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agarariddle-andhernachos · 4 years

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EVERYTHING I EVER WANTED

Tom Riddle x Hermione Granger

Summary : Everything was planned, the spring wedding, the house, the children. But not Tom. Tom was not part of the plan. Unplanned things happen after all.

Azkaban was mostly renowned for its game night each Tuesday. Hermione had the habit of going there with her girlfriends on those nights. Tonight she was late. She saw the pub from afar and picked up the pace to reach the door. Once inside, she felt the warmth of the fireplace and the smell of the beer.

Luna noticed her from where she was sitting and rose her hand. Hermione smiled as she saw her friend and approached the table.

“Finally !” Ginny whined. “We’ve been waiting for you for hours.”

“Oh come on Ginny, she’s just ten minutes late.” Fleur smiled.

“Sorry girls, the tube was packed and I had to wait for the next one. When are those strikes going to end ?” Hermione wondered as she took off her winter coat and put it on the back of her chair.

She gestured to the bartender to order a beer and turned back to her friends.

“Please tell me you’ve gone to the florist.” Fleur told her.

“Oh fuck.” Hermione exhaled and put her head in her hands.

“Hermione ! The wedding is in 2 months.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll go there tomorrow. I promise.”

The bartender put the beer in front of her and Hermione smiled at him.

“Hello everyone.” The voice of Lee Jordan resonated in the small pub. “Welcome back for game night. You all know the rules, each team gives a fiver and the winning team wins one meter of shots.”

The crowd cheered at this. Hermione put her hair in a ponytail, readying herself for what was about to happen. She had always loved a little competition and in the past few months she had taken those quiz games quite seriously. One of the waitresses put one buzzer on their table as Angelina Jonson gave her a fiver.

“Everyone has a buzzer ?” Lee Jordan asked. “Good, let’s get started then. Question 1 : When you flush the toilet, in which direction does the water drain away ? A. Is there even a direction ? B. Counter-clockwise. C. Clockwise. D. In whichever way, the water does whatever it wants.”

Hermione almost spilled her own drink trying to get to the buzzer. “B. Counter-Clockwise.” She answered. Her friends looked at her, wondering how she even knew the answer to this question.

“One point to the red team. Nice to see you Hermione.” Lee Jordan smirked.

“Question 2 : How many squares are there on a chessboard ? A. It depends on the size of the squares. B. It depends on the size of the chessboard. C. It depends on the pieces. D. 64 squares.”

The five girls looked at each other and laughed at the absurdity. Hermione went to press the buzzer but she heard someone being faster at the back of the room.

Hermione eagerly turned around and saw a tall man standing by his table a beer in his hand. His hair was perfectly styled and he had a shit eating grin on his lips.

“D. 64 squares.” The man answered. His mates all clapped as he found the right answer.

“One point to the green team.” Lee announced.

“This question was too easy anyway.” Hermione mumbled. “A child could have answered that.” Luna and Ginny shared a knowing glance at their friend's attitude.

“Question 3 : One of those superheroes is made up. Which one ? A. Spiderman. B. Sandman. C. Elastic man. D.Mashed Potato Man.”

The sound of two buzzers could be heard and both of the players speaking up the same answer at the same time. Hermione, her hand still on the buzzer, turned around once more and glared at the man, his hand still on the buzzer too.

“I pressed it before you.” Hermione told him.

“No, I did.” He shot back.

Hermione turned towards Lee Jordan and asked him “Lee, I was the one to buzz first, right ?”

“Oh of course, ask your friend !” The man snickered behind her.

“It doesn’t mean anything that he’s my friend because I’m right.” Hermione snapped.

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“Calm down guys, it’s just a game.” Lee tried to defuse the tension. “Actually, green you didn’t really press the buzzer and the yellow team did. Hermione, you buzzed last. So it’s the yellow team that has to say the answer.”

“D ? Mashed potato man ?” A shy girl said.

“One point to the yellow team.” Lee cheered.

Hermione was still looking at the man, a small smirk on her lips as he lost the point.

“You lost too, you know ?” He finally told her.

“I don’t talk to other teams.” Hermione mumbled before turning back on her chair.

Her four friends were all snickering, clearly making fun of her highly competitive self. Hermione mouthed the word “what ?” then waited for the next question.

“Question 4 : Among those Smurfs, one doesn’t exist. A. The purple smurf. B. The astro-smurf. C. The smurfette. D. The smurf who doesn’t exist.”

Hermione hadn’t had the time to laugh at the question that she was already shouting the answer, her left arm colliding with her beer, and the latter ending up on the floor. “D. The smurf who doesn’t exist.”

“Hermione, you really need to calm down.” Lee Jordan laughed. “It’s only a silly game.”

Hermione felt her cheeks heating and slowly lowered her head, a little embarrassed.

“Ok, a second point to the red team. It’s time for the theme round. As you all know, I’ll give you a theme and some clues. Tonight’s team is Monsters. Let’s get started. Which monster has a zip on its face and was created by a mad scientist ?”

“Frankenstein !” The man almost yelled, apparently as much competitive as Hermione was.

“Good answer ! 1 point to the green team.” Lee Jordan smiled.

“Excuse me ?” Hermione snapped. “That is not the right answer.” She faced the man and got up. “Frankenstein is the name of the said-scientist, not of the monster.”

The man put his beer down and took a step forward. “What would you call it then ?” He sneered.

“Frankenstein's monster.” Hermione replied as if the was the most evident answer.

“Come on ! It’s the fucking same.”

“No it is not. Check your facts.”

They were both only a couple of meters away, the entire bar could feel the tension rising up. This small argument rapidly turned into something nastier. Slurs were thrown. Suddenly, Hermione felt a light pressure on her arm and saw Oliver Wood, the owner of the bar, taking her outside.

“Oliver ?” She asked, quite shocked. The door opened just a moment later and Hermione saw the man being escorted by Cormac McLaggen, the bartender.

“You two stay here until you’re calm.” Oliver said before getting back inside.

A silence settled. As the man lit up a cigarette, Hermione took out her phone. She mumbled something.

“Come again ?” He asked.

“I was right. It is the monster of Frankenstein and not just Frankenstein.”

“Are you seriously still on that ?

Hermione pouted and crossed her arms on her chest. She started shivering from the cold. The man secured his cigarette around his lips, sighed and took off his coat. He approached her and draped it over her shoulders. She rose her head to meet his eyes and took a step back.

“Let me stop you right there. I found mine.” She simply told him.

“And ?” He genuinely asked.

“I can see where you’re going with your coat and all of that.” She moved her hand close to his face. “I’m not single. I already found mine.”

“Good for you, so did I. But can’t you just say thank you like a normal person ?”

She looked at him and said “thank you” under her breath.

The door to the bar opened and two people came out of it, one being Ginny.

“Hermione, the game is over. We won. You can get back inside.” She told her.

Hermione gave back his coat to the man standing and went to join her friend when the other person spoke up.

“Tom, let’s hit Dolohov’s party.”

She looked at the man, Tom. He nodded at his friend and stared at her for a couple of seconds, before Ginny pushed her back into the bar.

**********

“How’s your chicken ?” Ron asked her.

“Quite dry.” She laughed. “Come on taste it, and tell me this isn’t dry.” She shoved her fork in front of his face and looked at him in adoration as he took a bite.

“Tastes fine to me.” He smirked.

“Everything tastes fine to you. I’m starting to wonder if you have functioning taste buds.” She teased him.

He only laughed at that. The waiter went by their side and asked them if they wanted more wine. Ron shook his head and took Hermione’s hand.

“Are we still going to my parents this weekend ?” He wondered out loud.

“Of course we are. When haven’t we spend our anniversary anywhere else ?” Hermione smiled. “Eleven years.”

“Eleven years.” He repeated. “Who would have thought my Complete to be the annoying know-it-all in middle school.”

Hermione playfully got her hand back and leaned in her chair. “You know what you got into the first time you touched me.”

“And I wouldn’t change that for the world. However, when I think about it, it was quite weird for an eleven-year-old boy to see his all future ahead. The house, the children, you…”

Hermione gently smiled at that. Something began vibrating on their table. Ron took a quick glance at his pager and exhaled.

“I’m sorry honey. I have to go.” He told her as he rose from his seat.

“What ? Right now ?”

“Yes, there is another demonstration near Piccadilly. I am sorry.”

“When is it going to stop ?”

“I don’t know. I hope soon. You know the Incomplete-” Ron got interrupted by another buzzing sound. “I’m sorry again.” He craned his head to press his lips against hers. A minute later, he was out of the restaurant.

Hermione wondered if she should finish eating or just head back early to work. The dryness of her meal answered for her. She picked up her bag, put on her coat and approached the counter to pay.

She waited behind the woman already paying when someone lightly poked her shoulder. She turned around and saw him.

“Excuse me, may I go before you ? I’m already late to work.” He said without looking at her.

“No you may not.”

He lowered his gaze and met her eyes.

“Oh. It’s you.” He flatly said.

She rolled her eyes and faced the back of the woman paying.

“You don’t want to talk about Frankenstein today ?” She could hear the smirk in his voice.

“Shut it.”

“Come on Hermione.”

She turned around and saw his shit-eating grin.

“Oh pardon me.” He scoffed and stopped smiling. “I shouldn’t smile or you’ll interpret that as flirting.”

“You think you’re funny right ? Well you’re not.” They looked at each other for a while before Hermione exhaled and took a step back. “I’m in a good mood. Go ahead.” She showed with her hand the spot where she was before. He nodded his head a thank you and approached the counter.

**********

Monday night was always an almost all-nighter for Hermione. Her internship in this law-firm had started three months ago and apparently her clients liked keeping her busy on the first day of the week. She looked around her and the office was completely empty. She checked her inbox one last time before leaving the building. She stopped before the front door, a horrified look on her face as she saw the heavy rain pouring from the night sky. As the British girl she was, she took out her umbrella and faced the weather. The tube was not that far, but knowing the current social climate she knew it would be packed, she then decided on taking a taxi. She put her left hand in the air, trying to call one. A dozen passed in front of her, all already busy with a customer.

After ten minutes of long waiting, one stopped in front of her and the passenger window lowered revealing him. Tom.

“How are you ?” He smirked.

“Just go away.” She replied.

“Where are you going ?”

“Chelsea.”

“You’re lucky, it’s on my way. Hop in.”

She furrowed her brows, wondering if he was making fun of her or not. She decided on getting inside the taxi as she was currently freezing and drenched. She told the taxi driver her address then lounged back.

“Why did you help me ?” She asked him.

“I owe you one. You let me go before you the other day at the restaurant.”

“Well, I guess you’re not as bad as I thought.”

He smirked. The ride back to Chelsea was not as long as Hermione thought it would be when she saw Tom’s face. They began to talk, about nothing in particular. She found out he was a little shit, but a nice little shit. What was refreshing was that they never talked once about their Complete. Usually, this was the first subject when you meet a new person, they would ask you if you had already met yours, how long it would have been, how many children you would have seen when touching him for the first time.

They didn’t speak about that in this taxi. Actually, they laughed.

**********

She was late for game night. Again. However, not ten minutes late like last week but thirty-five minutes late. So when Hermione entered Azkaban, she directly went to the bar, well aware that the girls were currently playing. Cormac poured her usual and smiled as he put it in front of her. She brought it to her lips and rose her head to look at the small TV behind the counter. As usual, Sky News was on loop.

6 weeks of strikes - Government lost in front of thousands of Incomplete.

Violent demonstration in Westminster.

Prime Minister Fudge - ‘I am well aware of the difficulties the Incompletes are facing’-

“They’re not wrong though.” She heard from beside her. She startled and saw a tall man standing in front of her. She took a good look at him.

“Taxi guy.” She said.

“Usually people call me Tom.” He smirked. She blinked and smiled.

“Of course Tom.” She remembered.

“Hermione, your team is losing.” Cormac joked. She looked behind the counter and saw Ginny currently pulling at her hair. She laughed at the sight.

“They’re totally lost without me.” She told Cormac.

“Yet, they won without you last week.” Tom intervened.

“I gave them a head start.” She winked.

“Sure you did.” He laughed.

Tom simply put his beer on the counter and silently joined her in watching the news. The demonstration had started slowly at first, only a dozen of people throughout London. In the next few weeks, the movement had taken great breadth. Thousands of Incomplete marching in the streets, in front of the Parliament and Buckingham, by the riverbanks. Hermione could understand what the Incomplete were trying to tell the government, but seeing Ron leaving every morning in his police uniform to contain the demonstration and meeting him at night, all bloodied, she couldn’t stand this anymore.

“They’re not wrong, you are right.” She spoke up, picking up on what he said before. “I just wouldn’t do it that way.”

He looked at her from the corner of his eye and analyzed the situation before replying. “How long has it been for you ?”

“Eleven years.”

“And you are what ? Twenty-two at most ? You don’t know what those people are going through. You’ve never lived your adult life being an Incomplete.”

She looked at him and pursed her lips. “Did you ?”

“I did. I only met mine three years ago.”

“But you found yours. They could all find theirs.” She said while pointing her finger at the screen showing videos of the demonstrations.

He let out a somber laugh. “You don’t know that. Maybe their Complete are dead or not living on the same continent. You’re one of the lucky ones Hermione. Not everyone is like you.”

She didn’t know what to answer. Hermione had never really thought about the Incomplete in that way. They stopped talking after that, they were not even looking at each other anymore. Hermione heard someone talking to her but didn’t register before Luna told her name twice.

“Hermione !” Luna shook her shoulder.

“Hey.” Hermione turned around to face her friend.

“We’re losing because you arrived late.”

A cheeky grin grew on her face and she looked at Tom. “Told ya.” He laughed at that.

“Hello. I’m Luna Lovegood.” The blond girl extended a hand towards Tom, he shook it. “No Luna Scamander.” She let out a small laugh, she had only been married for a few months and was not used to giving her bridal name yet.

“Hi, I’m Tom. Tom Riddle.”

“You were the one Hermione fought with last week, aren’t you ?”

“Let’s not get back on that.” He smirked. “She’s going to talk about Frankenstein again after that.”

Hermione lightly shoved him in the ribs and laughed.

“See you. The second round is about to start.” Luna concluded before glancing at Hermione, inviting her to join.

“I’ll finish my beer first.” Hermione answered. Luna smiled at both of them and went back to sit at their usual table.

“You don’t want to play ?” Tom teased.

“I don’t want to be linked to a defeat.”

“You’re clinically crazy.” He laughed.

Both took their beer at the same time and began drinking, their eyes still glued to each other. One sip turned into two, then without even speaking about it, Hermione, alone, started competing for who could finish their beer first. Tom stopped after the second sip and just stared at her.

“You’re fucking insane.” He couldn’t help but laugh.

“But I won.” She replied as she finished her entire pinte.

“It was not even a competition.”

“Says the loser.”

Tom kept looking at her, something in his eyes Hermione had never seen before. Time felt as if it has stopped for a second. Only two people in a pub, all alone, looking at each other, enjoying a beer.

“And the blue team is the winner !” Lee Jordan shouted, bringing both of them to reality. Tom cleared his voice and turned towards the TV. Hermione left to join her friends.

**********

On their anniversary, Hermione and Ron had the habit of spending it with Ron’s family, at the Burrows. Molly was behind the stove, preparing the meal for a dozen people in the kitchen. The others were all gathered in the living room, chatting over a flute of champagne about the current political climate and the strikes. Angelina and Fred were sharing a love seat by the chimney, George and Veracity not far. As usual Ginny was on Harry’s lap.

Since they found out they were Complete, Hermione had gotten along well with the Weasley. She felt good with them, as if she had always been part of the family.

“Ginny told me you’ve been late for two weeks in a row to games nights. What happened to our Hermione ?” Harry joked as he went by her side.

“Not my fault. I don’t control the tube yet Harry.” She smiled at her friend and soon to be brother in law.

“You must have been quite disappointed not being able to play with the girls.”

“Losing you mean.” Hermione chuckled. “Actually I had a great time. I drank my beer, I talked to.. to someone. I had fun.”

“Someone ?”

“Yeah, a guy at the bar. I don’t really remember. Maybe I drank too much.” She laughed. Hermione looked at Molly and whispered to Harry. “How is she ?”

“You know how hard it is for her when the entire family gathers.”

Hermione took a step towards Harry to keep the conversation confidential. “Are we ever going to know what really happened ?”

“I don’t dare to bring up the subject with Ginny.”

“It’s been eight years since he left. I remember that day. Molly had set up the table for thirteen, then suddenly she took one out. It has always been twelve plates ever since.”

“But you remember how he was. Always secretive, sneaking out, always writing in his little notebook. Percy was hiding something, he was lying to his family. To us.”

“I know, but what I find weird is that he left without his Complete. Without Penelope.”

Molly called everyone for lunch.

“Let’s not talk about that anymore.” Harry finished.

**********

Ginny had invited her shopping on Regent’s street this afternoon. Hermione got out of Green Park station and saw from afar a Cafe Nero. A cappuccino sounded nice so she entered the coffee and placed her order. The small place was quite packed and Hermione settled next to the counter.

“Excuse-me.” Someone bumped into her shoulder to get to the counter.

“An americano for Tom.” The barista spoke up. The man took the coffee and Hermione opened her eyes widely.

“Tom.” She smiled. He turned around and took a good look at her. She could see in his eyes that he couldn’t place her.

“Hermione.” She offered and saw the realisation in his eyes.

“Of course Hermione. How could I not remember ?” He looked at his drink. “You want to compete over coffee this time ?”

She faked being offended and open her hand to show him she had no coffee yet.

“Oh, let me buy you one.” He offered.

“I placed my order already. But thanks.”

“Do you have time to sit down ?” He shot her a beautiful smile. Hermione looked at the time and nodded.

The waitress called her name and Tom went to pick it up.

“One cappuccino.” He said while putting the cup in front of her.

“What a gentleman.” She laughed.

“Please keep this image of me and try to forget about the arsehole you met the first time.”

They exchanged a smile and took a sip. “So Frankenstein. You like literature ?” He started.

“Frankenstein’s monster.” She corrected him cheekily.

“Of course, Frankenstein’s monster.”

“I liked the book, but I prefer French literature. Have you read Boris Vian ?”

“The Froth of Days ?”

“Yes, The Froth of Days.”

“I do enjoy Vian, the absurdity of the story mixed with humour and deep subjects. But I really enjoy his songs. Le Déserteur.”

Hermione lounged back in her chair, a smile on her lips. She was not often taken aback, but on this day, in this coffee place, she was.

“Did you know that the ending was changed ? The French government obliged him to change the lyrics.” He kept going.

“Who would have thought Azkaban’s arsehole to be educated.” Hermione teased him.

“I asked you to forget about that. I am a gentleman from now on.” He whined.

They talked about literature, their favourite books and their hidden meaning. The way finishing a good book felt like breaking up with the characters, the way turning a page was satisfactory and the way old books smelled like. They disagreed on a lot, but they could agree on that. He was easy to talk to, easy to laugh with, and easy on the eyes.

Hermione’s phone rang on the table and she quickly picked up.

“Where the hell are you ?” Ginny asked her.

Hermione looked through the window and could see the ginger her back facing her.

“Ginny, I’m in the coffee. I can see you from here.” Hermione rolled her eyes. “Give me two minutes.”

“Well, it was nice talking to you Tom.” Hermione greeted him goodbye. They both rose from their seats at the same time.

“I'll see you around Hermione.”

Before leaving, Hermione threw away her empty cup in the bin, her mind still on the conversation she just had. On her way out, someone bumped into her, making her snap out of her thoughts.

“Was that the guy from game night ?” Ginny asked her as she looked through the window.

“Who ?”

Ginny pointed her finger at a tall man sitting alone at a table, a grin on his face.

“Oh. Maybe.” Hermione shrugged.

**********

Bank station at 8:30 AM was a nightmare. On top of the never ending corridors, people were all rushing, pushing each other to reach the exit as quickly as possible. People leaving the Central Line and the others trying to reach this Tube line were facing each other, only separated by a small iron bar.

Someone caught her eyes. Someone wearing a perfectly fitting dark blue suit, his dark hair perfectly styled. Someone she felt as if she knew from somewhere. Hermione just kept walking.

Arrived at her office, she said a quick ‘hi’ to Lavender, the receptionist then reached her desk.

“What’s wrong with you ?” Lavender asked her, her elbows on the top of her cubicle.

“What ?” Hermione rose her head.

“You seem weird. You didn’t stop for our usual trash talk this morning. What’s going on ?”

“Nothing. I just feel a little spaced out.” Hermione thought about stopping there, but she kept talking. “Do you know the feeling where you feel something bothering you but you don’t know what ? It keeps nudging you and you can’t put your finger on it.”

“Have you turned off the lights this morning ? It happens to me when I think I forgot to do that.” Lavender smiled.

“No, it has nothing to do with that. I don’t know it’s weird. Forget about that.”

Lavender sat next to her and start picking at her nails.

“So when he is going to pop the question ?” Brown smirked.

Hermione had seen the proposal. She had seen it when she was eleven years old, the first time she had touched Ron’s hand. It was at the Burrows, in the little garden behind the house. Just the two of them and candles. It was romantic and Hermione smiled just thinking about it. She also remembered how she looked like, how Ron looked like. They were in their twenties.

“I think soon.” Hermione replied with a small smile on her lips.

“You’re so lucky.” Lavender grinned putting her hand on top of her fists. “Cormac is not going to do his before ten years. It will be at breakfast, and he will just ask me without a ring. I don’t mind. It’s meant to be.”

The firm’s main partner, Minerva McGonagall stopped by her desk and rose an eyebrow at the receptionist.

“Miss Brown, if I remember correctly your desk is not here.” She said in a stern voice. Lavender lowered her head and quickly left Hermione to join her station.

**********

Hermione had finally gone to the florist. Two weeks late but still she went. The little shop was charming and Hermione wandered around. She heard the small bell on the door ringing, announcing someone’s arrival.

“Hermione ?” She heard the florist, Miss Sprout, calling her. “Could you please check if the bouquet is in the right shade of blue ?”

Hermione turned around and approached the counter. A tall man was looking at her, his mouth slightly agape.

“Hermione ?” He tentatively said.

“Do I know you ?” She genuinely asked.

“It’s me, Tom.”

At that Hermione cocked her head.

“Tom.” She smiled. “Of course. How could I not remember you. Remember your name.”

“Yeah, it seems to happen a lot.” Tom nodded. Hermione could see that he was preoccupied with something.

Miss Sprout brought a huge bouquet of blue peonies. The flowers were perfect, the exact shade of Fleur’s eyes.

“That’s beautiful, Miss Sprout. She will love it.” Hermione grinned.

The florist finally acknowledged Tom’s presence.

“Mister Riddle ! The flowers are ready, I just need a little signature and we will send them to Miss Hornby.”

Tom shook his head to get back to reality and did as ordered. He then turned to Hermione. “Do you have time for coffee ?” He pressed.

“Hum, sure.”

Tom opened the door and let her get out first. On the corner of the street was a little coffee shop, entirely empty. They sat down and ordered two espressos. They didn’t talk at first, they both had something to say but didn’t know how to broach the subject. Tom finally broke the silence. “Why can’t I remember your name ? We’ve met five times now. And I still can’t remember it on my own.”

Hermione looked at him, as if she was asking for his permission to talk.

“Say it.” He told her.

“I don’t remember you at all.” She stopped abruptly. “Do you take the Central Line ?”

“Pardon ?”

“Around 8:30AM, do you take the Central Line ?” She repeated.

“I do. Everyday.”

Hermione let out a small laugh. “That was you. I saw you the other day. Well, I couldn’t remember you, but I saw that man, in a dark navy suit, and I felt as if I knew him from somewhere. It was you. But I couldn’t remember. Why can’t I remember ?” Hermione stared at her hands. “When you told me your name at the florist, everything came back. So clearly. The bar, the restaurant, the taxi, the coffee shop. Everything.”

Tom was staring at her, feeling as lost as she currently was.

“Ginny, my friend, she remembered you. She asked me if you were the guy from game night. She remembered you. Why can’t I ?” She finally met his gaze.

“I don’t know.”

“Does it mean we’re going to forget each other after this coffee ?” She realised.

**********

“Hermione, are you alright ?” McGonagall asked her.

Hermione was currently sitting in one of the leather chairs in her boss’s office. Hermione had a great relationship with her. Minerva McGonagall had been her professor at law school, then her mentor. She trusted her with her life.

“You’ve been off lately. Is everything alright ? Do you have too much work ?” Minerva pressed.

“No it’s not about work.” Hermione finally answered. “Can I talk to you about something ?”

“You can always talk to me.” The older woman gently smiled.

“Something has been happening for a while now. I feel like something is missing. Something doesn’t feel right. I have this nudge, constantly.” She emphasised the “constantly”.

McGonagall got up and went to lock the door. Hermione shot her an interrogating glance.

“Do you feel like you’re forgetting something ?” Her mentor asked her in a small voice.

“Exactly ! Yes.”

“Do you have lapses of memory ? Like certain memories are incomplete ? Like you remember going to the movies, but not with who ?”

“Yes…” Hermione felt her heart beat faster in her chest. “Do you know what’s going on ?”

Minerva only looked at her. “Did you know my current husband was not my Complete ?” She finally asked Hermione.

“I thought he was.”

“My first husband was, Elphistone. He died twenty-five years ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s okay. I met Dougal. His Complete was still alive at the time. When we were meeting, I could remember him, our first encounter, our first laugh. Everything. He couldn’t though. But I soon as I told him my name, everything came back to him. Years later, after the death of his Complete he explained this to me. He had the feeling of something missing. Something didn’t feel right.”

“And you think this is happening to me ?” Hermione barely whispered.

“Maybe. Maybe I’m wrong. It sure looks like it.”

“But it is impossible !” Hermione got up. “I’m Ron’s Complete. I love him, we’re going to get engaged soon. I’ve seen the kids, the house. I’ve seen everything, our entire life !”

“Hermione, calm down.” Minerva gently told her. “Unplanned things happen.”

“No they don’t.”

Minerva went by Hermione’s side and put her hand on her shoulder. “Who is he ?”

“I don’t know.” Hermione felt the tears of frustration in her eyes. “No one ! There is no one.”

“When did it start ?”

“I don’t know… One month ago ?”

“Have you told anyone else ?”

“No. Only you.”

“Good. Keep it that way.” She led Hermione back to her chair and kneeled in front of her. “I am going to tell you something Hermione. You are not going to believe me. But the next time you see him, because you will see him again, you are going to ask him one question.”

**********

She had arrived on time this Tuesday. Ginny even applauded when she saw Hermione coming through the door. As usual, she sat down with the girls and gestured to Cormac for a beer.

“Why do you have to tell over and over again about your future proposal to Lavender ?” He snapped as he brought her the beer.

“She asked me Cormac.” Hermione shrugged.

“For fuck sakes Hermione !” McLaggen stormed off. The five girls looked at each other and burst out laughing. She took a sip of her beer and looked around the room. Sitting at a table near the bar, she saw a man. A tall man with perfectly styled hair, elbowing at his friend. “Say my name.” He was whispering loudly. His friend was not obeying so he gave him a hard shove in the ribs.

“Tom ! What the fuck !”

Everything came back.

She froze. They were looking at each other, remembering every minute they had spent together.

“I-I need to go, I have a phone call to make.” Hermione mumbled before leaving the pub. Once outside she took a deep breath and looked at the sky. She felt the panic rising in her chest.

“What the fuck is going on ?” Tom snapped.

Hermione turned around and saw him not far from her, his chest quickly rising.

“Do you have feelings for me ?” She blurted out, vaguely remembering her conversation with Minerva.

“What ?”

“Do you have feelings for me Tom ?”

“I already have a Complete.” He tried to change the subject.

“That is not the question. Do you have feelings for me ?”

He froze, his gaze stuck on her.

“Yes. I do.” He finally let out.

“I know what is happening.” She whispered. Hermione put both of her hands in her hair and pulled. “It’s fucked up Tom. It’s really fucked up.”

The first time they met, they were almost yelling at each other. Nothing but the physical attraction between them. So they remembered a bit when they met the second time at the restaurant. Still, nothing more than physical attraction. But the third time, in the taxi, they laughed. He had looked at her in the way he was supposed to look at his Complete, and she had given a smile that was only reserved for Ron.

There was more than physical attraction, and faith couldn’t allow that. So they started forgetting. Their memory started failing them, but not entirely. There was always something bothering them. Like something was missing.

However, there is always a loophole. The names. Once they heard each other names, bright flashes came back. The memories of their encounters, the sound of their laughter, the feeling in their chest when the other smiled.

But as soon as the parted ways, they forgot again. It was an endless loop.

The pub’s door opened and they both turned around in surprise.

“Let’s get somewhere else.” Tom took her hand. As predicted, nothing happened, not flashforward of their lives, no house, no children, nothing. Unplanned things happen. She squeezed his hand.

They went to a small restaurant and ordered too much wine. He told her about his childhood, his drunken stories and every embarrassing thing that happened to him. And she smiled, she smiled so much that night that her cheeks began hurting.

Because tonight was the first time she learned things about someone she had feelings for instead of already knowing.

They kissed at the end of the night. Not because they knew their first kiss would happen in this dark alley near Soho, but only because they wanted to.

They forgot that night when they went their separate ways. Hermione wondered why she was smiling and Tom why his heart was beating this fast.

But every time they met, because they would meet again and again, they would look at each other, not knowing who the other person was but still feeling a pull towards each other. Sometimes they would not hear their names and just went their own way, other times, the good times as Hermione liked to call them, they would hear their names. She would laugh as her memory came back, the first encounter, the restaurant, the taxi, their first kiss. Then she would want to cry, because how could the universe do that to them ? Take their free-will away ? Tom would simply hug her and whisper sweet nothings in her ears. And just like that, she would laugh again.

**********

“Maybe we should leave.” Tom whispered against her naked shoulder.

“What ?” She smiled, not taking him seriously.

“I think we should leave. I think I’m forgetting more and more about you. Actually not only about you, but about where I was when we met, about what I was feeling on that day. We’re beginning to forget about things that are not directly linked to each other. I couldn’t remember what I did last tuesday. I forgot an entire day. I can’t let that happen. I can’t let you go. I can’t forget about you no more.”

Her smile faltered. He put back a strand of her chestnut hair behind her ear.

“Nothing compares to you. No one compares to you Hermione. Can’t you see ?”

“Tom…”

“Everyday,” He cut her. “I wake up next to a woman faith gave me. Someone I didn’t chose. Someone I learned to love because I knew I would love her in the future. What kind of love is that ? If this is love, I don’t want it.” When Tom spoke, his voice was barely a whisper. The whisper of a love confession in the late night, only meant for her to hear. “I want you, I want what we have. I want to wake up each morning without knowing what we will do, will we get married one day ? Will we have children ? Maybe we will fight on their names or on the apartment we would like to move into. We will laugh, and fight, and love. And the best part of it will be that we won’t have any idea of what’s coming next.”

Hermione brushed his face with her fingers adoringly.

“Tom,” She murmured. “Every morning I will wake up without knowing who you are.”

“And every morning I will tell you my name.”

**********

When she arrived at the Burrows with Ron, Harry was standing by the door, looking at their car. She got out and felt Harry’s gaze on her. Ron went inside after clapping one of Harry’s shoulders, leaving her alone with her friend.

“We need to talk.” He harshly said.

“Well, hello to you too.” Hermione tried to joke. “Let me say hello to everyone and I’ll be with you.”

“No, we are going to talk right now.”

Harry took her by the arm and led her to the garden, far from potential eavesdroppers.

“What the fuck was that ?” Harry snapped.

“What are you talking about ?” Hermione was completely lost.

“About last night !” He barked. “What you told me on the phone.”

“I didn’t call you last night. I was… I was with… I-” She couldn’t remember.

“You were with him.” He looked at her. “You told me that you needed to talk to me. That you were in love. That you were just with him, that you had spent the fucking night with him. You were crying on the phone, begging the universe to let you keep this only memory of him. You asked me to talk today. To tell you-” Harry stopped.

“Tell you what ?” Hermione snapped.

Hermione took a step back and turned around. She put all of her efforts into remembering something. Anything. A little conversation with McGonagall came back to mind, just a small part of it. Something about her second husband.

“I’m in love.” She realised. She felt it, the warmth in her chest, the flutter of her heart. “I’m in love Harry.” She faced her friend.

“You love him but you can’t even tell me his name.”

“I’ve told you his name, didn’t I ? Tell me.”

“I won’t Hermione.”

“Just tell me his fucking name !” She almost yelled, her eyes wet with tears.

“Open your eyes Hermione. You know what you’re up to with Ron, you saw the house, your beautiful children. You’ve seen everything. You’ve got everything. You feel like you’re in love with someone else right now but you are not. It’s just a lie, a big lie. You’re in love with Ron. You will have a spring wedding, you will live in this big white house on the hill. You will have two children, Rose and Hugo. Everything you ever wanted, ev-”

“But if I don’t want that ? What if I don’t want to know everything ? What if I want more ?” She cut him. “What if I just want to live every day without knowing what tomorrow will be made of ?”

“You’re just like Percy.” He shot at her like an insult. “Yes, Ginny told me.”

Hermione stopped talking. Suddenly, it all made sense. What happened, why he left.

“Are you ready to give up on everyone for a man you fucked twice in your life ?” Harry kept going.

“But I love him.” Hermione cried.

“No, you love Ron.” Harry took her by the shoulders and kept repeating the same sentence. “You love Ron, you love Ron.”

“Shut up.” She yelled. “Please shut up.”

“You love Ron Hermione.”

She closed her eyes, the world was spinning around her. Her brain was about to go off, her heart was panicking in her chest, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t think.

“Calm down Hermione.” Harry said to her in a soothing voice. He took her in his arms and patted her back. “Everything is alright.”

“What is going on ? I don’t feel well.”

“You just fainted. We were talking about Ginny. I think you are tired. You should take a nap.”

“Yes, I think I should.”

Harry kissed her forehead and led her inside. The last thing she remembered that night, before falling asleep, was loving Ron.

**********

“Ron, it’s a mess over here. I think it’s going to get violent soon.” Hermione said on the phone, panic evident in her voice.

“Where are you ?” Ron quickly asked.

“Westminster.”

“Do not move, I coming to get you.”

He hung up the phone and Hermione looked around her. The protesters were all getting angry by the minutes. The signs they were brandish were not as peaceful as they were when the strikes began 8 months ago. The Incomplete were mad, mad at the government for not letting them buy a house because they had not had the vision yet, so this house could not be theirs. They were mad at the Complete for having the privilege of living a perfect life just because they had met the right person at the right time.

“Hermione !” She could hear from somewhere behind. She tried to look around her to find Ron, but Westminster Square was packed.

A tall man with perfectly styled hair was running towards her. He took her face between his hand and simply said his name.

Everything came back.

“We need to leave. It’s going to get violent here.” Tom said in a hurry. He took her by the hand and led her through the crowd.

“Tom, Tom wait.” Hermione pulled her back. “I’m engaged.”

“What ? I can’t hear. We need to get you somewhere safe.” He kept moving forward.

“Tom !” She yelled. He stopped and turned around. “I got engaged.”

Tom stared at her, his heart slowly breaking in his chest. “You need to make the choice right now Hermione.”

“So do you.”

“I already made it.”

People were pushing, stomping on her feet, screaming slurs at the politicians, and she could hear her name being called by Ron from afar.

“You, always you.” She said in a hurry, feeling like time was collapsing. She didn’t have to think, it was a foregone conclusion.

“We leave tonight. No. Right now.”

“I can’t do that, I need to say goodbye.”

“You’re going to forget about me Hermione. I won’t let you do that. Something is wrong, I keep forgetting you more and more Hermione, and I think you do too. I feel like if I leave with you right now, I will lose you forever.”

Hermione could only agree with what he was saying. She opened her bag, her hands shaking, and took out a pen.

“Write your name on my hand. Quick do it.” She ordered him.

“What ?”

“Write your name !” She shouted.

Tom took it and started writing.

“You’re here.” Hermione saw Ron coming her way, her stomach was in knots, her eyes were wide open in panic. Her Complete took her by the arm and pulled her back. She felt the pen leaving her hand and Tom’s face. He tried to reach for her but people were blocking the way.

“Hermione ! Hermione !” Tom kept yelling as he saw her being taken away. He ran after her, trying to find a way through the crowd.

“I won’t forget your name. Hermione. Hermione.” Tom pushed people, without caring about anything else but her. “Hermione, Hermione. Your name is Hermi-”

Someone violently pushed him on the ground. His head violently collided with the ground, leaving him unconscious for a couple of seconds. When he woke up and rose to his feet, he searched in the crowd.

“No, no, no. What’s her name ? No, no, no.” Tom could feel the memories slowly slipping away.

He first forgot about the feeling of her hand in his. He forgot about how she chose him you, always you. He forgot about the way she looked at him when they were laying in bed. He could see the memories of their first time together slipping away, the softness of her skin under his fingers tips. He forgot about the dozen of restaurants they tested throughout London. He forgot about the day they rode bikes in Hyde Park. He forgot about all the small bookshop he took her to. He forgot about their dates, their jokes, their constant banter, her clothes, her perfume, her smile.

He forgot about how he tried to talk to his friends about her, getting frustrated as he couldn’t recall a thing. How his friends looked at him as if he was crazy. Then their first kiss, the taste of her. He forgot about the florist, when they realised something was wrong. He forgot when they first talked about literature in a coffee place near the Ritz, how her eyes glowed when he talked about Boris Vian. He then forgot about how he teased her at the restaurant and when she let him go first because he was already late for work. He slowly forgot about the first time he met her, the way she shouted at him, or when he draped his coat on her shoulders. Finally, he forgot about her. He forgot everything concerning her.

“What am I doing here ?” He wondered out loud.

**********

“Easy, easy.” Ron soothed her. Hermione slowly opened her eyes and found herself sitting on her couch, in her house. She couldn’t remember how she got here, why Ron was kneeling in front of her, a worried expression on his face.

“What happened ?” She slowly slurred.

“Don’t move, I’ll make you some tea, love. Do you need anything else ?”

“No, I have everything I ever wanted.” She smiled lovingly at him.

He kissed her forehead and left for the kitchen. Hermione slowly rose and went to the bathroom. She looked at herself in the mirror and put her hair in a bun. As she lowered her hands, she caught a glimpse of her engagement ring. She smiled at the memory of the Burrow’s garden, the candles, and Ron.

She turned her hand around and saw something written on the palm.

I love you. T

She furrowed her brows trying to find out where this came from. She couldn’t remember. She simply washed it away.

_____________________________________________________________________

For those who read DDM, we didn't abandoned it. We are current writing Chp 16 BUT it's a pain in the arse (not going to lie). We'll try to post it as soon as possible.

#tomione oneshot #tom riddle x hermione granger #tomione fanfiction #soulmate!au #Modern!AU #tom riddle #oneshot #tom marvolo riddle #tomione #Tom x Hermione #hermione x tom #Hermione Granger #angst #angsty #So much ANGST #Agarariddle-andhernachos

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1989dreamer · 4 years

Text

Full Offense (no offense)

Cross-posted at my AO3

Summary: Stiles lives in an apartment below the worst neighbor in the world. Derek always submits false complaints about Stiles and his roommates to the front office. Well, tables are turning. Derek is hosting a party this Saturday, and Stiles fully intends to crash it and confront Derek over his asshole-ish-ness.

Main Relationship: Sterek

Rating: T

Tags: Angry Stiles, Human AU, drunk characters, Derek cooks, dub/non-con drugging, attempted assault mentioned, over-protective Laura, enemies to lovers, asshole Jackson

~ * ~

“I’m offended,” Stiles announces to the room in general. No one looks up, too used to his outbursts by now to pay much attention. The fools.

He marches up to Scott sitting at the breakfast nook, a large bowl of Fruity Pebbles in front of him. He stares him down while Scott keeps shoveling cereal into his mouth.

Finally, after about five minutes, once his bowl is empty, he looks up as if just noticing Stiles for the first time. “Sorry,” he says laconically. “You’re offended?”

“Yeah, and you wanna know why?”

“Not really.”

Stiles ignores Scott and forges ahead. “That bastard in 3A wrote another complaint about us.”

“Really?” Now Scott looks interested. “What’d he say we did this time?”

“Something about an over-loud party last weekend.”

“But we weren’t even here last weekend,” Scott protests. He shoots a look at their roommates, Boyd and Jackson, sitting on the couch and playing a first person shooter game. They both shrug. Boyd had been at his girlfriend’s. Jackson had been who knows the hell where. Stiles doesn’t keep track of him. As long as he pays his rent, they are cool.

“So I’m thinking he’s targeting us,” Stiles says. “Why, I don’t know. That is something I intend to find out.”

“And how do you plan to do that?” Scott asks.

“A little bird told me that 3A is planning to host his own bash this weekend. So guess who wrangled an invite?”

“You’re going to crash 3A’s fancy shindig?” Jackson snorts. “In what outfit?”

“In this one?” Stiles points down at his button down, left open over a graphic t-shirt and baggy khaki pants. The only thing he might change is his shoes. He’s got a fresh pair of sneakers just waiting for a spin out in the world. Might as well break them in at 3A’s party.

Jackson snorts again, but he’ll be waiting a long time if he thinks Stiles either wants or needs his fashion advice.

“And how exactly did you get an invitation?”

“The front desk clerk gave it to me.” Stiles pulls out the blue paper and waves it in Jackson’s general direction. “Look, ‘Derek Hale formally invites you to Apartment 3A to partake in games and alcohol from the hours of 6:00 pm to 10:00 pm. Cabs will be called for all attendees who do not wish to stay overnight.’”

“Wow,” Scott says, “this Derek fellow sounds awfully polite on paper.”

“Yeah,” Stiles admits. “It’s probably to disguise how much of a shithead he really is.”

“Well, have fun,” Scott says. “I will be at Allison’s this weekend.”

“I’m heading back to Erica’s,” Boyd adds.

Jackson rolls his shoulders. “Any chance that invite has a plus-one on it?”

“Fuck off,” Stiles says, but he checks anyway. “Nope, sorry. Nothing about that. Seemed pretty exclusive from what the front desk clerk said.”

“Well I guess I’ll just have to get my own then,” Jackson says with too much nonchalance. He’s a bad liar. Stiles knows his tells. When he’s this relaxed, he’s worried.

“What? You think I’m going to his party to hobnob?” Stiles forces out a laugh. “Buddy, I’m going to confront the bastard and see what his fucking problem with us is.”

“Oh of course,” Jackson snipes back. “Couldn’t be that you’re finally fucking picking up culture.”

Stiles snorts. “If you consider going to Derek Hale’s wine-and-game-night culture.”

“Well,” Scott says, “it is more cultured than beer and C.O.D.”

“Hey, don’t shit on C.O.D. nights. That’s culture too.”

Boyd gives Stiles an air-five.

“Anyway. It’s just a party. If I can get Derek Hale off our backs, isn’t that a good thing?”

The others agree, and Boyd and Jackson go back to their game and Scott gets up to wash his bowl and spoon.

Stiles goes to his room to plot his speech for this Saturday. Derek Hale won’t know what hits him when Stiles walks into his apartment. It just might be the last thing Stiles ever does, but by God, he’s taking that asshole with him.

~ * ~

The rest of the week passes so uneventfully that Stiles is scared that things are going too well.

The day of Derek’s party dawns bright and beautiful and quiet.

Boyd left last night to Erica’s, and Scott didn’t even come home before he headed out to Allison’s.

Jackson is still around, but Stiles is ignoring him. As far as he knows, Jackson never managed to get an invite to the party, so he’s hoping to sneak out before Jackson can attach himself like a barnacle and slip into the party as a plus-one even though it really isn’t that kind of party.

Stiles spends most of the day in his room, on his computer practicing his speech until he can recite it without notes. If he was being graded on it, he’d accept nothing less than an A+. It’s that good.

Stiles has his outfit picked out already. Despite what he told his roommates earlier, he’s actually going to be wearing a fitted gray blazer over a buttoned down blue shirt and pressed khakis. He also managed to find his dress shoes from graduation. So, he’ll be decently dressed and can pass for one of Derek’s swanky friends.

At least, Stiles assumes they’re swanky. Derek dresses nicely all the time—at least whenever Stiles runs into him in the hallways.

About an hour before the party, he dresses in complete silence and then uses the fire escape outside his window to get down street side, and then he just chills at a small park about five blocks away.

Once 5:45 pm arrives, Stiles heads back and jogs up to Derek Hale’s door. The front desk clerk who’d given him the invite is nowhere to be seen. Instead, it’s an older, lecherous man that Stiles calls Uncle Bad Touch in his head. UBT waves at him as he hurries past.

Thankfully, UBT only works once in a long while. Usually it’s one of two clerks who look remarkably the same aside from different hairstyles. Stiles likes Cora best. She is abrasive in a good way, and she gives things to Stiles, like extra soap when he forgets to buy some or the invite to Derek’s party.

Despite all his careful planning, Jackson is waiting in front of Derek’s door, dressed even more smartly than Stiles. Hell, that might even be Jackson’s high school prom tux, and it really isn’t fair that he still fits in it, even if the shoulders look a little tight.

“Ready?” Jackson cocks an eyebrow at Stiles. He knocks before Stiles can answer.

The door immediately swings open, and Derek stands before them. Stiles can’t help fist-pumping a little when he notices that Derek is dressed in slacks and a button up shirt instead of a suit or tux like Jackson. He does bite back the “Culture,” that wants to come out, though.

“Welcome,” Derek says, looking from one to the other, a frown of confusion pulling his brows low over his eyes.

Stiles clears his throat and shoves the invite from Cora at Derek. He takes it, tucks it into his back pocket and then steps back to allow them in.

“Drinks are in the kitchen. Thanks for coming.”

He leaves them standing just inside the door as he makes his way to what must be the kitchen. The layout is similar to their apartment just downstairs, and Stiles heads for a couch in much nicer condition than theirs. Jackson follows him, perching on a loveseat across from him, a sturdy metal coffee table between the two sitting areas, and clutching at his knees. He seems far more nervous than Stiles feels.

There aren’t any other people here, and for a moment Stiles thinks he might have arrived too early, and then Derek reappears with a tray of finger foods just as the door slams open.

“What’s up, asshole!” the not-Cora front desk clerk yells, bouncing into the room, closely followed by a guy dressed identical to Jackson.

Jackson doesn’t look any relieved to see that.

“Hey, Laura, hey, Jordan.” Derek gives them an awkward sort of wave. “This is Cora and her fiancé.”

“Really now?” Laura peers at Stiles and Jackson with pretend interest. “Coulda swore those are your downstairs neighbors.”

“All right, you got me. Cora and Lydia were busy tonight so they gave their invite to Stiles and Jackson.”

Jackson shoots a sort of smug look at Stiles, completely ruined by the fact that he also looks like he wants to throw up. Stiles refuses to react, but he is a little bummed that it actually was a plus-one invite.

“Cool.” Laura looks marginally more interested. “Are they any good at Risk?”

Derek rolls his eyes so hard that Stiles waits for them to pop out and bounce along the floor. “We’re not playing Risk. I donated the game after last time.”

Laura turns a funny shade of red while Derek all but runs to where the door is being timidly knocked upon.

All told, five more people show up; a vivacious blonde couple, Rachel and Sean, who seem more interested in flanking Jackson and making him blush hotly before Derek makes them move; Kira with cat-headphones and a shy smile when she catches Stiles admiring the many fandom pins on her bag; permanent-frat-boy Sammy, with a backwards cap and saggy basketball shorts; and thin, elegant brunette, Abigail, who has an aloofness to rival a freezer. Derek keeps running back and forth from the kitchen until his tasteful coffee table is loaded down with cups and food. He encourages everyone to eat, and it’s delicious. Stiles eats way too much and drinks only enough to wash it down. He manages to put away two loaded potatoes, too many breaded mozzarella sticks, fried mushrooms, jalapeño poppers to count, and half of a small cheesecake. Only Abigail eats more than him. Derek is a fucking fantastic cook (even if most of the foods are pop and bake) and bartender. He’s also the quintessential host, and Stiles really feels bad about what he’s going to do.

He decides to wait until everyone else is too drunk to stop him before he confronts Derek about his well-hidden asshole-side.

~ * ~

About three hours later, the food is gone, drinks are back in the kitchen, and Laura is drunkenly trying to set up Jackson with Jordan. Despite wearing matching clothes and red faces, neither seems to actually mind her meddling.

And Derek keeps staring at Stiles with a heated gaze that is definitely not helping the stomachache from too much food.

Stiles wins every game they even try playing because everyone else, including Jackson, is smashed. Then, once they’ve settled into just conversation, he begins putting away the games. Derek tries to help, and Stiles has to bite back a fond smile as Derek rests his head on his shoulder while he tries and fails to sort the Monopoly money.

“So, how’d you get an invite?” Derek slurs against his ear when Stiles takes the money from him.

“You said it earlier: Cora gave it to me,” Stiles says honestly. “She also told me that you filed another complaint against us.”

“What?” Derek hiccups on the word, pulling back and staring wide-eyed and innocent at Stiles. He isn’t buying it.

Not at all.

Derek hiccups again, and then lets out a low burp. He blushes, covering his mouth. “Sorry. But I didn’t file any complaints against you. You’re great neighbors. You haven’t done anything at all. Even your get-togethers are quiet and respectful. Why would I complain about you?”

“If it isn’t you, then who…?” Stiles looks away from Derek. For some reason, he finds his gaze locked onto Jackson. Who is staring back at him with a kind of terrified look on his face.

“Jackson?” Stiles asks.

“Yeah?” His roommate swallows hard.

“Why has Derek been filing complaints about us at the front office?”

“He hasn’t,” Jackson whispers. “I have.”

“Why?” Derek asks. “You guys are perfect! My parents love you.”

“It’s stupid,” Jackson mutters. “I’m sorry. I’ll stop. I’ll move out too. I’m sorry, Stiles.”

“What did you hope to accomplish by filing complaints against us? You realize you would be kicked out too, right?”

“Yeah, but…” he pauses to blow out a breath that he doesn’t seem like he can spare. “I just. It’s just so stupid. I’m so sorry, Stiles. I just wanted to get you evicted. I knew the rest of us could play off as quiet and nice tenants while you’d probably have a loud reaction and get kicked out. I’m sorry.”

Hurt, Stiles leans back like that can even begin to give him the distance he needs right now. Jackson does look reproached but sorry doesn’t make up for the fact that his roommate, someone he thought was his friend, filed three noise complaints against him. One more and the landlords would have no choice but to investigate and possibly kick him out.

Derek pats at Stiles’ arm. “I’m sorry you have such a shitty friend,” he says.

Stiles nods. “Me too.” He stands up. “I’m sorry, Derek. I came here to yell at you for unfairly complaining about us, and you’ve been nothing but awesome. I hope I get to see you again someday. Right now, I just need to go. I need to find a place to stay for tonight.” He looks back at Jackson and then away just as quickly. “I can’t stay at our apartment right now.”

“Everyone was just leaving, right?”

“Fuck no,” Laura says. “We’re stealing your bed, Derek. You can sleep on the couch.”

Derek frowns at her. “Okay, so we’re all a little too drunk for this. Stiles, why don’t you stay here tonight and Jackson will go back to the apartment. We’ll sort it all out tomorrow when we’re not drunk anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Jackson says again. “Really, Stiles. I am.”

“I get it,” Stiles tells him, “but right now, I don’t care.”

“Jordan, walk Jackson back to his apartment,” Laura orders. “My buzz is fading and that’s not what Saturday night’s all about.”

It’s definitely an awkward end to what had been a fun and kind of sweet night.

Stiles sits back down on the sofa as the door closes behind Jackson and Jordan. Derek watches him, eyes soft with concern. Stiles isn’t sure that he wants whatever sympathy Derek has for him, but he’s glad at least someone seems to realize how hurt he is by Jackson’s betrayal.

Laura grouses a bit and then stumbles to the bedroom, half the rest of the party following her while the other half goes to the other bedroom.

Derek sighs, leaning against Stiles. “Are you okay?”

“Not really, but I guess I will be. Anyway, I better call our other roommates and let them know that I’ll be moving out.”

“You can stay on my couch tonight, and if you need a place to crash, I’ve got a spare bed.” He glances at the second door. “I’ll clean the bed and put out fresh sheets tomorrow,” he promises.

“Why would you do that for me?” Stiles asks. “I’m practically a stranger to you.”

“Well, my sisters like you. Cora especially. So,” Derek shrugs, “I like you too.”

“That is, ostensibly, the worst reason I have ever heard to like someone,” Stiles says.

Derek rolls his shoulders in a lazy shrug. “It’s worked out so far,” he replies. “Anyway. I should let you get settled.” He pauses, studying Stiles with a serious, contemplative expression, lip between his teeth. Honestly, it’s a little adorable.

Stiles sighs and shakes his head. “Yeah, okay. Thanks, Derek, you’re being a real friend, unlike Jackson.”

It’s Derek’s turn to sigh. “I’ve had my share of bad friends,” he admits. “I do my best to not make anyone feel like they’re unwelcome even if I don’t know them. I guess it makes people think I’m soft or something, so I try to keep my true emotions hidden when I’m out in public…” he trails off, blinking. “I don’t remember where I was going with that, but yeah, I really just want you to know that you’re welcome here as long as you need it.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says sincerely. “That really means a lot to me. Thank you, Derek.”

“No problems.” Derek does a two finger wave as he stumbles to a trunk set between the bedroom doors. He returns with a couple of blankets and pillows, thumping one set into Stiles’ chest. “You take the couch. I’ll sleep in the kitchen. Wake me up if I’m not already up when you get up.”

“Okay.” Stiles refuses to believe it’s a promise, but the hopeful look Derek gives him before he disappears into the kitchen makes him think that whether he meant it or not, Derek definitely took it as a promise.

Could be worse, he decides, dropping the pillow onto the couch and following it down.

His brain, usually wired too fast to get much sleep must be as exhausted as he is because almost as soon as he buries his face in his borrowed pillow, he’s out.

~ * ~

Stiles wakes up when one of the guests trips on their way to the bathroom, and because it’s daylight outside, he decides it’s not worth chasing that last minute of sleep, so he gets up and goes to find Derek in the kitchen.

Derek is rolled into his blanket, face smushed into his pillow. He’s adorable, and Stiles is struck by the sudden realization that someone needs to be kissing and loving up on him, and that maybe it should be him.

The floor creaks a little as Stiles moves closer, and Derek snuffles a bit and then sits bolt upright, bleary-eyed and yawning.

“Wha’ time’s it?” he mumbles, a hand flopping out of his blanket wrap to scratch at his beard.

Stiles pulls out his phone. “It’s almost 6:30,” he says. “Are you okay from sleeping on the floor?”

“’m fine,” Derek says around another yawn. He scrambles up and stretches until his back pops. “So, do you want something to eat? If I know Laura and her hangover, she’ll want the greasiest thing I can make. I’ve got three types of bacon—regular, thick, and turkey. I have eggs, cheese, hash browns, biscuits, and gravy.”

Stiles laughs in disbelief at the size of the menu. “Just how many guests do you have?” he asks. “Jordan’s still with Jackson. That means there’s eight of us left, including you. Do you really thing we can eat all that?”

Derek grins at him. “You don’t know hungover Laura. She’ll put it all away if we don’t stop her.”

Stiles rolls his shoulders. He’s not inclined to stop Derek if he’s planning on cooking again. Besides, it’s not like he has anywhere he has to be. Not until Jackson is out of the apartment because even though he’s the one moving out, he doesn’t want to be in the same room as his former friend.

Instead, he sits at the little table tucked under the window and watches Derek dig out everything he talked about and more. He tosses an orange at Stiles and then hums under his breath as he heats up a skillet and begins cracking eggs into a bowl. He pops what look like homemade biscuits on a baking sheet and starts a pot of country gravy.

“You know,” Stiles says, contemplative, “you’re handsome, can cook, and are so sweet. Why don’t you have a significant other?”

Derek’s shoulders tense for a brief moment before he continues, using a fork to beat the eggs. “I’m un-datable,” he says easily. Certainly far more easily than Stiles could have in his position.

“And why is that?” Stiles digs a thumb into a groove of the table while he waits for Derek’s response.

“Because he’s a fucking martyr,” Laura says from the doorway. She saunters in and sits down in the chair across from Stiles, wincing as her chair scrapes the floor. “Way back in high school, he wasn’t always so reserved and cool. He was dorky as shit. There were a few girls—popular bitches. You know the type, rich, never had to work for the things they had. Anyway, some of them targeted him because while Derek was never ugly, he wasn’t the cutest boy in school.” Laura pauses to rub her temples. “We have money. Obviously. Our parents own this apartment complex. So they just wanted to fuck with him. The last one was the worst.”

Derek’s shoulders are shaking, and Stiles stops Laura. She looks over at her brother and swears colorfully.

“Hey, I’m sorry. I’ll stop talking. We won’t say anything more. I promise.”

“It’s okay,” Derek says, calmly sliding several slices of the turkey bacon into the pan. “It’s been years. It’s not like she’s out yet.”

Stiles startles, a soft, “What?” slipping out.

Derek sighs heavily, reaching for a spatula. “My last girlfriend drugged me. She was trying to record something incriminating and ended up getting busted by a chaperone.”

“It was junior prom,” Laura fills in.

Derek nods. “She got five years. It was extended after she fought her cellmate and almost killed her. So, she’s got another five years. She’ll be released in two years.”

Stiles quickly counts up on his fingers. “So that makes you, what, twenty-five?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Twenty-three.”

“I’m thirty,” Laura interjects, shrugging when both her brother and Stiles look at her. “Yeah. I had an outside perspective.” She goes quiet. “I was the chaperone.”

“That’s some heavy stuff,” Stiles says. “No wonder you don’t date anymore.”

“Anyway. Breakfast is about halfway done. You should call the others.”

Derek moves onto the potatoes next. Laura leaves, probably to rouse the other guests. Stiles sits back at the table, rolling the orange one way and then the other.

After a few minutes of nothing but the sizzling of potatoes, Stiles clears his throat. “So,” he says softly. “Are you ready to date again or still…?”

“Probably ready,” Derek answers, so low that Stiles has to strain to hear him. “Been ready for a while, but Laura feels so guilty that she kind of sabotages my relationships.”

“If it were me, I wouldn’t let her push me away.”

“Are you insinuating that you’d date me?” Derek turns just to raise an eyebrow at him.

Stiles waits until he turns back to stove before saying, “Maybe more than insinuating.”

Derek doesn’t respond, so Stiles assumes he hasn’t heard him. That’s okay. Stiles can just sit here and enjoy the view. Maybe after breakfast he’ll bring up the insinuation again. He doesn’t want it to be awkward if he’s going to crash with Derek before finding his own place.

But if it goes well, aside from Laura, then maybe they can move in right away. Derek has two bedrooms. It’s not like they’ll jump right into bed. Stiles is still virginal and a bit self-conscious about it. And besides, Derek might be ready for dating but dating is miles from having sex. At least, Stiles thinks it is. It’s not like he has experience there.

He finally peels the orange to give his hands something to do and then Derek clears his throat. Stiles looks up.

“So, uh, about what you said, about it not being an insinuation. Did you mean that?” Derek sets a plate of the fresh biscuits onto the table and then grabs the pot of gravy too.

“Yes?” Stiles coughs, feeling the flush rising in his cheeks. “I mean, yeah, yes. Definitely. I definitely would like to date you. I mean, technically, we’re already on our second date.”

“True. So, formally, Stiles-I-don’t-know-your-last-name, would you like to go on a date with me?”

“Stilinski,” Stiles says, “and yes, Derek Hale, I’d love to go on a date with you. Formally.”

Derek makes a face. “Your name is Stiles Stilinski? Who named you?”

“Excuse you, I did.” Stiles makes a face back at him. “It’s a nickname, duh.”

“So what’s your real name?”

“Ah,” Stiles waggles a finger at him, “that’s a third date kind of question, don’t you think?”

“Are we going on a date tonight?”

“Probably,” Stiles says, and then realizes what Derek is getting at. “Cheeky,” he says. “Maybe I’ll never tell you until the day we get married, and then you’ll be like, ‘What happened to Stiles?’ and ‘How the fuck do you even say that?’”

“Wrong.”

“How so?”

“I’d never be so crude as to swear on our wedding day. That’s for the honeymoon.”

“Oh yeah, and what’ll you be saying then?”

Derek blushes and doesn’t answer, but Stiles can guess and it makes him blush too.

“Oh isn’t this cozy?” Abigail says as she drops into the chair next to Stiles. The rest of the guests file in, grab food and file out, all shuffling in some kind of zombie-walk. Only Laura joins them at the table. Abigail adds, slyly eying Laura, who has piled a plate high with a lot off food, immediately stabbing a fork into the mess and shoveling it into her face, “Are you finally going to admit your big, fat crush on little old Stiles here, eh, Derek?”

“Yeah, actually, we’re way past that,” Derek says. “We’re on our second date.”

Laura chokes on her eggs. “What?” she demands, glaring at Stiles. “When did this happen?”

“Um, well, the party last night was the first date,” Stiles says. He holds her gaze, giving as good as he gets. “Breakfast this morning is date number two.”

“And we’re going on a third date tonight,” Derek announces. He stares down Laura, almost daring her to challenge him. Instead, and Stiles gets the distinct feeling that this is rare, Laura sinks back in her chair and digs back into her eggs.

Briefly, Stiles thinks he made a mistake agreeing to date Derek so easily, but the first moment Derek looks up from his plate and grins at Stiles as he reaches for more food, he knows he was gone the moment he sat on Derek’s couch and listened to him make his friends leave Jackson alone, the way he let them in at all. The way he’s been nothing but gracious despite his semi-drunken confession to purposefully putting on a grumpy air in the hallways. Derek Hale is a sweetheart and Stiles realizes that he wants to date Derek in all the ways. He wants to learn his favorite color, which movies he loves, what he reads, why he gives up his bed to his friends and his couch to a stranger. He wants to know Derek, and Derek’s gentle smile lets him know that Derek wants to know him too.

So maybe Jackson deserves a little credit for this, but Stiles is still mad at him. Even if it’s the best thing that’s happened to Stiles in a long while.

“Mieczysław,” he says suddenly, aware that he’s interrupting some weird bantering between Abigail and Laura.

“What?” Laura asks.

Derek just grins wider. “Mieczysław,” he repeats and he doesn’t completely butcher it, but it could use some work.

“Yeah,” Stiles says.

And that’s how he knows they’ll work out, eating breakfast foods at a table with Derek’s older sister and special friend, on their second date, Derek’s blanket and pillow still shoved into a corner of the room, the sound of the rest of Derek’s friends chattering in the living room.

Derek and Mieczysław sitting at the table, making eyes at each other over eggs and bacon, gonna get married and say bad words on their honeymoon.

Yeah, it kinda sounds perfect.

~ The End ~

#Teen Wolf Fanfiction #Stiles Stilinski #Derek Hale #Enemies to Friends to Lovers #Fullmoon Ficlet Prompt 373 #My Story/My Writing

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familyofpebbles · 3 years

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September 10th, 2021

If I’ve learned anything the past couple years, it’s that when I’m repeatedly not accomplishing something that I want to, it’s best to change the strategy instead of trying to force myself into a method that just isn’t working for me. I’ve often struggled with not being able to just FORCE myself to do things- it’s just a matter of willpower and discipline is it not?? So I spent years spinning my wheels on a lot of things. It’s not a waste of time to try out a new strategy, multiple new strategies, if you’re not making progress anyways. It’s an investment. Once you find something you can stick to, suddenly you’re moving again! And with much less agonizing over it!

This applies to smaller things like this blog, too. We’ve lived together, what, three years? Nearly four? And have not managed to write any of it down (except for the last two a month or two ago.) So, instead of writing in such detail, or alternating going through a trip day by day, or writing you romantic letters (I can just tell you in person now!) I’m gonna just try to write once a month. And I’m gonna write about what I want. I’ll try to cover some missed time, but I’m not gonna stress about it too hard. I’m going to try to remind you to write something once a month too. Long or short, detailed or not, doesn’t matter. What matters is that we have SOMETHING. I value the book I made out of our last blog so much. I’m SO thankful we have a record of the beginning of our relationship, messy bits and all. I want that for the rest of our life too, it’s just so good. And I like the idea that one day a grandchild, or someone even further down the lineage (hello, you!) will be interested in what their ancestors lives were like. I wish I had something like this from mine. I hope these books of ours survive that long. It’s like part of us is still living if our story is being told.

Well, gosh. Where do I start now? That’s the problem with leaving off for so long.

We live in Germany, as I’m sure the reader has been able to gather. (Who am I writing to? You still, Robert? Or is this a letter to whoever picks this book up? I don’t know and I probably won’t be consistent about it. You’ll just have to keep up I suppose!)

We live in Germany. You’re stationed here- chose Hohenfels because it’s a chill unit that doesn’t deploy. You still got your EIB while here though! Super proud of you for that. You worked so hard, I don’t think you left work mode at all the entire time, it’s all you thought about. And you did it!

I work at a bank now. Again. It’s not bad, but I don’t like the manager. I won’t waste effort talking about him, but trust me, I have stories. Thankfully we’re about to get a new one. I also met one of my new best friends there. Her name is Jordan, and I’m soooo thankful to have found someone here I really vibe with. It is a tragedy of military life that we will move away from each other sooner rather than later. But it is a perk of military life to have the opportunity to meet people from all over that you never would have otherwise. And it’s a perk of living in this era of easy communication to not have to lose touch.

We love Germany. Like really love it. Like wish we could stay forever love it.

When we got here we arrived late, in the dark. We drove up to a building in the middle of this colorful little gingerbread fairytale town and were told that this was our hotel that we’d be staying in until we had a place of our own. We couldn’t believe it was real.

I can’t imagine a more perfect welcome to Germany. Those first couple months were blissful. We were in a beautiful hotel on the main street of the small town of Velburg- our room sitting on top of the café with homemade pastries, tea, and beer. The beer! It’s as good as they say, truly. Which means a lot, coming from me. Each building was a different color and covered in flowers and vines. Everyone had a beautiful garden. The church at the head of the road rang it’s bells hourly, and our street smelled of wood smoke and fresh bread from the bakery directly across from us. The weather was stunning- bright blue skies and warm sun and a cool September breeze. The food was the best we had ever tasted. The sheep up the road always ran up to us to be loved on. And there were beautiful castle ruins on the hill right above us. The tower has been restored, and we hiked up to it regularly to look out over the countryside. Germany really greeted us with the warmest of hugs.

Now we live in a town called Hohenburg. It’s not as lively, having been cut off from much of the surrounding towns and roads by the base. The buildings on the main street are still bright, but they’re mostly empty, and many of them sag backwards a bit. But I still find it charming. It’s quiet, and feels safe, and there’s a lovely walking path Livvy and I use all the time. And we have our own ruins too! Less intact, but it’s always magical rounding the bend on the way home and looking at our pretty little town with it’s castle overlooking it. Like a fairytale. It’s beautiful around here, year round. My favorite time is early mornings in spring, with everything green and blooming and a cozy fog slowly dissipating in the golden light. I always stop to move snails out of the road. I love it here so much.

Ah, you just got home. That makes it harder to write. You’ve been on rotation so have been gone a lot, and have most of today off. If you just wanna play video games, I’ll keep writing, but if not I’ll come back to this tomorrow. Maybe I’ll write more than just once this month. I’m enjoying it.

It’s tomorrow! We ended up talking and having a glass of wine and making dinner. My favorite kind of evening with you. I’m so thankful we’re together. The novelty hasn’t worn off.

You bought me an electric piano for our anniversary last year. Best gift ever! I really need to set aside more time to play it… I’ve just recently started trying to set aside 30 minutes before going to bed to either read or play piano, but it’s hard to stick to when there’s just oooone mooore thing I could get done. But I think it’s important to try and prioritize that kind of intentional relaxation. I’m trying to learn Gymonopedie no. 1. It’s not actually as technically hard as I thought, the hard part is memorization. It would help a ton if I could read music but… I don’t wanna learn. Maybe eventually.

Regensburg was the first city we went to here. We took the train and watched all the storybook towns roll by. Perfect choice. It’s a beautiful place, exactly what you would think of if called on to imagine a classic European city. St. Peter’s was the first cathedral we saw, towering and imposing and intricately carved, impressive in its shadowy heights. But my favorite, forever favorite, was St. Emmeram’s. The beauty touched me in an unexpected way. I’m just going to copy/paste what I wrote about it from Instagram because I put it exactly the way I wanted to then:

“There are conversations to be had about the greed of organized religion throughout history- gold leaf and marble and soaring ceilings while the impoverished of the congregation struggle. Not exactly Christ-like. Not exactly Christian.⁣ ⁣ But I must admit, these are not conversations I wanted to have inside this building.⁣ ⁣ There is something in the human soul that is nourished by beauty. And this was, for lack of a better word, heavenly. I could feel the centuries of people seeking out this space for comfort, inspiration, hope. Maybe on their darkest days, desperately looking for something better, higher. I can understand that. ⁣ ⁣ The way the light cascaded from the windows, illuminating each sculpted figure on the opposite wall at sunset. Serene faces gazing benevolently down upon you. Perfect acoustics for the angelic music to envelop and sooth you. Something is larger than you and your problems, there is more to life than this.⁣ ⁣ It brought tears to my eyes.”

Also- we had the best pasta of our lives in that city. Seriously, every other pasta I ever eat will be compared to that one. Goddamn.

Covid limited our travel ability significantly for about a year, which was a bummer. I suppose it would be interesting in historical terms to get into our experience and feelings about that but… not so fun to write. And honestly, we were lucky. It didn’t affect us all that much. We couldn’t travel, couldn’t hang out with groups, and had to wear masks everywhere (still do on that one). It was hard to get used to but once we did… well that’s just how it was. We were still working. We didn’t get sick, no family or close friends got sick, so were alright. And we got vaccinated fairly early on. So we were lucky. Anyway. The POINT is that we haven’t been able to go to as many countries as we would have liked to. But we managed to see a lot in Germany, and we’re beginning to cross borders again this year, which is exciting.

It’s so easy to see amazing things here. You don’t have to go very far at all to see something beautiful or ancient or both. We’ve seen countless castles, ruined and restored. We’ve gone to the oldest monastic brewery in the world and sampled the beer and liquor. We visited Munich and toured the palace and drank and the massive beer hall. We’ve toured museums and gotten tattoos and tried all the limited vegetarian options Germany has to offer. We hiked up to a castle on my birthday so you could take pictures of me in a fancy dress through the fog. We’ve gone on many walks and taken a cable car up to the highest mountain in Germany… it was cloudy but still impressive. We got to experience Christmas markets our first year here, which I absolutely adore and I really hope they come back soon. We go out to dinner with friends, have big beers or ouzo shots with a feast. We have parties and host D&D nights and sometimes go to a lake. We’ve built a little community here like we didn’t bother to do in North Carolina. You got another promotion, I’m planning our wedding (we postponed again). We’re happy. Really happy.

We joke about how everyone says the first year is the hardest, oh wait no, the second year is when reality really sets in… oh well just wait til you have kids!! But it’s so easy. It’s so easy to live with you and love you. Every night is a slumber party still. I’m still happiest when you’re around. You’re still my very best friend. Nothing tops just talking to you.

I suppose our circumstances help, hard to be unhappy with these kind of surroundings! But then again, people are. We see it all the time. Doesn’t matter where you live when your relationship sucks. I’m thankful for you. Everything turned out so well for us, its wild.

There are so many trips to write about! It’s a bit overwhelming. I feel like I’ve given us a pretty good start though, so perhaps that’s a next time kind of thing. I’m excited to see what you start us off here with.

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nsjerhn · 3 years

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sophiehunteroctopussyblog · 6 years

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As Benedict Cumberbatch returns to screens big and small, he tells Craig McLean the secret to building a blockbuster body – and why his Sherlock co-star is wrong to fret about the fans

The last time I met Benedict Cumberbatch he was wearing only a pair of trunks, eating wine gums and worrying about the size of his abs. It was April 2017 and we were on the suburban set of The Child in Time, the first drama from his production company, SunnyMarch. In the lead role as a children’s author overwhelmed by grief following the disappearance of his daughter, Cumberbatch was preparing to shoot a scene in a bathtub – and was painfully aware that his toned torso looked out of place.

Shortly after the five-week shoot, the actor explained, he was due to fly to America to reprise his part as the disarmingly buff, dimension-bending Marvel superhero Doctor Strange. The year before, his stand-alone Doctor Strange movie had taken almost half a billion pounds at the international box office – and when it was announced that the character (also glimpsed briefly in Thor: Ragnarok last autumn) would be making a prominent return in this year’s Avengers: Infinity War there was no question of Cumberbatch returning to the role without first hitting the gym.

By the time we met, the actor’s pre-shoot fitness regime – which he described as “pretty full on… but a mental sorbet” – was well under way; hence those abs.

Fast forward to April 2018 and Cumberbatch – a 41-year-old father of two – is in front of me once again, in a London hotel room, midway through the global press tour for Infinity War. This time, thank God, he is fully clothed (in blue linen, denim and suede), but he’s still eating sweets.

Bulging with stars (Robert Downey Jr, Scarlett Johansson, Mark Ruffalo, Zoe Saldana and Josh Brolin for starters), the biggest Marvel film to date promises to be a superhero Greatest Hits, featuring all of the Avengers, Spider-Man, Black Panther and the Guardians of the Galaxy. Such is the secrecy surrounding it that I’ve only been shown 25 minutes, all superhero banter and ear-splitting battles against Brolin’s intergalactic villain, Thanos.

Doctor Strange appears to be the main goody, no less. Coiled in his chair, Cumberbatch admits that, after all those hours in the gym, he “bristled” earlier in the day when a journalist commented that his Doctor Strange “wasn’t very brawny”.

“How dare he?” he tuts now in mock-outrage, “Didn’t he see my shirt-off scene? Just hours before we shot it, I was told to do nothing but drink coffee and eat Skittles. ‘What,’ I said, ‘you want to turn me into a trucker?’ But they said it’s about dehydrating – if you have that much of a sugar- and caffeine-hit, the skin ‘shrink-wraps’ round your muscles”. He grins toothily. “And it worked!” He frowns. “I would never advise it, though.”

Still, however Doctor Strange’s physique looks on screen, one place the Oscar-nominated, Harrow-educated star can count on his character having rock-solid abs is on the associated merchandise, from T-shirts to figurines. “It’s the lunch box moment,” says Cumberbatch, wryly.

He tells me about a recent visit to the home of his friend and co-star, Tom Hiddleston (“Hiddlebum”) who has been a member of the Marvel family since 2011 when he appeared as Loki in the first Thor film. “I went into his kitchen and I just said: ‘Holy s---, you’ve been merch’d: you are on the lunch box.’ And he went: ‘I know, it’s great, right?’ And, yes, it is great. It’s also slightly terrifying. I thought: ‘Oh, is that one of the hurdles? Is that a Hiddlebum moment or a McAvoy moment?’” (another peer, James McAvoy, got his “lunch box moment” with the X-Men films). That is: does the actor have to make peace with being turned into a moulded plastic souvenir?

He does, and Cumberbatch evidently has. “It’s terrible but I actually look for kids wearing Marvel gear,” he admits. “And there are very few Doctor Strange lunch boxes or backpacks.” Ten years and 19 movies into the Marvel Cinematic Universe – and with this year’s Black Panther receiving unprecedented critical acclaim – does Cumberbatch think the time for snobbery about superhero movies is over?

If, say, Eddie Redmayne asked him if he should put on cape and tights, would he encourage his friend? “I’d say he’s got his plate quite full with wizardry right now,” he chuckles, referring to Redmayne’s role in J K Rowling’s Fantastic Beasts franchise. “But, yeah, if you really are bored of that, come and join the party!”

With great franchises come great responsibilities, however. Recently, Cumberbatch’s Sherlock co-star, Martin Freeman, grumbled to me about the oppressive level of expectation created by the series’ obsessive fans. “Being in that show, it is a mini-Beatles thing,” the actor who plays Doctor Watson said. “People’s expectations, some of it’s not fun any more. It’s not a thing to be enjoyed…”

Did the fans’ obsession with Sherlock kill the fun for Cumberbatch, too? “Mmm, not really ’cause I didn’t engage with it that much,” he says. “I’m very grateful for the support, but that’s about it.” His attitude is that fan fervour becomes a separate, uncontrollable force, that “it takes on its own thing. But that happens with every franchise or entity like this.”

He pauses, frowns, then continues with what sounds like a bracing criticism of his co-star. “It’s pretty pathetic if that’s all it takes to let you not want to take a grip of your reality. What, because of expectations? I don’t know. I don’t necessarily agree with that. There is a level of it [where] I understand what he means. There’s a level of obsession where [the franchise] becomes theirs even though we’re the ones making it. But I just don’t feel affected by that in the same way, I have to say.”

He is similarly forthright on the subject of Patrick Melrose. In David Nicholls’s forthcoming five-part television drama, adapted from Edward St Aubyn’s autobiographical novels, Cumberbatch plays the lead, a character who, on the page, can appear to be an unlikeable, heroin-taking posho. “Well, your words not mine,” he replies. “I don’t think he’s unlikeable at all. I think he’s fiercely funny, erotic, charming and dangerous. And incredibly, incredibly damaged. So you should feel for him.

"The posh bit? I mean, what, you think people who are sexually abused by their father from the age of five to 10 aren’t worthy of our attention because they’re posh? You need to go back to ethics school, surely. That’s a terribly shaky moral position to hold. So,” he concludes briskly, “I don’t bounce with that.”

Neverthelesss, I suggest, it’s hard to imagine that Melrose’s life – from childhood abuse to the drugs with which he self-medicates to escape his pain – will make easy viewing. “I think at heart it will be a really enjoyable watch,” says Cumberbatch. “But it’s not for the faint-hearted. It is a story of salvation. But it is blisteringly funny. That’s the real hook for me. Even among the depth-charge moments of abuse, you’re kind of mesmerised by Hugo Weaving’s David Melrose [Patrick’s father], as you are in the books. He’s a really magnetic character.”

While researching the part, Cumberbatch talked to counsellors and former addicts. Was he also able to draw on his own school days? Surely, at Harrow, he wasn’t short of classmates weighed down by their heritage. “Well there was a prince of Jordan, so that brought a level of weirdness. But the more English version? I didn’t get an intro much into that world. I was very privileged to be at Harrow, but there’s not some part of Wiltshire that belongs to the Cumberbatches.

“We have our past – you don’t have to look far to see the slave-owning past, we were part of the whole sugar industry, which is a shocker,” he says of the revelation four years ago that an 18th-century forebear was a Bristolian merchant who established plantations in Barbados. But, no, he didn’t know “Lord and Lady Such and Such”.

His only ennobled classmate was Simon Fraser, whose father and uncle died “tragically close to one another in our last year,” making him the 16th Lord Lovat. “He suddenly became titled, and we didn’t even know. “The point is,” he continues, “weird though it might be [given] the perception of me out there, I had to push some to get to the right level of class for this. And that was a very important part of the process. Because Patrick Melrose is very much a study of class, and the disintegration of the moneyed, landed gentry to cash-poor, still possibly land-rich idiocy. Their hypocritical, cynical, back-stabbing, malicious, ironic unsympathetic behaviour is really exposed with a scalpel in this.”

Speaking of men behaving badly, if things had gone according to plan, we would by now have seen Cumberbatch’s performance as Thomas Edison in the historical epic, The Current War. At one point mooted as an Oscar-contender, the film’s original release was scrapped after its producer Harvey Weinstein (with whom Cumberbatch had previously worked on The Imitation Game) fell spectacularly from grace. Cumberbatch sounds far from disappointed.

“If it takes us not releasing our film for a couple of years just to be rid of that toxicity, I’m fine with that,” he says, adding that he wants “to step back and be as far removed from that influence as possible, both as filmmaker and as human being.”

He recalls being on the Avengers set when the Weinstein story broke. “You could feel people going: ‘This is important and this will change things…’ And that’s terrific,” he says. “But having worked with the man twice…” he exhales heavily. “Lascivious… I wouldn’t want to be married to him… Gaudy in his tastes, for all his often-brilliant film-making ability ...

But did I know that was going on? A systematic abuse of women, happening through bribery, coercion, trying to gain empathy, to physical force and threats, physical and to career? No. No,” he says firmly. “That was the true shock. That this has just literally happened. And it’s been covered up by an entire body of people through lawsuits and gagging and money – hundreds of thousands of dollars paid to silence victims and survivors.”

He shakes his head, aghast. “That truly was a revelation. I have a film company. Our head of development is a woman. There are two women running the television side of SunnyMarch. Adam [Ackland, his SunnyMarch co-founder] and me are the only men in the office. Countless times I’ve brought up issues of equal pay and billing. And so to realise that this attitude is so deeply culturally ingrained – that was my rude awakening. We have to fight a lot harder.”

That’s toxic masculinity dealt with; now bring on Thanos!

https://www.telegraph.co.uk/films/0/benedict-cumberbatch-privilege-marvel-muscles-martin-freemans/

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Mr. Hypocrite in action. Seems lying is his second nature now. Everthing for the image. What Martin said about Sherlock days ago is pathetic? Riiiiiight!

Sure it was controversial but pathetic?!

For those of you who think there will be another season of Sherlock: Think again!

And BC didn't know about Weinstein's "methods".

Doing a "Meryl Streep" here BC?!

I'm going with Martin here:

#benedict cumberbatch #martin freeman #sherlock #sherlock season 5 #bbc sherlock #harvey weinstein #hypocrite

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