#* fic.

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radiant warmth

PAIRING: Georgie Barker/Melanie King, What the Girlfriends. WARNINGS: none. SUMMARY: What the Girlfriends have a soft first kiss, as per the prompt for the TMA Femslash week (2019.5)! The Admiral is there. AO3 LINK.

day 1, written for @tmafemslashweek

Sometimes, she could forget the double-edged sword of not feeling fear, but other times, where fear should be, Georgie could feel the hole. She'd be the first to admit, at first she spent far too long trying to work out where fear ended and other emotions began. When did fear become concern? Emotions normally lined with fear felt different, and she spent time thinking about that, too.

There was something, though, when her mind drifted back to Melanie (and her mind drifted back to Melanie a lot...). She didn't like what was happening, how she was feeling, the lack of control she had over herself. Georgie set her keys down in the bowl, glancing into the dark living room, though she can hear the gentle chatter of Melanie sweet talking The Admiral. Jon isn't there anymore, but the image of him, eyes frantic and full of something he couldn't quite explain, tired and out of control on her sofa was still there when she blinked. Fear, or lack of it, aside, she didn't want Melanie to feel that helpless.

"Traitor." There's no malice in her tone as Georgie shuffled her coat off her arms and stepped past the living room, into the warm light of the kitchen. Melanie looked up, but the Admiral kept his attention on making sure Melanie's hand continued to scratch behind his ears.

"Who?"

"Both of you, actually!" With her coat off and slipped onto the back of the nearest chair, Georgie rolled her eyes at Melanie, leaning in to press a kiss to the Admiral's head, then turning only slightly to press a kiss to Melanie's cheek.

Melanie stopped breathing, stopped moving, stopped scratching the Admiral's ears. The only thing she didn't stop doing was think. Her mind was racing, though she knew it shouldn't be. Casual affection was easy with Georgie, and hardly unexpected. Why was she caught so off-guard today? Maybe it was because Georgie had frozen, too. She'd pulled away, but not far enough for their personal space to be their own again, warm brown eyes combing Melanie's expression. Something about this had stepped over a boundary, despite its seemingly unintrusive manner.

Before either of the women could address it, though, the Admiral slipped his face between them, purring loudly. Georgie laughed and Melanie relaxed, though Melanie wondered if there was something lost. The moment passed them by and they slipped into the familiar conversation that came with their evenings.

The tense moment hadn't escaped their thoughts, but it had settled further back in Georgie's mind than Melanie's. They ate, they picked the movie for the evening (ignored in favour of a heated discussion about microphones), they decided that Melanie shouldn't make her way home now, it's far too late (though the last Tube didn't leave for hours).

"I could pass out right here, right now." Melanie had been having some trouble sleeping, which was to be expected, and Georgie was just glad that she was comfortable, even if she didn't fully believe her.

"You'll have to fight the Admiral for his spot." He seemed to emphasise Georgie's words by leaping up onto the sofa, padding onto Melanie's stomach and settling down immediately.

"I can take him." Melanie almost had laughter in her voice.

"Oh, yeah? And what if I were to try?" Georgie shifted from her spot on the floor, gently resting her knee on the sofa cushion, just beside Melanie's waist.

"Try what?" Her words were a little heavier now, a sudden awareness of Georgie's casual touch. Was the air suddenly thicker with that awareness? Or was it the fact that Georgie was squeezing herself next to Melanie, the two all but wrapped around each other, and their faces closer than before.

"I was going to say something about taking your spot..." Hearing Georgie's voice so quiet was thrilling, but mostly Melanie just wanted her to finish her thought. "But I want to try something else, now."

Melanie's eyes were closed before Georgie's lips met hers, soft and a little more intense than Melanie had been thinking they would be. Or maybe the intensity was coming from her, leaning up to meet her. It didn't matter: the daydreams of kissing Georgie had turned into reality and she wasn't pulling away from her. First, Melanie smiled, and Georgie felt the curve of her lips. Then, Melanie started laughing, and the tension, all the tension she'd been feeling that evening, slipped off her shoulders and she fell back into the sofa cushions.

"Still comfy?" When Melanie opened her eyes, she saw that Georgie hadn't yet, though there was a curve to her lips. Melanie hooked her arm over Georgie's waist, pulling her a little closer.

"Enough to pass out, right here, right now."

The Admiral purred loudly on her stomach, making a point.

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the archers theme starts playing.

PAIRING: Basira Hussain/Daisy Tonner. WARNINGS: none. SUMMARY:  It's games night, but it's like... Chill. Day 3 of TMA Femslash week (2019.5), following the games night prompt. AO3 LINK.

day 3, written for @tmafemslashweek

Basira was glad that Tim and Sasha had stopped calling games night "date night". As far as she knew, they weren't dating either, so it wasn't some pointed comment about her and Daisy. It just took some of the pressure off. Whatever the pressure was, anyway. It simply felt more organic to not address the nature of her relationship with Daisy. They knew what they were, they didn't need the complication of implied dating, and certainly didn't need the complication of co-workers' assumptions.

Things had finally reached a point where Daisy and Basira could both relax: not only were Sunday evening games nights a routine, they were a fundamental part of the week. With a boss (and boss's boss) like the one they had, a glass of wine with some stupid games where they could say whatever they liked about the Institute. It was less of a performance now, more themselves. Maybe even more themselves than they'd previously been.

"Where are you going?" Tim's voice was loud, which wasn't difficult, nor unexpected after his 3rd glass of wine. He blocked the door with his body, stopping Daisy from leaving the room till she'd given him an answer.

"Bathroom." It seemed like such an obvious answer, and Daisy was so wooden in her response, Basira couldn't help the light laugh at the back of her throat. It sounded more like a snort, and it made Daisy's lips quirk into the smallest smile.

"You may pass!" Sweeping away in a manner that made Basira wonder if he had ever participated in an amateur dramatics production, Tim let Daisy past and settled back into his spot, legs draped over Sasha's lap.

"Don't think you've escaped the next round of..." Charades. They were playing charades. "Whatever, we're waiting for you," Sasha called after Daisy, protecting her drink from Tim's swinging legs.

"While we're waiting, then." Basira contemplated throwing one of the cushions at Tim, but refrained for the sake of Sasha's drink and the carpet as she stood. "Top-ups?"

"'M good, thanks." Sasha pointedly adjusted one of Tim's legs so she could settle more comfortably while Tim moves his head in what Basira can only assume was a shake no.

The moonlight streamed into the kitchen through the window, highlighting the tap, dripping into the sink, and the half-empty draining board. Grabbing one of the glasses that rested their, Basira got herself a glass of water, gazing out of the window into the night, listening to the sounds of Tim and Sasha in a conversation that sounded like when she and Daisy returned, they'd have it recounted.

"Hey, everything okay?" Daisy was standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorframe when Basira turned to see her.

"Preparing myself for whatever the Dynamic Duo are going to pull out of their hat next." A pause. "I'm fine, just thinking."

"What do they have planned?" Her footsteps pad across the lino to meet Basira.

"Couple more rounds of Charades, and I'm pretty sure if we don't stop him, Tim will break out Twister."

"Oh, God." Daisy's gaze has settled easily where Basira was looking a moment before, but Basira is looking at her partner now.

"Yeah... Might taunt him into trying to beat me."

"You think you could?"

"I know I could, even if he wasn't drunk."

Daisy forces a huff of air through her nose, a single laugh.

"Why do you come to these things?" It's not that Daisy makes a point of hating the evenings, or even that Basira believes she did. She just didn't know why Daisy came. But then, the coffin had changed a lot of things.

"Why do you think?" Her words are little sharper than she intends, knowing that Basira wasn't extracting the answer didn't help the feeling in her gut whenever she was asked a question. "I don't like being alone, Basira."

They let the silence sit between them for a moment, though Tim and Sasha were singing now. What could Basira say to that? After Daisy's trip into the Buried, it wasn't like Basira liked leaving her alone, either.

"And I like being where you are." The silence sank in deeper around them now, Basira processing Daisy's words, and Daisy processing that she said them at all.

"Good enough for me." Daisy still wasn't looking at Basira, but she could hear the small smile that had curved her lips. She put the glass down in the sink before turning to the fridge to find the wine that was chilling. Grabbing the bottle, Basira gently pointed it towards Daisy, an offer of another glass. Daisy shook her head gently, so Basira began to head back to the living room.

"Wait-"

"Hmm?" Daisy's hand catches the crook of Basira's arm, and Basira turns her head to meet her gaze, eyes locked. She could see something in the moment between them, see that Daisy was weighing something up before speaking. Basira didn't mind that she probably wouldn't say what she was thinking. They had time for her to get to that.

"We'd better get in there and kick their asses." She let go of Basira's arm.

"Oh, yeah!" It's easy to lean, and though unfamiliar, Basira follows through, pressing a quick kiss to Daisy's cheek.

When the two of them returned, sitting down, Sasha offered the box of titles to Basira. Through a sip of wine, there was a glint in her eyes as she glanced at Daisy: it read The Archers. Oh, they're so going to win this.

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Don’t Ever Tame Your Demons.

PAIRING: Agnes Montague/Jude Perry. WARNINGS: none. SUMMARY:  Agnes thinks in metaphors, or maybe she doesn't. Day 2 of TMA Femslash week (2019.5), following the fairytale prompt. AO3 LINK.

day 2, written for @tmafemslashweek

The freedom Agnes had been afforded twisted around itself like the stairwells of turrets of a castle. She could see so much, but never the full picture as she wandered the hallways. The pretence of choice was a mockery, more than anything else, and it had long since felt like Agnes had any say in the matter. She did as she was fated to do, if you believed in such a thing, and she would make the best of the in-between.

Sometimes men would stride up to the castle, a labyrinth, and hurdle after hurdle to overcome, simply to sit with her. They never stayed. She never wanted them to. Some spoke of a dragon, rumoured to roam the grounds - sometimes with reverent fear, other times, foolishly, with arrogant scepticism. When they did, though Agnes would never know, they never returned to their home with the stories of the solemn beauty who looked so sad.

They never saw her with Jude, so of course, they never knew what it looked like when her whole face was illuminated with her smile, or the way her eyes lit up, a blaze of passion behind them as she felt her heart warm in a way that had nothing to do with her destiny. Agnes liked that she had something outside of that, something solely her own, away from the thought that she was meant to be some sort of saviour. Was that even the right name for it? When she was with Jude, it didn't matter. The towering walls, the lofty expectations, at least for a while, Agnes was able to think about anything else.

Jude liked that she was Agnes' port in a storm. Jude really liked that, should the situation call for it (and it called for it more often than not), that the protection destruction was in Agnes' name.

Jude was Agnes' to do with as she wished. All Agnes asked for was for her to stay. Not her white knight, but the dragon who kept her safe, and she would burn the world down for her if she asked. And perhaps if she didn't.

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A Perfect Christmas.

PAIRING: Hermione Granger/Fred Weasley WARNINGS: none. SUMMARY: Fred and George find Hermione alone at Hogwarts during the Christmas Holidays. AO3 LINK.

She sat on one of the benches in the Great Hall: Christmas holidays had started and almost everyone had gone home for the season. It was peaceful, and Hermione was able to read Hogwarts: A History - again - in perfect peace as she nibbled on a piece of toast that had been generously slathered with butter and marmalade.

She flipped a page, smiling as she read the title announcing her favourite chapter: The Great Hall. She glanced up, admiring once again the enchanted ceiling, currently reflecting the deep grey clouds: it was going to snow.

She buried her head back into the book, absent-mindedly reaching for her mug of tea and taking a deep, refreshing sip.

"Merry Christmas, Granger!" George sat himself down next to the bushy-haired bookworm as his twin mirrored his actions on her other side.

"Morning, George. Fred," she turned her head and smiled at the twins. "I forgot you were staying here for the holidays." She reached the toast rack and pulled it closer to them so the boys could help themselves, which they did, taking enthusiastic bites from the slices.

"Well, it always seems to be more fun here during the Christmas season," George started.

"Especially if you're hanging around." Fred finished, a cheeky smirk on his face, obviously referring to the numerous times she, Harry and Ron had managed to get into trouble. "Couldn't miss out on the mischief now, could we?" Fred's eyes were twinkling.

"Yes, but Harry's gone to the Burrow with Ron. And you know I don't cause trouble by myself."

George snorted, one of slight disbelief.

"You're the one that encourages those sods, 'Mione!" Fred nudged her with his elbow and she rolled her eyes. Giving up on trying to read, she pulled the book to herself and shut the heavy leather-bound cover, laying it on her lap as she turned from Fred to see George getting up to go, following a few Ravenclaws out of the Great Hall, leaving it deserted save for the two Gryffindors and a scattering of professors at the head table. Her puzzled expression must have shown on her face as she turned back to Fred, because he explained. "George likes one of the girls." His tone was matter-of-fact, and Hermione acknowledged with a nod.

Taking a delicate bite of toast, Fred rolled his eyes. "Girls are so dainty when it comes to eating, you need to be more ferocious." There was a challenge in his eyes as he took her wrist and pulled the toast towards him, leaning in and biting, chewing, then smirking. "Like so."

His hand lingered on her wrist only a moment before pulling away, smirk growing as he noticed a blush colouring the girl's cheeks. The toast that was left was quickly popped into her mouth and she chewed and swallowed in order to distract from the blush on her face. But both of them knew it was there, and there was no point in trying to hide it.

"So, as you're here, I suppose this Christmas is going to be as joke-filled as those at the Burrow?"

Fred nodded. "Just you wait, 'Mione." He swung his legs from the bench and stood, offering a hand to Hermione, who took it, cradling the book under her arm. The pair walked from the Great Hall, leaving it almost silent now, and Fred pulled back a tapestry, leading the way to a shortcut back up to Gryffindor Tower. Hermione paused, looking up at him.

"If this is a trick..." She was a little dubious, after all, Fred Weasley was infamous for his practical jokes.

"Just go, Hermione." He said with a good-natured roll of his eyes.

Deciding to trust him, she went ahead, Fred following close behind until the passageway was wide enough for them to walk side-by-side. It was an amicable silence until Hermione mentioned Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, and then Fred started talking enthusiastically about the most recent sweet they were developing, so much so that they both stopped walking and stood, talking for ten minutes before realising that they'd stopped. Hermione glanced up at the tall boy in front of her, smiling, before realising the piece of decor that was hanging above them. Fred noticed her change of expression and frowned, then followed her gaze upwards.

"Oh.." The word wasn't said, whispered or muttered. It was just a small breath. "Well, can't break tradition now, can we?" A small smile formed on his lips as he leant down, and Hermione didn't resist, hugging the book to her chest as her eyes closed. "Merry Christmas, 'Mione," and she felt his lips on hers.

"Hermione!" Her eyes were open, tall ginger figure calling her attention. "Hermione, are you okay?"

And she was back. Her surrounding? The familiar kitchen and dining room of Grimmauld Place, complete with Christmas tree and smells of turkey and sprouts and stuffing. All she did was nod, shutting her eyes against the traitorous tears that threatened to appear. It was just a memory. A perfect one, but that was all. And she realised that the figure that called out to her wasn't Fred; it would never again be Fred Weasley.