#because she said was that the guy you told me about from Bristol

[the-winds-of-destiny-xxx]

.

#told adila I’m going bris to see suwrial this weekend and she asked if there’s anything between us (she doesn’t know him well) #that’s my friend and I love him #but the suggestion that there could be anything between us kinda offended me ngl 😭😭 #like ew #I couldn’t see him that way #also I think she got him mixed with will #because she said was that the guy you told me about from Bristol #but that was months ago when I was drunk when we went clubbing #also we were talking about marriage and kids etc because she feels like she could be ready and sometimes at times like this I kinda feel #like something’s wrong with me #because I don’t have that desire to settle down like that rn #but so many people my age do #also back to what I told her when we were clubbing #drunk me is such a chatty patty omg #just be talking and giggling 😭😭

[onlyonetifosi]

I don't want to

-> Word Count: 1810

->Author note: I would appreciate if you send some ideas or requests for me to write. English is not my first language so sorry for mistakes <3

I'm so excited to meet Lando's family! His niece is adorable and I can't wait to play with her. Lando is such a great guy, and I know his family will be just as wonderful.

His sisters Cisca and Flo are going to be there aswell as Oliver, his older brother and his wife and daughter Savannah and Mila. I can't wait to meet them all. Lando speeks wonderfull things about everyone.

-Baby, you have the lego's for Mila?- I ask my boyfriend while leaving our house to get in his luxurious papaya mclaren to go to his family's house in Bristol.

-Baby, of course I do. You know how much I love my niece.- he responds kissing me on the forehead as we get in the car and start our drive to his family's home. We make small talk about work and our plans for the future as we drive, and before I know it, we're pulling up in front of a beautiful house.

Lando opens my door for me and helps me out of the car, then we walk hand in hand up to the front door. Lando's mom greets us at the door with a big hug and a warm smile.

-Hello, you must be Lila. Lando has told us so much about you. Come in, come in.- she says as she steps aside to let us in. We step into a beautiful home with a warm and welcoming feeling. Lando's mom leads us into the living room where we're met by his brother, sisters and his dad.

Everyone is so friendly and I feel right at home. We spend the day playing games, chatting and getting to know each other better. It's been such a great day and I'm so glad I got to meet Lando's wonderful family.

It was almost lunch time and I was with Savannah feeding Mila some fruits and playing with her new lego's, wich she loved.

While we were doing so, Lando, Adam, his dad, and Oliver were chatting looking at us.

-I see why you love her, you are made for eachother, she's so sweet and caring and she's going to be a fantastic mumone day- His dad said. Lando smiled and nodded getting up from the couch and walking over to us. He bends down to pick us up and kisses me on the cheek before laying Mila on her playmat. -Hey babygirl- he says while kissing her head, she gurgled at him and he began talking baby talk with her. I couldn't help but laugh watching them together, it was so cute! We were all sitting there chatting when Lando's phone began beeping. He was looking at his phone mouthing sorry to me as he put it to his ear.

-What?? No? No you can't be serious! Okay... okay... I'll be right there! -He ended the call and stood up running his hands through his hair, obviously stressed out. His family must have seen the concern on my face because they all jumped up asking him what was wrong. -It was Zak asking me to go to the factory tomorrow- he explains and I feel very sad for not being able to spend all week at his house like we were planning. His family start to leave the living room and he turns back to me. -I'm so sorry that I have to work on our first week together.- He looks really sad and I can't bare seeing him like this. He walks off in the direction of his room not looking back. -Wait!- I call out after him but he just keeps walking up the stairs and I listen him closing the door loudly.

-Lan, open the door, it's okay baby, I'm not mad or anything, it's your job and I accept that- I try to convince him to open his door beacouse he locked it.

I hear him move around a little but he doesn't open the door. I can't take it anymore and I go lie down on my bed. I look at the time and it's 11:00 PM, he still isn't back are anything. I'm really worried about him so I decide to go see if he's doing okay. -Lan baby, please open the door- I beg him to come out and open the door but there's no response from his side.

-Lan, please baby, they're really sorry, they say that the statistic of his last sim practices didn't went good and they couldn't do much more than make you repeat them- I try to explain to him why he had to work today so maybe that can calm him down a little bit. But there's still no response from his side.

-Baby, please, let me in- I beg again but now tears run out of my eyes beacouse this is just getting too much for me. The only sound that comes from his side is him crying quietly which makes me cry even more. Suddenly the door unlocks and opens slowly revealing a very sad looking Lando whose eyes are red from crying and he has some wet marks on his cheeks where tears have dried up already. He looks up at me with red puffy eyes as he tries not to cry again when we stare at each other for what seems like forever before someone steps into view behind him making him plop onto the floor right after stepping out of his room causing an extremely loud sound!

I immediately jump back scared of what might happen next because something tells me that this isn't going to end good. The house get into a tense atmosphere including even Mila who can see something is wrong.

Lando looks up at me from the floor with a hurt expression as he silently cries while trying to keep himself together, I want to go and hug him and tell him everything is going to be alright but I don't want to make the situation any worse than it already is. He starts to pack his things to goback to Woking on the morning but i decide to make moves beacuse i can see how this is affecting him so i call his bosses.

I borrow his phone to have their numbers and i call them.

-Hello, Zak Brown talking, who am i talkin to?

-Hello Mr. Brown, Im Lila McMillan,Lando's girlfriend- I explain to him

-Oh, yes i remembre you Lila, what can I help you with?

-Lando is devastated because having to work more, beacuse his exhausted mentally and physically of last week and we are in bristol in his childhoom home with all his family, I call to ask if it's extremely necesary or if it can be done next week as it was scheduled ? Please Mr. Brown, we really don't want him to leave and I'm pretty sure he is not able to fly, I hope this is a clear message.

-Yes it's clear Lila, take care of him very well- see you in Woking.

I go back to the table where Lando's sitting with his family, they are all talking while eating breakfast so i sit next to Lando and I grab his hand under the table but he pulls away slightly. -Lila! What have you been doing?- i take my phone out of my back pocket and show him our texts.

-I just talked to Zak Brown to let you rest in peace and enyoying your holidays alone with no worries.- I explain to him with a smile in my face.

-Lila, you can't do that- he panicks

-Late, I already did.

-I'm gonna kill you if i get fired.

-Lando, everything will be fine. The can't get a new driver mid-season. -He starts to calm down a bit but still he looks concerned.

-Lila, you know we have a reserve driver and not for nothing- he says while looking me in the eyes with so much kindness that i feel my heart pounding fast in my chest, it's so close to mine that i can hear its beat.

-you are an idiot do you knew that?- I say with all my heart in my words. He looks at me for a few seconds and looks like he's going to say something but then his little sister comes over and sits on his lap after saying hello to me. He pushes her away quickly, walking off towards the lake so she throws some of her breakfast at him and we all laugh when we see Lando getting mad at her.

You quieten down slowly as you finish eating and help his mother clear the table up but she asks you to go see if his father in his studio because he wants to talk to you about something important. You leave the table quickly, thinking that it has something to do with Lando but when you get there you find yourself more confused than ever because his father shows you some old family albums and explains to you how this place is gonna be your home from now on and how they already consider you part of the Norris family.

You start tearing up and you wrap your arms around his neck. You were about to thank him when Lando finally walks into the room and he looks very happy. He asks his father if they can have a word in private and after an intense staredown between father and son, they finally walk out of the room. You're left there alone in the studio but with more questions than answers. Lando comes back to the studio a few hours later and he gives you a small smile before grabbing your hand and leading you towards the forest, saying that he wants to show you something important. When you arrive where lando was leading you, you see a small cabin and once you both entered you see a fantastic room with petal roses in the bed and wine.

-We are going to spend tonight here and cuddle all day- he explains while hugging me from behind. -This is our own paradise and nobody knows about it, not even my father- he adds.

We spend the night in front of the fireplace drinking wine and eating strawberries. Lando was really happy and you spend the evening talking about future plans and playing games to see who knew each other more .

-You are the first person who knows about this place- he confesses.

The next day we spend in Lando's cabin, we make love all day and we don't leave the bed. -I want to stay here forever with you, I don't ever want to leave your side- he says after making love.

You feel exactly the same and you can't imagine your life without him anymore.

I hope you like this! send me whatever you want to my asks.

I would love to know somethin about you!!

And would you like a mention list? like for me to mention you in my fics

#lando norris imagine #lando norris fanfic #lando norris x reader #lando norris fluff #lando norris smut #f1 drivers x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 blurb

[mischiefandspirits]

YA Vampire Love Story (2/6)

When Tim started at Louis E. Grieve Memorial High School, he’d just wanted to catch a criminal. He wasn’t expecting to find a pair of lifelong friends in Bernard and Darla.

Wait, does it count as lifelong if they stay friends after they die?

Part of my Colony of Gotham universe

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

TW: Temporary Major Character Death, Minor Character Death, Gun Violence, School Shooting

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

Thankfully, Bernard did not kill him. Or make good on his threats to sell Tim to the mythical Bolivian organ pirates. He was still a little upset when Tim told him, but he believed him when he said she’d been the one to kiss him and he’d turned her down.

Darla wasn’t as easily soothed, though, and had taken to avoiding Tim whenever possible and giving him the cold shoulder when they were forced to be around each other.

If that wasn’t bad enough, he’d also managed to do something to tick Stephanie off and she was giving him a similar treatment. Only it was worse because he didn’t even know what he’d done. One moment she was talking about giving him a surprise, the next she wasn’t talking to him. It ended up becoming an even bigger problem when they had to start working together for her Robin training. Bruce and Jason got frustrated easily by how short she was being with Tim, given Robin was supposed to be perfectly in sync to make the bit work. Jason started badgering Tim on what he’d done while Bruce started lecturing Stephanie about letting interpersonal relationships affect their work.

Dick had to intervene when Bruce brought up that maybe it would be better if she wasn’t Robin, given their relationship. He forced Tim and Stephanie to sit down and talk, which resulted in Stephanie blowing up when Tim admitted he didn’t know what he’d done wrong.

Her surprise had been that her school had let out early because of a bomb threat so she’d gone all the way to Bristol to pick up Tim for an impromptu date, only to see him kissing another girl.

Tim explained the situation and tried to reassure her as much as he could. He even made plans for her to meet Darla the next Saturday so both girls could talk. Bernard crashed the meetup and the day had turned out pretty fun. Stephanie was reassured, if a bit embarrassed and defensive. Darla was extremely apologetic for not believing Tim and forcing herself on him. Bernard thought the whole thing was a bit funny and made jokes about wishing a pair of gorgeous girls would fight over him too, which ended when Stephanie dumped her soda over his head. Tim was a bit mad that Stephanie hadn’t trusted him, but he also understood she hadn’t had the best experience with boyfriends before him.

They talked, worked through it, and ended up closer in the end.

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

“They have guns!” someone shouted and Bernard turned to see people running from an intersection where a pair of trucks had boxed in a limo. Four goons were holding a pair of bodyguard-looking guys at gunpoint with a girl pinned in one of their arms.

“What?” a voice asked and he turned to see Tim running up. “Tyrone! Bernard! What’s going on?”

“Wayne! Man, you gotta see this! It’s like GTA!” Tyrone said, watching the intersection with the same nervous interest that Bernard was.

Bernard frowned, squinting at the girl. He went pale. “Hey, do you know who that looks like?”

“Help me!” a too-familiar voice called.

“Darla!” Tim yelled.

“Stay in the car!” one of the goons shouted.

“Or we shoot you down!” another added.

“Please! Tony!” Darla cried, staring at one of the bodyguards, and the goon holding her growled something Bernard couldn’t make out.

Then all hell broke loose as the men on both sides started shooting.

“Oh my God! Milo! Help!” Darla screamed as one of the bodyguards went down from a headshot.

Bernard was just thinking they needed to do something, call someone, when a person went shooting past him. “Wayne! Get back here!”

“Are you crazy?” Tyrone shouted, futilely reaching for the smaller boy

Apparently, he was, because he ran right up behind the goon holding Darla and slammed a book into the back of his head.

The goon went down, releasing Darla.

Tim grabbed her shoulder and they talked for a moment before he pointed towards the school, towards Tyrone and Bernard. He pushed her towards them and she ran into Tyrone’s arms. Bernard expected Tim to follow, but instead, the boy turned to face off against another goon who had come around the side of the truck. The goon aimed his gun at Tim, but Tim threw his book, nailing the goon in the face. At the same time, Tim grabbed the man’s wrist and twisted the gun out of his hand. He tossed it under the truck as the goon clutched at his eyes.

“What the hell?” Bernard muttered. “Did you guys know Wayne could do that?”

Tyrone shook his head while Darla watched with wide, teary eyes.

Tim went around the truck just as the last two standing men -- a guard and goon -- fired on each other. The goon slumped back against the truck, breathing heavily, while the guard collapsed to the ground, unmoving.

“Tony!” Darla screamed and jerked towards the scene, but Tyrone kept her close.

Tim disarmed the last goon, then came towards them. A small crowd of students had gathered to watch and Tim immediately took charge. He pointed someone out and told them to call nine-one-one and ask for police and ambulances, warning everyone else not to call and risk gridlocking the system. He comforted Darla and urged Bernard and Tyrone to help him bring her to the nurse’s office.

Then Tyrone was shot in the leg.

They took cover as bullets started pelting the area. Tim pulled off his jacket and pressed it against Tyrone’s leg. When the gunfire moved on, he told Bernard and Darla to get inside the school and barricade the doors.

“What kind of guy are you, Wayne?” Bernard questioned, staring at his friend. Tim had always been on the serious side, but seeing him now… “These things you can do… You -”

“Not now, Bernard. Plenty of time to talk later.” Tim pulled off his belt and wrapped it around Tyrone’s leg above the wound, tying it tight. Then he pulled Tyrone up in a feat of strength that Bernard theoretically knew Tim was capable of since Bernard had known from moment one that Tim was jacked and they shared a gym class, but still seemed strange given how small Tim was compared to Tyrone. The four rushed to the school doors, Tim mostly carrying Tyrone. Bernard wrapped a protective arm around Darla, trying to keep himself between the sounds of gunfire and her. Once they got inside, Tim made sure there weren’t any students straggling before they started barricading the doors.

Thankfully the police showed up at that moment and started trading bullets with the goons and forming a perimeter around the school

Darla grabbed Tim as soon as he passed Tyrone off to a larger senior. He wrapped his arms around her and rubbed her back as he looked around the group. He told them that they needed to gather up as many students and teachers as they could find and get to somewhere defensible, like the cafeteria. There was a chance some of the gunmen could have gotten in before the police arrived.

“Well, I’m sticking with you!” Darla barked, tightening her grip on his shirt. “Don’t leave me!”

Tim squeezed her, then tried to pass her to Bernard. “I need to go help.”

Then a gunshot rang out and Darla went down. Both boys shouted her name and Tim grabbed her, pulling her into a connecting hall for cover before pressing his ear to her chest.

“Tim?” Bernard breathed as Tim started compressions. “Tim, I don’t know what to do.”

“Get pressure on her wound!”

Bernard yanked off his jacket and pressed it against the rapidly growing red spot on her shirt.

After a moment, Tim pressed his ear to her chest again. “She-she’s breathing. And her heart’s… We need to move.”

Bernard gave a shaky nod and helped Tim pick her up. They made their way to the office, picking up a few others who’d scattered when the gunfire started echoing through the halls. They found the nurse, hunkered down in her office with a few students and she quickly set to work on Darla. The school didn’t have much in the way of trauma supplies, but Bruce Wayne had made quite the donation when Tim had started at the school and part of that money had gone to sutures and the training to use them.

Tim managed to disappear from the office at some point, Bernard only realizing he was gone when he returned with a makeshift saline drip and a few more students. The nurse opened her mouth to ask, but Tim just stuffed it into her hands and told her to hurry.

“How’s Darla now?” he asked as he watched her work.

“She’s unconscious again. Under the circumstances, maybe that’s a blessing.”

“Will she live?”

“I can’t say. She’s lost a lot of blood and needs better care than I can provide here. I think it all depends on how soon we can get her out of here and to a hospital.”

“Are they going to kill us too?” Bernard whispered.

“Not if I can help it,” Tim growled and Bernard turned to see him grabbing the bat he’d scrounged up during his disappearing act.

He grabbed the smaller boy’s arm when he started heading for the door. “Where are you going, Wayne?”

“Back out to have a look around. Maybe find a safe route and get Darla out of here.”

“Stay right here, young man!” the nurse ordered, glancing up for a second. “The police will take care of -”

“Yeah, they’ve done a super job, so far,” Tim snorted, then met Bernard’s eyes. “Lock the door behind me and stay as quiet as possible.”

Bernard wanted to tell him to shut up. To drag Tim back over to Darla’s cot and never let him go. Darla was… and Bernard couldn’t risk losing Tim too. But something in Tim’s eyes told him to let go, so he did. He watched his best friend slip out the door, then locked it and moved a heavy bookshelf in front of the door with help from a couple of the other kids.

Then he sat next to Darla’s head and waited. It felt like hours, days, weeks until there was a knock on the door, but Bernard knew it probably hadn’t been more than an hour. Tim called out from the other side that it was safe, the Colony had shown up and taken down all the gunmen. Bernard opened the door to find Tim standing there, a bruise on his cheek and traces of blood in his hair, but whole and mostly unharmed.

Bernard slapped his arm and told him to never do something so stupid again.

Tim just buried his face into Bernard’s shoulder without promising anything.

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

Despite all their efforts, Darla died en route.

The school shut down, paying out a small settlement to all the students and teachers who’d gotten caught inside. Bernard’s parents used it to send him to a private school in Sommerset instead of using it on the therapy he was pretty sure the money was intended for. He didn’t mind, he didn’t really want to talk to anyone about what had happened anyways. He was pretty sure Tim didn’t either, which explained why the two fell out of contact pretty quickly.

Tim stayed on Bernard’s mind, though. Especially when he found out his new school had a mixed martial arts program. He remembered how Tim had moved during the incident, taking down and disarming goons with confidence Bernard envied. He never wanted to feel that powerless again.

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

Bernard frowned as he stared at the street sign. He grabbed his phone and made a call.

“Hey, Linda. It’s me, Bernard.”

“Finally calling to say you’re standing me up,” she huffed.

“No, I didn’t stand you up.” He’d considered canceling, especially after his last talk with Sabrina had made him start wondering if he was as attracted to girls as he thought he was. He wouldn’t just stand someone up, though. “I’m still trying to find your house. Don’t take this the wrong way, but NSA code-breakers couldn’t decipher your directions.”

“What’s the right way to take that?” she sniffed, but he barely noticed.

The world outside his car windows had suddenly started to move down.

“And also, now my car’s rising into the sky.”

“You’re not funny, Dowd.”

“Oh my God! Oh my God! I’m not kidding! My car’s actually flying! Help me! Help me! Get the-Hang up and call nine-one-one! Tell them I’m at the corner of… of…” He looked out the window, squinting. “Oh great! I don’t know where I am, because your directions stink!”

“Ugh! Lose my number, jerk!” she spat and hung up.

The car imploded around him. Car parts flew away and rained down on the street as he was grabbed by some sort of force and brought up face-to-face with a floating woman.

He vaguely processed that she was talking to him, something about a friend and contacting someone, but it was buried under the fact he was in the clutches of a supervillain.

“Oh, no! Oh, no! Please don’t drop me! Don’t kill me, lady! I’m nobody worth killing! Honest! I’m begging you, lady, don’t kill me!”

She brought him closer and set her hand on his shoulder. “Settle down, Bernard. Aren’t we old friends? Why would I even contemplate harming you?”

He froze, staring at her. “That voice is… you look a little like… Darla Aquista?”

Her warm olive skin had turned a pure white and her dark blue eyes had disappeared into a white abyss, but it was her face underneath.

“But you’re dead! You died! I saw you!”

“Yeah, it’s me, Bernard,” she sighed, lowering them to the ground. “But don’t call me Darla anymore. It’s best that she remains dead. I’ve decided to go by Laura Fell now. That’s the false ID I was able to get.”

“And you’re some kind of costumed superhero now?” he asked, climbing to his feet. He had a superhero for a friend! A zombie superhero! Did becoming a zombie make your skin and eyes white? That made sense. He had a zombie superhero for a friend! So cool!

“Actually, I think I’m supposed to be working for the other side,” Darla said, cutting off his excitement, “but it remains to be decided. That’s part of why I desperately need to talk to Tim.”

“Well, Wayne Manor isn’t exactly hidden,” he joked.

“But it is protected,” she huffed, looking around. She pointed at a diner just down the street. “Let’s sit down.”

“Uh…” He looked over her outfit: a skin-tight red-black one piece, a matching cape, thigh-high red boots, golden gloves, and a skull belt. “Don’t get me wrong. You look hot and this is Gotham, but…”

She smirked, then raised her hands. Yellow energy washed over her. When it disappeared, she looked just like the Darla he’d known before. Her outfit had also been replaced by black leather pants, a red-black off-the-shoulder shirt, and red ankle boots. Her long, wild black hair had also been changed into a stylish, short ponytail.

“Cool,” he breathed.

She smiled and linked their arms to tug him towards the diner.

They got a booth and ordered milkshakes before Bernard asked, “So why can’t you just use your new magic powers to get through Wayne’s security?”

“When I said the manor was protected, I meant it was protected. There are wards on the manor that keep dark magic out. I can’t get within a hundred feet of the grounds without being invited in.”

“Seriously? Why would Wayne have something like that on his house.”

“Apparently, it’s -” she cut off as the waitress came by to drop off their milkshakes. Once the woman was gone, she continued, “It’s pretty common for old, wealthy houses like that to have wards. All it takes is one occupant having ties to the occult and the wards are there forever. Usually, their power fades once the family dies out or the property changes hands, but the Waynes have had that land for ages. One of Wayne’s ancestors probably linked the wards to their bloodline or something.”

“Makes sense, I guess.”

“Right, which is why I need you to contact Tim for me.”

“That’s… not as easy as you make it sound,” he sighed, staring down at his milkshake. “Tim and I haven’t really talked since, you know, the shooting. And I lost his number when my parents changed our phones this spring. I wouldn’t know how to contact him without just going to his place. Maybe through Stephanie or his brothers, I don’t know.” He took a sip. “Listen Darla-I mean, Laurie -”

“Laura.”

“I know why you want to find Tim -- to help you sort through this -- but if you can’t find him, why not use me? I can help you become, y’know, a superhero. I can be your manager, or maybe even partner.” He leaned forward. “Maybe you can give me powers?”

“I don’t think that’s the way it works,” she chuckled.

“Okay, I had to take a shot.” He shrugged, then looked out the window. “You can at least fix my car, right?”

“I doubt it.”

His parents were going to kill him. At least they had insurance with Wakewater, so they were covered for weird stuff like this. “Well, if you don’t mind my saying so, that was one mean, dangerous way to get my attention.”

“It’s these powers, Bernard,” she said apologetically. “They’re born of darkness and make me want to do dark things.”

He grabbed her wrist and squeezed it. “Hey, it will be okay. We’ll figure something out. You’ve got me, and we’ll find a way for you to talk to Tim. And if he can’t help, he’s got rich boy connections. Surely someone he knows could help you.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“Let’s take it one thing at a time. How can we get you and Tim in the same place?” He sucked at his milkshake, thinking. “You said you could enter the mansion if you were invited, right? Do you need to be invited in by Wayne -- Brucie, I mean -- or can you be invited in by anyone?”

“I don’t know. Depending on the wards, it could be Brucie or it could be anyone living in the house or it could just be someone on the grounds. I’d have to see the wards.”

“And you can’t because you can’t get close,” Bernard said and she nodded. “Well, then the only way to find out is to test it.”

Which was how Bernard found himself stepping out of a cab to press the call button for Wayne Manor’s front gate, his phone tucked against his ear.

An elderly man appeared on the video screen and Bernard vaguely remembered him being introduced as the Waynes’ butler the few times he’d been invited over. “Hey, uh, Albert, right?”

“Alfred, Mr. Dowd. Alfred Pennyworth.”

“Right, sorry.”

“It’s quite alright. It has been a while since you’ve been around.”

“Yeah, uh, I was hoping to talk to Tim, if that’s okay?”

“Master Tim doesn’t have any plans for the night so I’m sure he’d be happy to see you.”

“Cool. Oh, and our friend Laura wanted to come over too. Would that be alright?”

“Of course, she would be welcome to join you two.”

“Thanks!” he turned slightly to make it clear he was talking to his phone. “Did you hear that?”

“That worked. See you soon.”

“See you.” He hung up and smiled at Alfred. “She’ll be along in a bit.”

“Very well,” the butler said, then the screen turned off and the gate started to open.

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

In this chapter: Tim is 14 then 15, while Bernard and Darla are 16 then 17

Timeline:

Steph and Tim make up: Mar 11, yr17

Darla dies: May 23, yr17

Darla reunites with Bernard: Jul 17, yr 18

Before anyone can say anything, don't give me too much credit. I didn't get the joke of Darla needing a vampire's permission to enter a home until after I'd already written that part.

If anyone's curious, the wards on Wayne manor are actually tied to their vampire lineage, not bloodline, something more common for vampires. This means that so long as a vampire turned by a Wayne (or born a vampire with a Wayne parent) lives at the manor, the wards will remain. This is why the wards never faded while Bruce was on his pre-Batman journey. Alfred was turned by a Wayne, which makes him a Wayne vampire.

This has the funny drawback of making Barbara the Wayne heir since she's the first vampire in Bruce's lineage. If it came up, though, she'd forfeit the title and it would then go to Dick. That would have its own problems, though, because Dick's heir is kind of hazy. Technically Damian holds a strong tie being both of Wayne blood and the first of Dick's lineage, but Marie would also have a strong tie since she's Dick's first-born vampire. Dick would have to make the choice of if he wants to favor his blood or the Wayne tradition and name an heir that way. Of course, none of this matters if Bruce ever has a blood kid with another vampire. Should Helena be born in this universe (haven't decided yet), she'd be the heir as she's the first of Bruce's lineage to share a blood tie.

#Tim Drake #Red Robin #bernard dowd #darla aquista #timber #colony of gotham #fanfiction

[spine-buster]

The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Chapter 34

A/N: Soooo this is the penultimate chapter.  This feels very bittersweet to post because we all know how the series turned out.  Anyway, other stuff happens to, but the series...🥺

August 8th, 2020

Aberdeen Bloom was thinking about last night.  Again.

And she shouldn’t be.  She was having breakfast with the team for God’s sake.  Everyone was eating pancakes or waffles or avocado toast and she was fantasizing about William fucking her raw from behind and watching him through the mirror.  She could swear she still felt his slick and hard cock inside of her.  She could swear she still felt him pounding her from behind and grabbing on to her mouth to silence her and—

“Aberdeen.”

—her whimpering and trying to be quiet and the same time—

“Aberdeen.”

—and his low, guttural grunts as he fucked her and made her be quiet and—

“Aberdeen!”

She snapped out of it.  She looked to her right to see Jason looking at her like she was crazy.  “Your phone is ringing,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world – because it was.  The thing was blaring out for God knows how long and she was just sitting there.

She grabbed it, not bothering to look at the number, and brought it to her ear.  “Hello?”

“So what did the boys get up to last night?”  Alec Young’s voice asked from the other end.  

That brought her back down to earth.  She got up out of her seat and made her way towards the doorway, where it would be much quieter.  “What did they get up to?” she feigned ignorance.

“You can’t tell me that after a win like that all they did was go to bed,” he said in a tone of voice that made Aberdeen want to punch him through the phone.  She couldn’t believe he was the one responsible for editing her piece, that it was him who was a deciding factor on whether or not she got a job with the magazine.  “Did they sneak girls into the hotel?  Prostitutes?  Did they get one for Matthews for scoring the overtime winner?”

Aberdeen sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose.  William Nylander fucked the president’s assistant.  They’ve been carrying on a secret affair for the better part of a year now and nobody has a fucking clue.  They were so desperate for each other that they broke every bubble guideline so he could fuck her raw in her bathroom as she bent over the marble vanity.  How’s that for a scoop?  “With all due respect, Alec…”

“Aberdeen, come on.”

“I’m trying to take the more balanced approach, the more human side, the—”

“There’s gotta be something!”

She sighed again.  She knew he was more or less her editor and all, and her job depended on him, but she was on her last nerve.  “You want something?  Okay, here’s something.  Two days ago Courtney Muzzin and her daughter Luna stood outside of the Royal York Hotel with a giant sign on Bristol board that said ‘We love you, Dada’ and aimed it directly at Jake’s window,” she said, the edge very evident in her voice.  “I can’t lie, Alec.  I can’t just make up stories about drugs and prostitutes and whatever else you think is going on here.  They can fucking sue me.”

“Aberdeen, we need a story.  If you don’t give us the story, you’re not working at Toronto Life.  That’s it,” he said, hanging up.  

Aberdeen felt her chest tighten.  She couldn’t do it.  She couldn’t go back on her morals.  She couldn’t just…betray her friends.  Her family.  Her work family, but her family nonetheless.  She had to stay resolute.  She was going to get this job, and she was going to get it whether Alec approved of her story or not.  She was going to get it whether Alec wanted her there or not.  She was going to get it whether he liked her writing or not.  She was going to prove him wrong.  She was going to do it on her own terms, with her own talent.  She was going to bank on herself.

When she got back to her seat, Jason was still eating his breakfast.  She picked up her fork and ate a piece of watermelon before moving on to her yogurt parfait.  “Who was that?” he asked.

She shook her head slightly, signaling that she didn’t want to talk about it.  But when Jason continued looking at her, she knew he wasn’t going to let it pass.  “The guy that’s responsible for editing that article I’m submitting to Toronto Life,” she said.

“What did he want?” Jason asked.

She sighed.  “He wants a story filled with booze and drugs and women, because he’s convinced so many of you are still like that,” she began.  “He thought we would have ordered a stripper or something for Auston last night for scoring his overtime goal.  He doesn’t think Courtney and Luna Muzzin standing outside with a sign about loving daddy is going to sell magazines.”

Jason nodded his head in understanding.  He’d been around hockey for such a long time – he understood completely where Alec got his mentality from.  “And you refuse to write that.”

“It’s not just that I refuse to write it.  I can’t write it.  None of it would be true.  Imagine me writing about you guys with hookers and blow?  I’d get sued!”

Jason chuckled.  “And he doesn’t get that?  How’s this guy an editor for a prominent city magazine?”

“Beats the shit out of me,” Aberdeen shrugged, fiddling around with her spoon.  “But…that’s my issue.  I’ll figure it out.  I’ll write something that will blow his mind and make him wonder why he ever thought he wanted me to write about hookers and blow in the first place.”

Jason smiled.  “Atta girl.”

Jason continued to eat as Aberdeen continued to fiddle with her spoon.  She looked across the room briefly to see William chowing down on some avocado and a piece of toast.  He was scrolling through his phone and, periodically, would look at something Pierre would show him one-third of space away at the table.  Less than ten hours ago his body was pressed up against hers.  Now they were separated by a sea of tables and hockey players.  

“Can I ask you a question?” she asked Jason suddenly.

“Anything,” he didn’t even look at her when he answered.

She hesitated for a second.  “If…I mean…if things don’t go the way we want them to go tomorrow…” she began.

“You mean if we lose,” he interrupted, finally staring her dead in the eye.  “You can say the words Aberdeen.  It’s okay.”

“If we lose tomorrow…I…what should I do?  Like, how should I act?  What should I say?  I don’t want to make you guys even more upset by saying the wrong thing.”

“I doubt you can make anyone on this team upset—”

“Jason.”

He sighed.  He set down his flatware and brought his hands together.  “I think being there physically is good,” he began.  “Like, just being a presence.  Telling the guys you’re there if they want to talk.  Don’t bring it up unless we do.  Some guys are more open.  Others bottle it inside and never want to talk about it.  You have to figure out who’s who in that sense.”

“I just want to be a good…support.  I don’t want to be that person that seems apathetic because I don’t care about hockey as much as you guys.  I know how important this is for all of you.  I know how hard you guys are working to get it done.  I just want to make sure everybody, like…knows that, you know?”

“They know, Aberdeen,” Jason said confidently.  “And I’m not just saying that.  Trust me.  They know.”

***

“How many words do you have now?” William asked through the FaceTime call.  They were lying in bed together.  Virtually.  As always, he was less than 50 feet away in his own bed.  Aberdeen felt cold without his touch, now that she had felt it in the bubble.  It took every ounce of strength and willpower within her not to sneak into his room and beg him to fuck her again.

“I’m at five thousand right now,” she answered.  “I got a call from Alec today.  He’s such a dick.”

“It sucks that you’ll have to work under him.  I mean, if he’s even your editor at the magazine.  He might work in a different department or whatever.”

Aberdeen shuddered at the thought.  Him becoming her boss would be a nightmare.  Beth Zadakis – who Aberdeen originally met with – would be the much better choice in her eyes.  “Here’s hoping he is in another department,” she bit her lip.  “But enough about me, Willy.  How are you feeling about tomorrow?”

“I don’t know…” he said, giving his own shrug.  “I’m not nervous or anything.  I just…I know what I need to do.  I know what we need to do.  We just gotta do it.”

“D’you remember what I told you before we got in here?  That I’ll love you whatever happens?” she asked.  William nodded his head.  “That still stands.  Whatever happens tomorrow, I love you.”

William nodded his head gingerly.  “If we lose…” he began softly, “it’s gotta be, like, a media blackout for at least a week.  Until they make us do those exit interviews or whatever.”

“Deal,” Aberdeen nodded.

“It’s gonna be bad if we lose, Aberdeen,” he warned her.  “You’ve never experienced it before because you don’t watch or whatever, but they’ll be saying a whole bunch of shit—”

“—I won’t listen to any of it—”

“—No, Aberdeen, listen,” he cautioned, his tone of voice more serious.  “They’ll be saying a whole bunch of shit about me.  I didn’t produce, I didn’t perform, I should get traded, blah blah blah.  Same shit, different day.  I’m always the scapegoat.  I just…I know how emotional you got when you read up on everything near my birthday.  I just don’t want you getting upset.  I’ll never forgive them anyways, like in general, but I’ll really never forgive them if they make you cry again.”

“I won’t, Willy.  I don’t – you don’t have to worry about me.”

“I just want to protect you, minskatt.”

“I know you do,” she smiled softly.  “But none of that matters.  All that matters is that I love you.”

“I love you too.”

***

August 9th, 2020

In the end, it wasn’t shitty play.  It wasn’t a patented Leafs Meltdown™.  It wasn’t that they weren’t trying.  It wasn’t even anything bad.

It was just a hot goalie.

That was the most Aberdeen could have asked for, she guessed.  She didn’t really know, because at this point, she was devoid of emotion.  Everything in her was just…empty.  She couldn’t feel a thing.  That was, until, the camera showed a close up of the bench, and she saw Jason hunched over, his head down.  

That was when the tears started.  She couldn’t care less about Kasperi beside him.  It was Jason that she cared about.  Here he was, near the end of his career, signed with his hometown team for league minimum trying to chase his dream of winning a Stanley Cup with the team he grew up watching.  And now, in this wonky season of benched home openers and valued leadership to a stopped and re-started season due to a global pandemic, everything around him came crashing down.  Having to leave his family, his wife, his four daughters, all to chase the dream, all for it to disappear.

“Stop crying,” Brendan said from beside her.  She couldn’t discern his voice.  He wasn’t giving a command.  He wasn’t mad.  He wasn’t angry.  But it was obvious that he wasn’t happy.  He barely blinked as he looked down at the ice, hands shoved in his pockets.

Aberdeen wiped her tears quickly with the back of her hand.  “Sorry,” she said meekly, knowing she was offering absolutely nothing.  

When the buzzer rang and the teams lined up to shake hands, she made her way out of the box, waiting for Brendan and Kyle to follow.  But they didn’t.  She waited and waited and waited but they weren’t coming.  She peeked back into the room and watched as they stood still, looking down at the ice until the last of the team made their way through the tunnel.  Aberdeen realized then that they were staying because the camera was on them.  Of course it was.  The media was going to squeeze every emotion out of the boys until they were shells of themselves.  She bet two of them were being forced into media interviews right now, barely out of their hockey gear.

When they finally made their way down to the locker room, it was eerily quiet.  That’s the first thing Aberdeen noticed – the lack of noise.  It was so different from just two nights ago when they were all screaming and hugging her.  When she walked in behind Brendan and Kyle, and finally saw their faces, she immediately looked for William’s.  He looked so defeated.  So broken.  For a guy who was very apathetic in front of the camera, making it looked like nothing phased him, he was definitely showing his emotion now.  Her breath hitched in her throat as more tears threatened to spill.  After William, she looked for Jason – then she really had to stop the sob.  

She didn’t know if Sheldon had already given his post-game speech.  She was almost sure he did, because Kyle and Brendan took so long, and because she absolutely knew he wouldn’t end the night with what he ended up saying, the only thing she heard him say.  “Pack your bags tonight.  We’re leaving tomorrow morning.”

They’d been through a hell of a season.  A wonky start.  A shitty coach.  A coaching change.  A loss to their own Zamboni driver.  A fucking worldwide pandemic.  A bubble.  The media was never on their side.  And—

“Go to the media room, see how the conversations are going,” Brendan said, his voice low.  “Send Morgan and John out as soon as possible, then make sure the media know about their future availability.  We have to speak to the team.”

She furrowed her brows at him.  Why would he banish her from the locker room so he could talk to the team?  “What are you gonna say?”

“What’s it to you?”

He heart froze.  So he was angry.  And he was taking it out on her.  “Fine,” she huffed.  “I thought we were a team, but I guess not.”

***

Nobody ate when they got back to the hotel.  There was no point.  Everybody just disappeared back into their rooms, probably to pack, probably to wallow in their own self-pity for the night until they had to leave tomorrow and face the world, probably to just lie in bed and stare at the ceiling for hours.  Aberdeen knew that’s what she would be doing.

Well, after she got to the bottom of one thing.

“What did Brendan and Kyle say to you guys?” she asked William on the phone.

“I can’t tell you.”

She furrowed her brows – not like he could see her.  “What?  You can’t tell me?”

“I can’t tell you,” he repeated.  “It stays between us.  In the locker room.”

“I…you’re being serious.”

“Of course I am.  It’s…I can’t tell you.”

Aberdeen knew she wasn’t going to get it out of him.  She’d have to give up.  Not that she wanted to.  “Well, I love you.  I’ll always love you,” she said instead, changing the subject.  “I’m sorry things didn’t go the way we all wanted them to.”

“I am too.  This fucking sucks.”

Suddenly, there was a knock at her door.  She rose up immediately from her bed.  “Please tell me that’s not you,” she said.  “We’re leaving tomorrow morning.”

“What’s not me?” William asked, confused.

Aberdeen stopped.  She took her phone off her ear.  “Who is it?” she asked out loud.

“It’s me,” she heard Brendan’s voice from the hallway.

She threw her phone dramatically across the room and onto her bed.  She threw it so violently it almost hit the wall.  “Let me get my mask!” she called out, grabbing one from the dresser before hooking it onto her ears.  She took a deep breath before she opened the door.  When she did, Brendan walked straight into her room.  She was shocked.  “You’re coming into my hotel room?”

“Oh fuck it, we’re leaving tomorrow morning,” he mumbled, waving off her concern.  The door shut behind her as she walked into her own room gingerly, watching Brendan pace back and forth.  He stopped when he noticed her.  “I want to apologize for what I said to you today after the game,” he said.  “It was out of line.”

“Thank you,” she said.

“There are just some things that need to be said to the team only Aberdeen.  Meaning the players.  You’re part of the team but it’s—it’s—”

“Don’t worry.  I get it.”

Brendan stopped, taking a deep breath to steady himself.  “For my entire life I’ve wanted this team to be successful.  My entire life.  I was born two years after their last Stanley Cup win.  And growing up, I adored this team.  And when I was a player – it didn’t matter that I was a Red Wing.  I love them, too, but in a different way.  Not the way I love the Toronto Maple Leafs.  And when I was given the opportunity to be the president, I made sure I would never take it for granted.  And I made sure – I made a promise to myself – that I would be the one to see this team to victory.  And every time that we don’t get to that victory, I break that promise,” he said.  Aberdeen understood completely.  “None of…this is about you, of course.  This is about the team.  This is about promises that we make to each other.  Promises that we make to ourselves.  Promises we make to get better, to succeed, to climb that mountain and get to the promised land.  This is about the integrity of our character.  The pride we have in this hockey club, to put on that Maple Leaf every night.”

Aberdeen stayed silent.  Brendan was bearing his soul to her.  Every word he was saying was impassioned and coming directly from his heart.  She didn’t want to speak, because there was nothing she could say.  She watched as he took a few steps forward and put his hands on her shoulders.  “You’re part of this team, Aberdeen.  I think you always will be to these boys.  You were the soul of this team this year.”

She shook her head.  “I don’t believe that.”

“I do,” he said confidently.  “I know so.”

“How do you know?”

“Because their soul is hurt right now, but it hasn’t died,” he said.  “It’s still there.  They still have it in them.  Just like you have it in you.”

***

August 10th, 2020

Aberdeen stood absent-mindedly off to the side, the bus being loaded with the team’s bags.  Some of the boys had already gotten on the bus.  She should have gotten on too, but her feet were planted firmly in place for some reason.  

Fifteen days in the bubble.  And now it was all over.

“Hey Aberdeen?” she heard Auston’s voice from behind her.  She spun around to face him.  “I’m sorry we couldn’t do it for you.  Like, for your story.”

***

Kasha came to pick up Aberdeen.  She brought Minerva in her carrier, who kept meowing at the sight of Aberdeen.  Aberdeen took her out and cuddled her against her chest, giving her tons of kisses.  

She watched Tyson do the same to Ralph, wondering if he’d still be on the team next year.

***

When she and Kasha got back into her apartment, Aberdeen went straight to her bed.  She plopped down dramatically and only moved when she felt Kasha standing in the doorway.  “D’you want to go out?  You finally have some freedom,” Kasha suggested.  “We can go for tacos, for brunch…”

Aberdeen perched herself up on her elbows.  “Do you think I’m the soul of someone?  Or something?”

Kasha looked at her strangely, but answered the question nonetheless.  “I definitely think you have the capacity to be for someone.  You know I believe in the concept of soulmates.  Why do you ask?”

“For who?”

Kasha shrugged, but a small smile appeared on her face.  “For William.”

“Why William?”

“Because from the few times I’ve seen you to interact together – like last year, and then at the Halloween party – he looks at you like you already are his soul.”

***

“You should come over for lunch one of these days,” Jason said to her on the phone.  “Jen would love to have you over.  I’m sure the girls would love to see you too.”

Aberdeen smiled into the phone.  Jason Spezza was deflecting.  This was not part of their original conversation.  “When you’re okay, maybe I will.”

“I’m always okay,” he defended.

“You’re not right now,” she said definitively.  There was no beating around the bush.  “But you will be.  At your own pace.  And when you’re good to go, I’ll come over.  And you better cook and let me and Jen sip margaritas in the backyard.”

Jason laughed his infamous laugh.  “Deal.”

***

August 11th, 2020

“Media blackout?” Aberdeen asked William on the phone.

William nodded his head on the FaceTime call.  “Media blackout.”

“I’ll come over tomorrow when Kasha’s back at the office,” she said.  “We can cuddle.”

“That’s all I want to do right now, to be honest.”

***

August 12th, 2020

With Kasha going into the office, Aberdeen was able to sneak away to William’s.  He let her in easily, without much fanfare, and he enveloped her in a hug and brought her down with him on the couch as they lay their together, every limb wrapped around the other.  Aberdeen was running her fingers through William’s hair soothingly as his head lay on her chest.  Hockey was still on in the background.  Alex was still playing, and William wanted to support him.  Aberdeen already knew he’d be calling his brother after the game.  

“I love you so much,” she whispered out of nowhere.  She just felt the need to say it.

William looked up at her.  “I love you too.”

“That last night at the hotel, Brendan told me I was the soul of the team this year,” she said.  His comments were still on her mind.  “Do you think that’s true?”

William nodded his head.  “I do.  I think you’re my soul, too.”

***

The kisses were slow at first.  Needy.  William needed her.  He needed to be comforted.  His brother wasn’t around to talk to, and it was the middle of the night in Sweden so he couldn’t call his parents, although Aberdeen was sure they would have picked up the phone if they saw it was William calling in the middle of the night.  So until he could speak to his brother and his parents, Aberdeen would be there for him, kissing him as they lay facing each other side-by-side on his couch.  There to console him.  There to comfort him.

They kissed for a long time.  Such a long time.  It told Aberdeen that William needed that intimate physical contact, not just flat-out sex, and that he was savouring his time with her as much as she was with him.  But who was she kidding?  He always did.  He always savoured his time with her.  It didn’t matter where, or when, or how, or how much they’d lied to the people around them to get some alone time.  By the end of it she was sure her lips here swollen and red, and when she opened her eyes to look at his, his were too.  So puffy.  So soft.  In their glory.

She felt his hand dip beneath the hem of her pants and grab the flesh of her ass to squeeze it.  She hooked a leg over his torso and could feel his growing erection graze her thigh.  She shivered at the feeling, digging her nails into his bicep.  

“I’m sorry,” he mumbled against her lips.

“Sorry for what?”

“Sorry we couldn’t do it for you and your story.  I won’t forgive myself if you don’t get that job,” he revealed.

“Shhhhh…” she cooed, cupping his face and kissing him.  “What did I tell you before we got into the bubble, hmm?  I love you no matter what happens in there.  I love you Willy.  I always have and always will.”

“I love you too, minskatt.  I need you.  Do you need me?”

Aberdeen’s heart fluttered at his question.  She nodded her head automatically and gave him a quick kiss.  “I need you.  I’ll always need you.”

With their pants and underwear pushed down their legs, William slipped himself into her slowly, watching the look on her face change and hearing the long sigh escape her mouth.  This is what he loved most about their physical relationship.  They could do anything and it would feel like the best time every time.  They could have regular sex.  They could explore a new position.  They could have rough, passionate sex like that night in the bubble.  They could have close, intimate sex like right now.  Each time was incredible.  Each time he loved more than the last.

Each time, William realized how much he needed Aberdeen, and how much Aberdeen needed him.  They needed each other.

“You feel so good, Willy,” Aberdeen’s voice brought him back down to earth.  The pure euphoria in her voice was music to his ears.  “I need you, Willy.  I need you.”

He moved his hips to thrust into her, and so did she.  Their bodies moved together as they always did, and the pleasure they experienced together was paramount to absolutely anything and everything.  

After they both came together, William squeezed his arms around Aberdeen and pressed her against his body even closer than they were before.  He nestled his face into the crook of her neck, dragging his lips along her skin until he got to her ear.  “I need you more than anything,” he whispered.  “You’re my entire life.  You’re my entire soul.”

She believed him.

***

August 25th, 2020

Aberdeen was with Camden when the news broke.  She was spending the day at her parent’s house because Camden had admitted he missed her, so Aberdeen decided to spend the day.  They played video games.  They watched Brooklyn 9-9.  They went on a bike ride around the neighbourhood with masks on and stopped at a local shop to grab some smoothies.  It was perfect sibling bonding time while Siena slaved away in their bedroom studying God knows what for God knows which course come September.  

“Did you see the news?!” Camden asked as he emerged from the smoothie shop with both their smoothies.

“See what?” Aberdeen asked, thinking the worst.  

“Kasperi was traded!” he announced as he handed her the mango smoothie she requested.  

“What?!” she shrieked, grabbing her phone out of her back pocket.  She hadn’t looked at it since they went on the bike ride about an hour ago, because she wanted to spend actual quality time with her brother.  Now, she saw that she missed the alert from the Leafs app on her phone, and a slew of texts from Willy.

“Yeah.  He got traded to Pittsburgh—”

kappy just called me he got traded to pittsburgh just got told r u around? can i come see u? ok so ur not at ur place… ur not at Scotiabank r u?

“—for a first-round pick.”

“A first?!” she shrieked again.  She was shocked.  Shocked.  She didn’t know how Kyle was able to finesse a first-round pick for Kasperi fucking Kapanen.  Her mind was in three places at once as she thought about the trade, her brother standing in front of her, and William’s texts.  For all his faults and questionable judgement in girlfriends, Kasperi was one of William’s best friends.  She knew it would hurt William to see him leave.  That’s probably why he was trying to find her.

I’m at my parents hanging with Cam today.  He missed me.

i know

You know?????

“Cam, I think we should head home,” she said, hopping back onto her bike.

Camden’s eyes lit up.  “Why?  Do you think Brendan Shanahan will want to call you?”

He was so cute.  To think she was important enough that Brendan Shanahan would call her about a trade.  She let him think so.  “He might…” she said, opening the Leafs app on her phone.  “Let’s just go.  You lead the way.”

It wasn’t the smartest choice, but as they biked through their neighbourhood back to their house, Aberdeen read the statement on her phone.  PRESS RELEASE -- -- -- The Toronto Maple Leafs announced today that the hockey club has completed a trade with the Pittsburgh Penguins, acquiring the Penguins' first round selection in the 2020 NHL Draft (15th overall), forward Evan Rodrigues, forward Filip Hallander and defenceman David Warsofsky in exchange for forward Kasperi Kapanen, forward Pontus Aberg and defenceman Jesper Lindgren.

So Pontus was leaving too.  Another Swede.  Aberdeen wondered if William had a strong opinion on him leaving as well, but she doubted it.  She thought about what was going through William’s head as she and Cam continued their bike ride home, but as they turned on their street and they got closer to their house, she noticed a car parked on the street.  A very familiar looking car.

“Oh Jesus fucking Christ…” she mumbled to herself.  

“Whose car is that?” Camden asked, speeding up.  “Don’t people know they’re not allowed over houses anymore?!”

Aberdeen mentally prepared herself as she and Camden walked through their front door.  And that’s when Aberdeen saw him: William sitting on her couch with her mom, mask dangling from his wrist as he held a mug of tea.  “There you two are,” her mom smiled.  

“WILLIAM!” Camden screamed as he kicked off his shoes.

“Hey buddy,” William smiled as he watched Camden’s face light up.  He watched as Camden readied himself to run over to him for a hug but then stopped himself.  It made William sad, knowing Camden couldn’t do what he wanted to do.  “How are you?”

“I’m good!  I’m – do I have to get my mask? – are you staying for dinner – are you going back to Sweden? – are you—”

“Whoa whoa whoa, slow down young man,” Orla smiled at her son.  “I don’t think you’ll be needing your mask.  And yes William will be staying for dinner—”

“—YES!—”

“And no, I’m not going back to Sweden.  I don’t want to have to quarantine again.  I’m done with quarantining,” William added.

“Me too!” Camden said, exasperated, as he plopped himself down on the couch next to him, sipping dramatically on his smoothie.  “I haven’t seen anybody besides these guys since March!”

***

Aberdeen was sure William was a near-perfect human being when it came to interacting with Cam.  That afternoon saw them playing street hockey and video games, with Aberdeen even leaving them alone together while she helped her mom make dinner.  When Mirza came home from work and saw William, his face lit up.  Even Siena was happy to see him, despite her stress from studying. 

Maybe this would make it easier for when she had to tell everyone that they were dating…eventually.

William promised to drive Aberdeen home, which meant Orla and Mirza could escape into their room to sleep and not worry.  They gave Cam special permission to stay up well over an hour passed his bed time.  It was only when Aberdeen told Cam that he needed to get ready for bed that she and William had their first moments of alone time the entire day he spent at the house.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t talk about the trade.  I know you’re probably feeling like shit right now seeing your best friends being shipped off.  Are you okay?” she asked as they lay on opposite ends of the couch.  

“Much better now,” he said, his voice soft.  “I love your family.  They make everything better.”

She smiled.  “I think Cam just has so much energy and asks so many questions that it takes your mind off of it,” she giggled slightly.

“That’s part of it, but it’s more than that,” he said.  “It’s your mom’s cooking and your dad’s smile and Siena’s, like, stares.  It’s Cam being so cute.  It’s this house and the vibe, like at Christmas.  It’s everything.”

Aberdeen couldn’t keep the smile off her face.  “For what it’s worth, they love you too.”

“Do you think we’ll have a family like this?”

Aberdeen would have frozen if she was uncomfortable with the line of questioning and what William was insinuating.  But she didn’t, because she wasn’t.  She nodded her head before reaching between their bodies to tickle his fingers with her own in a small, unnoticeable sign of intimacy.  “I do,” she said softly.

“I love you, Aberdeen.”

“I love you too, Willy.”

“Aberdeen?” Cam’s voice suddenly rang out as he walked back into the living room with his pajamas on.

Their hands separated quickly.  “What is it, Cam?” she asked.

“I saw your name all over hockey Twitter.”

Both Aberdeen and William shot up.  “What do you mean?” William asked.

“What the hell are you doing on hockey Twitter, Camden?” Aberdeen asked sternly.  “You’re twelve.”

“Joey at school has an account and he shares it with me!” he said, as if that would make Aberdeen calm.  It just fuelled her anger and made her want to punch a twelve year old boy named Joey.  “It was because Saylor Greene talked about you.  Who’s Saylor Greene?  Does she work with you?” Camden asked.

Aberdeen’s heart fell into the pit of her stomach.  William jolted off the couch and typed something into his phone as he walked outside.  “Give me your phone,” she held her hand out at her brother.

“But Aberdeen—” he watched William leave to go outside.

“I said give me your phone now,” she repeated.  

Camden handed it over.  She began to scroll through the screen to see the tweets he saw, and read what he’d just read.

@leafsbabe34: saylor greene is having a meltdown on her twitter about the leafs. she’s a psycho

@coolcoolcool: good luck to kasperi Kapanen and his psycho girlfriend in pittsburgh.  Pens PR never ever puts up with this type of bullshit so it will be interesting to see what happens to her.  Good riddance.

@amandaaalove44: she brought so much drama to Toronto…bye bye saylor!

Okay…innocent enough.  Aberdeen still didn’t like Camden reading all of this but she didn’t see any mention of her name.  How the hell was she being dragged into this?  She scrolled some more, reading much of the same tweets, and then she saw it.

Aberdeen’s stomach was in knots as she read all the tweets, all the insinuations, and all the outright accusations.  Saylor was naming her without naming her.  Any hardcore fan would probably know who she was talking about.  Hockey twitter would definitely know thanks to the Blueprint birthday video.  She felt sick.  She felt sick as she saw Saylor’s replies to everyone’s tweets, calling them out and being downright rude to people she didn’t even know.  She was sick as she saw fans commenting on the situation and bringing her name up because they knew it was her.  

“Aberdeen?” Camden’s voice was soft, confused, as he watched his sister furrowing her brows at his phone screen.  She looked at him.  “I’m sorry I was on hockey Twitter.”

“You have to promise me to never go on there again,” she said.  “I mean it Cam.”

He nodded his head.  “I was just trying to see what they were saying about William.”

She inhaled.  “Now you really can’t go on there again.  Not until you’re thirty.”

“Sixteen.”

“Deal.  Now come here,” she extended her arms.  

Camden went in for a hug.  “Where’d William go?”

“Don’t worry about it,” she said.  “Let me hug you in silence because you’re gonna become a teenager one day and you won’t let me do this anymore.”

Her phone buzzed from beside her.  Brendan’s name flashed atop of a text message.  I’m taking care of it.  And as she continued to hug Cam, she could hear William’s voice vaguely from outside on the deck.  “This is twice now with a girl you’ve dated.  TWICE!!!!!”

***

August 26th, 2020

“How many words do you have left?” William asked as he massaged Aberdeen’s shoulders.

“I’m just editing,” she said, reaching her hand over and placing it on one of his.  “I’ll be done within the hour.  I promise.”

William bent down to give her a quick kiss.  “You got this.”

***

To: Alec Young [[email protected]] Cc: Beth Zadakis [[email protected]] Bcc: From: Aberdeen Bloom [[email protected]] 23:15     08/25/2020

Hello Alec and Beth,

As requested, here is my 10,000-word report on the NHL Bubble experience.  Please note that I have also included photos to accompany the text.  I have received express approval from those in the photos that they can be used for this article.  If you would like me to send proof of permission, please let me know.

I hope you enjoy my work and choose it for publication in Toronto Life.  I understand that the article may, perhaps, be a departure from what was expected.  However, I believe the work speaks for itself.

Best, Aberdeen Bloom

***

August 27th, 2020

“So what happens now?” William asked.

“We wait,” Aberdeen said, her breath shaky.

#william nylander #william nylander imagine #william nylander fic #william nylander fan fic #toronto maple leafs #toronto maple leafs imagine #toronto maple leafs fic #toronto maple leafs fan fic #william nylander blurb #toronto maple leafs blurb #nhl #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl fan fic #nhl blurb #hockey #hockey imagine #hockey fic #hockey fan fic #hockey blurb #the president wears prada series

[theuniversitychallengereview]

UC 51.13 - Wolfson, Ox vs Bristol

I am allergic to dairy. Or at least I believe I am. This is different to lactose intolerance in that it has symptoms more in line with your typical bout of hayfever, rather than those of a more gastrointestinal bent that you get with intolerance. In other words - cheese makes me sneeze. 

I first discovered this about a year ago when I had something containing milk after a month of testing out various vegan cheeses (having previously been a cheese sandwich on the daily kind of guy). I was completely wiped out with a runny nose, runny eyes, achy joints, heavy head kind of illness for about a day or so. Now, this is a kind of illness that had been plaguing me for years, but I’d never stopped long enough to think about what the cause could be. I just sort of assumed that I was a person who would always suffer a base level of ‘having a cold’ and would occasionally and seemingly randomly get taken out by an extreme instance of it every once in a while. 

After this first incident last year I conducted an experiment on myself whereby I swore off all dairy products for a month and then consumed in as little time as is physically possible, a large takeaway pizza with extra cheese and a large portion of cheesy chips. The next day I was struck down by the same severe sniffles and was forced into a life sans-cheese sandwiches for the first time in living memory. I called the GP to see if they’d be able to do some tests or something to try and find more out about it, but they basically told me that they thought I’d solved the mystery already - so why would I need anything from them. 

Nearly a year goes by with no further cheese-based indispositions, until last Thursday when, on a work trip, and having not eaten since breakfast, having skipped lunch in anticipation of a larger window for the consumption of a full meal which did not materialise, I bought a superfood wrap, the ingredients of which I had read and believed to be safe. However, it turned out that it contained copious amounts of feta. Realising this only once I had taken the first bite, I resolved to finish it. In any case I was absolutely starving and this was the only food I was likely going to see for the next few hours. How bad could it be, anyway?

Very bad, as it turns out. To the extent, indeed, that most of Friday, Saturday and Sunday were complete right-offs (other than the fact that I was able to binge without guilt the entirety of Squid Game). To the extent also, that I spent a not-insignificant amount of time trying to research exactly what it is that's wrong with me (i think it could be something to do with the fact there is a lot of histamine in cheese, and this messes about with the way my immune system deals with threats… If anyone has any insights on this subject they would be greatly appreciated), in the hope of potentially being able to mitigate the issue in the future. 

Usually when I delve this deep into a subject there is the prospective chance that said research will serve me well in future quizzes. With this in mind, and with the hope that it acts as sufficient justification for this self-centred ramble about cheese, I am really hoping for a three part bonus set on the role of histamine in the immune response tonight.

Anyway, (any usually when I make an apology for my rambling I’m being flippant, but in this case it really is genuine, because there isn’t really any excuse for this level of frippery in the introduction to any blog post), sorry for the gigantic diversion from the scheduled programming; here’s your starter for ten. 

Bristol have made seven University Challenge quarter-finals, without ever making it to the semis, which is quite impressive in more ways than one. Wolfson have never made the semis either, but they only have a sole quarter to their name, meaning they have a ways to go to match their West Country rivals.

Wolfson’s Williams introduces himself with one of the biggest smiles I’ve ever seen on a contestant, and its pretty infectious. By the time Paxman gets round to asking the questions I’m positively grinning. The jolly fellow himself is the first to get some points on the board, recognising various revolutions before anyone else. They take two bonuses on the words of the acronym TARDIS. 

Bristol’s Woodcock negs the next starter, coming in very early with India, and then rapping his hand on the desk when he’s told he’s wrong. Wolfson aren’t able to pick up the points, and returned the neg with one of their own next time out. Williams takes his second of the night with Shackleton and beams his head off again. They take two bonuses, including one which is a very obvious description of an electron - the kind of question that has no business appearing on the Challenge.

Nowakowski is first to recognise Granada for the first picture round and he bloody well dabs. He pauses for a brief moment and then literally, and energetically, dabs. I don’t know what else to say about this. It is beyond description almost. Brilliant, mind, but beyond description. A third starter for Williams increases Wolfson’s lead, but they can’t capitalise on the bonuses. The next ten pointer goes to Nowakowski too and… this time he raises his glass of water like he’s cheers-ing the crowd in celebration. I really hope this dude has a full set of different celebrations for each time he gets a question right. We shall see…

Following an amusing discussion between the Wolfson team in which Nowakowski says of Chopin, ‘Well, as a Polish man I wouldn’t call him French, but you’re the captain’, Woodcock makes up for his earlier neg and gets Bristol back on the move. They keep going courtesy of Brian on the music starter, as she gets The Shangri-Las so quickly as to elicit some murmurs of appreciation from Paxman. They then take the lead with a bonus set on film titles made of international country codes and pretty quickly they are thirty points clear.

Aggarwal hits back for Wolfson with an early buzz of Ramanujan, but they don’t make many inroads on the bonuses, and Bristol seize back control with a pair of consecutive starters. They take two bonuses on events happening in years in which the second two digits are three times as large as the first two digits - a lovely UC contrivance which initially seems to make the question more difficult but actually makes it a multiple choice guessing game.

I hadn’t realised it, but Bristol are now ninety points clear. I don’t quite know how they’ve done it, because Wolfson seemed like they were doing okay, but fair play to them, they’ve been excellent after a shaky start. The game is over at this point, but Williams gets in a little joke with a guess of Dr Gilssando on a question featuring the word glissando. Good lad. 

Hang on, if Wolfson can get a few more points they might be in with a shot of the play-offs, and Nowakowski is still pretty pumped when they he gets a bonus question right, yelling Uzbekistan, baby. It isn’t enough to get them the 140 points they need to come back for the repechage, but Paxman comments on his enthusiasm at the end of the match, in one of the most surreal exchanges I’ve ever seen on the Challenge. 

He asks Nowakowski why he was so psyched about his Uzbekistan answer, and Nowakowski says ‘Phenomenal country, great people’, to which Paxo says ‘That’s enough from the Uzbekistan tourist board’. Nowakowski then points a finger at the camera and says ‘Poland approved’. This description doesn’t do it any justice, so if you haven’t seen it already do go and watch it (and if you have then watch it again, its really quite something)

Final Score: Wolfson, Ox 110 - 165 Bristol

I’m going to miss Wolfson, and in particular Nowakowski, so, so much. But full congratulations to Bristol, who dealt with the boundless charisma of their opponents most admirably. See you next week for the last first round match!

#university challenge #bbc2 #wolfson #oxford #bristol #jeremy paxman #quizzy mondays

[lupinlongbottom]

Burning Bridges pt. 4

Neville Longbottom x Reader

Summary: The halfway mark of the school year had finally come, a milestone in (Y/N)’s journey as a Hogwarts Professor. Winter break was rather uneventful, but at least the joyous idea of a dear friend’s wedding could help them out, right?

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: Swearing, just a bit

A/N: AH! Yeah. That’s all I gotta say about this chapter. Wow. Neville and (Y/N) are dumb dumbs, huh?

Part 1 ... Part 2 ... Part 3 ... Part 5 ... Part 6 ... Part 7

__

Snow had finally touched the ground, blanketing the castle in pure white brilliance. Christmas had come and went, winter break finally had come to an end. Students were running around like mad, trying to finish their assignments, papers and the like that were due for their return.

Neville sat in the greenhouse, opting to stay at the castle for the holidays, only leaving a few times to meet with his grandmother and visit his parents. A yearly tradition. He still had to take care of his plants. He hadn’t seen (Y/N) in the few weeks of break, knowing she must’ve gone to visit her mum in Bristol or the like.

“Come on,” Neville purred, his dragon-hide gloves running against the leaves of a moving plant. “I know you’re angry, but please just work with me here,” he sighed, seemingly giving up on the plant.

“Neville?” a voice called from behind the glass of the greenhouse. He looked up, a window had been open. He saw her, (Y/N), standing in the open window. “Nev!” her face twisted into a grin, rushing away from the window and running through the door.

“(Y/N),” Neville smiled, watching the young professor enter his workspace. “Good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too,” she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the hair completely down, no bow in sight. “Venomous Tentacula,” she stopped, hesitant to get closer to Neville or the plant.

“You remember your plants,” Neville said, adjusting his gloves.

“I had a good tutor,” said (Y/N), sitting on an empty patch of countertop, eyeing the plant carefully.

“You’re bright enough, I’m sure you could’ve gotten it without my help,” said Neville, recalling the various hours he had spent with (Y/N) studying for their N.E.W.T-level Herbology class. Madam Pince grew rather annoyed with their idle chatter in the library, usually not pertaining to Herbology. 

“There were times on the road that I could’ve used your help,” (Y/N) shrugged. “One time, it took me the better part of an hour to tell the difference between normal ivy and poison ivy.” 

“How did you say you landed your last job?” Neville teased, turning back to his tentacula, carefully moving branches. “Seems like it was more suited for a herbologist.”

“At times, sure,” (Y/N) admitted. “I lied in the interview about my herbology skills, you know better than anyone that everything I touch dies,” she laughed, fingers swirling in the excess dirt. “But, I was so desperate to work for such an accomplished potioneer I would’ve done much worse to get the job.”

“You gathered potion ingredients, right?” he asked, waiting for a response. (Y/N) rarely talked about her pervious job before working at Hogwarts. 

“Yeah,” she hummed. “I enjoyed it once I got the hang of it, gathering odd plants, finding rare creatures,” (Y/N) sighed blissfully. “Traveling the world just to find the one ingredient that no witch or wizard had ever thought to use in a potion before,” her eyes lit up like the stars, full of wonder.  

“Did you? Find that one ingredient?” 

She shook her head, smiling sadly. “No, but I got to travel and be on my own for months at a time. It was terribly therapeutic.”

“Wasn’t it lonely?” Neville asked, trimming excess leafs off of the plant. “Being alone for that time?” 

“Of course, I’m not an animal,” (Y/N) said, swinging her legs back and forth like a child. “I had Edgar, though. He’s been by my side since fourth year, he’s the person who knows me best.”

“He’s an owl,” Neville stated, giving (Y/N) a pointed look.

“I’m convinced he’s my soulmate,” (Y/N) quipped, pursing her lips gently. “He knows just how to cheer me up when I’m down.”

“Send me an invite when the two of you get married,” Neville laughed, decidedly finished with the plant. “Speaking of…” he paused. “I know you’re planning on going to Harry and Ginny’s wedding, I-I am too, so I was wondering—”

“Oh right! Gin and Harry’s wedding!” (Y/N) ran a hand through her hair, a habit she recently picked up. “I nearly forgot!”

Neville felt relieved to hear her slip of the mind. Why did he feel so relieved? “It’s next week,” he laughed.

“Damn, I knew I was forgetting something all break. I told my mum about this nagging feeling I had in the back of my mind when I was visiting her, but she said it was just ‘professor brain’, whatever that is,” she chuckled. “Lance tried to convince me that she was right, but I disagree.”

“Lance?” 

“Oh!” (Y/N) looked up at Neville. “I totally forgot to tell you! I listened to your advice.”

“Advice?”

“Yeah, when we had tea for the first time? You told me ask out Professor Knight,” (Y/N) smirked. “We’ve been seeing each other more over break.”

“Oh,” Neville mumbled, carefully prying his gloves off.

“He’s rather sweet, a charming guy. I thought he’d be a right prick,” (Y/N) shrugged. “He’s terribly interesting to talk to, about muggle things and teaching. He’s shown me a lot of the castle that even in seven years of schooling I couldn’t have seen.”

“So you’re happy?”

“Mostly,” (Y/N) smiled. “I don’t know how much longer we’re going to be seeing each other, though. He’s a bit full of himself, but it’s been a bit of cheeky fun for the break.”

“I’m assuming he’s going with you to the wedding?” Neville tensed himself, preparing for a blow he’d have to take time to recover from.

“Yeah,” (Y/N) nodded, rolling her eyes. “ I invited him only because I didn’t want to show up stag. He’s been fun and all, I just don’t know how interested in me he is. If the wedding wasn’t next week, I would’ve cancelled my date,” she shrugged. “But, Ginny said she can’t wait to meet the man with the ridiculous name I’ve told her about.”

“Yeah, that would reflect badly on your end,” Neville mumbled, gathering the spare greenery to his right, ignoring practically everything (Y/N) just shared. “Did you need some tentacula leaves? This one got a bit overgrown and I know how expensive and sought after they can be.”

“Get out!” (Y/N) grinned, pulling a spare vial from her boot. “Of course! I only ever had them once or twice before, I’m petrified to get any closer to those plants ever since sixth year.”

“Yeah,” Neville hummed, recalling their lesson on the venomous plant years ago. (Y/N) had nearly had a trip to the hospital wing that day, if not for Neville reigning the plant in. “You just keep an extra vial on you at all times?” he asked, pointing to the boot.

“Slughorn said any good potioneer kept an extra vial or two on them for moments like these,” she smiled, carefully placing the small leaves into the container. “I enchanted my boots for my last job so I could keep my bag light,” she reached down, fishing in her right boot, pulling out her wand, waving it lightly as if to prove a point. “It’s also great for keeping my snacks away from Edgar.”

“Always the clever witch,” Neville smiled, watching (Y/N) shove the bottle back in her boot, her hair falling into her face. “Say, where’s your ribbon? It’s weird to see you without one.”

“Oh,” (Y/N)’s hand flew to her hair, suddenly embarrassed. “Lance told me he liked my hair better when it was down, so I’ve been trying it out.”

“Are you sure it isn’t because you both had the same hairstyle?” Neville joked, recalling the terribly long hair that Professor Knight possessed. 

“Shove it,” (Y/N) laughed, pushing Neville slightly. “I wouldn’t put it past him, though. He’s terribly vain.” 

“If it’s any consolation, I liked the ribbons,” Neville admitted, glancing down at the wooden floorboards. “Could see your face better.”

“I like the ribbons too,” (Y/N) said, feeling a faint heat trace her cheeks. “Say, want to see what else I keep in my boots?” (Y/N) quickly changing the subject. “I’ll keep my stinky socks away from your face… mostly.”

“Charming,” He agreed, watching (Y/N) struggle with her laces. As she focused intently on her brown boot, Neville noted the pink scrap of fabric he had left next to the tentacula plant. Quickly shoving it in his pocket, he coughed. “Go on, let’s see.”

__

Vibrant reds and golds streaked from the ceilings, Gryffindor colors. Entirely Harry’s idea. The reception hall was bustling with the quaint familiarities of old friends, some who hadn’t seen each other after the war was said and done. Half of the hall had red hair, the obvious mark of the Weasley family.  

“I’m glad you made it, even though a little bird told me you had nearly forgotten,” Ginny laughed, elbowing (Y/N) in the arm. She looked stunning in an off-white wedding gown, a perfect dress for a perfect day. The ceremony had gone off without a hitch, minus a few rogue spells to deter the journalists from sneaking in.

“Longbottom told you?” (Y/N) groaned, pulling a face. “Of course he did.”

“Relax, (L/N),” Ginny laughed, carefully holding her champagne glass, afraid to spill. “He was only teasing you. It’s good to hear you two are back in each other’s good graces.”

“It wasn’t easy,” (Y/N) shrugged, recalling her sour attitude towards the Gryffindor, regretting it immensely. “But I’m glad we reconnected. I missed him,” her gaze met the sight of two little girls, both dressed in dark red dresses, playing with one another. “Your nieces are adorable.”

“Aren’t they?” Ginny turned to look at the girls, one blonde and one redheaded. “They’re both angels, thankfully they haven’t got much of my brother’s looks. I reckon it’s all from their wives,” she laughed. “Victoire is practically a Phlegm clone, blonde hair and all. Kayda has most of Charlie’s traits, beautiful brown eyes, but her face is like her mum’s.”

“She’s also terribly dragon-obsessed, like her dad,” Harry said, pulling an arm around his wife. He kissed her temple lightly. “She’s my favorite of the nieces, always asking the difficult questions, not a care in the world.”

“Harry!” Ginny slapped his chest, watching his smirk dwindle.

“Haven’t changed, have you Potter?” (Y/N) grinned, mouthing a ‘hello’ to the groom. He mouthed back, rubbing circles to Ginny’s shoulder.

“So this is Harry Potter,” said Lance, entering the conversation, holding two glasses of champagne. He pressed a peck to (Y/N)’s cheek, handing her a flute. “For my princess of potions.”

(Y/N) grimaced at the nickname, accepting the kiss and the drink. “Lance, I don’t think you’ve met the happy couple. This is Harry and Ginny Potter,” The couple swelled at the mention of their married name. “Gin, Harry, this is—”  

“Lancelot Knight, Professor of Muggle Studies at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” he bowed, the purple of his cape nearly hitting (Y/N) in the face. “Congratulations on your happiest of days.”

“Thank you, Lancelot,” Ginny forced a smile, sending a short look of confusion to (Y/N), almost disapprovingly. “We have some photos we need to go take,” Ginny pulled Harry to the side. “Enjoy the food and drinks. Try to find me later, (Y/N),” The couple walked off, murmuring rapidly between one another.

“He seemed unlike anything I’ve read about him,” Lance huffed, drowning his words in the champagne. “You’re not going to drink, darling?”

(Y/N) shook her head. “No,” she handed him the glass, watching him down it in two gulps. She noticed a nearly empty table with only one guest sitting. His hair was gelled back, nearly perfect. Too much gel. “I might go and have a seat, I’m feeling a little woozy.”

“While you waste your night,” Lance pulled his robe back, opening his body up to the crowd before him. “It’s time for me to network. When else can I get all of these famous witches and wizards in one place?”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes, finding herself at the aforementioned empty table. “Anyone sitting here?”

Neville looked up, he was intently focusing on the silverware before him. “No, I guess not,” he smiled, allowing (Y/N) to sit. “Your boyfriend seems to be having a good time, chatting up all our friends.”

“He’s getting on my last nerve,” (Y/N) groaned, holding her head in her hands. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think he was just here to boast about himself to strangers with more distinguished accomplishments,” another groan. “He’s also not my boyfriend.”

“No? You seemed rather close,” Neville shrugged, watching the long haired wizard try to woo Molly Weasley. She turned away. “Trouble in paradise?”

“I had my suspicions before, but today is the nail in the coffin. I can’t believe I thought it was a good idea to bring him to the wedding.”

“You’re going to break up with him?”

“Can’t break up with someone if you never were together in the first place,” (Y/N) pointed. “But, yeah. I’ve been thinking about it.”

“Did you want to talk about it?” Neville asked, offering to listen.

“Not really,” (Y/N) admitted, letting her head rise. “But I would fancy a walk if you wanted to get some air?”

“Please,” Neville laughed. “I love Harry and Ginny, but parties like this are just not my style.”

“Tell me about it,” (Y/N) sighed, rising from her seat. Neville followed suit, exiting the banquet hall. “I would rather be cooped up in my office, alone with my cauldron. Not a care in the world.”

“You do tend to do that a bit,” Neville said, putting his hands in his pockets. “Are you working on anything new?” The courtyard outside of the banquet hall had a fresh dusting of snow, allowing the two to leave footprints behind.

“Still working on that batch of Felix Felicis,” she shrugged. “It’s probably the most complicated potion I’ve brewed. So fickle, needs constant attention,” (Y/N) kicked a small pebble. “I’ve also been working on my own potions, trying to make a name for myself as a potioneer, but I can’t quite figure any of it out.”

“Come on,” Neville scoffed. “You’ll be able to do it, I know you can,” he brushed the dusting of snow off of the bench, allowing for the two to sit. “Besides, even if you don’t, being Potions Master at Hogwarts is like, the highest honor a potioneer can have, yeah?”

“I suppose,” (Y/N) said, smoothing her dress skirt, ignoring the flush rising to her face. “It’s just so terribly difficult to make a name for myself when my predecessors are so… amazing. Horace Slughorn? Severus Snape?”

“Give it time,” Neville put a hand to her shoulder. “You need to remember that most potioneers didn’t have the pleasure to be taught by one of them, let alone both of them. You’re brighter than you know.”

“Wow,” (Y/N) sat, stunned by her friend’s words. “I guess I never thought about it like that.”

“Besides, Slughorn made you a part of the Slug Club sixth year, an elite gathering of the brightest and best students at Hogwarts,” he laughed. “The same club that hosted Harry Potter, the famed wizard.”

“He was collecting future favors, Nev,” (Y/N) smiled, recalling the club’s meetings. Lavish dinners, exquisite music. “He also kicked you out of the club for ‘not meeting his expectations’, which is hogwash,” she breathed deeply, her breath dancing away from her lips. “He just didn’t see what really matters.”

“You think?” Neville turned to look at (Y/N), now staring up at the stars. She nodded.

“Slughorn is terribly superficial, not really looking past the surface traits,” (Y/N) sat on her hands, trying to warm them up. “You know, he nearly threw a hissy-fit when I invited you to his Christmas party.”

“He did?” Neville asked, focusing on the constellations above them.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I would’ve loved to see you in that servers uniform,” (Y/N) laughed unashamed. “All distinguished and whatnot. Slughorn practically ignored me for almost two weeks after the party, like he disowned me as a student.” 

“I remember that,” Neville recalled. “Whenever you had your hand up, he called on Hermione or Harry instead, even if they didn’t have the slightest clue on the answer. I never knew it was because of that…”

“It happens,” (Y/N) ran a hand through her hair, annoyed by the way it was falling. “I swear, I should’ve brought an extra ribbon…”

“Maybe you can steal one from Lancelot,” Neville laughed, turning his attention over to the witch to his right. He coughed. “But, if you need one…” he dug into his pocket, fingers finding the silky patch of fabric he had been searching for.

(Y/N) glanced down, eyes finding the pink ribbon between his fingers. It wasn’t clean, dirt dusting the torn edges. It brought a sense of familiarity, almost as if she’d seen it before. “Where’d you get that?”

“I’ve been waiting for a good time to return it,” Neville said, holding it out to her. “Been carrying it around for five years.” 

“How did you…?”

“Happened to be at the right place at the right time,” Neville offered her the ribbon again, (Y/N) taking it gently in her hands. “You should wear your hair however you want, by the way, not just to please some bloke.”

“You’ve kept it?” (Y/N) asked, rubbing the silk with her thumb. It had to be the one she had lost during the battle. Why else would it be so dirty, so worn? “Why?”

“I mean, you’ve kept my jumper for seven years,” Neville laughed. “I could ask you the same question.”

“What?”

“My grey cardigan? From that day in Potions? I saw it on your dresser.”

“You went through my things?” (Y/N) asked, tone rising. “That’s a terrible invasion of privacy, Neville!”

“Invasion?” Neville said, matching her tone. “It was sitting next to that Honeydukes box, not exactly hidden from sight.”

(Y/N) stood up, now facing the Gryffindor fully. “Did you rifle through that too?” Her tone turned worried, only slightly. “Couldn’t help but snoop?”

“I didn’t snoop,” Neville responded, holding his hands in front of his chest, as if protecting himself. “Honest. You had it laying out—”

“—and you took a closer look at it!?”

“I’m not the one who kept something that wasn’t theirs for seven years,” Neville stood up, tired of being yelled at. “At least I was planning on giving the ribbon back!”

“You gave it to me,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You said I could keep it—”

“—and I don’t regret it! I’m not accusing you of anything, (Y/N). You’re the one making a big deal out of this.”

“I’m making a big deal of this? Really?” (Y/N) pressed a finger to his chest. “You’re the one making a big deal of it, bringing up why I kept a gift? You kept a bloody ribbon of mine for no reason!”

“No reason?” Neville looked down at the finger on his chest, pushing it away. “I wanted to return it, but you ran off before I could. I didn’t see you for five years after-after—”

“—after what, Neville? Go on, spit it out,” (Y/N) crossed her arms, tipping her weight onto her left side.

“After you kissed me!” Neville practically screamed. “You kissed me and just… you just ran off,” his voice lowered, just for a moment. The wind died down, leaving a silence around the two.

“I didn’t know what else to do,” (Y/N) said coldly. “It was a mistake and I realized that the second I looked at you after the fact,” her face hardened, expression unmoving.

“Looked at me? You barely gave it a second before you ran off,” Neville replied, racking his memory. “You didn’t even think about what I could’ve been feeling in that moment, you just cared about yourself!”

“Here we go,” (Y/N) sighed. “It’s always about me, right? Sorry I ran off when my dad just died!”

“Can you shut it about your dad for five minutes?!” Neville didn’t mean to roar, the sound reverberating from the courtyard. Thankfully the party was still in full swing, the loud music echoing from the banquet hall. “Stop acting like you didn’t talk to me for five years was because of your dad! Yeah, he died. I’m sorry about that,” Neville found a moment of peace, clarity. “But you have to understand where my mind was at,” he sighed. “That was my first kiss, you know? You just ran off.”

(Y/N)’s face softened. “I didn’t know…”

“No, you didn’t,” Neville felt his hand run through his hair, covering it in a thin layer of gel. He had used too much. “I was royally crushed. My best mate kissed me and just ran off, never to be seen or heard from again. I tried to find you after, I did. I wanted to talk, but no one knew where you went."

“I went to the lake,” (Y/N) admitted. “Process my thoughts. My mum told me about my dad and I didn’t know what else to do,” she shrugged, rubbing her arms, now growing cold. “I finally went to go talk to you, but you were sitting with her, Luna. You looked happy, Nev. Happier than I had ever seen you,” tears pricked (Y/N)’s eyes, threatening to fall. “I knew that going to talk would mess that up for you, threaten that happiness you so desperately deserved. I did what I thought was best and just… left.”

“I was happy,” Neville admitted. “A war we had no option to be fighting in was over, for good. Damnit, (Y/N) of course I was happy.”

“I’m glad—”

“—but that’s just the thing, isn’t it? You did what you thought was best. Luna was my friend, she was there for me, she listened. You ran off at the first sign of danger, afraid of your feelings,” Neville seethed. “A terrible habit of yours, really.”

“So you’re not afraid of your feelings? That’s rich.”

“Of course I am, but I’ve learned to listen,” Neville said, feeling his back straighten. “Luna taught me that.”

“I bet she did,” (Y/N) hummed, hardly pleased with the mention of the Ravenclaw’s name. 

“She taught me a lot, (Y/N). I never regretted my relationship with Luna, she helped me realize what I needed in my life,” Neville said, digging deep in his throat to find the words.

“What you needed? Tell me, Neville, what did you need that Luna couldn’t give you?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” he flung his hand out, as if to prove a point. “I needed you, (Y/N).”

Silence.

(Y/N) couldn’t bring herself to look up from her shoes, couldn’t bring herself to look at her best mate, wearing his heart on his sleeve. “Past tense?” she mumbled, knowing that Neville couldn’t hear her. A part of her hoped he did.

“I thought it was, too,” Neville admitted, hearing every word. “Past tense, that is. But after seeing that you kept my cardigan, a foolish part of me thought that maybe, just maybe, you felt that way about be at some point. Hell, maybe you felt that way now…” (Y/N)’s expression was unchanged, still looking at her shoes. “But you started dating that-that prick—”

“Who told me to go for it!?” (Y/N) finally shouted, tears dripping from her face, voice dripping with venom. “You’re the one who told me to ask him out, so I did. You told me to go through with taking him to the wedding, so I did—”

“You didn’t have to listen!”

“Would you stop shouting at me?!” (Y/N) shouted, almost ironically.

“Bloody hell, here I am, trying to tell you that I love you and all you can do is ask me to stop shouting!? Honestly, (Y/N), sometimes you really surprise me—”

It was then a familiar feeling danced across his lips, forcibly and fast, effectively shutting him up. The same feeling from five years ago.

She kissed him.

__

General Tag List: @maralisa124 , @leighxlover , @hey-its-me-rai , @missihart23 , @biatheintrovert , @chocolaterumble, @why-am-i-sad-and-sleepy , @steve-thotgers

Neville Longbottom Tag List: @readerbandit​

#neville longbottom x reader #neville longbottom #neville longbottom x you #harry potter #harry potter x reader #oopsiesss #these two i swear #maybe they should just... idk... /figure it out/ #if you know what... i .... mean #(eyes)

[maviemesregles]

Twas two days before Christmas

This one-shot fic was written for @thelallybrochlibrary​ Holiday exchange.

A prompt from @maryooch​ :  "How about Jamie meets Claire while she’s trying to skate (badly) at Rockefeller center during the Christmas season. Both are unattached and in the city for different reasons."

Special thanks to Anne  @eclecticstarlightconnoisseur​  for always getting my messy ideas and improving them. For once again for making sure it's nice and readable for you guys.

Hope you enjoy and feel a wee bit festive! ❄️

AO3

New York, New York Frank Sinatra sang. The Big Apple stretched out all the way to the horizon in a milky white blanket of snow. The skyline pierced with gleaming structures of steel, glass, and concrete.

Claire stared out of the window where snow became even thicker than an hour ago and turned the buildings into giant ice cream cones.

“Honey, are you there?”

“Yes, Mum.” Beauchamp pressed her ear to her iPhone and climbed onto the high hotel bed. “I’m listening.”

“Baby, what did they tell you about the flight? Father has been calling British Airways at least a hundred times today. You know what he’s like.” Julia Beauchamp rattled around in the kitchen cupboards.

Claire dropped her head into the mass of pillows crispy scented of fresh laundry.

Of course, something like this could have happened only to her. After the three-day medical conference in New York, with bags full of gifts, sweets, booze for Dad, and cosmetics for Mum, Claire was ready to go back home for the holidays.

But this year the family tradition wasn’t going to happen because Claire got stuck in this city for God knows how long. The heavy blizzard came upon New York, forcing all the transatlantic flights to be cancelled. Red-faced, hands full of bags, and sweaty in her jumper, the English surgeon hissed “Fucking morons” when she was told she’s not flying today. And most likely not for the next three days. Her cell-phone kindly reminded her today is the 22nd day of December. Only two days left before Christmas. If not for being scared to be without a means of contact, Claire surely would have smashed the device on the white airport tiles.

“They put me into the hotel. It’s all paid.” She glanced at her suitcase, surrounded by shopping bags. “All flights to London cancelled.”

Reaching into one of the bags, Claire grabbed a chocolate bar, not caring about a proper lunch at the moment.

“What about Bristol? Manchester? Anything at all?” Her mother sighed, looking at the shopping list for Christmas dinner. “Dad could pick you up. Lamb just got the car back, all fixed.”

Chewing on the mint chocolate, Claire flicked through the menu on the side table.

“Nothing. I even checked flights to Edinburgh and Dublin. It looks like I’m stuck here.”

There was silence for a while. Claire could hear their dog Pop, an old pug, snoring in the background. All she wants to do is cry. Is it so much to ask? To be home for Christmas time?

“Oh, darling.” Her mother’s voice is soft and reassuring. She knows. “It’ll be fine. I’m certain that you will get home right in time for Christmas.”

After a brief goodbye, Claire checks the flight schedules again. Her frustration mounts and she begins to pace a circular path for at least ten minutes. Her nerves begin to fail her and she decides a cup of chamomile tea would be just the thing.

“Or better yet, a bottle of red," she speaks out loud filling the void for the room. She may as well take advantage of all this suite has to offer.

Her body relaxes into the lavender-scented bath foam, warming her chilly flesh as the fruity Sauvignon Blanc infuses her mouth. Later spurred by the TV forecast (damn the winter) Claire gets into leggings and oversized, knitted horridness of a sweater (decorated with mistletoes and festive ornaments all over it).  She shortly video chats with Geillis who is hugely disappointed Claire won’t get to the annual work party at the hospital.

“I do hope ye willna waste yer time in New York, a thasgaidh,*” hummed her ginger colleague. “Go to Time Square, Central Park or… Oh, weeeel, ye can go skating! Mebbe ye’ll find some attractive American who’d lay an eye on ye.” Geillis smirked.

Checking the explosion of hair on her head in the mirror, Claire sighed.

“If that attractive American is a pilot that takes me home, I would not mind, just tell me where to find him.” She tried to secure the naughty curls into something that could resemble a bun but eventually giving up.  “I feel like bloody Kevin McCallister,” Claire said as she slid into her boots.

“Weel, just dinna get in trouble with burglars.” Edgars barked a laugh and wished Beauchamp to have fun.

                                                   🎄  🎄  🎄    

Claire surely could say that Christmas time in New York must be wonderful. Even though her mood sunk to the lowest level, she became determined to raise her spirits. God, all those books about positivity and visualization her Mum reads out loud to her should have a hint of truth to them. Right?

The streets were decked with glimmering lights and dazzling displays. The chill in the air burned her cheeks and Claire was swept up into the herd of people like a fluffy sheep in her soft white woolly coat.

Roads were covered in a sparkling powder that made a nostalgic crunchy sound under feet. People were dressed in layers of scarves, cardigans, and warm winter coats. Some held onto hot beverages to warm their hands as well as their bodies. Some brave tourists were sporting red noses just like the one of Rudolph the reindeer Claire had seen in a Macy’s display. Everything was bright and festive. All the Christmas lights twinkled and the colourful signboards reflected off the snow. Christmassy music played from the shops displaying their wares touting them as the perfect gifts. The sounds of Christmas could be heard coming from phones and the passing cars. It was everywhere. Claire softly hummed a tune as her feet followed the crowd leading her to Rockefeller Center. When Claire lifted her head, her heart grew tender with childhood memories. She stood right in front of the huge Christmas tree, adorned with all its lights, the star on top causing Claire to get teary-eyed. She literally felt like a movie character standing here now. Glancing at rosy-cheeked, laughing people on the ice rink, she joined the queue.

“To hell with it.” She could make her own Christmas memories here, alone in NYC.

Claire had to admit she underestimated herself, thinking that skating is like riding a bike. But, she found that it most assuredly wasn't. She tried to keep her legs as steady as possible, trying to get used to gliding on the ice. Holding onto the rail, she wobbled around before she braced herself to finally go into the middle, and actually skate.

She surely thought that she looked like a penguin trying to find its friends, as she awkwardly moved around in the crowd. Occasionally, she squealed and even closed her eyes when particularly fast skaters passed her by. The moment Beauchamp thought she had got it, she pushed harder and began to glide on her skates. Before she knew it, she crashed into someone else. Clenching her fists and closing her eyes before her body hit the ice.

“Jesus. H. Roosevelt Christ!”

Falling down on her bottom, surgeon hissed at the burning feeling of her palms meeting the ice.

“Here, let me help ye.”

After no needed pause, Claire opened her eyes, glancing at the owner of the soft burr. The stranger whose hand was stretched out to help, smiled, a pair of blue eyes studying her intently.

“Thanks.” Giving a faint nod, Claire accepted the man’s hand. A swift pull and she was back on her feet, trapped between the arms of this bloody good looking man.

He was handsome from the depth of his cobalt blue eyes to the gentle tilt in his voice. A face with striking features Claire was sure she likely won’t forget. The strong jaw with a shadow of stubble and lips that took the soft shape of a smile. A scent of expensive cologne swirled around him. And the hair of the brightest red she’d ever seen.

“Yer didna hurt yerself, lass?” The man steadied her with both of his hands firmly on her waist.

Claire’s cheeks turned into a lovely shade of pink and she could feel the heat of his touch growing on her skin. Beauchamp dropped her gaze down her feet, mumbling.

“I’m fine. Though it takes some time for the pain to settle in and I can only hope I will be able to walk tomorrow.” She waved her hand in no particular direction but rather in frustration.

The stranger smiled as they awkwardly skated to the rail. Claire glanced at him through her lashes smiling back.

“So yer a Sassenach then.”

“Excuse me?” Claire furrowed her eyebrows, unable to stop looking at him. Damn him, he was attractive.

Her saviour let out a soft laugh.

“Yer English, no?” Besides his remark about her Englishness (Claire figured he was a Scot in mere seconds), his tone was kind. “It means an English person or an outlander.”

“How lovely.” Claire snorted examining her palms.

“I didna mean to offend ye.” He leaned to touch her shoulder gently. It took Claire longer then it should to speak up, the words burning against her dry throat.

“You didn’t.” The surgeon gave him a lopsided smile, stretching out her hand. “I’m Claire. Thanks for saving my arse.”

The Scot barked a laugh and took her hand in his. Claire wasn’t sure if she imagined it or not, but the way his skin felt upon hers gave her the rush of goosebumps all over it. Did he feel it too?

“I’m Jamie. And I’m more than glad to save such a lovely arse.”

What an eejit, he thought to himself. Who says that to a lass ten minutes after meeting her?

He already opened his mouth to give her a stream of apologies but she bit her lip and the bell of laughter warmed his heart. A Dhia, she was lovely.

Jamie had noticed her almost immediately when she entered the rink. That mass of curls that made her look like a fairy that stepped out the Scottish legends. He had to smile at the lass when she tried to skate (and very badly to his own good luck). Jamie watched her for a while when he could catch a glimpse of her absolutely horrid Christmas jumper and her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Her arse did not escape his attention either, perfectly round in those leggings.

As they made their way toward the lockers to gather their belongings, he learned she was from London. A surgeon visiting here for a medical conference. And no, she has never been to Edinburgh.

Catching a glimpse of herself in the window, Claire mentally admitted there were times when she had looked better when a man approached her. She could feel Jamie’s eyes on her back as she did her shoelaces, slowly she brought her head up, eyes locking with his.

The blue oceans met the whisky rivers. Claire wanted to say that she should go, it’s getting dark, and this day had got the better out of her. But instead, she took a step as if an invisible magnet was pulling her towards him. There was a silence that drowned them both into the abyss of unknown but much-needed connection.

“Jamie, I -” Her tongue, feeling like sandpaper, moved ever so slowly.

She felt hypnotized, barely registering that she started to walk the opposite way to the exit. But the next second, she found herself staring at their linked hands and his eyes travelling to her face.

“Wait, Claire.” Jamie wet his lips, the corners curl into an almost apologetic-like smile. “I ken it might be daft as we just met, but would ye do me the honor of joining me for dinner?"

She glanced at him, with eyes warm like a fine aged scotch.

“I would not mind a company.”

“I ken a perfect spot.” His hand on the small of her back, leading out of the crowd.

                                                   🎄  🎄  🎄

Claire was sure the air crackled with electricity or chemistry (or whatever they call it) as she and Jamie walked through the snowy streets of New York. The roads have been only partially plowed and cleaned. Beauchamp found her legs drowned up to the ankles in the fluffy mass. Jamie carried her over the asphalt where the snow began to turn into mushy puddles from the trampling of an endless stream of pedestrian traffic. Claire giggled as he carried her across each puddle, and felt the tips of her ears turn scarlet red.

The distance between them grew closer and closer until eventually, their shoulders were brushing against each other. She had learned that Jamie was born in the area of Inverness. He had a huge family, a sister and a brother which included many nieces and nephews as well. Claire smiled when she noticed his proud tone when he spoke about his father and the particular tenderness when he mentioned his older sister Jenny. Jamie had worked for the last three years in the US and at 34 years old he was a successful entrepreneur.

Claire mentioned the nomadic lifestyle she lived when she was a child. Her parents worked a lot and she had spent two years travelling with her uncle Lamb. She had a best friend, a Scottish lass named Geillis. Beauchamp liked to read and spend time in the garden with her mum. She sadly recounted that she had made the mistake of getting married only to find herself divorced after four months of the young marriage. Her ex-husband’s name was Frank. The memories made her uncomfortable and she did not want to remember more. Jamie did not ask further, only stating he never married.

“And yer telling me ye have no boyfriend?” Fraser’s hand curled over her delicate shoulder, encouraging Claire (to her own delight) to nestle closer against him. It was such a casual move that she had thought she knew Jamie for ages already. The warmth that was radiating from him rooted deep in her belly and was rising up and up, making her ache at the very core of her being.

“Seeing no one.” Claire shook her head, peeking at him through her lashes. “And how is that my fellow Brit is not with a lassie? ”

Jamie made a sound deep from his chest, something typically Scottish she’d gathered.

“I am with a lassie, and a verra bonnie one, I must say, am I not?” He smirked, though his voice was painted with seriousness.

“Flatterer.” Claire dropped her head, pretending her boots were much more interesting than anything else she’d seen. In truth, it was to hide a smile.

Later their hands merged together, fingers entwining. The strangeness and absolute familiarity of their palms fitting together was something neither of them could explain. Everything seemed to be suspended around them causing the time to become disjointed. Finally, they arrived at their destination.

“Highlands NYC?” Claire read out loud the name of the place Jamie had brought her. “Really? Out of all places in New York, you brought me to Highlander bar?”

The tips of Jamie's ears burned, the red matching his hair. Letting a shaky breath, his lips leaned over to her ear.

“Sassenach, ye should experience Scotland to its fullest.”

That moment Beauchamp went weak in her knees. The raspiness in his voice and… God damn, all of him almost forced her to drag Jamie to the nearest toilet and indeed enjoy one of Scotland's sons to his fullest. She did not.

They sat at the bar since all the tables were booked. The barstools migrated as close as possible for Jamie’s fingers to run freely at the expense on her back, sending goosebumps all over the skin. Her knees accidentally touched his. She laughed, loud and infectious at his stories. Throwing her head all the way back, exposing the pale skin on her neck, placing the blue of her veins in full view. The sight made his cock twitch. She laughed heartily, smacking her palm on his thigh when she found his joke particularly funny. Jamie's breath hitched becoming shallow and broken. She licked her lips. Claire slid her hand over the cold glass containing her cocktail. Her movements were deliberate, slow, down and up over the patterned glass mimicking... What did Geillis say about the unconscious signs?

Fraser shifted in his seat, more than ready to suggest they go somewhere where they find their way to each other. The hot air inside the pub and between them made both ache for each other.

But the food arrived distracting them from their lustful thought. They dined on Haggis dressed in whisky butter, and warm quinoa with crispy spiced chickpeas. They laughed and joked, speaking of this and that learning about each other. As the evening wore on, Claire found her heart beating its way out of her ribcage. She leaned in planting a soft kiss on Jamie's cheek fearful of having to whisper words of parting lying on the tip of her tongue. But she found she was not yet ready to say goodbye yet.

“Would ye like me to walk ye to yer hotel?” His voice was hoarse, scented with the whisky he had drunk. Claire leaned into him whispering:

“Yes.”

They hadn’t said goodbye in front of the hotel. Not in the foyer, either. Certainly not in the lift. As they stood in front of each other surrounded by glass cubicle she moved first.

Before he knew it Jamie’s mouth was claimed by hers. Chest heaving and gasping for air, both parted and stared at each other until the lift announced their destination with a soft Ding.

Claire’s hands shook, the room card almost slipping out of her sweaty palms. The second her feet entered the room, Jamie had pulled her closer by the waist. The lengths of the bodies pressing, Claire’s cheeks flaming hot. He breathed heavily as he left a trail of burning kisses down the column of her neck.

“Christ, I want ye.”

Cupping her arse Jamie’s lips traveled up, taking her bottom lip between his. She smiled against his mouth, hands pulling at his nape, closer and closer, until the kiss could actually hurt. She could feel the length of him, hard and ready through his jeans and it made her almost blind with animal-like want.

“Take this off,” Claire whispered pulling at the hem of his shirt. Aching for him became powerful to the point where she could not bother unbuttoning his shirt, Claire just yanked the soft material over his head.

She could swear she heard him growl when her sweater followed the same destination as Jamie’s shirt and landed into the fabric puddle on the floor. No bra in the way, Jamie did not hesitate to kiss his way down Claire’s cleavage, stopping for the thorough exploration of each breast. Her mouth dropped open in a silent plea when his lips captured the nipple. Almost burning with the heat that grew between her thighs and made her belly ache, Claire reached down, to unbuckle his jeans. Tongues danced, lips bitten surely to swell come the morning, teeth raking over the soft skin of the neck. Pulling the leggings with underwear to her ankles Jamie definitely left blueish trails where his fingers pressed. But it was a delicious feeling that bordered with painful pleasure. They stumbled upon the bed, falling into it, a suppressed laugh emerging between their mouths. Gently but firmly Jamie had pushed Claire flat on her back, letting his hand trace the invisible paths all the way from the high hills of her neck, down to the valley between her breasts, the plain expanses of her belly, all the way down to the hidden secrets between her thighs.

She moaned into his lips when his fingers had found her apex between her thighs. His bold caresses drew sighs, moans, and keening that he longed to hear. With the right pace and rhythm he drew those sounds out of her. Claire’s curls flew all over the white pillow. Air! She needed air and began to take deep lungfuls. Writhing as the sweet torture continued, Claire took large fistfuls of linens as an anchor. Arching into his hand, she had lost all the train of coherent thoughts.

“Jamie…” Gasping for air burning hot in her throat, she finally broke into the million atoms finding herself thousands of light-years later, breathing heavily, the sweat trickling down her nape.

“Ye’re so beautiful when ye become undone.” Jamie murmured, lips pressing a soft kiss at her brow.

Still shaking Claire reached between them finding a condom and gladly placed it on him. She’d found herself again in Jamie’s embrace. Still, she kissed him hungrily with the remnants of her own satisfaction yet to fade, asking for more. Jamie did not need much encouragement and with the slightest nod of her head, guided himself into her. The sudden, hot sensation of him made Claire throw her head back. Seized lungs could not produce any coherent sound. As Jamie’s hips moved fast into her, reaching that right spot, again and again, she could only cling to him for dear life. When Jamie’s own breathing became slow and shuddering, it wasn't clear where he began and she ended. The world expanded beyond itself. It grew into a million colourful stars shining brightly around them.

Well into the night, as Claire slept, he drew tender paths with his fingers mapping the lines and valleys of her body.

Later she awoke from her sweet slumber by the quiet rustle next to her. Jamie sat upright, hands roaming on the floor in the search of his underwear and jeans. For some reason, it bitterly stung. Claire slowly brought her hand up, gently touching his back.

“Please stay.”

                                                 🎄  🎄  🎄

Claire was sure it’s all had been a dream. Tomorrow is Christmas Eve and in ten minutes her mother will call her downstairs to help start making dinner preparations. The brussels sprouts and mashed potatoes are not going to cook themselves. Her still sleepy mind started registering unusual noisy traffic outside, quite the opposite of the calm London neighbourhood where her parents lived. She turned to her side, eyes still tightly shut. Claire wasn’t sure now if she wanted to open her eyes and find herself home (where she so desperately wanted to be just twenty-four hours ago) or to wake up to the reality of finding one particular Scot next to her?

The mattress felt unfamiliar and too comfy. Her old bed in Beauchamps house surely did not feel that way. Moreover, the heat radiating from her left side was more likely from a person than the furnace. Claire’s eyes snapped open and she had to blink several times to get used to the bright sun, bouncing off the snowy scenery outside.

“Weel, hello to ye, sleeping beauty. I was afraid ye’d been cursed and would never wake.” Jamie rolled onto his belly, propping himself on the elbow. “Though it’s rather a nice sight to observe”

He ran his fingers down the line of Claire’s jaw before leaning in to kiss her.

“So you’re not a dream.” She smiled and pulled the blanket up higher than her waist, suddenly feeling shy. “What’s this?”

Her brows furrowed in confusion as Jamie fished his phone out, nodding to the screen.

“I don’t understand.”

“Ye’re going home, Sassenach.” He chuckled, feeling quite proud that he’d managed to find them both tickets to Edinburgh this evening. Jamie rather never did say out loud the price he paid but the look on Claire’s face was worth much more than that.

“Bloody hell!” She squealed, not believing her eyes. “How can I ever repay you?”

Jamie smiled when her hands wrapped around his neck.

"Love me some more, Sassenach.”

#Outlander #outlander fanfiction #oneshot #llholidayexchange #the lallybroch library #christmas smut #modern au #wee babies meet up in NYC #jamie fraser #claire beauchamp #maviemesregles #LLholidayexchange #a holiday there is

[yoon-kooks]

Witch Hazel- Pt.5

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: FanficWriter!Jungkook, Idol!Reader, College!AU, Angst, Fluff

Summary: There are two students in your art class with a secret: you and the quiet Jeon Jungkook. You’re a problematic idol singer, infamous for your ice cold reputation and perpetual resting bitch face; he’s the artist and author behind the viral comic series based on a certain ice queen idol. After a blowup of destructive rumors, lost motivation and inevitable solitude, you stumble upon Jungkook’s comic and find a new and unexpected light.

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: none

Parts: 1 // 2 // 3 // 4 // 5 // 6 // ?

-

“So are you in, Jimin?”

“I’m in,” he chuckles at your little proposal. His laugh retains its charm, even through the phone. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little jealous of that charming quality of his. “But can I ask you something, Snow?”

“Go for it.”

“Why me?”

“To prove a point,” you say. “You also have something to prove, right? Otherwise you wouldn’t have shown up at my concert that night despite being well aware of how the public and media would react.”

“Right… Sorry about that, by the way.” You hear the sorrow still beating him up in his lowered voice. It makes sense that he feels the need to blame himself for all the backlash you received, but he shouldn’t have to feel guilty when all he wanted was a little freedom as a normal human being and not as the perfect idol the world makes him out to be.

“It’s fine, Jimin. We may be glorified idols at the top of the industry, but there are a lot of things we have no control over.”

“True… Sometimes it seems like the only way to escape the judgment of the public eye is to hide behind a mask, huh.” Jimin sighs. “But we can’t always live like that either.”

“Exactly.”

After hanging up, you toss your phone aside and pick up your guitar.

-

On your way to class, you’ve made a habit of checking jk.seagull’s blog for any updates on Witch Hazel, and you’re delighted when you find this new text post:

“it’s not done yet, but I’m planning on posting a new chapter this afternoon after class!”

To celebrate the occasion, you stop by your local coffee shop to pick up a special mocha with extra whipped cream. You’re already late for class after failing to hear your five alarms this morning anyway. And besides, maybe you deserve a little pick-me-up after all the writing you’d done the night before. For once, you feel pretty good about the direction you’re headed in.

Not even a scolding by your professor could ruin your mood.

“Oh, Y/N. How nice of you to join us,” your professor motions for you to take your seat as soon as you step foot into the art room. “I was just talking about how certain students have not been taking this class seriously as of late.”

She glances directly at you, along with your tablemates, Taehyung and Jungkook. “Sorry,” you mouth with a lack of sincerity, before taking a long sip of your mocha.

“And because of that,” the professor continues, “I’ve decided to move up the due date of our portrait project to tomorrow.”

A collective groan fills the room from the entire class, with the exception of those few lucky bastards who’ve already completed their project early. Once the class is dismissed, the scramble to actually get shit done begins. Even Taehyung opts to stick around as opposed to his usual obligations, and that speaks volumes.

As soon as your team relocates to one of the empty art studios nearby, however, it’s apparent that no one is really vibing with this project.

“So… what’s the assignment again?” Taehyung scratches his head. As much as you’d love to scold the boy for his lack of awareness of anything happening in art class, you haven’t been in the proper mindset to give the project any thought either.

“Something about drawing ourselves based on how others perceive us?” Jungkook yawns. “Or was it drawing each other’s portrait?”

“The first one, I think,” you say. “It doesn’t really make a difference when Jungkook’s gonna end up drawing Taehyung’s portion anyway.”

“True,” the boys say together. If there’s one thing you’ve learned from your art class shenanigans, it’s that the more you get to know someone, the easier it is to understand them and their actions—even if they’re completely different from you like Taehyung.

“If that’s the case, let’s hurry up and let each other know how we perceive one another. I have a doubleheader later on that I’d really hate to miss,” Taehyung nods in satisfaction at his clever wording for what you presume to be back-to-back one night stands. “I’ll start: Y/N, there’s not much I know about you besides the fact that you’re unfriendly, but I think that’s intentional. Like you’re hiding a dark secret or something. Jungkook, if you weren’t so shy, I’m sure you’d get laid more often.”

“Let’s not sugarcoat anything,” you roll your eyes. “I would say you, Taehyung, abuse your charm to get what you want. You use sleeping around as an excuse to avoid responsibility. And you embrace it because you fear that that’s the only thing people will ever acknowledge you for.”

“I’m not usually a masochist, but I kind of like it when you roast me like that, Y/N,” Taehyung shrugs it off, though you know you’ve hit the mark. Everyone has a poker face, and Kim Taehyung is no exception. To take the attention off of himself, he throws an arm around his favorite art buddy. “Roast this guy next.”

You glance over at Jungkook who’s in the midst of adding to your roast on Taehyung. It’s interesting to see how differently he acts with Taehyung, with you, and with everyone else. The more he knows someone, the less he withholds. If he knew you more, you wonder what he’d tell you. “I agree that if Jungkook weren’t so shy, there’d be more potential for a lot of things, but-”

Buzz! Taehyung looks down at his phone. “Well, that’s my cue. Jungkook, Y/N, you know what to do~”

“Have fun at your doubleheader,” you wave off your incompetent teammate until he’s out of sight. “Should we be enabling him like this?”

“Probably not. But even I can’t say no to that charm of his.” Jungkook sighs as he pulls out a blank sheet of bristol paper. In what feels like an instant, several dots and lines transform into a general outline of Taehyung’s face. “I’m surprised you haven’t fallen for his charm yet… unless…?”

“Look, I get the appeal of a smoothtalker who walks with confidence, but Taehyung really isn’t my type,” you laugh.

“Still, I’m a little envious of him.” Jungkook draws Taehyung a nice and natural wink. “Because he isn’t afraid to chase after what he wants.”

You want to tell the boy that he should chase after whatever it is he wants, but you know that’s easier said than done. After all, you know exactly how it feels to take that leap of faith, only to fall short before reaching the dream you so desired. So all you can do is nod and start working on your own portrait.

For about five whole minutes, you try to sketch out a decent upside-down egg shape for your head, but it always comes out a little lopsided or rough around the edges. Once you’ve got a little mountain of eraser shaving piling up, you decide it’s time to sneak a peek at Jungkook’s sketch to get an idea of how a well-seasoned artist draws a proper face.

What you see instead, however, is the boy staring back at your mountain of eraser shavings. You swear you hear a little pft come out of his mouth. The nerve.

“Hold your pencil like this,” he says, holding his own pencil with his pinky sticking out.

You replicate his grip, wiggling the pinky. “Is this some sort of weird pinky promise that artists do?”

Before Jungkook can even respond, your pinky is already linked to his. Funny how his finger curled around yours as if it were the most normal thing to do, but his burning cheeks say otherwise. You might’ve jumped the gun on this one.

After blinking at the empty pinky promise for a good three seconds, the boy finally lets go. “Use that pinky to steady your hand as you sketch.”

“Oh… right…” You feel a wildfire spreading across your own cheeks. Your dumbass somehow misinterpreted a drawing technique for something as childish as a pinky promise! Whether it’s because you’re flustered or just shitty at art, you fumble around to get your pencil on the paper. “…How do I do it again?”

Rather than trying to explain or demonstrate it to you, Jungkook motions for you to come closer. So you do. He takes your hand and individually sets each finger onto your pencil like a guitar teacher helping their student find the right chord position.

You’re pleasantly surprised by how gentle his touch is. Rather than forcing your fingers to conform to the conventional ways of an artist, he gives them the little push they need to find their own place along the length of the pencil—wherever is most comfortable for you.

Once you’ve got a good grip, Jungkook guides your pencil back to the canvas with your pinky just barely touching the drawing surface. “Now try drawing the outline of your face again.”

You do as you’re told and see immediate results. Although it’s not a perfect egg, your lines are noticeably smoother as if your skin had just been cleared. Jungkook gives you and your improved egg a thumbs-up, which you return with a thumbs-up of your own.

As you both resume your portraits, you can’t help but wonder if it was the tiny adjustment of how you held your pencil that made the difference. Or if it was Jeon Jungkook himself. You suppose only time will tell.

Several hours later, Jungkook has finished Taehyung’s portrait, you still need to color yours in, and an announcement goes off through the intercom.

“Due to the art auction charity event tonight, this building will be closing in ten minutes. Thank you.”

You groan. This is the worst case scenario for your damn group project. Because if you’re kicked out of the studio, you won’t have access to all of the necessary art supplies.

Unless…?

You exchange glances with the most devoted artist you know.

-

Jungkook’s apartment is not exactly how you imagined a weeby Snow stan’s habitat to look. There’s not a trace of Snow, nor is there a hint of magic anime girls floating around. But the one thing you did correctly predict is the amount of art scattered across the boy’s room.

Everywhere you look, you’re blown away by something different from the last. A painted city landscape detailed enough to be mistaken for an actual photo, a busy abstract pattern that makes the little wheels in your head spin, the familiar animation booklet of the flower in the snow, and an interesting little doodle that doesn't seem to scream “college art project”.

You try to make sense of what appears to be the chaos that ensues when the worlds of mathematics and music collide. Half of the basic times tables chart is replaced with values represented by music notes. The math nerd in you laughs when you see that a sixteenth note is correctly placed where two quarter notes align. Similarly, the music sheet on the other side of the doodle has a time signature of “75%” aka ¾ time aka the rhythm of a waltz.

“How old were you when you drew this one?” You point to the artwork titled Math Musician written in tiny font at the bottom corner next to the boy’s initials.

Jungkook chuckles, probably out of embarrassment. “I think I was ten.”

“Imagine being a talented artist at age ten. Can’t relate,” you clown yourself as you pull out your unfinished portrait from your art bag. In addition to looking “unfriendly”, your drawn face is rather lifeless and more so demonic for some reason. Hopefully some color will bring more dimension and life back into your flesh.

Just then, you realize you’ve made a fatal mistake.

“Umm, Jungkook?” you continue to stare down at your mistake. “I forgot to factor in your opinion of me into my portrait and now I just look unfriendly like Taehyung said.”

Jungkook tilts his head to get a better look at your monstrosity. His reaction could go one of three ways: he could laugh and give you a hard time about it, he could help you find a solution, or he could do both.

“You definitely nailed the ‘unfriendly’ part,” he snickers. “The RBF is strong with this one.”

“So you agree that I’m unfriendly?” On one hand, that would be good because you won’t have to revise your portrait if Jungkook shares the same opinion as Taehyung. On the other hand, you don’t want Jungkook to have that opinion of you.

“Not necessarily,” he says. “I think if people looked beyond your unfriendly demeanor, they’d find someone very different.”

Before you can ask the boy to elaborate, he has already left and come back with the solution to your problem: fancy coloring markers.

“Since you already drew your appearance based on Taehyung’s opinion, you can color it in based on my opinion, if that makes it easier.” Jungkook hands you an assortment of markers, though a large portion of them are just different shades of one color in particular. Yellow.

Yellow was the last color you were expecting. You expected cooler and darker tones like blues or greys to match your ice queen personality. But yellow? Yellow, to you, has always meant bright and happy.

“Yellow is a happy color, isn’t it?” You start swatching each shade of yellow to see how they translate onto a white canvas. Your favorite shade out of the bunch is the soft pale one called Banana Milk, but that still doesn’t mean it suits you. To prove your point, you hold up your unfriendly demon portrait to your actual face and pout. “Do either of these faces look happy to you, Jungkook?”

“No, but they do look silly.” The boy cracks a smile at your humor. “In a good way.” The way he smiles so brightly plants a dangerous little seed in your head. Maybe the yellow is meant to represent not how he perceives your feelings, but rather, how he perceives his own feelings for you.

-

By the time evening comes, you’ve shaded in every inch of your canvas, completing your portion of the portrait project. You were right—the bright colors really did help bring life back into your face, and there’s less of a demonic aura about it now.

It also looks like one big contradiction: an unfriendly-looking face with a cheerful brightness around it. But that’s probably what Jungkook was referring to when he said you were very different beneath your unfriendly mask.

As you stretch out your arms and yawn, you peek over at the boy’s progress with his portrait. He stares down at his markers scattered across the floor, pushing his long locks out of his eyes, in search of his next color. From the small portion that he has colored so far, you notice a big difference between his portrait and yours. While your color scheme is bright and flashy like a star, Jungkook’s is soft and subtle to mimic his shy and lowkey personality.

“Use this,” you toss him the Banana Milk marker and pull a scrunchie off your wrist, “and this too.”

Jungkook places the pale yellow marker down right on the area he’ll color next. He doesn’t, however, know what to do with the foreign hair accessory in his palm. He just blinks at it.

With a dramatic sigh, you join the boy on the floor and take back the scrunchie. Like a puppy with long bangs poking its eyes, he lets you comb your fingers through his hair before tying a tiny sprout on top of his head.

“So this is what the world looks like,” he nods, as if his long hair had greatly hindered his view of the world in front of him. At the same time, he spots the finished product of your portrait. “Your self-portrait is a lot different from how I would draw you.”

“I would’ve appreciated a compliment for my hard work, but go ahead and insult me, Jeon.” You square up.

“Oh sorry. You did a phenomenal job, Y/N.” He doesn’t even try to put effort into masking his sarcasm as pity praise. But that’s expected in how he hasn’t missed a single opportunity to tease you and your shitty art. “It’s just interesting how differently others interpret us from how we interpret ourselves.”

Now you’re curious. “How would you draw me then?”

“You want to see?” Jungkook pushes his own portrait aside and starts digging around for a sketchbook with a blank page to spare. What possesses him to prioritize a drawing of you before his own portrait that’s due in less than 24 hours? You won’t allow that.

“I want to see it after our project is finished, please,” you pull his unfinished portrait back in front of him before making yourself comfy on the boy’s bed. “In the meantime, I’ll be reading you-know-what.”

“Smut?” The boy has a dirty mind, it seems.

“Unless Witch Hazel plans on getting a little smutty, no, I will not be reading smut.” With a hmph, you scroll through jk.seagull’s blog. “I wonder if the new chapter is posted yet.”

Jungkook, too, picks up his phone with wide eyes when he hears you say “new chapter”. Your hype and excitement around the fanfic must be rubbing off on him.

But unfortunately for you, there is no new post since the one you saw before class. You make a sad booboo face, but it isn’t the end of the world either. You’ll just have to reread the series from the beginning as you wait for either Witch Hazel to be updated or Jungkook to finish the project. Whichever happens first.

“Wait, I think the seagull guy just posted something.”

You’ve never jumped onto your phone so quick when Jungkook mentions the seagull guy. It isn’t a new chapter of Witch Hazel, but instead another small text post.

“sorry for not updating witch hazel today like i said i would!! i was bombarded with an unexpected art assignment;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;”

Your sad booboo face disappears. It seems you’re not the only one struggling to find balance between the arts and the need to satisfy others. “Isn’t it funny that he’s an art student too?”

“Haha, yeah…” Jungkook’s voice fades as he returns to his portrait.

“Maybe that’s why I like his work so much,” you say, clicking back to the very first chapter of Witch Hazel where Snow is helping out those who she had unintentionally scared away with her witchcraft. “He just gets it.”

“He gets what?”

With the biggest yawn, you shrug because you don’t really know how to put it into words. It just feels as though you and him think alike. And the thought of that is comforting enough to put you to rest until Jungkook finishes up the project.

“Y/N.” You hear things shuffling around in your half-asleep state. When you rise from mysterious pile of blankets on top of you, you see Jungkook putting his art supplies away and clearing space on the floor for him to camp out since you’ve apparently claimed his bed.

“Did you finish?” You check the time in the dimly lit room, and you’re shocked to see it’s past midnight.

“Yeah.” He pulls your scrunchie out of his hair and drops it into your palm. “Thank you for your service.”

“Keep it.” You slide the hair tie onto the boy’s wrist when you notice he looks a little different somehow. The hoodie he was wearing earlier is replaced with a plain white tee, and his torn jeans have become grey sweatpants. The unspoken reality of you stay over at the boy’s apartment is slowly becoming realized. “In exchange, I’d like to see how you’d draw me.”

“Already done,” he says, jogging to his desk and back to you with a page from his sketchbook in hand. “I drew you as a superhero.”

“What kind of superhero?” You kick the blankets off of you and reach for the drawing, but of fucking course, Jungkook pulls it back real quick just when you were about to snatch it. “Let me see!”

He keeps it hidden behind his back for a while until he gets a little too cocky and dangles it above where you’re sitting on the bed. It would be too predictable for you to reach for the hand with drawing in it, so you decide to aim for the other arm to trap him in.

But rather than latching onto his arm, you catch only a piece of the scrunchie around his wrist, causing you both to lose balance. Your back hits the soft bedding as you stare up into the eyes of the boy who just so happened to land on top of you. Aha, you finally figure out why he looked a little different after you woke up. No glasses, just his handsome brown eyes.

You’d give yourself a pat on the back for figuring that out if you weren’t distracted by the drawing of you as a “superhero”. You were expecting something tough like the Avengers or Sailor Moon or even Izuku Midoriya. But instead you see someone who looks very much like yourself with a guitar and yellow flower crown.

“That’s not a superhero,” you say quietly.

“There are people who would feel otherwise.” Jungkook plops down next to you on his stomach.

“Like who?”

“Like people you share your music with.”

You bite your lip before rolling off the bed to run and get something. When you hop back onto the bed, you drop a pencil into Jungkook’s hand make him hold it with his pinky out like he had shown you earlier. You do the same with another pencil and link your pinky to his once more.

“Promise me you won’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you.”

#bts scenarios #bts fanfic #bts imagines #jungkook x reader #btsboulangerie #jungkook fanfic #bts angst #bts fluff #jungkook #bts #bangtan #witch hazel

[olivia-anderson-fanfic]

Stalker X Stalker, Part 11

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Perma tag: @nathleigh @peachmuses

Stalker x Stalker taglist: @aespades @jayjayspixiepop @blueslushgueen @fan-written @seraphichana @nerd-nowandforever @toodaloo-kangaroo

Plot? What's that? I only know domestic fluff

She really didn’t know what to think when Tim asked to move in for a second time the next morning.

On the one hand, it felt like she was taking advantage of him. He’d seen her get shot and she doubted he’d really thought rationally since.

On the other hand… he essentially lived there already and it would do a lot to alleviate the anxiety the both of them had...

She rubbed her eyes -- ha, as if she hadn’t been awake the whole night to make sure he hadn’t had nightmares -- for an excuse to look away while she thought. What should she do? She would be lying if she said she didn’t want him to move in, she knew that was clouding her judgement, but even if she recognized her bias it wasn’t easy to just put it aside.

She sighed lightly and lowered a hand from her eyes. Tim looked really cute after having just woken up with his hair all messy and his eyes half lidded and one of his cheeks slightly flatter where he’d been resting his head against her and who can really say no to that face?

… well, Marinette supposed that would allow both of them to relax a little...

She let her hands drop to rest on top of his.

“Sure, darling. If you want you can move in… but, if you ever want to move out, I won’t stop you. Just ask.”

He cracked a tiny smile. “The only time I’d ever move out of this place is if you were changing apartments.”

She snickered. “Where I go, you go?”

“You have no idea,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. “You bats and your dumb cryptic sentences. Would it kill you guys to ever say a single thing directly?”

“Yes. I’m pretty sure that I would drop dead on the spot.”

Her lips twitched. “Oh yeah? Heart attack or sniper?”

“Can’t tell you. I would drop dead on the spot.”

“Damn. Foiled again by the… mystery cause of death!”

The smile on Tim’s face brightened and he looped his arms around her. “You’d save me.”

“Oh? And miss out on my chance to get that rich boy money you probably gave me in your will?”

He schooled his face back into a serious look. “I see. I’ll have to write you out of my will, then. Make sure you bring me back.”

“Nooooooooo! My scheme! Ruined! Now how will I become a millionaire without trying?!”

They looked at each other for a few seconds, his face purposefully smug and hers pinched into a frown…

And then they broke character, giggles falling from their lips and smiles lighting up their faces. She tipped her head forward until it rested against his chest. He squeezed her tighter.

Then, to her surprise, he flopped back on the couch, pulling her with him. “Alright, sleepy time,” he said cheerfully.

“Darling --.”

“You didn’t sleep last night. Sleep.”

She pressed against his chest until she could sit up just enough to glare at him. “I have super strength. May not be as strong as Connor or anything but I can definitely get away from you if I wanted.”

“Of course.” A smug look made its way across his face. “But you wouldn’t hurt your darling, would you?”

She glared harder despite the slight reddening of her cheeks. His smirk didn’t waver.

Marinette huffed and dropped back down. “You’re the worst.”

“You love me.”

She didn’t respond to that, instead just grumbling ‘pillows don’t talk’ and letting herself finally nod off.

~

Having two perfectionists trying to figure out the layout of a limited living space might not have been their brightest idea. They should have, at least, gotten someone to help.

Instead they had brought out Marinette’s tape measure and mapped out the entire apartment on a sheet of paper and then made tiny shapes for the furniture. Now, they sat at the table, obsessively moving pieces around.

It could have been worse, of course. Neither of them were the type to hoard things. He wasn’t all that concerned with anything other than his clothes and his laptop. Marinette only cared about her clothes, video games, and baking tools -- all of which could be tucked away in the provided closets and cabinets with ease. If needed they could probably get by with nothing but a dresser and a pull out bed each.

So, yeah, their own personal living styles weren’t the problem…

It was their work. Who knew their workaholic tendencies would be their downfall (besides everyone, of course)? She needed a lot of space for her fabrics and mannequins to make sure nothing got damaged. Tim would need a lot of space for his supercomputer if he didn’t want to make the long trip to Bristol every night.

Speaking of the trip to Bristol! He needed a place to put his motorbike and his suit. Shit. He could find a place to park his bike if he tried, but… he started cutting out a piece for the suit.

Marinette saw him adding more stuff and her head hit the table.

He snickered a little and poked her hair until she, however reluctantly, picked her head back up to send him a halfhearted glare. He smiled, reaching over and plucking the tiny square of paper from where it had stuck itself to her forehead. A blush spread across her cheeks.

Then she happened to glance down and her annoyance was back in full force.

“We didn’t think this through,” she said.

His smile became more strained as he looked down at their map. “Moving sounds so easy on paper.”

“Maybe it’s easier for people who don’t have such complicated lives.”

“Yeah. You’re right. I’m quitting.”

“Aw, but then I’ll lose my patrol buddy! I’ll have to do everything with your siblings instead.”

His nose scrunched up. “God, no. I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

She rolled her eyes. “Please, you love your siblings.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t know they’re the worst.”

She looked like she was going to argue, but then she tipped her head and nodded. “True.”

He snickered.

Their smiles disappeared quickly as they looked back at the layout of the apartment. Could they even fit all their stuff?

… wait, actually, could they?

He started shuffling things in and he realized that, if they wanted to have space to walk, there wasn’t enough room. No wonder they’d had so much trouble finding a layout that would work. It was literally impossible. They needed more space.

She hesitated slightly. “... what if we bought out the apartment next to this one for work? It could even double as a backup in case you ever decide you want to have a place of your own again.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Can we do that?”

“You’re rich, you could probably figure it out.”

He rolled his eyes. “I mean, yes, we can technically kick out the people next door but I’d kind of prefer if we didn’t displace random families.”

“I mean… we could always…” She made a stabbing motion.

He couldn’t laugh at that. Laughing at that would be bad. So he wouldn’t do that.

“Bean -- Mari -- no.”

“I’m just saying! We’d even get the apartment at a discount!”

Okay, he might have laughed a little.

… they didn’t end up stabbing anyone but, hey, if the family next door happened to get some huge scholarship courtesy of The Wayne Foundation that they didn’t remember applying for with the stipulation that they would have to move districts... then they just so happened to have a lucky break. Good for them.

Which meant that they only really needed to buy a desk, a dresser, and a bed.

So they went to Ikea! A boring place where no shenanigans ever happen!

… well, no shenanigans ever happen if you’re not a pair of vigilantes that bounce bad ideas off of each other like they were playing a particularly intense game of Don’t Let The Balloon Touch The Ground and the entire world would blow up if they dared to lose.

Speaking of things that touch the ground, the resident dumbasses should probably have kept their feet firmly planted on it.

Marinette squinted down the escalator. “Oh, they’re definitely going to kick us out.”

“Definitely,” he agreed.

“Maybe arrested.”

“Maybe that, too,” he said brightly, checking the pot over his head to make sure it wouldn’t come off.

“... the PR team is going to hate us,” she warned him.

“Absolutely.” He could feel the gaze on the back of his head, telling him that the employees had noticed them and, quite likely, knew what they were planning. “Ready?”

A grin spread across her face. “Of course.”

He smirked. “Good, because they’re coming.”

She glanced back at the employees making their way over to interfere.

“Threetwoonego!”

He pushed off with his foot, relishing in her indignant yelp, and grinned widely as he started the very bumpy ride that was snowboarding down an escalator. He’d thought he’d be more or less okay because he had been a skateboarder but it turns out that boarding down moving stairs is very different from boarding down flat planes. He let loose a string of curses as he struggled to hold the plank of wood to his feet and not die a very painful, very stupid death.

Marinette came whizzing past him, eyes wide and the tray she’d been using as a board somehow missing.

She met his eyes briefly and flashed a grin.

And then they crashed.

It was about as painful as one would expect. Tim was glad that he’d thought to give himself a pot-helmet-thing because it had cracked down the middle and he didn’t even want to think about what would have happened if he hadn’t done that.

And he was the lucky one. He got out with a few bruises and a better appreciation for his own life. Marinette was nursing an arm that looked like it was trying to imitate the escalator they had just slid down, lips pressed together tightly as tears threatened to escape.

He carefully crawled over to check for any other injuries that might have been less noticeable.

She grinned up at him, either because he was currently checking to see if her teeth were all in place or to be smug. What she could currently be smug about, though, he had no clue…

“You’re so stupid,” he told her, just in case she wasn’t already aware.

Her smug grin remained even after he had removed the finger from her mouth. “You’re just mad that I won.”

“... sorry?” He hadn’t even been thinking about their impromptu race, too concentrated on the whole ‘making sure they hadn’t just died’ thing, and it took a moment for his brain to catch up. Then he rolled his eyes. “Yeah, won a pretty new cast, maybe.”

She snickered. “You had to cheat and you still didn’t even win. How does it feel to suck?”

“Probably still better than it feels to have a broken arm.”

She sat up. “It’s fine, I’ll live.”

He snorted. “You bet you will. I’m going to bubble wrap the whole apartment.”

“You can’t babyproof the place! We don’t even have kids yet!”

Before he could question her use of the word ‘yet’, the employees managed to get their attention. They were trying to get down the currently very broken escalator and the one that was currently going the wrong way for them. Despite this, the two of them had only a minute max before they reached them.

Marinette and Tim locked eyes.

“Run?” She suggested.

He was already getting to his feet. He dropped a business card for the employees and turned to her.

He grabbed her good hand and they sprinted out of the store, smiles lighting up their faces and laughter spilling from their lips. The poor employees hadn’t stood a chance of catching the two vigilantes, even injured as they were. They knew the city like the back of their hands and were able to weave in and out of side streets and alleyways without much thought.

Once they were sure that no one was following them -- leaving a store unattended in Gotham was a terrible idea and Tim had left a card for them to call -- she tugged him to hide between two buildings.

They squeezed into the tiny space and leaned into each other for support while they struggled to catch their breath. Her good hand came up to grip his shirt. He rested his forehead against the wall above her.

She lifted her gaze to his and he wished she hadn’t because he’d already been out of breath enough before she’d done that but now here was staring into her blue eyes, the corners crinkled in a way that had become so familiar to him over the past few months, and god… all he could think about was all the stories that described how time stopped when you fell in love… and how those stories couldn’t be more wrong. He would have hated for that to happen because if time stopped then he would have to see that perfect smile of hers in anything but real time and he doubted that it would have looked nearly as beautiful without the way her shoulders shook with barely restrained laughter or the slight fluttering of her lashes or the steady pinkening of her cheeks.

She finally gave a little puff of laughter. “What?”

He blinked once, trying to bring himself back to what was going on. “Oh, I was just thinking…”

“Oh? Don’t strain yourself.”

He smiled. “I was just going to say something nice but instead I’ll insult you on your stealth. You’d be a terrible criminal, laughing during your getaway.”

She rolled her eyes. “You laughed, too.”

“Yeah, but when I did it it was super cool and professional.”

“Ah, I see. How could I not have noticed it before?”

He snickered. “Well, if today has proved anything, it’s that you are not, in fact, the world’s greatest detective.”

She grinned. “You were the one that put the pot on my head originally.”

“You came up with the idea to go down the escalators like that.”

“You agreed.”

���You -- I -- shut up,” he complained, sending her a glare.

She smiled at him until he pretty much had no choice but to smile back, letting his head fall the last few inches to press his forehead against hers.

Her hand gripped his shirt a little tighter.

He moved his hands from the wall to her waist.

They stood there, letting time pass them by, searching each other's eyes for some sort of answer to the question neither of them could bring themselves to ask aloud. He bit his lip, trying to swallow down his anxiety.

Her eyes flicked to his lips, her own parted as if to say something, before she seemed to think better of it.

She closed the gap. His heart skipped a beat at the feather-soft feeling of her lips against his and he let his eyes flutter shut. She teased his lip out from between his teeth with her own.

And then she pulled back just slightly.

He opened his eyes just enough to see her shy smile and the blush lighting up her face.

“You… you really have to stop doing that. They’ll get chapped --.”

He pressed forward again, capturing her lips in a kiss that was far more desperate than the last. She gasped quietly and he took the chance to slip his tongue into her mouth. The hand fisted in his shirt slid up to wrap around the back of his neck, dragging him even closer. He pressed her back against the wall, a hand trailing up to tangle itself in her hair, trying to reach more --.

She brought her bad arm up to cradle his face and then yelped in pain.

He jumped back. Right. Broken arm. Looks like a staircase. Not good.

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Uh… let’s get you treated.”

~

Marinette ended up with a pink cast and an order to stay home for at least a week.

She pouted, resting her head back against the couch as she watched him shuffle around in search of his second shoe (it was tucked behind her back, but he didn’t need to know that). “I’m not a child, you guys can’t just ground me,” she complained for what felt like the millionth time.

Tim rolled his eyes. “We all have to do it when we break bones unless it’s an all hands on deck situation. Been like that since even before I was Robin.”

“But B goes out with broken bones all the time!”

“That’s different.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“It is. If there is a situation where B can be a hypocrite he will do it”

Marinette scoffed. “And you’re allowed out because…?”

He started counting off on his fingers. “None of my bones are broken, my job requires me to leave, I don’t get in trouble 9/10 times I leave the house… should I go on?”

“Last one is a lie,” she mumbled.

“No, I only get in trouble, like, 8/10 times I leave.”

It was hard to maintain her glare. She settled for sticking her tongue out at him like the mature adult she was. He returned it, despite the fact that he was also an adult according to the law.

He grinned and came to sit next to her on the couch. She shifted around until she was leaning against him instead of the couch, legs tangling with his.

He didn’t say anything about the blatant attempt at trapping him there with her. Instead, he leaned closer to her face and said: “Speaking of leaving, do you happen to know where my other shoe is?”

She raised her eyebrows. “Why do I get the feeling that you already know where it is?”

He snickered. “I know you, Bean. So, can I have it back?”

“Hm… I don’t know…” she said, twirling his tie around her hand.

He let her pull him down for a kiss. She giggled against his lips as his hands ghosted over her in search of the missing shoe. She kept her good hand at his collar as a kind of silent promise that she wouldn’t -- couldn’t -- move the shoe, even throwing her bad arm around his neck just in case.

He pulled away a few moments later, squinting at her suspiciously. “I’m beginning to suspect I’ve been tricked.”

Her eyes widened in mock innocence. “Me? Trick you? I could never.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, where is it?”

She glanced at the time and smirked. “I guess you’ve earned it…” She pulled her foot out from between the couch cushions to show him the shoe she had hastily slipped on when he’d gotten close.

He scoffed lightly and slipped it off. “Y’know, if I had literally one of the most common fetishes in the world that wouldn’t have worked.”

“But you don’t, so it did,” she chirped with a cheeky grin.

“Guess that’s true…” He pecked her lips one last time before pulling his shoe on and she grinned as she watched him head to the door.

Only to stop a little short because of a knock.

He raised his eyebrows and glanced back. “Are one of my siblings coming over?”

She pressed her lips together thinly to keep herself from laughing. “It’s not any of their normal times. I just figured that, if I had to be home alone all day and couldn’t really do any work because my stupid cast, I should at least keep busy while you were gone.”

His eyes narrowed slightly. He stepped forward and opened the door to reveal a delivery guy with three giant boxes. The furniture they had ordered from Ikea had arrived.

He signed for them and then turned to glare at her. “You planned all this so I couldn’t go.”

“I mean… you could always leave me here to do them myself.” She batted her eyelashes at him innocently. “Of course, my broken arm will make it a little difficult but I’m sure I’ll manage.”

She had been stared down by Batman in full kevlar, she could handle the glare Tim gave her in his slightly messy work suit.

Then, he sighed. “Do you have a backup plan?”

“Obviously. Don’t think you’ll like that one as much.”

He scowled. “You’re really this determined to not be home alone?”

“Oh, no, this is about getting B to allow me out. Trapping you and your siblings here is just a means to that end.”

“You’re going to be trapping my siblings here, too?”

She grinned. “Yep. They show up all the time, might as well use that.”

His shoulders slumped a little.

She giggled. “If I have to stay inside all the time then so do you guys. It’s the rules.”

And, so, she reached for him until he pressed a short kiss to her lips.

Then, they got to work. Or, rather, he did. She had been relegated to just sitting nearby and helping him figure out how to build it.

She took a few pictures for their public accounts as necessary: a picture of him with three screws poking out of his mouth while he tried to figure out the weird L-shaped tool he’d been given, a picture of the two of them staring at the instruction sheet with confused frowns on their faces (taken by Tikki), Vanelope enjoying the boxes the stuff had come in, what was definitely not a thirst pic of Tim, and then the finished furniture in the apartment.

It was there, right before she was about to post it, that she realized that she hadn’t actually publicly followed any of the Waynes. She squinted at her bio, which proclaimed that she would only follow people she genuinely liked, and then at the ten people she had followed. The internet would notice if she suddenly followed eight more people.

“Darling?”

He peeked an eye open from where he was relaxing on the couch and then raised an arm for her. She took his hand and smiled a little when he pulled her into his lap so he could hug her like a pillow.

Then she pulled a more serious look to her face. “Do you want to go public or not?”

He buried his face in her neck. “Sure.”

“... not even gonna think about it?”

He shrugged. “They’re going to suspect it no matter what. Especially since we were goofing around in an Ikea of all places and you’re uploading pictures of me helping you with furniture.”

She nodded slightly. “I know, but I don’t have to upload them.”

There was a long silence as they considered their options.

Eventually he just sighed and tightened his grip on her. “I’ll go with anything you want to do, Bean.”

She relaxed slowly and, hesitantly, she sent him the photos. “Here, you can upload them, too. Might as well make it public on both of our accounts.”

He picked his head up slightly to check out the pictures. She felt his lips curl into a smile against her shoulder at the picture of Vanelope. “This one is nice.”

She snickered. “All cats are cute, obviously it would make a nice picture.”

He hummed his agreement. “No offense to you, you’re cute and all, but the cat definitely wins the cutest here.”

“I’m not offended at all. We could never beat that.”

Then, she got an idea.

“Except… maybe… want a picture of us kissing for the reveal?”

“I’ll take any excuse,” he said with a wink.

She rolled her eyes even as she felt her face warm. “You don’t need an excuse to kiss me, dumbass.”

Now it was his turn to blush. Yay, revenge.

… also, it would be cute for the picture if they were both a little red for it.

She twisted in his lap to press a kiss to his lips. His hands came up to cradle her face. She threw her bad arm around his neck, fingers threaded in his hair.

Her camera clicked. They ignored it.

#im going to write a million words of fluff and no one can stop me #unless i get like zero likes #im v motivated by likes and reblogs pls guys i need it #pls #also they're getting worseeeeeee #tim is lowkey possessive and mari is lowkey controlling #but its v lowkey so #baaasically doesn't exist #stalker x stalker #maribat #tim drake #red robin #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug #timari #timmari #timinette #shutterbug

[mrsrcbinscn]

Really Should Have Listened

@dian-morey​

Summary: Franny wakes up after surgery and her doctor explains what happened...and whose fault it was

Date: April 10th, 2021

FRANNY:

 The last thing Franny remembered before going into surgery was that someone was very angry but not at her. She thought for a moment that maybe that was Cornelius, but Lucille had said he was just boarding a plane from Berlin and he’d be a couple hours. Closer inspection told her that the angry guy was a doctor, South Asian or Middle Eastern by his appearance, and the fact it looked like her doctor was upset was alarming to her on multiple levels.

 She didn’t have much time to worry though.

 Before she could ask that everything be explained to her, she was told she was going to be taken in for immediate surgery, and that the situation was life threatening. Well. Not even Franny would argue when those words were whipped out.

 She woke up from surgery with her mind still cloudy, high off her ass on pain, but at least she probably wasn’t dead so that was the upside, right?

 Shortly after she woke up, a doctor entered the room. She didn’t even try to sit up to greet him properly, she didn’t have the strength.

 DIAN: 

 Dian was seething. This wasn’t the first time a doctor had completely ignored a patient’s concerns and nearly killed them. Nor was it the first time it had happened with this specific doctor…

 This was why he pursued another specialty in OBGYN. The way some doctors brush off their patient’s pain and concerns drove him insane. Especially when those patients were women whose needs were ignored because of their gender. Dian let Brennan have it. Right before he scrubbed in, in the middle of the hall… It was unprofessional, but so was letting your patient nearly die because you’re too arrogant to listen to them. 

 Dian strode into the recovery room for a routine check and saw that she was awake. Franny Robinson. He’d operated on a celebrity. He wasn’t so starstruck when she was under, but she was looking at him now. Shit.

 “Hi,” he gave a little wave with his free hand, “hi, Franny. I’m Doctor Morey, I’m just checking in on you after the surgery. How you feeling?” After a brief moment of eye contact, he started fiddling with the monitors and tubing. 

 FRANNY:

 Franny’s brain just barely registered what he was saying. Dr…Corey? No, it was an M, he said M-orey, Morey. She turned her head to look at him and gave her best, wobbly, post-surgery smile. This was embarrassing...she hated being seen in a less than stellar light, and post-surgery counted. Especially when her doctor was so handsome...perhaps she should set him up with Tallulah.

 As he clutched the clipboard, Franny noted she didn’t see a ring.

 “I’m all right, I think anyway.” She said. “Um...Dr. Morey, what happened?”

 She almost asked if her husband was here yet, but unless she was under for more than four hours, he was probably still on his way from the Bristol airport. Just their luck. Franny urges him to break his six months paternity leave for one day only to fly to Berlin for an afternoon thing, and this happens.

 DIAN:

 He supposed no one had time to tell her what had happened. Well, time to pull up a chair. He turned to pull a stool from the corner over to her bedside to give his spiel. 

 “So, it’s called a retained placenta. You’re a smart woman, I’m sure you can work out what it is.” She should have been made aware of her risk for it since she was basically the poster child for the demographic it usually affects. Which was the main reason Dian was clutching his clipboard as tightly as he was now. He sighed and gave her a serious look. 

 “It can be found during delivery, and you should have been checked for it. However, sometimes the symptoms don’t show up until weeks after delivery,” he paused a moment. Should he say what is on his mind or bite his tongue for the sake of a colleague and the hospital? Surely, there’s a lawsuit here. Fuck it. “I will say, though, Franny; I think you weren’t given the care you needed. I think your pain was overlooked and it was a very easy catch to make if your doctor had paid attention. This could have been fatal and I am sorry that you had to go through this.” 

 FRANNY:

 “Um...so, what, you mean part of the placenta didn’t deliver itself? And it made me sick? So I wasn’t crazy this whole time?” Franny asked, not really needing confirmation so much as a lack of pushback to make her understand.

 She wasn’t crazy. Her pain had been real, her bleeding hadn’t been her hormones going wack postpartum, she had been actively dying since she gave birth to her daughter last month.

 Cornelius will be furious when he hears this, Franny thought. She could count on one hand the number of times she’d seen that man angry in her twenty-one years of being with him and they all were results of physical or emotional harm having come to her or Wilbur. She almost felt sorry for Dr. Brennan.

 “...So. You’re saying the hospital trip was avoidable. Am I correct?”

 DIAN:

 “Yes.”

 That was exactly what he was saying. No woman should have to bleed out to get the medical care she needs. It was an unfortunate situation, but he was glad she was here now. What more could he do for her? Wish her well? Say ‘okay, have a nice recovery, my job is done’? He couldn’t, this mother almost just died. While it wasn’t his fault, Dian felt a responsibility. 

 “If you want to pursue legal action… I will fully support you. I don’t think Dr. Brennan did the best he could for you and he hasn’t been doing this for any of his patients for some time.”

 FRANNY:

 “Legal…” To be honest, Franny hadn’t been thinking about a lawsuit but that was also because she just woke up from surgery. When Dr. Morey brought it up however, she immediately wanted to suggest it to her husband.

 Her husband who, she imagined, was probably only about an hour or less away from home now. Unless her surgery had been a crazy twelve hours long which she doubted. 

 “I will be discussing that with my husband, no doubt. Thank you for your help, Dr. Morey. And your support, should my husband and I decide Dr. Brennan negligence deserves a reckoning.”

 And it did, it certainly did.

 DIAN:

 He gave a curt nod. That was all he could do. He had done way more than he intended to do; just check in. Dian might have just royally screwed up but supporting a patient in need was more important than falling in line. Doctors had malpractice insurance for a reason, but Dian secretly hoped the Robinsons sued him for all he’s worth and then some. 

 “Right. I- uh, I’ll leave you to rest now. This is a lot to process. Your cousins are waiting to see you. I’ll tell them you’re awake.” 

 He slid the stool back to its place and straightened his lab coat before he strode out of the room. That probably could have gone better.

#dian

[d2kvirus]

Dickheads of the Month: March 2021

As it seems that there are people who say or do things that are remarkably dickheaded yet somehow people try to make excuses for them or pretend it never happened, here is a collection of some of the dickheaded actions we saw in the month of March 2021 to make sure that they are never forgotten.

It was brainless enough when the Metropolitan Police suggested that Sarah Everard’s death could be blamed on her for walking home alone at night - but when it turned out that it was a police officer who murdered her, who had also been previously let off at least one case of publicly exposing himself entirely because he was a police officer, brainless left the table and instead we found ourselves noticing they were trying to blame the victim while had covered up for the eventual perpetrator

...while we also had the angry men of Twitter respond to Janie Jones’ clearly not serious suggestion that if a 6pm curfew for women were to be introduced then she would call for a 6pm curfew for men with all manner of bile, shouting, finger-pointing, and comments which the police might just so happen to want to look into

...while smirking bully Priti Patel also managed to get her oar in, as various Reclaim The Streets Vigils were shut down by the police (which is a good look, all things considered...) using the legislation that Patel rushed through a few days earlier to combat BLM protests several months after the BLM protests happened

...but then the Metropolitan Police managed to pivot the focus back onto themselves with their heavy-handed tackling of a vigil on Clapham Common that ended up with them handcuffing various women who were there - which they weren’t so keen to do when Kate Middleton was there - before releasing a statement that boiled down to “Look what you made us do” and then rushing to protect a statue of Winston Churchill for no reason whatsoever but making sure to have lots of photos of them protecting their precious statue anyway

...but then the Tory government demanded they get the last word by bulldozing through their boot stamping on a human face forever policing bill that bans all forms of protests due to it causing “annoyance” as if protesting against the ills of society is the same thing as somebody cutting in front of you in the supermarket queue or not holding open a door

...although the Metropolitan Police did try and regain their title as Biggest Dickheads the following week when an anti-lockdown march featuring professional victim Lawrence Fox and fecal enthusiast Gillian McKeith was met by the police letting them walk in a large, huddled mass without a mask between them and didn't lift a single finger

...and there’s nothing sinister about how the BBC failed to broadcast a single item saying the bill had been bulldozed through, while the piece on their website was buried instead of being on the front page

...and then at the buzzer Her Majesty's Inspectorate of Constabulary and Fire & Rescue Services published a report saying that the police acted appropriately at the vigil, in spite of a wealth of evidence and eyewitness testimony saying they absolutely fucking didn’t

Of course we can trust the Tory government when they publish a report stating that racism isn't a systemic issue in the United Kingdom, even when various people cited as experts for this report were very surprised to hear that they were part of it given they were never asked for their input

So it has been found that proven liar Boris Johnson misled parliament over the Covid contracts being doled out by the Tories, which I’m sure will lead to widespread calls in the media for his resignation - or are we to believe that the real reason for the British media calling for Nicola Sturgeon’s resignation is down to something different?

To sum up the British press completely losing their minds about the Meghan Markle interview, we had various royal correspondents responding to some of the more serious allegations with a combination of vicious smears that don’t debunk a single thing she said or outright misrepresenting what she said to try and tip the narrative in the Royals’ favour, while the Press Gazette issued a statement rejected her claims of bigotry in the British media that can easily be disproved in seconds with photos of various front pages of The Sun, the Daily Mail and the Daily Express on whichever subject you wish to choose - which was supported unintentionally by Ian Murray trying to shout down criticism having been presented with examples of such bigotry live on air - and in response to Murray’s hapless showing, the Society of Editors put out a mealy-mouthed nonpology that pretended that nobody ever said anything about bigotry...before suggesting Murray bugger off

...although Piers Moron Morgan picked up the baton for nastiness by first accusing Meghan of making up that she had suicidal thoughts and immediately after the interview aired it was announced that Meghan’s estranged father was lined up for an interview, although it does have to be said he was far from the only person to respond by throwing that at Meghan like a rock - only to then flounce out of the Good Morning Britain studio when called out for his bullshit, shortly before being told to hand in his resignation or else

So after Keir Starmer tore up the ballot for the Liverpool mayoral election last months, you would expect him to name a new list of candidates that was more to his liking - which is cynical enough - right?  Wrong, instead he backed the government's plans to seize control of the city, meaning that Keir Starmer handed over the Labour stronghold of Liverpool to the Tories with no fucking questions asked

Further enhancing public trust in the police was Andy Marsh of Avon and Somerset Police claiming that several of his officers suffered broken bones and one a punctured lung dealing with the protests in Bristol - which turned out to be a complete lie, a lie told by the Chief Constable of Avon and Somerset Police, as not a single officer was treated for any of those injuries

...and a few days later Avon and Somerset Police apparently had to deal with mindless thugs attacking police batons with their faces and seated protesters holding up their hand throwing themselves into their riot shields.  Oh wait, that isn't what happened, instead they waded in swinging batons and using blading tactics with their shields

Nice to know that the Tory government are so in control of the Covid pandemic that somebody with the Brazilian variant got through the tough measures of testing people on arrival by simply not filling out the form - and it was three weeks before the Tory government admitted this had happened

...and the main response appeared to be Chris Philp posting a lot of tweets pointing the finger at Croydon council for something completely unrelated the same day it emerged the person with the Brazilian variant was in Croydon, which looked like a blatant attempt to game Twitter’s search algorithm

Smirking bully Priti Patel ended up having to pay off Sir Philip Rutnam to make his claims against her go away after an expensive court case with the taxpayer footing the bill, which I’m sure will lead to widespread calls in the media for his resignation - or are we to believe that the real reason for the British media calling for Nicola Sturgeon’s resignation is down to something different?   

Nice guy Rishi Sunak wowed people with his Budget, where he gave NHS staff a 1% pay raise that, in some cases, amounts to £3.50 a week which won’t even cover the fees to park at their place of work, claims that he wouldn’t raise taxes while sneaking in tax hikes, bunging an additional £15bn to Serco for their woeful Test & Trace system, and also pretending that the UK could pursue freeports now that they're out of the EU in spite the UK having seven freeports between 1998-2012 - but we’re supposed to ignore all of that because he paid to have ludicrously self-aggrandising videos of himself made

Smirking bully Priti Patel not only somehow managed to pay £5400 in a single trip to Primark, nearly £7000 in two trips to a restaurant, and £700 on cupcakes,  but also claimed the lot on her expenses - however she most certainly did not spend £77,000 on having her eyebrows done, as that business was wound up  2018, meaning she spend £77,000 somewhere - which of course led to widespread calls in the media that she resign

So nice of proven liar Boris Johnson to say how glad he is to hear that Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe is being released from prison in Iran.  Yes, that would be the same Nazanin Zaghari-Ratcliffe who was imprisoned in Iranian prison due to proven liar Alexander Boris de Pfeffel Johnson, who was then Foreign Secretary, not reading his brief and then blurting out of she was guilty of the charges she was being held under which then led to her being given the prison sentence she has just been released from

In response to the Georgia shooting Fox News really read the mood of the nation when the debate was about anti-Asian hate and incel terrorism by doing their damndest to make sure the message told everyone who the real victim was: the shooter, that poor white boy that he is

It was so nice of proven liar Boris Johnson to arrange a charity gala to...hang on, let me check my notes, raise funds so that Carrie Symonds could redecorate her Downing Street flat

According to Andrew Pierce he doesn't see Meghan Markle as black.  Apparently it didn’t occur to Andrew Pierce how that sounds, a.) Really fucking bad, and b.) Like Andrew Pierce has reached the next level of Whitesplaining, which shall henceforth be called Whitekeeping

There’s something definitely sinister about the BBC seeing a clip where Charlie Stayt made a quip about known swindler Robert Jenrick having a huge photo of The Queen and an (upside down) union flag in his office, yet their response was to demand that Naga Munchetty publicly apologise for giggling

As if David Cameron fucking up the country in a failed bid to gain political advantage isn’t enough reason for him to be banned from going within five miles of Westminster, him calling up Rishi Sunak to see if he could get some people in the Treasury make the financial problems that Greensill Capital, who Cameron just so happens to have a stake in, certainly counts as another very good reason

Fish fetishist John Redwood reacted to the US removing trade tariffs on British cheese and British Scottish whisky by proudly crowed from the rooftops that this would not happen if we were still in the EU.  Three hours later the US removed trade tariffs on all EU cheese and alcohol exports

In another bout of Keir Starmer uniting the Labour party he decided that Anneliese Dodds would be removed as Shadow Chancellor for failing to effectively communicate the party’s vision as if it was Dodds’ fault for the poor poll results - only to do a quick 180 and back Dodds when the main response to this reason was “What the hell?”

The only surprise about The Core being exposed as a dodgy grift that was being secretly bankrolled by the deep pockets of Tim Rutherford-Browne is that it actually took so long for somebody to expose this - because it sure as hell wasn’t a surprise that Twitter account for The Core, plus the accounts and sock puppets run by Rutherford-Browne, very quickly vanished

Of course The Daily Mail and The Sun would both devote far more time and column inches to Angela Rayner claiming expenses for her air pods and rile their readership into an all too predictable frenzy than they would ever devote to, say, tens of billions of pounds worth of taxpayer’s money being siphoned off into the pockets of various Tory MPs’ mates no matter how unqualified or ill-equipped those people happen to be to fulfill those contracts

Clag peddler Gilson B Pontes demonstrated how ill-equipped they are to deal with fair criticism of their god-awful games (which Sony somehow keeps allowing on their store) by abusing Youtube’s copyright system to try and get Jim Sterling’s account terminated - and failed, thus drawing far more attention to Pontes trying to abuse the system, and Youtube doing fuck all about it even though this issue has persisted for years by this point

Are we going to hear about how Andrew Beattie is the latest victim of “cancel culture” or are we going to hear that Beattie could have started his message about how inclusive Beattie Communications in a better way than literally saying “At Beattie Communications, we don’t hire blacks, gays or Catholics��?  Gee, let me guess which one...

...and then Burger King make the exact same error by trying to tweet out a message of inclusivity on International Women’s Day, which was doomed when the first tweet of the chain said just five words: “Women belong in the kitchen”

There’s something perverse about Electronic Arts being hit with a scandal involving FUT cards from the FIFA series not because they’re clearly a form of gambling that the company have gotten away with for many years outside of a few countries who call it what it is, but because it turns out an EA employee has been selling the rarest FUT cards on the black market for several hundred pounds per bundle to many willing players who want to cheat the system.  The system of gambling.  Which is what FUT cards are

The Tories reached peak flag shagger when James Wild posed a series of questions about the lack of union flags in the BBC Annual Report, as if that means a goddamn thing

Sleazebag and alleged wrestler Joey Ryan thought he could pull a fast one and just so happen to improve his image for when the next round of SLAPP suits goes before the judge by organising an event called Wrestling For Women’s Charity - only for the entire grift to fall apart due to it being held by the company he owns, the charity itself having more than questionable backing, and the fact that Ryan was dumb enough that he tried to sneak his own face onto the poster and thought nobody would notice.  Coincidentally, once the poster was out, a lot of people noticed and the event was rapidly shut down.  Funny, that...

In the latest attempt by Gab to try and make themselves seem relevant they tweeted out some intense batshittery about preserving our way of life featuring a heavily-armed family (including the dog, which was also packing) around the barbeque.  There was one teeny tiny issue with this image: it was stolen art from the indie game The American Dream which actively satirises America’s obsession with guns, and all gab did was remove the watermarks from the picture (which they took without permission) for their rallying cry of “remember us?  We used to be where all the edgelords hung out before they went to Parler”

Once again Manchester United fans responded to a loss not by suggesting that the opponents played better but with racially abusing one of their players on social media, with Fred bearing the brunt of it this time in the wake of being knocked out of the FA Cup by Leicester

Forgotten 90s comedian Lee Hurst continued to be the face of angry white men on Twitter who think they’re funny by posting a tweet about Greta Thunberg that managed to be creepy, misogynistic, showing a remarkable failure to understand what condoms are made of, and worked out so well for him that Twitter promptly suspended his account 

And finally, irritatingly, we have Donald Trump and his proclamation that he won’t be creating a new political party for the 2024 election as he worries that he’ll split the Republican vote.  But Donald, you told us you were so popular, so surely both Republican and Democrat supporters will flock to your new party?  Or are you worried at losing two elections in a row?

#dickheads of the month

[floralguccistyles]

three: a new hope

My first and only relationship had been during my second year of university. His name was James Trinity, and while at first I had been excited because he had the same name as Captain James Kirk from Star Trek, the novelty wore off very, very quickly.

It wasn’t that James had been a bad boyfriend. On paper, he had checked off all the necessary boxes. He remembered dates, sent me sweet good morning texts, and wasn’t an embarrassing eater that I couldn’t take out to restaurants. The problem with James was that he was so...boring. He always suggested we went out to a movie and then dinner for our dates. And while that was perfectly acceptable while we were starting our relationship out and getting to know each other, it got boring after awhile when that was all he wanted to do.

There was also the flower problem.

When my dad picked up my mom for their very first date, he bought her flowers. When he picked her up for their second date, he bought her flowers. When they got married, he didn’t bring her flowers because she already had her own bouquet, but he had drawn a rose on a note and had one of his groomsmen deliver it to her before the wedding. It was a stupid tradition that in reality I actually should have hated, but my heart stopped every time I thought about a guy bringing me flowers. I wanted someone to pass by a bunch of daisies and think, I’ll get some of these for Petra to brighten her day. 

James hadn’t bought my flowers.

I knew it was stupid and if James had been my dream man, my deal breaker wouldn’t have been an absence of flowers. But paired with the fact that all he wanted to do was watch movies and eat, and he had been on his phone when my parents had come to London to meet us for dinner, the lack of flowers were a big deal.

After James, there really hadn’t been anyone that had caught my eye. I was more focused on Alien Crossing, anyway. I didn’t have time for a relationship. The only relationships I needed were with Jeremiah, Veronica, and Melody. Anyone else took a backseat.

Except, of course, my parents.

“We were listening to your podcast, love,” my mother said from the other side of the Skype call, smiling in confusion because technology still freaked her out. My dad was the one that dealt with all the computer and phone problems they had, but given that he was in Bristol to help with construction of a school there, my mum was alone this time to deal with the Skype call. She had already accidentally hung up on me twice while trying to turn the volume up. “The lad you had last time, that Harry fellow. Didn’t you go to school with him?”

My experience with Harry on AC the previous week was odd, to say the least. Realistically, he had done fantastically for his first time on a podcast. He had answered my questions seamlessly and the conversation flowed a lot easier than I thought it would have. I supposed it was because he knew so much about music. And though the scores of big movies were different to the music he created, it will still interesting to hear what he thought of them. I had, regrettably, been sitting on the edge of my seat every time he had answered one of the questions I asked. It was easy to discern why people loved him all around the world. He was charming, charismatic, and knew what he was talking about.

I hated him for it.

“Yeah, I went to school with him. He was the one that bullied me all the time and then became a famous singer.”

“Right, right. His mother sent me an edible arrangement once. I offered it to our neighbor a day later because he husband passed away.”

I felt a little stab of selfish satisfaction when she told me she hadn’t eaten the edible arrangement. I’m sure Harry’s mum was a wonderful enough lady, but she had spawned Satan himself. 

I hadn’t spoken to Harry since I had watched him drive away from Outset’s lot at around three in the morning. After recording, he had stuck around to listen to the editing that Jeremiah and I did, which was unnverving but we got through it. Then, he had done that weird handshake-bro-hug thing with Jeremiah and had offered me a polite smile. He probably knew that if he tried to hug me I would have thrown him off Outset’s roof. That smile was the last thing I had seen before he got in his nondescript black sedan and drove away.

“So are you two friends now?” my mother asked. She hadn’t thought there was anything wrong with Harry being on the show. She had called me the day after we recorded and when I had complained, she had reminded me that it probably took a lot of guts and courage for him to apologize. She was a little annoyed I hadn’t accepted and forgiven, but I reminded her that I was a grown woman and could make my own decisions. 

“No, Mum. Believe me, Harry Styles and I will never be friends.”

I heard her click her tongue disapprovingly. “Sweetheart, he was very kind to apologize,” she reminded me, “and you shouldn’t hold grudges. It isn’t good for you.”

It was the same argument every time. Harry wasn’t brought up much with my parents, but when he was, it was always the same. Forgive him, Petra, he didn’t mean it. Oh, he was just a kid, Petra. I could probably guess what she was going to say verbatim. It did nothing but piss me off. Did they not care that this was the kid who had me sobbing in my room at two in the morning because I felt like shit about myself and it was his fault?

“He made my life hell, Mum,” I said through clenched teeth.

“He was sixteen years old, sweetie. He didn’t mean what he said. And look at how successful you are now! Obviously he didn’t do any lasting damage.”

I wanted to scream. I had weekly appointments with Doctor Thorne. I was hit with waves of insecurity that debilitated me. I sometimes didn’t even want to go out of my house and deal with people because I was always waiting for the other shoe to drop, for someone to call me names and make fun of me. Of course, she wouldn’t see the lasting damage he and his friends had done. I hadn’t let her known. But dear god, shouldn’t she have seen that something was still wrong? Did she really not know me?

“I’ve got to go, Mum. I’m meeting with the publisher today for my book.”

“Oh, I’m so excited for it! You’ll tell your father and I when it’s available for pre-order, right? We want to get a hard copy and he’s going to load one onto my Kindle.”

When she said things like that, so vocal in her support for me, it made me think being mad at her was foolish. “Yeah, Mum, I’ll let you know. Talk to you later.”

“Bye, sweetie. Give your father a call when you’re free. He misses you!”

I hung up feeling the way I always did. Confused and tired. Talking to my parents shouldn’t have left me feeling so exhausted, but it always did. It was like I was divided into two different versions of myself: the version I was and the version they wanted me to be. I knew they wanted me to forgive Harry, forgive all my schoolmates that had made me go literally mad. But that wasn’t who I was. I wasn’t quick to forgive. And I hated feeling like I had disappointed them because of it.

While I loved what I did, sometimes I wish I had a normal nine to five. If I had a normal job, I would have to bury thoughts my mother had put in my head and be blissfully distracted until my day was over. And by the time five rolled around, I would probably be over it anyway. Instead, I would sit and stew and work myself up. I picked at my fingernails and decided that I wouldn’t allow myself to focus on it today. Today, I would be blissfully distracted.

I grabbed my purse and changed into some leggings, shoving my feet into my slippers while I locked my door shut behind me. I didn’t know where I was going, but I knew I needed to get out of the house. Melody was unfortunately at work so I knew contacting her wasn’t an option. I could try Jeremiah or Veronica, but I didn’t want to bother them if they were doing something important. Obviously, my parents were out of the question.

So I found myself at a coffee shop.

I had a habit of carrying around a book with me everywhere I went. I kept one in my purse at all times. The book this time around was The Princess Diarist, or the book Carrie Fisher had written before she died. I had already poured over the pages four times, but the book never got old. Ordering a peppermint coffee, which were still luckily around because it was still early January and the festivities of Christmastime hadn’t completely worn off yet, I sat at one of their tables in the back and flipped through the pages of the book, drinking in the words like a giraffe leaning over to drink from a pond. When I read, I devoured. I was sure I looked a little crazy, sitting there wide-eyed and so invested, but I didn’t care.

“Any good?”

I didn’t hear the question at first. It was only when someone cleared their throat that I jumped a little, looking up from the text to see a man around my age standing next to my table. He had a drink in his hand and was offering it out to me. I eyed him weirdly. “What?”

“The book. Is it any good? Also, this is your coffee. My name’s Peter so they messed up.”

I could only stare at him for a few moments, still enveloped in the world of Carrie Fisher before I processed what was happening. “Oh. Thanks.” I took the coffee from him, our fingers brushing just slightly. Peter was an attractive man. He had dark colored hair that was cut pretty close to his head and a strong, angular jaw. His eyes were the same color as the wood grain on the table I sat at. “You like Star Wars?”

“Is that a trick question?” 

I narrowed my eyes. “Top three characters, go.”

If my insistence phased him, he didn’t show it. “C-3PO, Obi-Wan, and Vader. But only Vader from the original three. Anakin’s annoying. You?”

I was impressed by his answer. Really, there was no wrong answer to this question, but it was nice to see he had taken my question seriously. “R2, Leia, and Obi-Wan.” I took a sip of my coffee, savoring the peppermint taste before I sent him a smile. “And yes, the book is good. Might change your perception of Harrison Ford a bit, but it’s nice to read Carrie’s version of events.”

“I’ve been meaning to pick it up, but haven’t gotten the time. I was thinking about just ordering the e-book.”

“You should get the print, if you can. There’s something nostalgic about reading her last memoir in an actual book.” I, ironically, had The Princess Diarist in my Books app on my phone, but I much preferred reading it from the original source.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Before he could say anything else, the barista called his name. “Ah, this must actually be mine.” He went to go collect his coffee and I thought that was the end of it. This stranger had just somewhat made my day better and that was all he was going to do. So, I lowered my eyes to my book again. It wasn’t until I heard the chair across from me scraping against the floor that I realized Peter had come back.

“Mind if I sit?” Peter asked, gesturing to the chair.

“Your admission price is a question. Favorite Star Wars film?”

“Well now, that’s a hard one. Empire Strikes Back, probably.” 

I crinkled my nose. “I guess you can sit down.”

“Ouch,” he mentioned, though he was grinning. He lowered himself into the seat and scooted the chair back in. “What’s yours?”

“The original three are the best because of their iconic status, no doubt,” I countered, slipping a bookmark into the page I was on before shutting it. “But the new trilogy is developed so much more. And the plot line is better. So I’d probably go with The Force Awakens.”

“The horror,” he said, clutching his chest and laughing a little. It was a nice laugh, deep and strong. It filled my stomach with butterflies. “But I’ll concede. The Force Awakens is brilliant.” He took a sip of his coffee. “So, what do you do, Petra?”

I was going to ask how he knew what my name was, but as if anticipating his question, he pointed to my name scribbled on the cup. I wanted to laugh. “I run a podcast. And I’m publishing a book soon, once my editor and publisher get their act together.” He laughed again and I swore in that moment I would try to make him laugh at least three more times during our conversation. His laugh was too addictive and sexy to not hear it. “What about you, Peter?”

“I’m afraid I live a much more boring life. I’m an accountant.”

“The horror,” I parroted. 

“Believe it or not, I enjoy it a lot. I’m good with numbers.” He took another sip of his coffee. I noticed that his hands could wrap around the entire cup and he still had room to lace his fingers together. I almost swooned. Something about a man’s hands was extremely hot. “Tell me more about this podcast. What do you talk about?”

“Mostly stuff like this,” I answered, gesturing to the book I had set on the corner of the table. “Amongst other nerd things.”

“Would these nerd things include Harry Potter?”

“Naturally.”

“Let me guess,” he said, trailing off for a moment as he gave me a once over. “Hufflepuff?”

“I self-identify as a Hufflepuff, but Pottermore has spoken. I’m a Ravenclaw.”

“Damn. Do I get half a point?”

“I’ll give you the full one, just because you’re speaking the language of my soul. Which is, of course, Harry Potter. You’re definitely a Ravenclaw.”

“Hole in one. Though I self-identify as a Slytherin.”

I smiled. I wanted to ask him more about him self-identifying as a Slytherin, but his phone beeped from his pocket. He wrestled it out of his jacket and stared at it for a moment. “Unfortunately, I have to go. I only get a thirty minute lunch break.”

I felt myself deflate like a balloon. “Oh. Right. Have fun with the rest of your work day.”

He rolled his eyes good-naturedly as he stood. “I really enjoyed talking to you, Petra. Would you…” he trailed off, chuckling nervously. “I don’t know. Would you want to hang out some other time?”

I was already sliding my phone across the table. “Put in your number. I’ll text you.”

He grinned and typed in his phone number, thumbs almost too big for the buttons. When he handed it back to me, his contact glared at me like a giant neon sign. “I’ll hopefully hear from you soon, Petra.”

“You will,” I assured, giving him a smile. 

“Great,” he said simply, grabbing his coffee. “Bye.” The farewell was spoken sweetly and had the butterflies swarming again. I repeated the sentiment and watched him walk out of the coffee shop door, smile permanently on my face.

I was too excited to even pick up my book.

~

“Are you wearing your good bra?”

Melody’s question came from the small speaker of my phone. She was propped on my vanity dresser in my room, on the tiny FaceTime screen. She had spreadsheets scattered around her on her kitchen table, and I could hear her roommates playing the telly too loudly. Every five minutes or so, she gritted her teeth and refrained from telling them to go fuck themselves. 

I’d only met her two roommates once. There was Cassandra, who was a petite girl who Melody had met in uni. She had been there on a volleyball scholarship, which I didn’t think existed until I met her. She had blonde hair that was pinstraight and was always pulled back into a ponytail. The other was Vera, who had been born in Canada and moved to London with her boyfriend from uni. They were still together as far as I knew. I didn’t like being around Derek, her boyfriend, because he never stopped staring at Melody’s tits. Or my tits. Or any tits that were in his vicinity, besides Vera’s.

Therefore, I could understand her ire.

“I didn’t want to come off as presumptuous,” I answered her question, twisting and turning in my dress to try and see how the material moved. I had already tried three dresses and none of them seemed to be working for me. This one was a short green dress, but you could see my underwear line and all my seamless ones were in the wash. 

“It’s not presumptuous to wear a good bra,” Melody argued. I heard the volume of her telly turn up and saw Melody roll her eyes.

“It’s kinda presumptuous. Like I assume I’m going to have sex.”

“I hate to tell you this, Pet, but you probably are going to have sex.”

“Still, I don’t want to look like I was expecting it.”

I stripped off the green dress and stood in my room, clad in only my underwear and bra. I heard Melody tisk in the background, so I assumed my bra was not to her liking. I didn’t care. This bra was comfortable and I liked it. Although it was comfy and had completely molded to fit my boobs (as most good bras did over time), it was still white and lacey, so she couldn’t complain much. My underwear didn’t match, but didn’t white go with everything?

“Try the burgundy one. That one makes your legs look long.” This was a feat, because I had short legs. I reached for the burgundy dress she was talking about and held it up to my body, inspecting it in my vanity mirror. It was decent, I decided. Not too fussy but not too plain. “And for God’s sake, put on a new bra.”

“I’m not putting on a new bra,” I admonished, rolling my eyes as I slipped the burgundy dress over my shoulders. It had short sleeves and ended just past mid-thigh. Once it was on, I decided it was perfect. “Coat or no coat?”

Melody snorted. “I don’t care how hot this guy is, he’s not worth freezing your arse off. It’s January in London. Don’t be a twit.”

She was right, of course. I grabbed a black coat my mum had gotten for me a couple Christmases ago. I slipped on some short black boots and did a little twirl. “What do we think?”

“Better if you changed the bra, but this will do.” At my glare, she chuckled. “You look great. You’re going to know Peter on his ass. I can’t believe you met someone as nerdy and weird as you. It’s just your luck.”

“I don’t always have this luck.” I checked the digital clock I had on the stand next to my bed and decided it was probably time to leave if I wanted to make it there on time. We were meeting at a little Mexican restaurant at six, and it was nearing 5:45. “I’ve got to go, Melody.”

“Good luck babe. You’ve got this.”

“Melody, can you shut up? Vera and I are trying to watch Hollyoaks!”

I saw Melody shut her eyes. I could only guess that she was debating homicide. “If I haven’t killed myself by the time you’re back, call me. I want to hear all about it. I might also stay at your place tonight.”

“You’ve got a key. Come over whenever you want.” I was used to Melody letting herself into my flat, especially when Cassandra and Vera were being annoying. 

“Might take you up on that. Have fun tonight. Do everything I wouldn’t do.”

I ended the chat and ordered myself an Uber. I really needed to get a car. Maybe I could bribe Zach to drive me around like he did with Jeremiah. Melody had complained that Peter hadn’t offered to come pick me up for our date, but I didn’t tell her that I preferred it that way. In case there was need for an escape, I wouldn’t have to feel pressured into him driving me back to my flat. 

I had been looking forward to this date all week. We had been texting  back and forth about various subjects of nerd-ism and then after about three days of texting he had asked me out. I would not admit to jumping around my flat like a loon when he finally did ask me out, but I wouldn’t deny it either. It had been so long since I had been interested in someone that I nearly forgot the protocol for how I was supposed to act on the days leading up to the date, but the conversation had still flown well.

Once my Uber had dropped me off at the restaurant, I texted Peter to let him know I was here. Assuming he was already inside, I pushed open the door to the restaurant and walked to the front.

“Hi. Reservations for Gerber.” The hostess clicked a couple of buttons on the computer and gave me a smile.

“Great. Follow me,” she said. I noticed her name tag said Stephanie. I don’t know why I noticed her name tag first, but I liked to know people’s names. My dad had always instilled in me that I needed to be polite and get the names of everyone I came across, whether it was an employee or boss. It showed respect, he mentioned. And it was true. My dad knew the names of all of his builders and still kept in touch with some of the people he had contracted for. 

I followed Stephanie to where Peter was sitting at a booth. He was dressed in a nice navy blue jumper and dark black pants, shiny loafers on his feet. I wondered briefly how much accountants made, but didn’t dare ask. I would simply have to look it up when I got home later. 

“Wow,” he said, standing to give me a quick peck on the cheek. He smelled heavenly. “You look amazing.”

“You too,” I responded, giving him a smile as I sat across from him. 

“You want some wine?” he asked.

“I’m not a connoisseur by any means, so I’ll trust whatever you get.”

He ordered some fancy bottle of red wine I couldn’t pronounce the name of and Stephanie set off to go retrieve it. “How was your work week?” I asked, grabbing my napkin and setting it in my lap. I’d be damned if I let any food get on my dress. “I’ll have you know I’m very intrigued in accounting now. I know almost nothing about it.”

“Lots of numbers, lots of financial documents, lots of typing. The rest of the week was good. I was looking forward to this.” My heart fluttered a little bit at his confession. “But accounting is boring when you’re comparing it to podcasts. How was your work week? Any cool guests?”

“Work week was great. I don’t record this week’s podcast until tomorrow, so I’ve got tonight free. The guest is Ray Holman, who did the costuming for several series of Doctor Who.”

“That’s exciting.” Stephanie brought back our wine and poured us each a glass. When she asked if we were ready to order, I shook my head. “Couple more minutes, please,” Peter suggested. Stephanie left with a smile. 

“Have you been here before? I wonder what’s good.” I opened up my menu and started scanning the entrees they had listed.

“I was going to ask you.”

“This is my first time here.” I looked around the restaurant. It was decorated with varying shades of neon colors. It looked like a festival of some kind. There was a mariachi song playing over the speakers that had a lot of trumpet sounds. It made me want to get up and dance. 

“Yeah, but you’d probably still know what’s good,” Peter said. I looked at him in confusion and raised a brow. He furrowed his brows, like he didn’t understand what I wasn’t getting about his statement. “You know… because you’re Mexican.”

Because you’re Mexican.

I was lucky. In England, I hadn’t been made fun of for my race until high school, when Nathan Penrose had gotten tired of me not responding to his other taunts and teases. He told me to go back to Cuba, where people like me belonged. I didn’t let it bother me because I knew Nathan Penrose was a jackass. Plus, he had been in high school at the time. Though it was no excuse, teenage boys were incredibly stupid. Peter, however, was no teenage boy. This was a grown man. Who had just said I would know what to order at a Mexican restaurant because… because I was Mexican.

“I’m Cuban, actually,” I said in a whisper, unable to come up with any other response.

“Aren’t they sort of the same thing?”

I wanted to throw up. I wanted to burst into tears. I wanted to curl up in a ball and bury myself underneath blankets. “No,” I responded, my voice still pathetically quiet. “Cubans are from Cuba.”

“But you grew up in Cuba, right? So you probably know what kind of food is authentic or not.”

“I was born in Cheshire,” I tried to argue, but my mouth felt like it was filled with cotton. I didn’t have time to say anything else when Stephanie was back, notepad in hand and a cheery smile on her face.

“We know what we want?”

“I’ll take whatever he gets. I have to go to the loo.” I couldn’t stand up fast enough. I felt the embarrassment fill my veins, like ice water. My throat was tightening, a sure sign that I was going to start crying. I didn’t want Peter to see me cry. The jackass didn’t deserve it. I wobbled in my heels, teetering as I marched to the bathroom, but I didn’t care if I fell flat on my face. It would still be less embarrassing than what Peter had just asked me. 

My tunnel vision for the loo was so severe I almost didn’t hear someone call my name. I didn’t realize anything until a hand suddenly grabbed my wrist. I jerked away, thinking it was Peter and preparing myself to scream at him and admit defeat in front of all the patrons of the restaurant, but the face I saw when I turned was familiar and comforting.

“Petra?” Bailey asked. Her short red hair was pulled into a tiny bun at the base of her skull and her blue eyes were watching me with worry. “Are you okay?”

Numbly, I nodded. And then I sniffled. Bailey’s eyes widened. “Come on,” she said softly, standing from her seat. “Let’s get you cleaned up.” I could only imagine this meant a tear had escaped and my mascara was running. “I’ll be right back, lads.”

It was then that I noticed who she was sitting with. There were two men sitting at the table with her, one of them nodding his head and thinking nothing of Bailey’s weird departure. The other, however, I knew.

“Petra?” Harry asked, eyes widening when he saw the tears on my face. “Are you okay?”

I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a response. I just turned and made a beeline for the loo, feeling Bailey following behind me. I burst into tears fully when the door of the bathroom shut behind me, and Bailey was immediately at my side, brushing my hair away from my face like a mother would to a child. 

“Oh, Petra,” she signed out, her gaze pitying. “What happened, love?”

So I told her. I told her about how excited I was to go on a date with Peter, how swimmingly things had gone when we were texting, and then the cold reality that hit me like ice. Her eyes narrowed and hardened as I blubbered through an explanation, my words barely sounding like actual words and more like garbled sounds strung together. Her hands on my shoulders rubbed reassuringly as I buried my face in my hands.

“He’s a prick, Petra. A racist, selfish prick. He doesn’t deserve a second of your time or your tears.” Bailey grabbed some toilet paper from the stall and handed it to me so I could dab my tears away. My makeup was beyond saving, but she grabbed her purse and held out a concealer. “It’ll be too light for you, but it’s there if you want it.”

I didn’t care that Bailey was at least ten shades lighter than me. I sniffled, picked up the concealer, and smeared some underneath my eyes so the mascara tracks disappeared. I looked like a ghost, but I didn’t look like some racist arsehole had just stomped on my heart. I preferred the ghost. “I don’t even want to go back out there.”

“You don’t have to. I’ll take you home. Jeff and Harry won’t mind.”

That brought on the second topic of discussion. “How the hell do you know Harry Styles?”

“I don’t, actually. Jeff and I are family friends though, and he worked with Harry on his record. Jeff just said a friend was in town and asked if he could come to dinner with us.” Bailey raised her finger to blend in a spot of concealer I missed. “But Jeff’s really understanding. He’ll get it if I need to drive you home.”

“I don’t want to ruin your dinner,” I said quietly. “I’m just being stupid.”

“No you aren’t,” Bailey responded vehemently. “He’s being an arse. C’mon love, it’s better than taking an Uber home. Between you and Veronica, I’m sure you’re funding the entire Uber company on your own.”

I managed a small chuckle and tossed the toilet paper in the bin. “How much do I look like Casper the friendly ghost?”

“On a scale of one to ten, an eleven.” But she smiled. “You look fine, love. Let’s head out, yeah? Maybe you, Veronica, and I can have a good old-fashioned slumber party?”

“I’m afraid my front room won’t fit us all.”

Bailey laughed and linked her arm with mine. When we opened the door to the loo, I almost hit someone with it. Standing outside, leaning against the wall, was Harry Styles himself. 

“Christ, wear a bell,” I muttered.

“Are you okay?” he asked. He reached out, as if to check me over himself to see if I was alright, but decided better of it. His hands dropped back down to his sides. He probably knew that if he tried to touch me, I’d bite his fingers off like a rabid chihuahua. “What happened?”

“None of your business,” I grumbled angrily.

“But everything’s okay now, yeah?”

I knew he didn’t mean his concern. It wasn’t genuine. He couldn’t give a fuck about my feelings when Nathan Penrose was screaming at me to go back to “where I came from” and he couldn’t give a fuck about me now. “Leave me alone, Harry.”

Bailey and I said goodbye to Jeff, leaving Harry standing outside of the bathroom. I didn’t even look in Peter’s direction as I left the restaurant with Bailey at my side, making sure to slip Stephanie a five before I left. Bailey kept her arm linked through mine, as if she was afraid I was going to fall over if she let go. Oddly enough, I appreciated the support.

Minutes later, I was tucked into Bailey’s small little Volvo and we were on the way back to my flat. 

“Do I want to know what’s going on with you and Harry?”

“Too much to explain. I’m surprised Veronica hasn’t mentioned it.”

“She mentioned that you guys grew up together in Holmes Chapel, but didn’t mention much else. There some bad blood there?”

I let out a wry laugh. “You could say that.” We pulled up to my flat and I saw the light on. Must have meant Melody had actually taken my offer. “Looks like Melody’s there.”

“That’s good. Didn’t want you to be alone.” She parked the car and turned to face me. “You’ll be okay, right? I don’t need to stage an intervention?”

“No, I’ll be fine. Thanks Bailey. Veronica’s lucky to have you.”

“Damn right she is,” Bailey laughed. She leaned over to give me a quick hug. “Try not to dwell on what that arsehole said. He’s just insensitive and rude. And the first thing I want you to do when you get inside is delete that prick’s number.”

“Will do. See you later.” I hopped out of her car, wobbling slightly on my heels but gaining my balance pretty quickly. I walked to my front door, digging through my clutch to get my keys and holding them up triumphantly to Bailey. I unlocked my door as her headlights faded away.

Melody was sitting on my couch, her spreadsheets spread around her again. She had her glasses on (which she hardly wore) and her hair was up in a wet ponytail. She must have taken a shower. She looked up when I shut the door behind me and waved. “Thanks for letting me come over. I couldn’t get any of my shit done with Vera and Cassandra blabbering about Hollyoaks in the background. How was…” she trailed off when she saw the expression on my face. “Oh no, Pet. That bad?”

“He said I should know what to order because I’m Mexican and I would know what was authentic.”

“He didn’t.”

I nodded as I flopped down on my loveseat, not wanting to disturb the organization strategy she obviously had going for her spreadsheets. “He did.”

“What a prick! I’m glad you wore the bra you did. He didn’t deserve the good bra.”

“No he did not.” I toed off my boots. “I should have known the second I walked into the restaurant. He didn’t bring flowers.”

To anyone else, this statement might seem weird, but Melody knew what I was talking about. “Someday someone will get you flowers, Pet. You’ll be sick of getting flowers. He’ll buy you a whole florist shop.”

I didn’t believe that for a second, but it was a nice idea. “Whatever. Bailey was there with one of her friends and she drove me back. Speaking of which, Harry Styles was there.”

“And the night gets better and better.”

“Exactly.” I shrugged off my jacket. “I need a shower. I want to wash this night off of me. Will you order some take out? I didn’t actually get a chance to eat.”

“Sure. I’ll surprise you.”

I sent her a half-hearted thanks as I made my way to my bathroom. Tossing my dress on the floor as if casting off the events of the night, I turned the water to boiling. My underwear and bra joined my dress on the floor as I stepped into my shower.

If I stupidly cried a little bit more, I made sure my sobs were quiet. I didn’t need Melody knowing how pathetic I was feeling about this whole experience. 

Once I was clean and in some warm pajamas, I walked back out to the living room. In addition to the spreadsheets, Melody now had a box of pizza and paper plates spread out on my coffee table. I reclaimed my spot on my loveseat and thanked her for the plate she offered me. “What’re you working on?” I mumbled through a bite of pizza.

“Shit Trennan was supposed to get done. I’m almost done with it, but I’ll be mad about it for the rest of the week.” She looked up and gave me a small smile. “You want to watch Avatar the Last Airbender?”

“I thought you were working.”

“Eh, I can deal with you watching the telly. You don’t scream at it like Vera and Cassandra. Plus, I know seeing Zuko’s character development always makes you feel better.”

She was right. 

“Okay.” I grabbed my Apple TV remote and pulled up my Amazon account, where I had already purchased all three seasons. “Thanks, Melody.”

She didn’t look up from her spreadsheets, but she smiled as I clicked on the first episode.

~

“Who the fuck is at your door at nine in the morning?” Was what I was woken up to. Melody was standing at my bedroom door, clad in the pajamas she had packed when she left her flat last night. I was bundled in my blankets, head barely poking out above the fleece as I groggily stared at her.

“What?” 

“Someone’s knocking on your front door. Woke me up, the prat.”

“It might be Bailey checking on me. She and Veronica wake up weirdly early.” I pushed back my blankets and shivered when the cool London air hit me. Shoving my fuzzy socks on my feet before I dared to put them on the cold wood floor, I stood from my bed and blinked slowly, trying to wake myself up. I had watched the entire first season of Avatar the Last Airbender before both Melody and I decided to call it a night. I had gotten about four texts from Peter before I finally decided to just block his number. I didn’t feel like dealing with him again. 

“Tell Bailey that the rest of the human civilization doesn’t wake up at nine on Saturday morning.”

“I’ll be sure to pass the note along.” I padded out to the living room. The knocking seemed to have stopped, but I still looked through the small peephole to make sure whoever it was had left. “There’s no one there anymore.” I didn’t remember ordering anything online, but I could have purchased something for AC while half-asleep one night. It had happened before.

However, when I opened the door, it wasn’t a cardboard box at my doorstep.

It was a pretty bouquet of flowers. There were baby’s breath sprinkled in with pretty dusty rose colored tulips. There was some greenery mixed up with them, but the tulips were the center of attention. 

“If those are from Peter, toss them in the fucking garbage.”

I lifted them from my doorstep and kicked the door shut with my foot. I brought them over to my kitchen counter, staring at the beautiful arrangement. There was a small little card attached to a silver bow, wrapped around the vase. My fingers shook as I reached for it.

Petra,

I hope you’re feeling better. These are a thanks and a sorry. Thanks for letting me be on AC and getting to know the world of podcasts. Sorry for everything else.

- Harry

P.S. That Peter guy is a arse. Don’t let him get to you.

“Well, shit,” Melody muttered as she read the note over my shoulder.

Well shit indeed.

#1dff #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles ou #ac

[judgement-free-sideblog]

Cakes and accidents

Don’t you just love meet cuties?? I do, I got this idea in my mind for like a week and finally got the time to write it, I hope you like it as much as I did

Tom Holland x reader

One shot

Warnings: Fluff, maybe cursing

The brown box with a “Congratulations” write on top felt heavy in your hands, you checked the clock and it was 2:15 in the afternoon, your sister won’t be at home at least for another hour, and you had been sitting waiting for the cake to be ready at the shop for like an hour so you choose to walk the Canbury Gardens to the end instead of walk around and take the bus.

The cold breeze from the Tamesis felt nice in your face, it was lovely august afternoon and for once things were going great, not like they were bad before but there was hardly anything that could ruin that moment, until she arrived

The rumor of fast running legs and the voice of a man screaming “Tessa please stop!!” Make you turn around, still holding tightly the box but it was too late a big mass of grey hair and enthusiastic licking was already over you and suddenly you found yourself on the grass and the cardboard box completely destroyed with chocolate and hazelnut filling all over you and the friendly dog.

“I’m so sorry ma'am, are you alright?” A polite voice over your head said and then he talked to the dog “Tessa you naughty girl, I told you to not run away like that”

“Oh please don’t blame her, I’m fine. And please don’t call me madame I feel like a thousand years old” You immediately said and then taking the hand he offered you to get up, surprised by how strong he was, and there he was Tom Holland with a concerned look holding your hand “And I’m only twenty, I’m… I’m…” Your tongue froze in your mouth when you realize who he was, even when him screaming Tessa was a given you could not believe your eyes and considered the possibility that you may be having a concussion and imagine the whole thing"Y/N" you said finally trying to look casual but certain he noticed you staring for a moment to his arms, and you quickly let go of his hand.

“Oh nice to meet you miss” he said with a smile that started in his eyes and extended to his whole face “I’m…”

“Oh no the cake” you interrupted him when you saw Tessa desperately trying to destroy the rest of the box “Fuck! Now I’m never going to make in time” you take both hands to your mouth and look back at him with a nervous smile “I’m so sorry”

“Oh don’t worry darling” He said laughing “But please let me pay for what this troublemaker did, I’m sure your… boyfriend? Won’t mind if you are late with a cake” He said petting the dog and trying to read you reaction.

“Oh no, this was an accident I couldn’t accept, and no he wouldn’t mind” You said now mentally laughing at the subtle disappointment in his eyes “Because he doesn’t exists, it was for my sister she got a fancy exchange to a USA college and we are throwing a surprise farewell party at four”

“Oh” He said smiling again “In that case with more reason there’s gotta be something I can do, where did you bought it?”

“In a Pastry shop in Eden Street, like 10 minutfrom here is not far nut I’ll never make it in time, I have to get out of the garden, then go back and wait for the cake to be ready and then go back to my house” you start listening knowing too well it was impossible to be at home before four. “There is no way I make it on time, I’ll just bought some biscuits on the way home”

“This place is by any chance Glutopia?” He asked taking out his phone, you nod and he started dialing a number, so you take a moment to watch him, he was wearing jeans and a dark grey tshirt and a baseball cap, you can smell a discreet fresh scent and assume is his perfume, he looked as perfect as you can imagine if not better.

You look directly at your feet trying to remain calm and don’t freak out and start asking a million annoying questions that could make him feel uncomfortable, it was nice of him to try and introduce himself, but he was Tom Holland you knew that very well and your other concerns were keeping you from fully acknowledging the situation.

“Thanks man I’ll be there in fifteen” He hung up the phone and looked at you once again with that bright and contagious smile of his “it’s all settled, a friend of mine owns that Pastry shop and he seems to remember your order I asked him to make it again for you, let’s go!”

“Oh that’s so sweet of you, but you really don’t have to…” you start but he was already walking “Go where?” You manage to ask now following and the happy dog that kept trying to run.

“To my car of course, you’ll get there faster if I drive you, is the least that I can do” He said as if it was obvious and you ignore the surrealism of the situation and followed him.

“You lady are going to need a bath when we get home” He said to Tessa once she was comfortably in the back seat and you on the fron of his Audi, Of course he has this car your mind says and you prevent yourself for not taking pictures like a crazy person, thanking god you phone is in your purse. “I’m really sorry, she can be very strong, you are not hurt, are you Y/N?”

“I’m fine really” you said delighted by the sound of your name in his lips “If anything is my fault for being clumsy and getting on her way, we actually have a dalmatian at home and he can be very affectionate at times, so I’m used to”

“Oh that’s nice, what is his name?” He answered and you can feel he is genuinely interested.

“Bones, he was so skinny when my mom rescued him, and you could see his spine under the skin, so we called him that, poor thing had terrible owners before” You answered, and looked at the window sad because the ride was coming to an end so quickly.

“Oh that’s so sad, but I’m glad you and your family take care of him, I can’t live without this beauty right here” he said once he parked the car and give a friendly rub to Tessa’s head.

“Well he is the light of the house actually” You said looking at the entrance of the shop “Thanks for bringing me”

“I actually fancy a cup of tea right now, if you don’t mind me waiting with you, I will give you a ride home if you want, you know make sure the cake gets safe and sound to his destiny” He said taking the dog out and offering his arm to you.

“Sure, that would be lovely” you said taking it, and it was a good thing since your legs were about to not respond by how perfect he was and how sweet and chivalrous he acted.

“So your sister is in college, and you?” He asked once you were sitting in the thankfully empty shop, a pair of hot cups of tea and a plate of biscuits were between he and you and it felt so right and simple that you finally relaxed and were able to talk without fear, he had that effect on you, to make you feel comfortable and like all his attention was on you.

“I’m getting my Bachelor’s degree in English literature at Bristol” You said, with no success in hiding how proud of yourself you were “I intend to become a writer”

“Oh a smart girl, that’s amazing” he said taking a biscuits and giving it a big bite.

“I didn’t mean to brag really, what do you do you…?” Sure let’s pretend I don’t have all your movies at home a phone filled with pictures of your precious face, your mind said but you managed to sound convincing and even dare to ask “I’m so sorry I didn’t catch your name”

A baffled look appeared on his face for a moment, but he don’t seem offended, just surprised, and you were about to stop the joke and simply said that of course you knew who he was but he spoke first.

“How rude of me, I’m Stanley I live nearby and I’m an actor, and you should brag, never be ashamed of doing something you love” he said, and now you were not sure if he was playing along or if he was just relief of having a normal conversation, so you played along.

“Oh that’s so wonderful, theater, movies or telly?”

“Theater, and I’m actually about to start a play in a month, you should come” he said with no sarcasm, now you were sure he was enjoying not being the big star but a simple guy from London and that made you smile even more.

“I would love to, but in that case you should definitely let me invited you a pint after, since you have been so splendid rescuing me from my clumsiness” you said reinforcing your point since a piece of biscuit fall in your cup splattering your blouse.

“That would be perfect” he said and he offered you a napkin laughing, and then took another and to your surprise he started writing his number on it. “So you can call me in case you need to get rescued again” You took it with a foolish smile in your face, holding to it as it was your most precious possession. “So what kind of writer you want to be?” He asked and you keep talking like that for the next 30 minutes until the cake was ready, and as he said he took you home, and you were there with 15 minutes to spare before other people and your sister arrived.

“Well I guess that’s it” he said once you were in front of your house and you were petting Tessa and saying goodbye to her “I umm… I hope I’ll see you again, maybe in a less disastrous situation, I actually live nearby”

“I wouldn’t call it disastrous, more like a friendly accident” you said putting an almost imperceptible extra intonation on the f word, the idea of being so close to your door and back to reality gave you courage to take one last risk, and after you shake his hand and turned to enter your home you add “I’ll see you around neighbor” and run inside without looking back.

“Oh she definitely knows!” Harry said taking a big bite of the pizza Tom had ordered for dinner “What I still don’t get is why you didn’t tell her from the start hey I’m Tom Holland, although she looks hot, and you said she’s got a sister?” He was looking at the picture Y/N had sent him two days later and wich Harry had surprised him smiling at, there was dalmatian looking at the girl with sad eyes and the text said:

Someone’s jealous because I smell like Tessa.

“Well she is a smart woman, and it was nice having a nice conversation with her, and her sister sounds way too smart for you” he said teasing the young boy. “Maybe I’m just reading too much into this, but I still feel shitty about lying to her”

“Well your name is actually Stanley, and you do are about to star in a play, so no lies there, just call her and asked her out, I’m sure miss Bristol alumni here would like you”

He only nodded, even if she knew who he was her face and her laugh kept popping up in his mind in the last three days they had been chatting, so he finished his meal and walked away from the table, writing another text for her, thinking this was the best accident he ever had.

Hey neighbor, dinner tomorrow?

#tom holland is adorable #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland #tessa holland #tessa #meet cute #love attack #love and destiny #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fluff #london #harry holland #cake #tea and biscuits #tea and cake #100

[legolaslovely]

Mistakes Part 1

A/N: Have some more vampire boyfriend feels because I am so pissed at this show (so I’m rewriting it! WHOOO). Mitchell deserves so much better and I can’t deal with how much his character has changed since the first season. So this is first season baby Mitchell if anyone was wondering lol. Hope you guys enjoy.

Pairing: Mitchell x Reader

Word Count: 3,356

Warnings: Spoilers for show, language, talk of blood, violence, fluff, allusions to smut

Summary: Mitchell takes his girl out for drinks to forget about his troubles, but his troubles follow them.

Mistakes Masterlist

God fucking damn it. This day had gone from bad to worse. The worst he could imagine, really. All he wanted was to spend some time with this completely normal, human girl who had his heart, despite everything he did to keep it for himself. He had a whole hour of her smile, her laugh, her hands on him, and now she was in someone else’s grip, barely breathing with tears stuck in her eyes. How did this happen? He went back to the start.

He never expected leading a group of unruly vampires would be this hard. But he never expected to actually be doing it either. Once Herrick was gone, of course it became his job to keep the vampires of Bristol in line. He could never let things lie or leave the job to someone else. These things always fell to him. Mistake number one.

Mistake number two and three came quickly. He thought he would be accepted as leader. He thought they would listen to him and learn to go without blood. He learned very quickly none of that would happen. He had spent the day planning, threatening and even killing one of his own. He needed an escape. He needed (Y/N).

He left the funeral parlor, took a cigarette from the box in his pocket and lit the end, hiding it from the wind in his gloved hands. He crossed the street and slammed his fist on the hood of a car that almost ran him over. The driver honked and cursed him but Mitchell gave no answer, he just continued down the street. He took a drag, holding the burn in his lungs and breathing out all his frustrations and troubles of the day. He refused to bring them to her.

He fumbled with his keys as he stood outside the door to the house. He smirked, listening to the voices inside.

“No one would be fooled by that, even I knew that was fake,” he heard George say.

“You did not, George. Don’t even lie.” Mitchell grinned when he heard (Y/N)’s voice. She never took any of George’s shit.

“Well, just look at it!” George yelled.

Mitchell stomped out his cigarette and pushed the door open. (Y/N), George and Annie were piled on the couch, hands out and pointing to the small television across from them. None of them noticed him enter. He shut the door and snuck around the couch and sat on its arm next to (Y/N). She turned and grinned.

“Look what George found in the bin at the old video store. The entire series of The Real Hustle on DVD. Can you believe it?” She grabbed his arm in her exhilaration. He knew she was more excited for him to watch it than anything else.

“The whole thing?” he asked.

“The whole thing!” She almost screamed. She shoved the DVD case in his hands. “No more checking the guide every Thursday. You guys can watch it whenever you want.”  

“George, you spoil me,” he said. He laughed when George waved his sarcasm away. Mitchell was actually quite happy with the find. He knew he hadn’t seen every episode in the first season and could never seem to catch up. But he knew it wasn’t (Y/N)’s favorite thing to watch and she was only humoring him.

She stood. “Want some coffee or a beer or something? Where’d you go today?”

He followed her into the kitchen, ignoring the urge to grab her and take her to his room right then. “Had to stop by work.”

She hummed, unimpressed and unconvinced but she didn’t press him. She held out a beer bottle in question. He took it, putting it back in the door of the fridge and set his hands on her hips, pulling her back into his chest. “I was thinking…” He kissed her neck.

“What were you thinking?” He could hear the smile in her words.

“That we could either stay here and watch The Real Hustle with George pretending he knows everything,” he paused and listened to her soft laugh. “Or we could go to that bar around the corner you like and have a couple drinks there.”

“Tough choice,” she said. She turned in his arms and threw hers over his shoulders, kissing him. “Lemme fix my hair. I’ll be down in a sec.”

He watched her hurry up the stairs. Once she disappeared, he changed into the jacket he knew she liked him in.

“Where are you two going?” Annie asked.

“For a couple drinks. That good band is playing at the Hangar and I need to get out for a bit.”

Annie started to question, but George spoke over her. “You’re missing The Real Hustle,” he said without taking his eyes off the screen.

“That’s the joy of having it on DVD now, George.”

“I guess,” he said. Mitchell chuckled.

He turned and watched (Y/N) hop down the stairs. He noticed she had changed her shirt. He threw his arm around her shoulders and brought her to him to kiss her hair.

“See you two later,” she said.

George and Annie sang goodbye to them as Mitchell pulled (Y/N) through the door. He closed it and left all his thoughts of vampires inside. That was his next mistake.

They sat on the corner of the bar away from most of the other people. He ordered her favorite drink and watched her bop her head along to the band. Her lips barely moved as she sung the words. After he paid for the drinks, he scooted his chair closer to her.

“So, are you gonna tell me what went on today?” she asked.

“Nothing out of the ordinary,” he said, sipping from his glass and glancing at the band.

She smirked and set a hand on his arm. “John Mitchell, I know when you’re stressed, babe. So you can either tell me now when I’m buzzed or tell me later when I’m hungover. I promise the latter will be worse.” She kissed where his jaw met his ear.

He breathed out a laugh. “There’s really no need to scare you. I just want you to have a good time tonight.”

“We will do that once you tell me what’s going on. I’m not scared, you know that.”

He knew she wouldn’t let this go. She played with his fingers as he told her. He had taken on the role of leader because he was the only one capable of it. The vampires had been playing with him, pushing back, so to send a message he killed one of his own. Now they respected him and he hated himself.

She nodded, ran her fingers through his curls and asked him if he wanted another drink. This is what he loved about her, she always knew exactly what he needed, even when he didn’t know himself. She knew when to listen, when to discuss, and when to just ignore things for a few hours. She turned to the bartender and ordered two shots of bourbon.

They clinked their glasses and downed the fiery liquor. She hopped off the stool and grabbed his hand. He gladly followed her to the middle of the packed floor, taking in the curve of her hips and the sway of her hair. When she was happy with their placement in front of the band, she turned and threw her arm over his shoulders. He couldn’t help but kiss her.

His hands found their place on her hips and they swayed to the music. He was surrounded by drunk, sweaty humans but no one emitted heat like her. He was addicted to it. Underneath the music in his ears, the sound of her heartbeat and the blood rushing through her veins pounded through his body. His lips attached to her neck and he felt her flush in embarrassment. She hated this kind of public display but she let it slide for him.

Song after song ended and new ones began. A new voice of the band rang out through the bar and Mitchell chuckled. (Y/N) looked up at him and he pushed her hair behind her ear. “I used to listen to this song on an 8-track.”

She listened and circled her hips to the new beat. “God, you’re old.”

He laughed and spun her so her bottom was pressed against him. He spoke into her ear. “Too old to please you?”

He didn’t hear her hum but felt the vibration. “Absolutely not.” Her hand swung around his head and grasped at his hair, pulling him down for a wet kiss. Then she giggled and leaned back on his shoulder. “I would have loved to have seen you in the seventies. I bet you were the hottest guy around. Walking sex.”

His laugh fanned over the skin on her neck. “If bell bottoms and messy hair do it for ya.”

“Oh, they do.”

When the song ended, she spun in his arms. He asked her if she wanted another drink.

“Yes please,” she said with a sweet kiss. “I’m gonna duck into the bathroom first though.”

He let her leave his embrace and immediately wanted her back in it. He watched her make her way through the crowd until she disappeared into the sea of people. That was his worst mistake.

It only took a moment for him to get the drinks. The floor waved a bit underneath him as he waited for her, leaning on the wall next to the restrooms. He bobbed his head to the music, tried to decide if he wanted another cigarette, and sipped on his drink. He hooted for the band when the next song ended. Then he almost dropped the drinks.

He heard (Y/N) scream him name through the door. He threw the glasses on the table next to him and ran into the women’s bathroom, almost taking the door off its hinges. Then he froze, immediately sober, watching (Y/N)’s own dark blood run down her neck.

“You may want to lock the door, sweetheart.” Daisy’s cool voice flitted from her red lips just behind (Y/N)’s shoulder.

His stomach flipped. He stared at (Y/N)’s apologetic eyes and wanted to scream. How did this happen? He let her out of his sight for one moment and now she was bleeding in Daisy’s grasp. He saw tears welling in her eyes and the red marks on her arms from Daisy’s nails. How long had she struggled before he heard her screams? His eyes narrowed. “Let her go.”

“But we’re having so much fun here,” Daisy said. She licked a stripe up (Y/N)’s neck, stopping the blood from dripping on her shirt. “Want a taste?”

Rage flooded his veins quicker than bourbon ever could. He stepped to them, ripping a sink from the wall and sending porcelain scattering all over the tile floor. “Daisy, I said let-”

“Careful,” she said. Her nails dug into (Y/N)’s skin and drew blood. “Don’t want to cause a scene.” She lifted her finger and sucked, watching Mitchell’s chest heave. She hummed. “God, I forgot how sexy you are when you’re angry with me.” Her eyes flashed black and she showed her fangs, ready to burrow back into (Y/N)’s neck.

He growled. “Let her go now or I will tear you to pieces.”

“As you did Kara?”

Mitchell’s brow furrowed. “Is that what this is about?”

“You’re the big chief now. Always have to send a message when one of us steps out of line. What are you gonna do once I kill your human?”

His comeback fizzled to nothing when he saw the tears falling down (Y/N)’s face. She sucked in a shaking breath and closed her eyes. He knew she was trying to gather herself instead of distracting him but he couldn’t drag his gaze from her.

“She says she’s not afraid of us,” Daisy said, staring at the blood dripping down (Y/N)’s neck. “But she seems terrified to me.” She bit down hard on the neck below her while she had the chance. (Y/N)’s screams bounced off the tiled walls of the room and shattered his heart.

He plowed into Daisy, peeling her claws off of (Y/N) and holding her against the wall by her neck. Though her lungs burned and her feet dangled above the ground, she stared into Mitchell’s dark eyes and smirked. “What are you gonna do to me, Mitchell?” she got out. Her red hair flowed over his hands and he felt her lungs twitch. He set her down, but his tight grip remained.

“Such a softy,” she said, twirling a lock of his hair on her finger. When he jerked away, she giggled. “Are you really gonna let me go after I bit your little human? Let me off with a warning? You know I’ll keep coming after her.”

She grunted when he slammed her head against the hard wall. “If you even look in her direction again I won’t hesitate to kill you.”

She licked her lips. He watched the blood gather on her tongue and then disappear. “Is this who you are now? The big boss? Killing anyone out of line in defense of your human friends?” She turned to (Y/N) and spat in her direction. “You don’t belong with them. You could rule the world if you just accepted who you are.”

“I know who I am.”

“You’re a vampire, Mitchell. A killer. You’ve never accepted that.”

He stared at her, refusing to argue. The smell of blood had filled the room and his mind with haze. He wouldn’t last much longer. The blood lust would make him do something he’d soon regret. He dropped her, watching her fall to the floor. “Go home, Daisy.” He turned and left her there.

(Y/N) was leaning against the door, holding pressure to her neck and fumbling with the lock on the door. He wished he could snap his fingers and get her out of here. He wished none of this had ever happened, that they had just stayed home and watched The Real Hustle, but he was sure Daisy would have found them another day. He was a few steps away from her when she screamed his name again.

Searing pain ripped through his neck. It was nothing he hadn’t felt before, but it still hurt like a bitch. Daisy had bit into him hard and her nails were digging into his face searching for bone. He knew he had to escape her or she’d tear him apart, take the regime of vampires for herself. All of Bristol would descend into hell. Worst of all, (Y/N) would watch him die and there’d be no one left to protect her.

He reached behind his back for Daisy, but couldn’t find a grip. He ran back and slammed her into the wall, but she wouldn’t budge. He was running out of ideas and time. Then Daisy screamed in his ear and her limbs went limp. She slid off his back and fell to the floor with a large dagger of porcelain in her neck. (Y/N) stood above her with shaking hands holding another slice of porcelain and ready to fire. He dragged her away, wrapped her in his jacket and led her out of the bar and into the street.

“Is she- I didn’t kill her? That wasn’t wooden,” (Y/N) said. Mitchell was astounded at her steady voice.

“No, she’s not dead.” They crossed the street, finding comfort in the bright lights above. “I’ll take you home, I’ll deal with her tomorrow. She won’t hurt you.” He zipped up his jacket around her as if she were a child.

“I—I want to stay with you. I want to go to the house.”

“No, I’m bringing you to yours.”

“I can’t go home, Mitchell. My neck is bleeding.”

He tripped over the curb and halted. Then he turned, leading her the other way. “You’ll stay with me.”

The walk back seemed miles long and when they finally reached the house, his shaking fingers couldn’t get his keys out of his pocket. He slammed his fist on the door, glancing over his shoulder.

(Y/N)’s hand covered his. “You’ll wake the neighborhood, Mitchell. She didn’t follow us.”

He nodded wildly and kissed her knuckles. When Annie opened the door, he just about threw (Y/N) inside.

“What’s happened? You’re both bleeding!” Annie shrieked.

“Daisy attacked (Y/N),” was all Mitchell could say. He wanted to continue. It’s all my fault. She’d be safer without me. I had to fall in love with her and bring her into this world. I had to go out instead of watching The Real Hustle, safe in this house. I had to bring her to that bar instead of staying home and having her safe in my bed. It’s all my fault.

Annie sat (Y/N) on the couch and pulled Mitchell’s jacket off her, but (Y/N) held it in her lap. Annie then vanished and reappeared with warm water and towels and held a mug of coffee that had been sitting on the table. “I made this not too long ago. Wait, no, this one.”

George ran down the stairs, falling off the last step. He took one look at all the blood and said he’d call Nina.

Mitchell didn’t leave (Y/N)’s side as Nina cared for both of them. Nina chatted on and on about nothing, unable to deal with the silence. Annie and George were left with their questions, but they knew not to push Mitchell when he was this wired. He was silent, busy wondering what was going on inside (Y/N)’s head. He watched the small smiles she sent to Nina and the winces that would sneak in every once in a while. As always, her fingers were fiddling with his.

When she was finished, he said goodbye to Nina and thanked her. Then he flew upstairs. He didn’t hear (Y/N) follow shortly after. He gathered an extra pillow and blanket from his closet and turned to see her standing in the doorway.

“I’ll sleep on the couch tonight, you’ll be in here,” he said. “George and Nina are right across the way and-”

“I know where everyone sleeps, Mitchell.”

He nodded. He stepped to her and kissed her forehead, then headed for the door.

“We don’t have to talk about it tonight, but you-you cannot leave me alone. I won’t let you use this as an excuse to push me away.”

She was crying. He felt as if someone was grinding his heart into dust. He threw the pillow on the floor and wrapped his arms tightly around her, listening to her cry. He deserved this kind of torture, he thought. He led her to the bed and pulled her on top of him, kissing her head. He left the lamp on and hoped to whatever was out there that she’d be able to sleep.

She moved on him, circling her fingers on his chest. She was still awake.

“Are you in pain?” he asked.

“Not anymore. Are you?”

He scoffed. He could handle what Daisy had done to him, but not what she had done to (Y/N). “All of this is painful. I should have stuck to my original plan for tonight.”

“And what was that?”

“To bring you to this bed and not allow you to leave.”

She looked up at him and smirked. “We can still do that.” She kissed him.

After that, it didn’t take her long to fall asleep in his arms. If he was smart, Mitchell thought, he would let her go in the morning. He’d move far away and let her live out a normal life without him. But he wasn’t strong enough to let the love of his life go. He was strong enough, however, to protect her from anything that came their way.

New taglist! Message to join! @emrfangirl @misslongcep @raindancer2004 @ladybugg1235 @xxbyimm @burningcoffeetimetravel

You Aidan/Mitchell lovers! If you don’t want to be tagged, let me know! @dashesofink @c-s-stars @marigoldvance @alwaysfarawayeyes @darlingvagary

#mitchell #john mitchell #being human #mitchell x reader #john mitchell x reader #being human fic #being human fanfic #being human fanfiction #being human mitchell #being human bbc #bbc being human #aidan turner #aidan turner x reader

[waitedforgarridebs]

“We are what we are, Watson. And... I love you, too.”

Or: The story of how @belladonnaxy and I unknowingly (!) went to a stage play that made Johnlock canon*

Yes, they did that.

(*And we totally took that picture before going in ... we been knew.)

More of my personal impressions after the cut (beyond the one, big fact that I obviously already spoilered), but: 

Before that I’d like to present to you the great and almighty archive.org, where I found a recording of the play (x) done at BBC Radio Four’s More Than Words Festival in Bristol (2012). 

So, please, enjoy – because there is so much gay subtext in this play, and the feeling of getting the pay-off for it at the very end is the best thing in the world.

Other than the radio play, the original production (and ours now) was only done by three male actors, and only the actor playing Watson was never really changing to play other people (and is therefore considered the “lead character” thehe). Both the actor who played Holmes, and the actor who played Sir Henry, were changing a lot, which led to some very funny pauses sometimes, where they played up the time it took to change into the other costume for laughs a lot.

There were... a lot of fourth wall breaks, in general. Which didn’t hurt me, like, at all :) 

Do you like puns? Because there are a LOT of them in this play (and I mean a lot). Especially about dogs. But more so... about gay things.

You know, like...

Watson describing a walking stick as “a thin, length of wood with a curious curve at one end”.

Watson is Holmes’s conductor of light, “my(!) torch. Just... turn yourself on. And keep yourself turned on whenever you are around me.”

There are two posh guys getting off ... [long pause] ... the train.

Furthermore:

Watson is obsessed with food (and never gets to eat) – he especially would like a sausage.

When Watson is writing Holmes to report about what’s happening, he is pondering about how many kisses he should put next to his name when signing the letter (no joke).

Sir Henry constantly keeps pointing out the beauty of women to Watson, who simply shrugs it off each time and has like zero opinion about it.

Watson: “I just feel like... nothing compared to you.” Holmes: “You are not nothing, Watson. You are my torch.” Watson: “I love you, Sherlock.” Holmes: “I know.” (which, thank you @mollydobby, is possibly a Star Wars reference (x) :))

Holmes: “I need you, Watson.”

And, the famous last line of the play: “And, Watson: I love you, too.”

On a sidenote: There was a horse named Victor.

And before the interval, they raised all the open questions about who Cecilia Stapleton really is, “so, was it a girl or a dog?”

Yeah.

I’ve not listened to the full recording on the archive yet, so I don’t know how they would implement certain things, because this one is a radio and not a stage play – so, just to give you some visuals, too:

Watson and Holmes meet Sir Henry for the first time in a sauna in the London steam rooms, sitting there with him, Sir Henry’s crotch on eye-level (because Sir Henry is sitting on the upper bench), and Sir Henry casually completely unwraps his towel to readjust it, and stands there, flashing all his glory right into Watson’s face.

Leading to Watson blurting out, “We need to get out of here or I’ll explode.”

The first night at the Baskerville manor, it is so incredibly scary, with all the thunderstorms and hound-noises from the outside and whatnot – we see Sir Henry in his bed (which is standing upright on the stage, so we get the view from above), and he��s so frightened he yells out Watson’s name - who too, is frightened... so yes, in the end, they were bed-sharing. :)

Before the interval, one of the actors “fainted”, which was their perfect excuse to announce there shall be a little break.

After the interval, the Holmes actor came back on stage, holding up his phone like a drama queen and gesticulating to the Watson-actor, “READ IT!” - apparently, someone had tweeted during the interval, that while it was an enjoyable play, the guy who played Holmes was dragging out his lines like an asthmatic donkey, which is why the play felt really slow. So, making an “executive decision”, they would re-do the entirety of the first act now, but faster. Which. Was. The. Funniest. Thing. Ever. (And while skipping a lot of lines, naturally, they made really sure not to skip any of the gay subtext.)

When “Sir Henry” died by falling off the precipice after being chased by the hound, Watson tries to do CPR on the body, while Holmes stands there yelling it is useless, because “half his head is missing”. Watson ends up looking at Holmes like “try me bitch” and stubbornly keeps doing the CPR. Holmes, “What kind of a doctor are you even????” Watson stands up, “FINE!”, and kicks the rag-doll that is the corpse across the entire stage. Repeatedly.  Holmes, suddenly yelling, “This is the worst thing that happened in my entire career!”, joins in the kicking the corpse around to relief his frustration. 

Watson is being a bit bumbling and slow-witted in this one, so there is this one moment where he said something incredibly moronic, and Holmes just looks at him, sighs, is #done, #this is the idiot I married, #lies down on the floor and cries.

At one point, Sir Henry was shaving and Watson suddenly rushes him to go downstairs to meet up with Cecille Stapleton. But there is still all the shaving cream on his face, so Watson shall help clean Sir Henry up, quickly. The shaving cream is everywhere... on his face... in his mouth... in his eye :)))))

Watson and Holmes at one point disappear to play snooker together. You know. Aiming at the ball with a stick, trying to hole it, making way more rhythmic “aiming motions” with the stick than really necessary... 

In general, there were a lot of sticks. And guns. And torch-guns.

Disclaimer (because I know this question will come up):

The entire play was a comedy, quite slap-stick, maybe a bit of Monthy Python-y humour – but yes, still, during the break we had our doubts whether all the “gay jokes” would end up being queerbaiting or not. 

While we really thought they were genuinely funny jokes then already.

And they also dragged the straight cliché plotline of “he was a boy, she was a girl” through the mud a little with the whole Sir Henry / Cecille thing – going so far as including an entire tango dancing scene montage with disco balls and ridiculous music.

But in the end, both Sir Henry and Cecille AND Sherlock and John ended up saying “I love you” to each other in the second act, just to really drive it home what saying these words to another person actually means.

And it was glorious.

Second disclaimer:

This play told a story, and this story is over. And yes. There was gay subtext and there was pay-off for it at the end of this story. 

So, please: Don’t salt about Moftiss on this post.

If you find this after series 5 has aired and they actually haven’t made it canon, then yes, go ahead and salt if you really have to. But not now. Not on this post.

Also, one more thing.

I’d like to point out the official listing of characters on the theatre’s website:

We should maybe have seen it coming... ;)

Anything to add, @belladonnaxy? 

#Sherlock Holmes #theatre #The Hound of the Baskervilles #Steven Canny #John Nicholson #belladonnaxy #fandom life #Johnlock #reference #May 4th

[varietywritings]

SOLACE

Draco Malfoy x OC!Esme Prewett

Solace Summary

CHAPTER ONE: THE SUNSET IS THE SAME FROM BRISTOL TO LONDON

Esme Prewett sat at her desk; the wood color was unknown even to her as it was covered in spare parchment, books, quills, and some liquorice wands—these were her favorite wizarding candies. Her audacious tabby, Sebastian, tried to fit his massive body between a pile of muggle books and an open bottle of ink. The ink tipped, spilling all over Esme’s notes from the wizarding book, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts. Though this would be her third time reading the book and the notes weren’t for anyone but herself as it was summer, she cursed at the cat; Sebastian looked satisfied by his accomplishment.

A loud peck on the window startled Esme, causing her to forget all about her desecrated notes. Ron’s fiery owl, Pigwidgeon, stood on her window sill, staring at Esme with his gleaming amber eyes. She smiled, sliding the window open so the small bird could enter her room. Esme untied the letter and small parcel from his leg and he began to bounce around impatiently as she read it.

Dear Essie,

We miss you over here. Mum has been intense, making us clean all the time. We’re so bored. I don’t know if they’ve written to you, but Fred and George have created loads of new joke products and we’re the test subjects. Professor Lupin nearly ate a fainting fancy. Luckily, George smacked it out of his hand. Mum was furious; it was truly hilarious.

Professor Lupin? She thought. Why would he be at The Burrow? Why is Molly making them clean? Her house cleans itself. She shrugged her confusion away and continued reading. Pigwidgeon began rapidly flying around her room; Sebastian followed him with his eyes.

Oh, Dad and Percy got into it the other day. He was promoted at the Ministry. He’s so far up Fudge’s arse that he neglects his own family. What a load of bollocks. Have you heard from him? Mum and Dad are very upset. Dad’s broken countless muggle artifacts and mum will not stop crying. He said some really awful things about not accepting us as his family anymore.

Bill is back home by the way. He took a desk job at Gringotts. I think he misses Egypt more than he lets on. You remember Fleur Delacour, right? He’s been giving her English lessons. I think he fancies her, but he won’t admit it.

Why on earth would Bill have taken a desk job? He loved the tombs. He loved Egypt. Things weren’t adding up to Esme; nevertheless, she kept reading.

It’s weird not having you spend the summer with us. I’m guessing you’ve got a lot of reading done. Hermione has too. How has your mum been? Is she even home?

I’ve attached a bag of liquorice wands. I figured you were running out. Tell Seb I miss him and I wish he were here in place of Crookshanks. Are you packed and ready for Hogwarts?

Can’t wait to hear from you,

Ron

PS: Pig couldn’t wait to visit. I’m sure he’d love it if you let him stay for a bit.

Esme sighed as she looked around her messy room. She wasn’t leaving for Hogwarts for a couple weeks, so she didn’t feel a need to pack just yet. She added Ron’s letter to the immense stack of letters she had received since her mother cut her off from the Weasley’s. There were several from Bill and Charlie, Ron sent her one weekly, Fred and George sent a couple, and Ginny sent almost as many as Ron. Esme loved receiving letters from her cousins as she was used to practically living with them until reports of Voldemort’s return surfaced via Harry. Esme believed him even though it pained her to admit. Sadly, her muggle mother believed him too and refused to let her interact with the wizarding world. As a result, Esme carefully hid the letters in her sock drawer.

She had been trapped in Bristol all summer while her mother traveled on business. As nice as the silent—apart from the occasional meow from a hungry Sebastian—house was when she was trying to get work done, she was lonely. She missed the terrible pranks Fred and George played, helping them plan those pranks, talking with Ginny, chess with Ron.

Esme laughed to herself at the sprightly little owl who had now landed back on her nightstand. Sebastian, still on her desk, was starting to drool on the parchment. Esme snarled her nose slightly, but she refused to bother him. She grabbed a clean piece of parchment and some fresh ink and began thinking of her response to Ron. She took her time so Pig was well rested.

Dear Ron,

I miss you guys too!  I’m sorry you’re bored. I am too. Can only read so much. Fred and George haven’t written to me in a few weeks. Are they still apparating everywhere? They told me they were using each other as testers and Aunt Molly thought they had been fighting.

Why was Professor Lupin at the Burrow? Is everything okay? And Bill? Why did he move back? Egypt was his favorite place on Earth. I’m happy for him and Fleur. He hasn’t written to me in a bit.

Percy has written to me, but he didn’t mention the promotion or his quarrels with Uncle Arthur. I can’t believe Percy would say things like that.

I wish I didn’t tell me mum about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. She freaked out. I get it, but she has to let me live. She’s not even here, and if she was, how could she possibly protect me?

I can’t wait to get out of this gloomy house and out of this town. Sebastian misses you guys. He is restless without you and the twins torturing him. He misses watching me destroy you in wizard’s chess and frankly I do too. Tell everyone I love and miss them. Tell Gin I’m awaiting her next letter.

Pig was a delight to have today. Thank you so much for the liquorice! Also, of course I am packed for Hogwarts. You know me, always prepared.

See you soon,

Esme

Esme threw the quill down on her desk and quickly rolled up the smudge-free parchment. She reused the leather strip Ron had sent to tie her letter to Pigwidgeon’s thin leg. His excitement heightened as she tightened the knot. He almost looked as if he was smiling. She petted his grey and white feathers before he took flight out the window and back to 12 Grimmauld Place—or the Burrow as Esme thought.

✶✶✶

Esme was up rather late redoing the notes Sebastian so gracefully destroyed. She didn’t mind though; it gave her a chance to make them neater. Esme could swear she heard the front door creak open, but decided ultimately that she had just stayed up entirely too late and was incapable of proper cognitive functioning. She closed the newest ink bottle she was using and got up from her desk. She saw a sleeping Sebastian on her bed and decided to join him until she heard a loud thud from the living room downstairs. She quietly ran to her desk and pulled the middle drawer open, grabbing  her spruce wand with a white-knuckle grip.

It’s probably just your mother home early from her trip. She thought. She checked the time: 1:34 A.M. Her flight could not have landed this late. She was hesitant to open her bedroom door. It could definitely be your mother, but it could also be a murderer or two. It’s probably fine, right? How often do bad things truly happen? But Voldemort is back. Bollocks. She reaches for the door knob, but then pulls her hand away and backs up. The staircase creaks as if multiple people were walking up it.

“It’s going to be less dangerous to take her than Harry.” An unfamiliar female whisper came from the hallway.

Esme furrowed her brows and adjusted her ever-tightening grip on her wand. Less dangerous? Where exactly do they think they’re taking me?

Esme’s bedroom door flew open and a gust of wind disturbed Sebastian. The light from the hall made it difficult for Esme to see because her room was dark. Once her eyes adjusted, they met with the eyes of an unfamiliar face. She was a witch with violet hair. Esme froze before her, her heart beating at an unnatural pace.

“Ron said you’d packed already.” This violet-haired witch sighed, leaning against the door frame.

“I’m so—who are—” Esme tried to gather her thoughts to speak.

“Ms. Prewett.” A familiar voice came from a tall wizard standing behind the witch.

“Professor Lupin?” Esme smiled. Her shoulders relaxed; she didn’t even notice they were tense. Lupin was her favorite Defense Against the Dark Arts professor to date. “What are you do—”

“No time to explain, sweetheart.” Arden, tenacious auror, Harry’s godmother, and Esme’s hero stood beside Remus Lupin reaching his chin. The Arden Walker is in my home. Esme was ecstatic as she hadn’t seen her idol since she visited Lupin’s class as a guest speaker in her third year.

“I’m Tonks.” The violet-haired witch smiled. “We have to get you packed.”

Esme smiled back at her. “Where are we going?”

“London,” Lupin chimed.

“London? Where are my aunt and uncle?”

“London.”

Esme gave the three an incredulous look. “Why?”

“Again, no time. Let’s get you packed,” Tonks declared impatiently.

Esme motioned for Tonks to enter her bedroom. Lupin and Arden went downstairs to get the brooms. Esme opened her brown trunk and began shoving clothes and parchment into it. Tonks waved her wand and everything Esme needed—books, parchment, dozens of ink bottles, her cauldron, scales, clothes, and even her postcards from her mother—chucked themselves into her trunk.

“That works.” Esme shrugged. “Thanks.”

Tonks nodded. Esme picked Sebastian up and shoved him in his blue carrier. He was less than excited, so she placed a few treats with him.

“Locomotor trunk.” Tonks said with her wand in hand. The trunk hovered and followed her wand motions downstairs.

“Ready to go?” Lupin questioned.

“I need to leave a note for my mother. She’d figure out how to contact the ministry just to spite me if I didn’t.”

“Nonsense, I already left one explaining the situation,” Lupin reassured.

“Well, then I’m ready!”

“Can you fly?” Arden asked.

“Uh—”

“No, she’s terrible,” Lupin teased.

“Hey!” Esme yelled in defense.

“Well, can you?” Tonks questioned.

“Well, no. Not well. I don’t even have a broom. I—er—borrowed George’s for class my first year and nearly snapped it in two only three feet off the ground.” Esme looked to the floor.

“You can ride with Arden. Tonks will take your trunk and Sebastian can come with me.”

Esme was elated to ride with her idol. The trunk stayed just behind Tonks as she led it outside into the streets of Bristol. The Hogwarts Crest on the lid beautifully reflected the moonlight. She used her wand to place it in the harness hanging from her broom. Lupin started to put Sebastian’s carrier into the harness below his broom.

“I’m not sure he’s going to be okay with that.”

“It’s a straight shot. Less than an hour,” Lupin reasoned.

“Your point? He’s a cat. A very pretentious cat I might add.” The three aurors looked at her with blank expressions. “He’ll be screaming the entire way there.”

“He’ll be okay.” Arden placed her hand on Esme’s shoulder. Esme relaxed and gave in.

Remus carefully placed Sebastian’s carrier in the harness. Everyone mounted their brooms. The night was warm, but windy making the flight a little rough. Arden was amazing at controlling the broom. She landed it serenely and methodically in front of a row of houses not so different from the one Esme and her mother lived in.

“I forgot to get Dumbledore’s deluminator from Moody.” Lupin grumbled.

“It’s almost three. I’m sure there aren’t any muggles looking out the window.” Tonks justified.

“Plus, they’re the least of our worries at this point.” Arden maundered.

Esme and Tonks removed her trunk from the harness while Arden grabbed Sebastian and his carrier.

Lupin moved his head back and forth to ensure there was no one around. He leaned closer to Esme and whispered, “12 Grimmauld Place. Where would it be?”

Esme, confused at first, looked to the house numbers in front of her. She found they were labeled as 11 Grimmauld Place and 13 Grimmauld Place. She blinked and all of a sudden, houses eleven and thirteen parted and an identical—except for the dirt and grime—one appeared in the middle labeled 12 Grimmauld Place. The dark night was as silent as ever before. The muggles didn’t seem to notice the sudden movement.

Lupin swiftly walked to the front door, holding it open for Tonks and Esme to carry the trunk in and Arden to carry the large cat in. Lupin checked his surroundings before joining them and quietly closing the door behind him. The hallway was dim and empty. The house was silent. Arden sat Sebastian’s carrier down and opened it. He quickly darted out of the carrier and across the room.

“Let me show you to your room. I can imagine you’re just yearning to get to sleep,” Arden said in a hushed tone; her Southern American accent almost disappearing into a more plain American accent. “Hope you don’t mind sharing a room with Ron until Harry gets here.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Esme whispered following Arden upstairs. Arden placed her trunk and the now-deserted cat carrier in the hall outside the room. Why does Harry get to take my bed? Where am I going to sleep when he gets here? Esme was too tired to figure that out. She snuck into Ron’s room as best as she could—he was snoring lightly, but she didn’t mind as she was used to sharing a room with Sebastian. She didn’t bother to change and plopped down on the bed which had what seemed like a centimeter of dust garnered on top. She suppressed a cough. I thought they were cleaning all summer.

✶✶✶

After breakfast, Esme found Bill in the lounge going over some parchment.

“What’s that?” She asked hopeful to get some information from him. No one had explained why they were in a dingy old house in London.

“Jus’ some stuff for The Order.” He quickly rolled the parchment up and sat it in his lap.

“The Order?” Esme questioned.

“They haven’t explained everything to you?”

“Nope. Just arrived early this morning.” Esme sat on the couch diagonally from  Bill.

“The Order of the Phoenix: they’re a group of retentive witches and wizards fighting against You-Know-Who’s cause. They were active during the Wizarding War.”

“Who was in this group?”

“Well, Remus, Sirius and Arden, James and Lily Potter, The Longbottom’s, and—erm—your father and Gideon. Of course, there were others too, but their names are escaping me.”

Esme’s olive-green eyes widened and her mouth fell open slightly; she was nearly the spitting image of her father, Fabian Prewett; she had a long, thin face accompanied by a long, protruding nose. “My—my father?”

“Yep.” Bill smiled proudly thinking of his uncle’s accomplishments.

“Is that why death eaters killed him?”

His smile quickly faded and he dolefully looked at his cousin. “Yeah.”

Esme looked to the floor. “And now you’re a member?”

Bill nodded realizing Esme wasn’t looking at him. “Er—yeah. Along with mum, dad, Charlie, Tonks, and a bunch more. Charlie’s staying in Romania trying to recruit witches and wizards.”

Esme looked at Bill again. “And Percy?”

He hardly winced at the mention of his name. “Don’t bring him up in front of mum and dad.”

“I know. Ron mentioned the promotion and his fight with Uncle Arthur in his last letter.”

“It was horrible. Mum hasn’t been in a good mood since. Percy doesn’t believe Harry saw You-Know-Who because Fudge doesn’t believe it. Dad tried talking sense into him, but it was no use.”

“That’a a shame. So, how do I join?”

“The Order?”

Esme nodded.

“You don’t. Mum won’t let you; you’re too young. Besides, we’ve got this handled.”

“Do you? You had to leave your job—one that you absolutely love—to join this Order. I want to help.”

“Es, you can’t help. Maybe when you’re of age, but hopefully by then this will all be over.”

Esme wanted to continue arguing but decided it was best to bite her tongue as she still had information to get from him. “So, Fleur Delacour, hm?” She smirked.

Bill was surprised Esme didn’t debate him more on joining the Order but ultimately didn’t want to question this refreshing turn of events. “And who told you about her?”

“Ron. He told me you’ve been giving her English lessons.”

“She just wants to improve at her English and I’m fluent, so what’s the big deal?” His cheeks were an almost unnoticeable shade of pink, but Esme noticed.

“Do you like her?”

“Of course I like her. She’s extremely kind, really smart too.” Bill was looking off into the distance, daydreaming of Fleur.

Esme started to further inquire about her, but a loud crack interrupted her thoughts and made her jump out of her seat. The twins appeared in front of the couch. Fred was holding Sebastian.

“You arseholes.” Esme’s voice quavered. Her heart was beating rapidly. “You apparated with my cat?”

“He was fine,” George said calmly.

“He rather enjoyed it actually,” Fred reasoned. “Jumped right into me arms.”

Esme’s blinks were slow as she was trying to comprehend what exactly went through Fred and George’s minds. “I’m going to take my cat now, if you don’t mind.” She didn’t wait for a response and reached out for her traumatized tabby who gladly snuggled into her chest.

“So, what have you two been talking about?” George asked.

“Sod off.” Esme sat back down on the couch; Sebastian curled up in her lap and started purring.

“Woah, Esmie. That’s a bit harsh don’t you think?” Fred smiled.

Esme playfully rolled her eyes at the two who sat on the couch on either side of her. “Congrats on passing your apparition test!”

“Thanks,” the twin boys sang in unison.

“Is it freeing to practice magic whenever you want?” Esme asked longingly.

“Not when mum yells at us for doing it.” Fred forced a laugh.

“Speaking of unbearable, how’s Margot?” George sneered.

“Don’t know. She’s been gone on a business trip the past week, s’posed to come home tomorrow.”

“We’ll see about that.” Bill laughed through his nose causing Esme to smile.

✶✶✶

The next couple of days were monotonous; this made Esme a tad anxious. She was almost joyed by Harry’s arrival as it was something that didn’t have to do with dusting every surface on every floor of 12 Grimmauld Place. Sebastian rapturously greeted Harry at dinner evoking a groan out of Esme.

Esme sat in the center of the table between Ron and Fred. Molly droned on and on about them all, especially Harry, being too young to be a part of the Order. She could tell Harry felt it was a load of rubbish as she did too.

Sebastian jumped into Harry’s lap, prompting Harry to shift to the left side of his seat to make room for the pudgy tabby. Sebastian sat in the empty space of the chair facing the table as if he were trying to join the conversations.

“He doesn’t need to be at the table.” Molly ordered.

“Sorry.” Harry mumbled.

“What is he harming?” Esme questioned.

“We’re trying to eat here.” Molly’s tone was stern.

Sebastian seemed to be offended as he glared at Molly.

“He hasn’t seen Harry in a while. They missed each other.” Fred chimed in.

“Yes, well, we’ve all missed Harry, but he needs to get down.”

Harry carefully picked Sebastian up and placed him on the cold floor. Feeling defeated, he curled up underneath Harry’s chair.

Esme carried on with Ron and Arthur throughout dinner. The conversation in the kitchen was trifling and whimsical until Sirius told Harry it was okay to ask questions. Molly blew up causing Esme to jump slightly.

“He’s too young.”

Esme rolled her eyes as Molly always used the same argument. Sebastian didn’t even want to be a part of it; he ran off to disturb Crookshanks.

Molly started to give in and decided Harry could stay for a bit and learn a minimal amount of information about just what the Order and Lord Voldemort have been doing.

Arthur convinced Molly to let the twins stay and Ron convinced Molly to let him and Hermione stay with, “Harry will tell us anyway.”

“Fine. Ginny, Esme go to your rooms now.”

Esme knew she could do better than Ron. “I don’t have a room. Harry took it. Besides, I was stuck at my house this entire summer because you made me tell my mother about You-Know-Who, so the least you could do is let me stay.” Molly’s face was an unmistakable shade of red. “Let me just add that I spent my summer researching legilimency.”

“Fine. Ginny, bed now.”

Esme regretted staying for the conversation because they weren’t given any information the Extendable Ears didn’t already hear for them.

She went to Ron and Harry’s room to gather her belongings, but found that they were already neatly placed in the hall. She exhaled deeply and turned around to find Arden walking up the steps.

“I can make you a bed.” Arden offered.

“Really?” Esme asked hopefully.

“Yep. Come on.” Arden’s accent, though subtle, was especially discernible in the last two words. She led her downstairs to Ginny and Hermione’s room where Hermione was telling Ginny everything that occurred in the kitchen.

“I’m going to make Esme a bed in here, if that’s okay with y’all.”

“Of course it is,” Ginny said.

With a wave of her wand, Ginny’s bed turned into a bunk bed. The top bunk, with white sheets and a comforter perfectly made, was for Esme.

“Thank you.” Esme smiled.

“Anytime.” Arden returned the smile.

She left the three girls to converse until they heard the creak of the floorboards that meant Molly was coming to check on them. They all dove under their covers and didn’t make a peep until they heard her heading upstairs.

✶✶✶

“Esme, you’re going to help me wash the dishes tonight.” Molly ordered.

Esme looked to Fred and George with pleading eyes, but they laughed and then vanished with a loud crack. She groaned quietly so Molly wouldn’t hear.

Esme stayed silent with every plate she washed. Finally, Molly was concerned as Esme was usually a garrulous young witch.

“Have something on your mind?”

“Hm?” Esme’s mind had trailed off to random things, such as which Ravenclaws would make prefect, which books she would need for this year, who Dumbledore would have hired for Defense Against the Dark Arts which brought her back to Harry not being allowed in the Order of the Phoenix.

Molly repeated herself.

“Oh, um just thinking about things.”

“Such as?”

“Just Hogwarts and stuff.”

“Stuff?”

Esme knew she was going to regret the next thing she said, but she couldn’t not confront her aunt. “Harry deserves to be a member of the Order of—”

“This is not up for discussion.” Molly almost dropped the rag she was holding to give Esme a flinty stare which was ignored. Molly began vehemently scrubbing the dining table.

“You-Know-Who does everything in his power to spite Harry. That’s all he wants: world domination and Harry dead. It’s inhumane to keep him in the dark about it.” Esme continued to scrub a bowl riddled with leftover food particles.

“Esme, I am warning you.” Molly nearly had steam coming from her ears.

“The ‘you’re too young’ excuse is a load of bollocks—”

“ESME JOANNA.” Molly had stopped cleaning altogether.

Esme didn’t flinch and continued, “—and you and I both know it. He’s the best at Defense Against the Dark Arts in our year, besides me of course.” She knew Harry exceeded her talents at the subject but couldn’t pass up the chance to rag on him.

Molly took a deep breath before speaking. “It doesn’t matter how good he is; I have a right to protect him.”

“You don’t have a right to control him and his every move. He’s not your chess piece. He’s not your son.” Esme put the sponge and the bowl into the sink and turned to her aunt.

“Well, I am the closest thing that poor boy has to a mother. I will not continue this conversation with you.”

“He has Arden.”

“Who didn’t take him in after they died.”

Esme rubbed her brow. “—and Sirius—”

“Who was gone for twelve years.”

“Locked away in Azkaban against his will, framed for thirteen murders. And Arden was told by your beloved Dumbledore that she wasn’t allowed to have him because she was a target.”

“That’s not the point.”

“That’s exactly the point. He has both of them now. His parents named Sirius and Arden his godparents because they wanted them looking after him.”

“I’ve been looking after him for five years. I can’t stop now.”

“I’m not saying you have to stop caring for him. He just deserves to know what is happening. You can’t keep that from him.”

“He needs to be protected.”

“How is he to be protected when the Order isn’t around and he knows nothing?”

Molly didn’t have an answer for this and Esme knew she had struck a nerve.

“Enough. I’m done having this conversation.”

“Because you know I’m right. Harry needs to be in the know, so he can be safe.”

“Esme.”

“If you keep him isolated from all of this, not only will he resent you, but he won’t ever be able to handle You-Know-Who.”

“Go to bed.” Molly pointed toward the kitchen door. Esme stayed silent and headed for the door. “Why must you argue me on every little thing?” Molly lowered her voice as Esme was leaving.

A/N:

Sorry this took so long, but the wait is over. I hope you enjoyed this first chapter!

-Ghost

TAGS:

@virgiill @yourfriendly-neighborhoodfuckup

#Draco Malfoy #dracomalfoy #draco lucius malfoy #draco malfoy fic #Draco Malfoy x OC #draco malfoy imagine #Fred and George #fred weasley #george weasley #The Weasley Family #malfoy #the Malfoy family #weasley #Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger #ginny weasley #Esme Prewett #esme joanna prewett #askesme #ghostwritings #AskGhost #varietywritings #variety writings #solace #Harry Potter #harry potter series #Harry Potter fic #hp #golden trio era #Order of the Phoenix