t ended and neither had they, but something had definitely changed. [My notes: Crowley gets a KITTEN.]

[nicolepremier]

Nano’s Knife

I’m currently writing a Nano/Akira fic and it occurs to me that I need to explain to everyone what’s really going on with Nano’s knife and its mysterious inscription that appears on so much iconic TnC merch. I was planning to write a brief summary in the author’s notes, but I wanted to go into a little more detail here, since I thought some of you might be curious.

Fandom lore would simply state that Nano’s inscription reads “wish” in some mysterious language, a symbol that he “wishes” to meet Akira again, and leave it at that.

It’s a lot more complex than that. And spoiler alert - the inscription on that knife does not literally read “wish” in any language.

For starters, there is some confusion in the translation from Japanese to English. The word the Japanese use that is translated to English as “wish” is 願い (negai), and that word has another meaning, a meaning that contextually makes a lot more sense. “Negai” also means “prayer,” and the context that it is used in throughout Nano’s route suggests that “prayer” would have been a more accurate and appropriate translation. For example, when Akira finds Nano sitting alone in the church with the black kitten, Nano says that he is there because he is “wishing” for another person’s happiness (obviously Akira’s, though that goes completely over Akira’s head) because it’s the only thing left to one whose fate has already been determined (referring to himself). What he’s actually doing is praying for Akira’s happiness. You don’t go to church to “wish,” you go to “pray.”

This distinction becomes very important when translating Nano’s knife inscription.

The inscription on Nano’s knife is written in Elder Futhark, a pre-viking Norse and Germanic rune system. (Though popular perception today simply refers to them as “viking runes.”) Being of Scandinavian decent from a family who loves anything and everything to do with vikings, I recognized the writing immediately since the same runes are on a ton of decorations all over my family’s home.

If you try and translate Nano’s runes phonetically, you get “hingath,” which is complete rubbish and means absolutely nothing as far as I can tell. It most certainly does NOT mean “wish.”

There is some additional complication due to the fact that N+C is horribly inconsistent with the runes from one set of merch to the next (presumably because they mean nothing to the designers), and the designers sometimes write them in ways that make the inscription even MORE nonsensical.

I actually sent a number of the different versions of the inscriptions to a professor friend who studies runes in several dead languages, and he came up with exactly the same nonsensical gibberish I did - it’s badly written Elder Futhark mixing several time periods that says nothing. He said it wasn’t all that uncommon for people to write nonsense runes on all sorts of stuff just because they like the look of them. For example, a well-known rune translation guide book has runes going around the cover which translate to “These runes don’t say anything, but they sure look cool, don’t they?”

But I wasn’t satisfied.

Elder Futhark is not purely a phonetic language like the Latin alphabet. The god Odin “sacrificed himself to himself” by hanging on the world-tree Yggdrasil for nine days and nights, receiving no form of nourishment from his companions. At the end of this ordeal, he perceived the runes, the magically-charged ancient Germanic alphabet that was held to contain many of the greatest secrets of existence.

The fact that the runes have, since their conception, been thought to be imbibed with magical powers is the reason they have been so extensively used by modern Neopagans in so much of their ritual practice. Simply the act of inscribing the runes, or keeping inscribed objects close, can confer power and blessings. Each rune has multiple meanings, but keeping that in mind, I believe I have cracked the code of Nano’s mysterious knife inscription.

The knife isn’t a “wish” or a symbol of a “wish” - it’s a “prayer.” It’s a prayer to the old gods.

Name: Hagalaz, “hail.” Phoneme: H. Meaning: destruction, chaos, change, invocation

This is a common invocation to begin a prayer to petition the gods.

Name: Ingwaz, “the god Ingwaz.” Phoneme: Ing or ng. Meaning: male fertility, the beginning of something, the actualization of potential via sacrifice

He must offer a sacrifice. The old gods don’t work for free. One must give something up in order for one’s prayer to have a chance of being answered.

Name: Ansuz, “an Aesir god.” Phoneme: A (long and/or short). Meaning: prosperity, vitality.

He’s calling on one or more of the aesir gods for help - Odin, Thor, Frigg, Tyr, Loki, Baldur, Heimdall, Idun, and Bragi.

Name: Thurisaz, “Thor, Giant.” Phoneme: Th (both soft and hard). Meaning: danger, suffering, solitude. (Note that this rune is often written with shorter vertical lines so that it looks more like an angular D. Both versions appear on different TnC merch.)

He wants an end to his suffering and solitude. His prayer is a desperate cry for help.

To be clear, I do not believe that Nano is a time traveling viking, or even of Norse decent - if he were, he might have written a more sensible inscription that actually meant something in one of the Scandinavian languages - all of which use the roman alphabet nowadays, and that is NOT the alphabet that Nano’s book uses, since Japanese use romanji as well and Akira has never seen those sorts of letters before. No one writes books in Elder Futhark these days. Here is what I believe happened:

Nano was the son of academics. He mentions in Kou Un (his official afterstory) that his father whose face he can’t remember made the knife. That’s not a normal skill, and even a rudimentary knowledge of Norse runes (and Norse gods) isn’t common knowledge among the general populace. This is consistent with how Nano dresses and presents himself - he isn’t the sort of person who puts a lot of thought into his clothing, but he likely tends to subconsciously gravitate towards what some part of his brain still registers as “normal” - things his father might have worn, and which he probably wore himself as a child before he was taken to ENED. His primary hobby is reading, and his eloquent speech and precise pattern observation makes clear that he’s quite intelligent, despite his naivety and eccentricity.

I headcanon that Nano’s father was an engineer, and his mother was a history professor (probably NOT in Norse studies), both of whom worked for a Russian university with government funding in South eastern Russia, in close proximity to both China and Japan. His father may have been involved in the design or manufacturing of weapons during WWIII. Likely both parents had an interest in historical reenactment and were eager to involve their children. Nano likely spent a good deal of time with his mother as a child since his father would have been kept extremely busy during the war. He was almost certainly taught to read at a very young age and given books on his mother’s favorite subjects to keep him occupied while she worked. When he developed an interest in vikings and Norse mythology as a young boy, he was almost certainly encouraged to pursue it. Therefore, although he was raised Russian Orthodox Christian, he was aware of (and likely fascinated by) mythology from various cultures. His speech in the game illustrates that he does indeed have a distinct interest in Christian mythology in particular, and likely that of other cultures as well, given that his only known possession was a knife inscribed with Elder Futhark. His father likely recognized his interests and made the knife for him as a gift, then let him help inscribe it with a prayer. To a little kid who really liked vikings, that was probably very exciting, so it isn’t surprising that the knife would become his most prized possession, even after his memories were altered and he could no longer remember anything else about his family.

After Nano’s family was killed, he was put into an overcrowded Russian orphanage, then later taken away by the Japanese for use as a nameless test subject in what was often lethal experimentation. At that point he was so scared that he was willing to try just about anything. Having no control at all over his own fate, his only recourse was to pray for salvation. When no one answered his prayers and his circumstances kept going from bad to worse, he almost certainly started to lose faith in the Christian god, and tried to invoke the old Norse gods in hopes that maybe he was just praying to the wrong god and there was still SOMEONE out there who would listen. He may even have forgotten what the inscription on the knife actually meant, only recalling dreamlike bits and pieces. It was a prayer. To be completely honest, I find it completely unrealistic that Nano could have kept that knife hidden for so long from ENED, given that it’s fairly large, he had no privacy, was watched 24/7, and only wore a medical gown inside the facility. I think it is slightly more likely that he was allowed to keep it, given how submissive he was to the researchers, since the end goal was to brainwash him into BECOMING a weapon himself.

In the end, when Nano had lost all hope and knew he was about to lose even himself… the sacrifice he made to invoke his final desperate prayer WAS the knife itself, his last remaining possession, the last reminder he had of his humanity, and with it his last remaining hope of salvation. He gave it all to Akira, in hopes that maybe one day, they would meet again.

Now, Nano’s fate, and his salvation, depends entirely on Akira.

[missjanjie]

Branjie Fic | Hold Me Closer, Tiny Dancer (8/11)

Title: Hold Me Closer, Tiny Dancer Summary: Brooke Lynn is a graduate student anxiously embracing her new position as her favorite dance professors’ new TA. Vanessa is a sophomore dance major who just might make her way into being more than the teacher(assistant)’s pet. (lesbian/university AU) Word Count: ~2.4k (this chapter)/~21.3k (total) Relationship: Branjie (Vanessa ‘Vanjie’ Mateo/Brooke Lynn Hytes) Rating: E

Read on AO3 | Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch.5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7

“Please, please, please? Come on, I think you owe me a little,” Brooke Lynn whined as she padded behind Katya, who was pacing back and forth in the studio. This back and forth had been going on for nearly twenty minutes at that point, but she was fairly certain she was wearing her down.

Katya sighed and came to a halt, nearly making Brooke Lynn crash into her. “Fine. But you’re not allowed to complain about the dinner fiasco anymore,” she paused to think. “Come by my apartment tomorrow morning. But I swear, if you fuck up my car—”

“I couldn’t possibly treat it any worse than you do,” Brooke retorted before perking up. “Thank you!” she hugged her tightly and ran right back out the door. While she had a car back in Canada, there was no reason for her to bring it down to the city. At least, she never thought there was a reason until she found herself in need of a ride to take a pretty Latina on a scenic date out on Long Island.

Brooke Lynn went right from the studio to Vanessa’s dorm, knocking excitedly on the door and hardly waiting a second after she opened it. “Everything’s in place for tomorrow. It’s gonna be great,” she let herself in to the dorm and sat on Vanessa’s bed. “You’re going to have so much fun, I promise,” she regretted saying that the instant it came out of her mouth, though, afraid that she had just jinxed things and unleashed a horrible chain of events to follow. Not that she would ever announce that fear.

Vanessa sat down on Brooke’s lap, twirling her hair around her fingers and placing little kisses over her face. “You know you don’t gotta do nothing crazy for me, right?” she left a small hickey at the base of her jaw. “We don’t have to do anything, or wear anything…”

“There will be plenty of time for that too, I promise,” Brooke cooed, holding her head in place to kiss her properly. “Just let me do something cute for you, ya stubborn bitch, okay?” she let out a jokingly exasperated huff, then a surprised gasp when Vanessa pinned her down to the bed.

Vanessa lingered over her for a moment, then kissed her deeply. “I look forward to it.”

----------

The drive took Brooke Lynn and Vanessa a little over an hour and a half, lucking out with minimal traffic. However, it took Vanessa all of twenty minutes to doze off and sleep the rest of the way there, lucking out even further in avoiding any sharp turns, bumps, or potholes. Brooke Lynn didn’t mind either way, of course. She would steal glances at her sleeping girlfriend every now and then and find it adorable, and she almost hated to wake her when they arrived at the destination. “Vanjie, baby, we’re here,” she gently shook her awake.

“I’m up, I’m up,” Vanessa sat up, a bit disoriented. She blinked rapidly as she fully woke up, looking around. She saw rows and rows of trees surrounded by an expanse of fall foliage. As someone who only alternated between Manhattan and Florida, it wasn’t a sight she saw very often, nearly tripping over herself to get out of the car and take a picture. “Brooke Lynn! Get out here and look at this!”

Brooke Lynn giggled fondly as she got out of the car. “It’s a beautiful day out, isn’t it?” she wrapped her arm around Vanessa’s waist and kissed her cheek. “C’mon, we didn’t come all the way out here just to look at trees. We came to pick apples off them,” she hummed, leading her into the orchard, where she paid for a bag for each of them before looking around.

Vanessa tilted her head as she looked down the rows of trees. “How many different types of apples are there?” she asked with furrowed brows.

“The website said twenty-seven,” Brooke recalled as they began to walk down the rows. “I think we should get the ones that aren’t in grocery stores. Or even like, Whole Foods,” she mused, plucking an apple from a tree, something that was quite easy for her to do at her height.

“There is no way there are twenty-seven types of apples,” Vanessa muttered and shook her head, picking from one of the shorter trees. She was about to take a bite of one when her phone started to go off. “Oh, hold up, it’s my mom,” she answered cheerily.

Brooke watched as Vanessa spoke animatedly with her mom. She was speaking in Spanish for the most part, leaving her in the dark. She didn’t mind, in fact, one thing she had always loved about New York was hearing the various dialects people around her spoke in.

“No, todavía no he reservado mi vuelo, ¿por qué?” Vanessa scratched the back of her head, then her eyes widened. “¿Vienes aquí?” she still seemed confused but had perked up in excitement. Then there was a pause, hesitation in her tone. “¿Puedo traer a mi ... um, hay alguien que quiero que conozcas?” she winced but laughed. Her cheeks had a noticeable blush on them. “No hagas una gran cosa al respecto, por favor,” there was a soft sigh of relief, she seemed content. “Sí, yo también te quiero, adios,” she hung up and shoved her phone into her pocket.

“Is everything okay?” Brooke asked with a mouth half-full of apple. She could eavesdrop all she wanted; it didn’t clear up anything. She took French in high school and hardly remembered any of that either.

Vanessa smiled, but there was still an air of nervousness around her. “Normally I go down to see my mom over Thanksgiving, but she just told me she’s coming up, cause my auntie in Washington Heights decided to hold it this year. And since I figured you don’t celebrate it…I asked to bring you,” she glanced down, chewing on her lip.

Brooke felt a pang of nerves hit her as well. They had only just allowed themselves to consider what they had a real relationship, and now she was less than a month away from meeting the family. “Yeah, uh, I’ll just have to let my mom know. I’m sure she’ll understand,” she spoke as if she was still holding her breath but smiled warmly. “Alright, let’s get going, the traffic’s gonna be hell, and we need to find somewhere decent to stop and eat,” she shook off the unease and got back in the car with Vanessa. She wasn’t about to let anything interfere with their perfect date.

----------

“Has Brooke Lynn seemed a little…off to you lately?” Vanessa asked.

A’keria couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Girl, no one pays more attention to her than you. If anyone’s gonna notice any change, it’ll probably just be you,” she looked at her friend’s face fall and sigh. “Why does she seem ‘off’ to you?”

“She didn’t answer any of my texts yesterday til like, almost midnight, and when she did, she was just like, ‘oh sorry, I was busy’. Then in class she seemed super distracted and kept looking at her phone and shit. She just isn’t like that, you know?” Vanessa frowned, fumbling with the sleeves of her sweater.

Instead of sympathy, A’keria rolled her eyes again. “I’m not sure if this has occurred to you, but Brooke Lynn is an adult, she’s probably doing graduate work or paying bills or something like that,” she sat beside Vanessa and put a hand on top of hers. “Have you considered that you might be projecting a little after the whole thing with the ginger bitch?”

Vanessa crossed her arms. “I am not!” she looked down, thinking with knitted brows. “Or maybe I am, I don’t know…what should I do, then?”

“Wait it out, I’m sure it’ll be fine. And if not, talk to her and figure it out,” she shrugged. “In the meantime, get your ass together, we gotta go to work.”

Vanessa groaned and got up. Work had become so much of a chore as of late. The customers were no better or worse than usual, but her boss seemed to have developed a vendetta against her. Suddenly, she was getting shorter, worse hours, and she hadn’t pieced together why.

“He’s probably just mad ‘cause you threatened to call corporate after he grabbed your ass,” A’keria offered.

“Brooke Lynn taught me how to do that. That’s what happens when you date a white lady,” she beamed proudly, getting through the rest of her shift, doing her best to ignore the way her boss would give her a dirty look every time she glanced in that direction.

By the time her shift ended, however, Vanessa was tired and cranky. She just wanted to relax and get comfortable. And for her, that meant letting herself into Brooke Lynn’s apartment with the spare key she knew was left under the mat. “Brooooke?” no answer. “Brooke Lynn?” she could hear her voice from inside her room, and that pissed her off. “Really, bitch? You’re gonna cold shoulder me?” she stormed towards her room, only to stop in her tracks with a perplexed expression.

Brooke Lynn was sitting on the floor with a couple books in front of her. She had her phone sitting atop one of the books and had headphones in her ears. At first, it appeared that A’keria was right with her theory that she was doing course work, but then she continued talking to herself. “Quiero un vaso de agua por favor,” she repeated the phrase a couple more times, scribbling into a notebook.

Vanessa beamed, leaning against the door frame. Okay, maybe she had been a little paranoid, and maybe she had just ruined a surprised Brooke had been planning. But she didn’t need the anxiety of a surprise beyond this anyway, she decided. She quietly walked up behind her and kneeled down, carefully taking out her headphones and whispering “Quieres ayuda, mi amada?” in her ear and kissing her cheek.

Blushing fiercely, Brooke closed her books and set her phone aside. “You know, I told you about my spare key in case of emergency,” she murmured with a soft laugh. She turned to face Vanessa, accepting the kiss the other girl placed on her lips.

“I did have an emergency,” Vanessa defended. “I missed you and you weren’t answering my texts,” she pouted and sat across from her. “You’re teaching yourself Spanish?”

Brooke nodded, awkwardly rubbing the back of her neck. “I wanted to surprise you at Thanksgiving by introducing myself to your family in Spanish without sounding like a confused six-year-old,” she confessed softly.

“Well, you can still surprise her. My family probably won’t have the highest expectations…no offense,” Vanessa hummed. “I’m gonna help you though. We can make it fun, like a game,” she offered brightly. She tilted her head in thought for a moment. “I’ll give you words for you to translate, and if you get it right, I’ll take an article of clothing off, and if you get it wrong, you do,” she told her with a slight smirk.

“Sounds a lot more fun than answering to an animated green bird,” Brooke retorted with a laugh. “Alright, hit me.”

And so, they went back and forth. Vanessa would think of words off the top of her head and Brooke Lynn would translate them to varying degrees of success. After about ten minutes, Vanessa was still in her bra and panties while Brooke had lost every item of clothing. “You’re getting there,” she offered in consolation, though it was really a win-win as far as either of them were concerned.

“But I still need to learn the important things,” Brooke insisted, grinning at her confused expression before continuing. “Like, how do you say…’kiss me’?” she asked as innocently as she could muster. Vanessa rolled her eyes and giggled. “Besame.”

Brooke leaned forward and carded her fingers through Vanessa’s hair. “Besame, Vanessa,” she did her best to sound seductive and sultry, only using her proper first name because she felt it flowed better. She didn’t wait for a response, moving her hand to gently grasp her jaw and kissing her deeply. “Am I getting it yet?” she asked softly, resting their foreheads together.

“You a damn fast learner,” Vanessa chuckled. “And I can see why you like being a teacher so much,” she joked, kissing her again. “But, you know, even if you weren’t, I think they’d appreciate the effort. I know I sure do. I’ve dated white girls before, none of them ever gave a shit about learning. Always saying ‘oh I know enough from high school’ or some shit,” she remarked. “What I’m trying to say is, thank you for caring about me.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that,” Brooke shook her head. “The bare minimum you should expect out of a relationship is someone that cares about you. Otherwise, there’s no point, that’s not a relationship worth having,” she took Vanessa onto her lap. “Now…” her expression changed into a smirk. “let me show you how much I care,” she picked her up and placed her on the bed, “and spell out all of those vocabulary words with my tongue,” she slid off her underwear as she spoke.

Vanessa smirked, propping a pillow up under her head. “Damn, you nasty too. I really hit the fucking jackpot,” she hummed, tossing her bra aside as well.

Brooke kissed Vanessa and gazed into her eyes. “You really haven’t been treated like you deserve,” she frowned for a moment, then kissed down her torso before her head ducked between her thighs. While not actually spelling out words with her tongue, she moved skillfully in ways she knew her girlfriend liked, never stopping or flinching as she moaned and writhed.

“Fuck, baby don’t stop, just like that,” Vanessa pleaded, ever the vocal one – something Brooke Lynn had found to be as unsurprising as it was enjoyable. She hardly took a moment to breathe until she was fully spent and laying sprawled across the bed in a post-orgasm bliss. “Mm, have I ever told you how good you are at that?”

“I’ve had a hunch,” she replied with a smug grin, coming back up to kiss her sweetly. “Now get some rest, you’ve worked so hard as a teacher today,” she cooed and lay beside her.

[nequittezpaswrites]

Fanfiction Trope: Pink as Prank

I’ve noticed something of a trope in fanfiction, which I am calling “pink as prank”. It might exist in broader fiction as well, but I can only speak to it for fanfiction due to the sheer amount of it I’ve read. I’m going to focus on Harry Potter and Supernatural because I’ve read a decent amount of fic for both, and because they have prominent tricksters (Fred and George, and Loki/Gabriel, respectively), but I’ve come across some version of this trope in other fandoms, too.

What is “pink as prank”? You have the king/queen of pranks. They’re a joker, a trickster. That’s their thing. And they want to mess with somebody, really get one over on them. So they… turn something pink.

I see it most often as someone’s hair. The trickster turns someone’s hair pink. Or their entire body, or their clothes, or a prized possession.

I’ve seen this so often, that it seems to be the go-to prank. I even used it myself in an unpublished Harry Potter fanfic I wrote years ago. But why do we rely on it? Why does it keep popping up so consistently?

Why Pink?

Pink as prank is supposedly funny for two reasons, generally speaking. The first is because pink is a bright, happy color and the prankee’s hair or clothes or what-have-you was previously black. It’s funny to turn Snape’s hair pink because he is a black-swathed dungeon bat. The second, and I think the most usual reason, is because pink is a girl color, and being a girl or girly is embarrassing. It’s funny to turn a boy’s hair pink because pink is for girls. It’s funny to turn, say, the Impala pink because Dean is a macho man with his manly car and it turning it pink undermines his masculinity.

I’m not well-read on feminism, so I’m not going to go in-depth on why that’s not awesome. I’m sure there are lots of better-researched, better-written commentaries on that, so I’m going to leave it there.

(Side note: There is a variation of this trope I’ve seen only in Harry Potter, where instead of pink the color is that of the prankee’s rival house. So, if the person pranked is a Slytherin (usually Malfoy), their hair is turned bright red and gold. This is less problematic than pink for me, but still not great for reasons I’ll go into below.)

Why These Aren’t Very Good Pranks

What makes a good prank? There are lots of aspects to a good prank, but I think the key is that they are unexpected and creative, and the best ones—when targeted toward a specific person—really dig into that person’s flaws or insecurities in a revealing way.

Fred and George, in Harry Potter, are master pranksters. It literally becomes their job, and they are creative in unexpected ways. They don’t turn their little brother’s teddy bear pink, they turn it into a friggin’ spider. (And also traumatize said brother for life.) They don’t just buy dung bombs at a joke shop and stink up the hallway—they create a portable swamp that even the professors at a school of magic can’t figure out how to remove (although, to be fair, they weren’t trying very hard).

In Supernatural, Loki/Gabriel isn’t just a trickster, he is the trickster. He makes Sam live through infinite Tuesdays and declare that he has genital herpes. He makes a guy slow-dance with an alien. And when he wants to mess with Sam and Dean when they’re on his tail, he messes with them in personal, subtle ways: deflating the tires on Dean’s car, making Sam’s computer disappear.

These are creative pranking geniuses. They don’t bother turning anybody’s hair pink or any other color. Why? Because it’s just not a good prank.

Now, I’ll say this with the caveat that it’s not a good prank when executed by magic. If someone managed to turn my own hair pink in real life and surprise me with it, I’d be pretty impressed. That would be a good prank. Why? Because it takes effort and stealth. I would absolutely notice if my hair products were a different color or consistency. Dye often has a smell that’s difficult to mask. If the prankee has dark hair, you would need to bleach it before you could pink-ify it, which would be an extra level of complexity.

In a world where magic is available, turning something pink is as easy as a wave of a wand or a snap of the fingers—and so is undoing the transformation. There are no stakes, because when something is easily achieved by magic, it’s easily un-achieved by magic. When someone’s hair is turned pink, the solution is almost always, ‘complain to the trickster’, who will pout about the prankee being no fun and cooperate almost immediately.

Think of this in contrast to something like Fred and George’s canary creams: eat one and you’re transformed into a bird, and there’s no turning you back until the enchantment wears off. Or compare it to the genuine panic and confusion of Sam trapped in infinite Tuesdays, and how the prank doesn’t end simply because he tells the trickster to stop it (at first, at least).

A Call for Better Pranks

I don’t say any of this to pick on anyone. It’s just a trope I’ve noticed and haven’t seen anyone talk about. It’s something I’ve done myself, and I wanted to bring it up because I love tricksters and well-written pranks. We can do better!

Want to prank Draco Malfoy? How about a hex that causes his voice to get slightly higher every time he says “My father will hear about this!”? He’ll sound like a squeak toy by the end of the week, if not the day, and it’s targeted toward who he is as a character rather than his masculinity.

Want to prank Dean Winchester? Yeah, messing with the Impala is a good way to go, but why turn it pink? Why not have it make mysterious noises? Dean will think something is wrong with the car and give it check-up after check-up trying to find the source of the noise. Every time he thinks he’s fixed it, a new noise starts, and they get weirder and weirder. He finally realizes something is up when he starts the engine and the Impala lets out a loud MOOOOOOOO.

Want to prank Sam? I dunno, go to a truck stop and scrawl his cell number on a bathroom wall, saying “For a good time call XXX-XXX-XXXX.” He’ll get all these calls he thinks are hunting tips but which are actually booty calls. Repeat with every burner phone Sam owns.

Writers love to do horrible, awful things to our favorite characters. So let’s get creative with our torture, yeah?

[danvssomethingorother]

Fanfic Recs

In honor of fandom fic rec days, just want to take a few minutes to just recommend my favorite fanfics from around the web. Please head the warnings because I like angst so rape, torture, and just all sorts of unpleasant stuff does appear in some of these stories (which I say beside the fic). I also listed the pairing, if there are any as well. I have been in fandoms for a very long time and have quite the extensive amount of recs, so I will not list all of the stories I enjoy, just my favorite stories I have read and re read the most when I am at my lowest or am just bored. 

Please do not be upset if I don’t rec your story fellow fanfic writers! If I have read your stuff and commented on your work, I do love it but these stories are my favorites and stories I don’t only love and enjoy but stories I don’t think I would be capable of living in a world without and some are so old they helped shape my own writing style as you know it today.

Batman 

In Re Robin

Warnings: Some blood and child abuse

Summary: After the extent of Robin's injuries from Harvey Dent comes out, Child Protective Services decides to save Robin from a vigilante lifestyle. Follow up to Robin, Year One.

Why I love it so much: Its not uncommon to use the story line from my favorite comic, Robin Year One by Chuck Dixon, but this one does it in a way that is special and captures the feel of why I loved that comic to begin with and made Bruce and Dick’s relationship more realistic and fleshed out then most stories dealing with them being father/son. 

Broken Glass 

Warnings: Eating disorder

Summary: Dick Grayson has always been a perfectionist.  But what happens when perfectionism goes too far?

Why I love it: This fic has been in my life for a long time, while all my other angst fics either got deleted or I grew out of because I realized they were bad, this one has stayed with me because its extremely in character and despite its kinda weird premise for a super hero story, it freaking works. Its so good and I love it.

Daddy, Not Bats

Warnings: Some violence (its a super hero fic)

Summary: AU, continuation of 'A Father's Request'. Join one 'retired' Batman as he raises his kids all together while trying to still save the world with this version of the Justice League.  One Shots, mini-series, and headcanons, life for the Waynes is always interesting to watch, especially since they can't leave crime fighting behind them. T for paranoia

Why I love it: I had to choose one story out of all the fics where Bruce raises all the Robins at the same time and this one is my favorite and it actually remembered Bruce’s daughter Cass, which most of these AUs don’t. You don’t need me to keep telling you about, I don’t want to give much away, go read it!

Miss Congeniality and the Bad Ass Ninja

Warnings: some language

Summary: Dick pays a visit to the Wayne Manor gym, where he meets the /delightful/ new addition to the family. Brother bonding fic. K plus for Dick's potty mouth.

Why I love it: This is another case of I had to only choose one out of the hundreds of stories I like about Dick and Damian bonding and I think this one is my favorite. Its in character and feels like something they would talk about and I really love it.

Teen Titans 

With this fandom, I have a theme, so I am going to just dump it down now. If you want really well written Robin being Slade’s apprentice fics, these are my favorites:

Basic Skill

summary: Slade might have Robin blackmailed into working for him, but he can't get him to kill anyone. That's no good for an assassin's apprentice. NOT SLASH 

Northern Star  (https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6478556/1/Northern-Star)

Summary: Life as Slade's apprentice is hard for Robin, but even harder for those trying to save him. Murders, schemes and hatred flourishes as the Titans, Batman, and the JLA struggle to help him. Meanwhile, Slade has a nefarious plan in mind for the Batman... 

Since it is my favorite theme, I have more stories I like with this theme but they are too many to list and some of my favorites have been deleted over the years which is just disheartening. Also these two authors are great go read all their work.

But my favorite author in this fandom has to be melimash

All of their teen titans work is jaw dropping and wonderful, I love it all so damn much. I can’t even express how much I love every single one of their stories, I wish I had half the talent they do. They are amazing and I have been looking up to their skill for years now.

Harry Potter 

Casting Moonshadows

Summary: Lonely and outcast by his classmates, Remus wishes on a moonshadow for a friend who understands him. To his amazement his wish is answered not once, but three times, by his former enemies, the Marauders. SBRL and some JPLE as well, of course 

Warnings: Child abuse

Pairing: Wolfstar

Harry Potter and the Nightmares of Futures Past

Summary:   The war is over. Too bad no one is left to celebrate. Harry makes a desperate plan to go back in time, even though it means returning Voldemort to life. Now an 11 year old Harry with 30 year old memories is starting Hogwarts. Can he get it right?

Warning: Child abuse and PTSD symptoms, this story was also written Pre- The Deathly Hallows, so Snape is presented as evil. I don’t mind because I don’t like Snape but I can see how Snape fans would hate it.

Pairing: Harry/Ginny

Another Prisoner, Another Professor

Summary:  AU. In Harry's third year he must learn the many truths about the new DADA teacher, Professor Black, and an escaped convict, Remus Lupin. Eventual SBxRL.

Pairing: Wolfstar

Harry Potter and the Something Something

Summary: Hey, wouldn't it be cool if someone took as many fanfic cliches as possible and stuffed them all into one story?  No?  Well, I went ahead and did it anyway.  Multi-chapter Mockfic.  This summary is actually a lot better than I originally thought.

Pairing: None

Against the Moon

Summary: The odds were stacked against him: a child from a blended home with no friends, no social skills to speak of, and a terrible secret. Yet slowly Remus Lupin began to realize there was a place for him in the world, if he could find the courage to claim it. 

Warnings: Canon prejudices, blood, child abuse 

Pairing: I believe the author has said you can see it as wolfstar but it won’t be official in the story. 

HP is my biggest fandom and I have read hundreds of stories with these same ideas and themes over the years but these are my favorites because they are just that damn good.

Lord Of The Rings 

Devoted (http://mariole.livejournal.com/23137.html)

Warnings: RAPE, I mean graphic stuff, please do not read if you this subject upsets you or you are underage.

Summary (there isn’t one so this is from the author’s note of the first chapter): This is a disturbing fic. Frodo is raped in his home (post-Bilbo, pre-Quest), and has to deal with that. I don't know why this topic has been pulling at me, but it has and there you go. I know this fic will not be for everyone. Frodo is basically a het character, so there are some het references and scenes. There is also slash, both requited and un-, throughout the piece, as various characters explore their sexuality and feelings for each other. The main hobbits are Frodo, Sam, and Merry. Pippin pops up now and then, but he's only 13 when the main action starts, so we don't see as much of him (sorry, Pip lovers!).

Pairing: frodo / sam

Why I love it: I tried not to put too many questionable stories I have enjoyed onto this list but I can’t leave this one out. This is the best characterization I have ever seen for the hobbits. 

Treasures (https://www.fanfiction.net/s/854350/1/Treasures)

Warnings: lots of child abuse and its abandoned, never to be completed

Summary: AU - Gossip ran through the Shire that Bilbo Baggins possessed a great fortune in the depths of his home. Several ruffians attempt to seize that fortune by kidnapping his beloved nephew and holding him for ransom. 

Why I love it: Its just so good. I love Bilbo and Frodo’s relationship, I love all the angst, and I will always mourn we never get to see the conclusion of this fic. 

My favorite authors I can’t pick a favorite from: 

MBradford (Some warnings for this author they ship Frodo/Sam and made cute stuff with them and their main series involve attempted rape and kidnapping)

shirebound

Gravity Falls ( my current fandom) 

This one is a little harder for me to pick my favorites and keep the list somewhat small. Since most of you are following me for this fandom, I’m gonna break up this one into categories and list my favorites from those categories since I know most of you are GF fans following me and care more about these recs then the other fandoms.

Ciphford 

Cold 

Warnings: THIS IS MATURE. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER AGE. It involves Non Con and psychological abuse. 

Why I love it so much: It is so chilling and breath taking how they set up and conclude this angst filled masterpiece. I feel like if any story inspired me to make ciphford abuse, its this one. 

Not One to Forget 

Warnings: Non con elements

Why I love it: Its just so good and full of emotion that always manages to hit me right in the feels, please consider reading!

Nonconsensual

Warnings: Non con (duh with a title like that)

Why I love it: Its just so sad and such a punch in the gut every time I read it. I love it so much...

Fiddauthor 

Fresh Start  (you should just read all of @memyselfandyoutube ‘s work but this is my favorite by far)

Warnings: Technical kidnapping, memory loss, mental health problems

Why I love it: I loved it so much I even wrote a companion piece to it but I feel like the original should get more attention then my work. The build up to the reveal, the tension, the characterization are all just so spot on and perfect. I love this little piece and implore everyone to read it.

You Have A Home 

Warnings: Child neglect

Why I love it: This story has just started but like everything @amydiddle-fanfiction writes its looking to be a great story, that I am excited to read. 

Gloves 

Warnings: None

Why I love it: Its one of the cutest fiddauthor fics I have ever read and I adore it. 

The Vandals 

Warnings: Bullying

Why I love it: Ford protecting Fidds is just so good, so very good.

Fiddlestan 

In Which Stan Occupies A Certain River In Egypt

Warnings: Mental illness, physical illness

Why I love it: I have a weakness for stories where my favorite is ill and needs to be taken care of and this is everything I could want and more. God, its just so good. I’m not even a huge fan of the AU this is set in (where Stan raises Mabel without Dipper) but oh my gosh, everything is just so perfect from the characterization, set up and build up of the relationship and so forth. I love this fic, I have read it a dozen times already will likely read it a few more times before I am finished. 

A Helping Hand 

Warnings: None

Why I love it: Its so unique to find a story that jams this much character into a story with out a single line of dialogue (as a writer I know how hard that is to do so this is a big deal for me) and this story just gives me goosebumps on every re read.

Brawl Brawlers

Warnings: Jimstan and some violence

Why I love it: I’m not a fan of jimstan, so the fact I’m recing anything that implies it should tell you why I love this. Its just cute and I can like when Fidds shows his more abrasive side. Logical book thief is a great writer and I highly recommend all her work but this is just the one I read most, I think. 

Fool's Paradise 

Warnings: this story is rated M and there are sexual themes and violence, so any one underage shouldn’t read

Why I love it: How could I not love it? It is packed with great characterization, fidds suffering, and an AU where the mystery trio all end up happy together. This is my favorite fiddlestan and I would be incomplete without it.

Good Days and Bad Days (http://nuttersincorporated.tumblr.com/post/120295190724/good-days-and-bad)

Warnings: Panic attack, self harm (harm pulling)

Why I love it: Its just so good, I love the hurt comfort, its so well written and good. Also worth checking out is this author’s longer story ( Memories ) but it is sadly incomplete and may be abandoned

Gen 

Fiddleford's Secrets (this one is part of a series that you can find the rest on the author’s page Topaz88)  

Warnings: None

Why I love it: Its an interesting take on Fidds origins I have never seen before and really enjoyed it, along with the rest in this series. Its a series about if the mystery trio and I recommend everyone read.

We're All Broken

Warnings: Mental illness, homelessness, its incomplete and I fear it might be abandoned

Why I love it: Its just so enjoyable and an interesting idea of Stan coming to town and helping out a broken and homeless fiddleford and his brother who is going down hill because of Bill. 

Wednesday, 12 Dec. 1979 

Warnings: Injuries, mental trauma

why I love it: Do you know how hard it is to find a good story that deals with Fiddleford’s canon trauma after the gremlobin? Because as a Fiddleford fan, I do and this story was absolute perfection and the author was a saint for creating it. 

We Made It Through The Night 

Warnings: None

Why I love it: Its a very beautiful story filled with wonderful characterization and so much emotion to punch you right in the feels. Mabel and Fidds bonding over trauma is an interesting idea and is executed masterfully by @forest-of-stories like all her work I highly recommend. 

http://biteinsane.tumblr.com/post/156126664230/i-have-always-wanted-to-read-something-with-tate

Warnings: None

Why I love it: Its very short but its so sweet. I never really read stuff involving Tate and Fidds and it was a joy to read.

Authors

Princessedelarue  (all fiddlestan)

 theblindtorpedo (all fiddlestan)

  Logias (Meggletron) (all Fiddlestan)

   CeslaToil (fiddauthor and gen but really just read her work, its all great and you won’t regret it)

tallykale (all fiddauthor but sadly not active anymore)

Hannahbette (an archive of Hannahbette’s old fanfic that have now been deleted from this site, all are fiddauthor and all are great)

And you know, you can always support me here, if ya want to of course. I’m egotistical enough to like my own work, so you might like it too.