#I'm lucky I split this chapter in two and only posted one part last night jfc

[lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks]

the devil on my shoulder: do you really NEED to reread that older chapter? I'm sure you remembered everything important, I'm sure there's no massive continuity error hiding back here, it's fiiine, just go ahead and post, everything will be okay :)

[farmerlarrry]

Orange Slices (Joel Miller x f!reader)

masterlist | read on ao3 | playlist

story summary: A story about finding companionship and love in the midst of chaos.

a/n: This is the first fanfic I'm publishing in almost 10 years and I'm new to the character x you/reader writing style, so if anything sounds odd or awkward, I deeply apologize. The story is mainly based on the game, however, I keep it pretty vague so if you like the show descriptions better, it should still work.

wc: 3734

if you want to be notified when I post new chapters, follow @farmerlarrrylibrary and put on notifications! If you'd rather be tagged, just let me know.

Chapter One

2013; Ten years since the CBI outbreak

The sunlight was trickling in through the cracks of the murky window of the old clothing store’s bathroom you barricaded yourself in last night; the rays dimly split across the subway-tiled walls. You lay still on your side, staring at the dense moss that covered the dark corners and the vines that weaved their way through the cracks in the tile. The morning was chilly, causing you to pull your long sleeve over your hands, balling the open ends in your fist to not allow any heat to escape. You close your eyes momentarily, not quite ready to face whatever today brings. For a few moments, you wanted to not have to face reality. Opening your eyes once again and taking in a deep breath of the cool spring air, you slowly rose to your feet, fully extending your arms above your head with your fingers intertwined, trying to straighten out the kink that has been in the middle of your back for the past few days. You wince as you lean from side to side.

You haven’t gotten a decent night’s sleep in weeks, and it was starting to take a toll on you mentally. You know you aren’t being as careful as you should— accidentally knocking into things when scavenging, tripping over your own feet, nodding off out in the open when you take a midday rest from walking. It was only a matter of time before one of these things got you into some kind of trouble, trouble that you might not be able to get out of unscathed. The thought of it makes you shudder.

The nightmare of this world has only gotten worse now that you’re on your own again. It had been quite some time since it had been like this, and it was easy to forget how dangerous and scary it was to be alone. The small community you’d been settled into for the past few years was attacked and overrun three weeks ago. By whom, you don’t know. FEDRA, the Fireflies, some other militia group—they're all the same now, and the number of these bloodthirsty groups seems to only increase as time goes on. They supposedly stand for different things, all against each other; however, the one thing that they all have in common is that they’re always out for blood. 

You were among the lucky few who had not been inside the broken-down apartment building when the attack happened. Even luckier, you knew the ins and outs of the surrounding area, so it wasn’t hard to escape the fight unnoticed. A small part of you still feels guilty for not trying to help; you knew of families inside who were just trying to survive—elderly and children. In the weeks following the attack, you tried not to think about it; you tried to focus on your own survival, but the thought always came to mind just as you were about to fall asleep, and deep down, you feel guilty for running. It’s fucked up that this is what the world has come to; it makes you angry. 

Taking a seat back on the cold floor and crossing your legs, you lay out the contents of your backpack. At the time of the attack, you were on your way back from doing a supply run. You had been helping two of the men out by going along to try and keep the small group afloat. Unfortunately, the immediate area around the apartment building had been picked out pretty well, so finding supplies became harder and harder as time went on, and it was hard to plan longer treks to find supplies since there were so few people who were able to offer protection. You were unable to find anything that day; all you had was what you left with: a revolver with three bullets, your gas mask and flashlight you took from a FEDRA soldier back in Denver, a fixed-blade knife that has become dull due to daily use, a torn map of Colorado, two decently sized canteens of water, and a few emergency ration bars that expired four years ago. You were now down to half a canteen of water and had two ration bars left, trying to stretch what you had left. Thankfully, a few days ago, you came across an orange tree. You picked all the ones you could reach, filling up the vacant space in your bag.

You grab one of the oranges from the pile you made; it’s just a little smaller than your palm and wasn’t quite ripe enough for peak enjoyment. You carefully begin peeling back the thick layer, creating a pile of peels on the dust-layered tile floor. Halving the orange, setting one half on your thigh, picking apart the other half in your hand, and popping one of the slices in your mouth. You squish it against the roof of your mouth with the force of your tongue, and the juices quickly fill your mouth. You lean against the wall behind you and close your eyes. The cool air and sweet smell of citrus trigger a memory. You remember better days before the outbreak, specifically one where you were sitting in the grass with your friend just as spring arrived. The weather in Texas was perfect—not too warm or too cold; a slight breeze danced across your skin. Your friend Nessa brought back an absurd amount of oranges from her parent’s home that day, and the two of you ate them until you were sick. Laughing. Exchanging gossip you both heard around school. Giggling over which teacher assistants you found attractive. I swear he would stare at me with bedroom eyes during office hours, Nessa joked. Maybe he was frightened because you were looking at him as if he were some prey you wanted to pounce on... had to keep an eye on you, so he wouldn’t catch a case or somethin’. She rolled her eyes at your response. You miss those days; you miss being 16 and carefree. You miss companionship, especially Nessa. A small part of you hopes she’s out there somewhere, hopefully, better off than you are. The feeling of guilt quickly fills your chest, but this time it's for a different reason. You wished you could go back to the day of the outbreak, you wished you would have looked for her instead of running. Maybe things would have turned out differently, at least you’d have her by your side.

You feel a tear roll down your cheek, quickly wiping it away and drying your eyes with the cuff of your ragged long-sleeve shirt. The moisture stains the sleeve, turning it from a light olive color to dark mossy green splotches. As you’re drying your eyes, the remaining half of your orange slides off your thigh, landing on the floor. Dust now clinging to the sides, you toss it toward one of the corners. Looks like it’ll be a light breakfast today, you thought. You pop the last slice of the first half in your mouth and grab the map from the side of your pack. Carefully opening it up and laying it on your lap, you hover your finger over your current approximate location, tapping it a few times with the tip of your index finger. A few days ago, you reached Fort Collins. It took you a lot longer to get here than it should have, mainly because you kept zigzagging between different places. You now only have about eight miles until you reach city limits, which means you have to decide where you are heading next—something you’ve been putting off since you were forced out of the apartment. 

Finding communities nowadays is few and far between, especially in civilized places, places that offer a sense of safety. When the outbreak began, you were in Houston, Texas. Within the first week, you found refuge at the Houston QZ. Unfortunately, it fell within the first year due to people becoming infected from inside the zone. Nobody knew if the cause of the infection was in the food, the water, or the air. Nobody knew much of anything back then. After Houston, you decided to head north for the Denver QZ. From what you heard, it was still in operation, the conditions weren’t the best; however, they could have been much worse looking back. Eventually, you wanted to head east; you knew it was a long shot, but your family was there, and quite honestly, you didn’t know what else to do. After a grueling month or so of making your way to Denver with some survivors from Houston, picking up a few stragglers along the way, you finally reached the zone. The first few years weren’t all too bad, however, it quickly became corrupt. By your 7th year of being there, outside attacks began happening weekly, punishments were becoming more and more severe; instead of a few days in lockup for being out past curfew, it turned into weeks, which then turned into public beatings. Last you heard, they were shooting people on site for violating curfew by mere seconds. Those weren’t the only major issues, however. Rations began running low. First, they were handing out half rations for the full amount of required ration cards, then it turned into thirds for double the amount of cards. People became desperate, more and more left during the night to look elsewhere for food and supplies. It put a target on a lot of people’s backs if they weren’t careful enough, and since it was punishable by death, a lot of people lost their lives. You either risk starving to death or risk trying to survive. That seemed to be the motto of today’s world.

Even though you stuck around at the Denver QZ for the majority of the outbreak, leaving wasn’t hard. You had a few people you became close with at the beginning, but they either ended up dead or leaving, so after the last one left, you never made any more close ties with anyone. You kept your head down, kept conversations to a minimum, did what you were told, and only created business-type relationships with the stupidest and weakest of FEDRA soldiers. Leaving wasn't the hard part, you realized. It was being completely isolated and alone. Scared and alone. With time, you became tactical and stealthy, learning how the world outside of QZs worked as you went. Even when you had people around you, they weren’t your people. You didn’t want to have to worry about anyone but yourself, you thought it’d be better that way. However, traveling in these conditions by yourself isn’t exactly ideal, but you make it work. You have to. You watch your back, carefully listen to all the surrounding sounds, and think critically before you act. It’s become second nature. You take all the proper precautions to not only protect yourself from the infected, but also from the other people living in this hellhole.

When the world changed, so did the people. The lawless land quickly turned for the worse. Nobody was safe from one another, women and children were more vulnerable than the rest. People became savages, which often made you wonder if humankind had always been this cruel, and if this world was what enabled them to be their true selves.

After putting everything back into your backpack, you carefully tie the laces of your boots up, making sure to secure the laces around your ankle for extra support. The last thing you needed was to twist your ankle, last time it happened, you were out for several days. In the corner of the bathroom, where you tossed the tainted ration bar earlier, sat your old pair of boots, the ones your parents bought you many years ago. The tape was peeling away from both soles, the left one had a gaping hole on the side where the side of your foot would rub. You just happened to find these stuffed in the back of the small stockroom yesterday, there were a few pairs of various sizes. Other than these being a half size too big, they were perfect. Eventually, you needed to find a thicker pair of socks to make them truly fit, but for now, that really didn’t matter. 

After putting your pack on and tightening the straps, so it fits snugly on your back, you holster your gun on your right hip and prepare your knife in your hand for quick use. You begin to mentally prepare yourself for today’s trek. 

Carefully opening the door, you put your ear up to the small opening you created. You listen closely. Listening for any movement, any screams or cries, or any noise that could indicate potential danger nearby. The last few days have been rather quiet—a little too quiet for your liking. You’ve run into a few infected, easily putting them down with your knife. They haven't been running in groups like they usually do. It puts you on edge because you know it could change for the worse at any given moment, and nothing can prepare you for the quick turn of events. You stand there for a few minutes, listening, trying to slow your breathing to heighten your sense of hearing. Not picking up on anything, you proceed with caution. As you walk towards the exit of the store, you glance around at the remaining intact shelving and floor in case you missed anything on your initial sweep yesterday. With all the rubble from the initial bombings and the greenery that invaded the building, it was hard to see much of anything on the floor, but you were desperate for anything. Food. Water. Perhaps some sanity. 

You had no clue where you were going once you made it out of Colorado. Things weren’t looking good in the east, at least from what you heard when you would eavesdrop outside the radio room back at the Denver QZ. You discarded the idea of reuniting with your family back home when you decided to leave. You had to come to terms with how small the chances were that they were even alive, let alone reuniting with them. This morning, you thought of continuing north and heading for Wyoming. Back at the apartment, a man named Charles was talking in the makeshift community room late one night, telling the others he’d been thinking of heading to Wyoming with his two kids. He knew someone who worked in the radio room back at the Boston QZ, they told him they heard of some safe haven in Jackson; supposedly they had food, electricity, and a safe community. Although there was no real, solid evidence that such a thing still existed, if it ever truly existed at all, Charles said it was worth the risk for his kids. He didn’t want them to grow up like this, so he ended up leaving with them the day after. You thought it was stupid and too much of a risk considering how young his kids were, but you couldn’t really judge him for trying. You started to live more in your own head than in reality, mainly yearning for a better future and hoping there was someplace out there that would give you a sense of normalcy. You were no better than Charles. You still really aren’t that much better, are you?  

At this point, the sun was at its peak. The air is cool and starting to feel like spring with every passing day. The mornings are still chilly, but by midday it's warm. You take a moment to stop, taking off your long sleeve and tying it around your waist. You notice the back of your ankles beginning to throb and decide to take a break. You find homage on a shaded area of a curb behind an old rusted car, the windows have been completely smashed in, and vines have woven through the tire’s hubcaps and begun wrapping around the door handles.  As you’re sitting there, massaging your calves with your hands, a feeling of dread washes over you. A familiar feeling with a hint of anxiety. 

You begin to doubt the plan you made . What the fuck am I doing? The thought rushes to the forefront of your mind . 

You quickly pull the map from the side pocket of your backpack and open it all the way. Your eyes dart at all the different markings, dragging your fingers along the creases you’ve made due to folding and unfolding it constantly. 

Okay, so you reach Wyoming, you get to Jackson, and there’s nothing there? Then what do you do? You become overwhelmed with defeat, a heat washing over your face and filling your chest with a burning sensation. Fuck.

Losing yourself completely in the map and your own doomed thoughts, you barely notice the sound of crushed glass coming from your immediate right. A sense of danger triggers something deep within you, causing your stomach to turn. Quickly, but quietly, putting the map away, you position yourself in a crouching, ready to run, position, peering through the back windows of the car. Glancing quickly behind you, you notice that most of the buildings had been hit pretty hard during the initial bombing, and there was no easy or quick access to get inside. However, between two of the buildings, there's a shallow alley that you could quickly revert to if you end up needing more coverage. Just as you tried to make an escape plan, the blood-curdling shriek of an infected stumbling out of one of the buildings echoed through the vacant city, causing you to snap your attention back to the front. Slightly ducking for more coverage, you watch carefully, glancing between the buildings. Then another responds to the initial one’s cries, coming from a building to the left, two more suddenly appear, one tripping over the light pole that fell in front of the doorway. No fucking way, they’re going to draw more out to the street, fear quickly occupies your mind . Your heart is now beating fast as you watch more come from different directions, you haven't been caught in a swarm of this many on your own before. You unholster your gun, just in case, but you know you can’t get caught, not with two bullets and a knife. Close combat with just one of those things is scary enough, let alone with no one else around to help if things start going south. 

You start to turn on your feet to head to the alley, as it is your only hope now, when a loud clicking comes from behind you, immediately stopping you from taking another step. Oh no, fuck. A sinking feeling rapidly develops in your chest. You turn slowly toward the noise, trying to shallow your breathing. Your eyes widen as you spot the clicker coming from one of the buildings behind you, trying to crawl out of a narrow opening beneath a fallen slab of concrete. You sink lower against the back of the car door, putting your free hand over your mouth, scared to make any noise, scared to breathe. It’s moving slowly once it makes its way up onto its feet, turning its head and cocking it towards its shoulder; its arms are twitching uncontrollably, and it begins making that awful clicking noise that sends a chill down your spine. The orange slices from this morning are suddenly sitting in the middle of your throat, ready to come up at any moment.

In your peripheral view, you see movement coming from the alley, next to the building the clicker had just come out of. A man with dirty blonde hair is crouching down near the edge of the building. He’s holding his index finger to his mouth, gun in hand, aimed toward the ground. His finger is hovering over the trigger. You look between him and the gun as the clicker passes by you and the car, making its way slowly to the rest of the infected now roaming the street.

The blood has drained from your face. You are frozen in shock, not daring to move an inch. Your back is pressed firmly against the side of the car door, and your eyes are locked on the man's face. All you can do is stare, you tighten your hand around the grip of your gun, your knuckles turning white. He’s intensely looking in the direction of the infected before glancing briefly at you. A bead of sweat smoothly and steadily runs down the side of his temple before dropping off his face.

With his head, he motions for you to come his way.

“C’mon, hurry this way,” he says in a very low, urgent whisper, causing the infected to cry out in response. You don’t move.

He looks annoyed and shakes his head, still keeping an eye on the potential danger ahead.

“If I wanted to kill you, I would have done it by now,” he quickly lets out, at the same volume as before. “I could have done it multiple times today; I could’ve come up behind you when you were lookin’ at your map. Come. Now.”

This time he said it more firmly, and this time you listened. You turn your head and look once more out of the car windows to make sure the coast is clear before making your way toward him. He guides you in front of him, motioning to go into the depths of the alley. Your heart is beating deeply and fast, air is stuck in your lungs.  You both turn the corner before standing up completely, the man walks ahead before turning to face you. He holsters his gun, placing both his hands on his hips, and lets out a long breath that seemed like he had been holding in for a little too long. You let your breath go as well. 

He is taller than you had anticipated. He's solid with broad shoulders. His hair is shaggy, now looking more brown than blonde, and slightly curly. 

“Name’s Tommy,” he says, still in a low tone, but a bit louder than when you two were on the street. You respond with your name, holstering your gun. He gives you a slight nod with a short-lived smile while tugging at the stretched-out collar of his shirt.

“Pleasure to meet you,” Tommy responds breathily.

read chapter two here!

painting divider | credit: @cottage-writings

[echo-three-one]

Chapter 28

The boys are back... (High School Musical, probably)

THE ROAD SO FAR

Docked and Loaded

Alexander "Alex" Collins

MacTavish Residence, Glasgow Scotland

Alex loved the idea of sleeping beside his significant other. It felt great to be loved, especially after all those months when he couldn't stop thinking of her. 

Yet today was different, he woke up alone. He turned to the bathroom door to check whether Samantha took a shower, but it was too quiet. So he decided to put on his grey tank top and sweatpants to go look for her.

He pulled the door open to see Samantha carrying a tray containing two meals, one was a fluffy pancake with maple syrup and the other one was a meaty sandwich.

"Hey, you. Good Morning." She greeted, her voice was always angelic in Alex's ears.

"There you are…" he sighed as he stepped back, letting her in.

"I was only gone for a few minutes. You don't have to worry that much." She grinned, guiding Alex back to the bed, teasingly pushing him as he plopped on the soft mattress bouncing as he slowly backwards crawled until his back hit the headboard.

"I'm just not used to waking up without you in my arms." he grinned as Samantha placed the tray on his lap, grabbing a slice of the sandwich and pointed it at his mouth.

"I thought the pancake was mine." Alex said, looking puzzled.

"No, that's mine. What you're supposed to be eating is this very healthy, dietician prescribed meal." She emphasized. Alex frowned. 

"I want the pancake." he complained playfully. 

"Too much sugar is bad for you." she teased as Alex finally surrendered and opened his mouth wide. He wasn't a huge fan of the wheat bread. 

"Say, aside from Alex. Did you use any other names while undercover?" Samantha slowly plopped herself beside him, locking her hands against his and leaned on his strong biceps.

"Oh hmmm.." he hummed, softly chewing and finishing his sandwich.

"I had a few… like James, Chad, Mike or Michael…" he said.

"Okay. Which was the most sophisticated?" Samantha asked. Alex looked at her in the eyes and saw that she was really interested in his answer.

"Nathaniel." he chuckled and Samantha looked confused.

"What's funny?" 

"I don't strike as a 'Nathaniel'. I just used it once." Alex defended despite not being attacked.

"Now that you say it… yeah." she laughed as soon as she realized the content of his words.

"What's the funniest? And why?" her eyes sparkled, or has it always been that way then he looked at her eyes. Alex never knew, but he liked it.

"Ummm.. I once went by 'Ray'. It's funny because… it just is. It's too short and I often mistake someone thinking that they're calling me. It has a lot of rhymes you know…" he answered, her eyes never left her stare.

"Ray's a nice name." Samantha mused, this actually made Alex a little curious.

"You're making me jealous over my previous name." He sneered playfully.

"Oh don't be. Alex is a very perfect name. It sounds... handsome." she said, making Alex smile in excitement. This was it. He was truly madly and deeply in love with this woman.

Alex leaned for a kiss to which Samantha eagerly accepted, but as soon as their hands started to roam around, a knock on the door was heard.

"Oi, Alex! Price wants us for a briefing." Soap's muffled voice roared from behind the door.

"I'm coming!" Alex shouted as she gave Samantha one quick kiss before leaving the bed.

Alex felt underdressed for the briefing as Roach and Soap were wearing collared shirts. So he hid behind them and listened eagerly to Captain Price.

"Alright boys, Laswell left us a gift. There's a port near the English Channel, where a lot of cargo ships are suspected to be operating under Shadow Company's name, and it might lead us to Shepherd. 

The plan is simple. Sneak in, gather everything we can using our cameras and sneak out. This place will be swarming with hostiles and all we have are pistols with few ammo. Soap, you take care of our ride and comms. Alex and Roach, you're with me." They all nodded in agreement.

"There are about approximately three ships and the Shadow Company shipment is mixed along with civilian cargo. We have to be there before 3 am tomorrow as it's scheduled to be unloaded that day." Price sprawled printout of the cargo's travel ticket along with other solid intel.

It was official. They're back in the grid, a wave of excitement and fear overwhelmed the former CIA. Excited because they're one step closer to ending this thing and scared because he knew Samantha's going to worry about him.

Port of Dover, London UK

1734HOURS

They were too early for the transfer but as they say, "The early bird gets the worm." The team positioned themselves on a rooftop of a nearby building, Price scanning the area with binoculars.

"Three huge cargo ships and one party packed cruise ship." he muttered. The rest of the team sat patiently waiting for the perfect opening.

"Hm. This is odd." Price added, noticing the convoy of expensive cars slowly parking themselves near the ship.

"It is. There's a party here tonight… and it says here SC Security Services was hired as the events' security team." Gary added, scrolling through his phone.

"SC. Shadow Company. Sneaky Bastards are using the party to cover their real agenda!" Soap pieced the puzzle together.

"And we're here to stop em on their bloody tracks." Price nodded and resumed scanning.

"How are we going to get in?" Alex asked as trucks of Shadow Company troops flooded the area. It looked like they had good reason to swarm the place. It was a sneaky yet effective tactic.

"I got one ticket." Gary raised a QR code from his phone. Price looked at the black and white blotches of squares in question.

"What's that supposed to do?" Price asked.

"It's a digital pass. The DJ performing tonight is a good ol' friend of mine." he said. 

"It's going to be a semi-formal party with a masquerade theme."  He continued, scrolling through the e-invite.

"Then you're going in there. See what's up. These cargo ships may just be decoys. We take one ship each. Always stay on comms. Once Roach successfully gets in, he'll find a shortcut from the inside." Price planned and everyone had no objections. 

"Wait. Maxine told me that she brought something useful." he scoured the contents of the duffle bag.

"Is it food?" Soap asked innocently as everyone looked at him.

"Bingo. Three Shadow Company Uniforms from Russia." Gary grinned and everyone looked delighted.

"Guess we're taking the easy way in." Price muttered as they put their plan to action.

Roach stopped at a local thrift shop for his attire. He wore an awkwardly tight tuxedo with rubber duck printed tie and a magenta masquerade mask. It wasn't too shabby and it did the job, as the rest of the group were already inside the premises.

"Stay on comms, Roach. Keep us posted." Price muttered as the team split to each of their ships. Walking casually like regular guards, except they didn't have guns.

"Aye aye, Captain." Roach muttered as slow booming could be heard from the distance. He was approaching the party.

Alex's ship was the farthest from the cruise ship but that didn't mean it was the least guarded. For a party, the place was overcrowded with security. Alex confidently nodded at every 'ally' he passed along the way, overhearing conversations of a supply drop around 3 am tomorrow, confirming Laswell's speculations.

"Hey!" Someone called from behind and Alex turned cautiously.

"You left your rifle at the office?" he asked and Alex nodded. The man pointed to the cargo ship and it gave Alex the free ticket to investigate it. He was lucky enough for an easy pass.

The cargo ship was indeed large, he didn't know where to start, but as soon as he claimed his issued rifle, he immediately looked for the ship's logs.

"I'm in. Got myself a gun." Alex reported.

"Good. I'm also in. Trying not to get tempted by the buffet." Gary replied.

"They're looking suspiciously at my haircut." Soap muttered, frustrated.

"My ship's empty, but I could feel footsteps. I'm being followed." Price warned. 

"Mine's full of stuff. It's impossible to look through these without a shipment log." Alex sighed, opening another door that contained useless stuff.

At the last door of the hallway, Alex heard a bizarre noise, he carefully crouched and checked on the room. A Shadow Company guard was snoring loudly, a computer monitor showing a live feed of the rooms in front of him.

"Ahem! Sir, you are needed on the cruise ship!" Alex roared, surprising the sleeping guard as he quickly got up to his bearings and exited the room. 

"Alright guys. I got eyes on the whole thing." He told comms while scanning the thick book of the ship's cargo.

"Good one." Gary said.

"Finally, these muppets stopped talking about my hair. I'm Oscar Mike." Soap muttered while Price's end remained quiet.

"Just what is Shepherd up to…" Alex mused, fingers scrolling through the ship log. He doesn't have all night but he's doing his best to look for it under pressure.

Next Chapter : Docked and Loaded - Part 2

Notification Squad my Beloved

@enderio @samatedeansbroccoli @smokeywhalee @whimsywispsblog @beemybee @ricinbach

[quokkalatte]

Shot for Shot [K.NJ]

Category: One Shot

Pairing: Mafia!Namjoon x Female!Reader

Summary: After seeing something you shouldn't have seen you were taken by a group of the most hostile Mafia tycoons, but what happens after is quite unexpected

Warnings: Gang Violence, mentions of blood, light smut, mentions of torture, torture, slight secular harassment

Warnings for this chapter: Gang violence, mentions of blood

Requested by: @yer-cute-when-you-scream

Authors note: sorry this took me so long to post!

[Based off my Number Scenarios 11, 13, 15, & 27]

× × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × ×

I was always told the nights of Seoul were the most dangerous and brutal time to be out. I never believed that. I found them to be serene and quiet, lacking the crazy, packed people coming and going and the loud honking of cars. I didn't realize that the quiet was simply a disguise used by those who knew how to maneuver through the city without notice and commit crimes that show up in the headlines of papers the next morning. And I didn't realize that I'd become part of those headlines.

It was the first actual warm night of the year. The dwindling winter being replaced by spring was apparent, there was even a slight buzz that singled spring rain. I'd just wanted to get some Happy Hour pancakes as a nearby diner. They were always half off on account of the time being so late and no one was really out and about as of the crime rate being high. Of course I was nieve. Sure I'd read about the tragic deaths and disappearances on the news. But I always thought 'that could never happen to me'. I was wrong.

The diner was mainly emptied save for a couple of college kids pushing some more hours of studying before finals. I'd eaten my pancakes and chatted with Hoseok, the only employee crazy enough to enjoy night shifts. He went on endlessly about his day and the different people coming in and I just smiled and nodded and put in my two cents. I just enjoyed hearing him talk, he always seemed to get excited for the smallest things people pass up on.

It was nearing one in the morning when I finally left the Diner, promising Hoseok I'd be there for breakfast the following morning. The air was warm and slightly humid and felt good against the bare skin of my arms. I put my hands in my pockets and turned the street corner towards my apartment. I walked passed an alleyway, and heard a commotion behind me, muffled grunts and a loud bang of a trashcan. I frown, turning around and glanced warily towards the opening of the alley. Every instinct told me to run, but I was always naturally curious, and it sounded like someone was being hurt. I approached the left side of the building, gripping the brick walls to peer around the corner, just a peek. To see what was going on.

There were three men, all dressed in black. One with a shock of bleach blonde hair, two others with black hair. They were kicking kicking a fourth man on the ground, stomping into his body and cries were muffled by a bandana shoved into his mouth. My eyes widened, and I covered my mouth to hide a gasp at the sight. The blonde grabbed the beaten man by his shirt and slammed him into the wall with such force I thought the building gave a small shake, but it was only me. I was so frozen stiff with fear for this poor man. The blonde pulled a gun from his hip and pressed it to the man's throat, a cold smirk on his face.

"Give a message to Anjo for me. This is what happens when I'm shorted. I want what I paid for, and then some to repay for this insult. I won't be this lenient again" He growls in a deep voice. The man nodded mutely, and the blonde stepped back, and with no one holding him uptight, the assaulted man fell to ground in a lump.

One of the black haired men took a drag of a cigarette, and flicked the ashes onto the fallen man and let out a chuckle. The blonde patted the two on the shoulder

"Come on let's go. Namjoon will want to hear our progress report" He says, and they turn for the entrance. I backed away from the wall, just as they came under the light of the street lamps. Of course they immediately saw me, and by the look of fear and shock on my face they all realized what I'd just seen. The blonde let out a angry cry and I turned heel and took off down the street.

My feet slammed on the pavement and I could hear the stomping of the men behind me. I turned down the block then cut through a small park. Trees rushed passed me as I tried to dodge their persuit, and I looked behind me to see that they were hot on my heels. Of course this meant I didn't see what was in front of me until I ran into the fence that enclosed the park. I let out a gasp of pain and I fell backwards and onto the ground, the breath knocked out me. They were on in an instant, grabbing me and dragged me to my feet. The blonde stood in front of me, surveying me. The one to my right spoke up

"What do we do Yoongi? She saw us" He said. The blonde, I guess the one called Yoongi, watched me carefully.

"We'll take her to Namjoon. It's his call" He says slowly, his face I passive.

"Please don't tell him" I begged, trying to tug out of my captor's grips. "I won't tell anyone"

"They always say that, and then they turn around and rat to the cops. No, we'll take to to our boss. It's his call" Yoongi says, and gestures for the other two to bring me to their van.

From then I was blindfolded and cuffed. I sat between two of them. Fear ate away at me and I shivered to imagine what their boss Namjoon would do to me. From the stories in the papers I've read, the mafia were never soft and forgiving. Witnesses were left in gutters and in dumpsters. This thought didn't settle my nerves and I was on the verge of tears.

They put me in a room, tied me to a chair and took the blindfold off. The room was dimly lit and there were mysterious stains on the floor, dark red and looked suspiciously like blood.

"Is that blood?" I whispered, horror in my tone.

"Among other things" Yoongi says, sounding bored. My eyes widened and I didn't dare speak again. A knock on the door signaled a fourth person had joined the three. When he walked in, my breath was taken away. His tan skin contrasted with his bleached hair. His suit was sharp his brown eyes were curious. His gaze was immediately on me, and he straighten up.

"Leave us" He says firmly and the three leave without a word. My eyes went to the floor, to the probable blood stains, which didn't help my heart rate. I could feel it in my throat, and I became very aware that this was the leader and then of all the things he could do to me. Tears welled in my eyes, that this may be the last night I'll ever live.

Gentle fingers pushed my chin up and I met soft eyes.

"Pretty girls shouldn't cry" He says, wiping away a tear that had escaped down my cheek. I whimpered at his touch, and he gripped my by my chin. "Yoongi tells me you saw the little show earlier tonight"

"I didn't mean to, really. I was walking home and heard noises in the alley" I mumble

"You should have kept walking princess. Save you some few trouble you've gotten yourself into" He says

"Now you tell me" I say, a slight whimper in my you voice. Namjoon nods, leaving away from me. He folded his arms over his chest, a thoughtful look on his face.

"Now I just have to decide what to do with you" he says, and my eyes widened.

"Please don't kill me" I whisper desperately. "I'll do anything, I swear" Namjoon raised his eyebrows.

"Anything?" He hummed, and I nodded "Well, how about a date then?" He asks. I stared at him in shock.

"W-What?" I gaped.

"You said anything. Let me take you out" he says.

"You don't want me to have sex with you? Or blow you or anything?" I say. He snorts

"We just met sweetheart. I'm not that type of guy. Let me take you to dinner and I'll let you live."

"O-Okay" I say, and Namjoon's face split into a wide smile, flashing his dimples happily.

"Excellent"

× × × × × ×

That was over a year ago. Namjoon drove me home that night, and picked me up later that day for a date. He was dressed casual, a button up blue shirt and black slacks.

"Where are you taking me?" I'd asked as he led me to a nice looking car.

"Dinner and a movie if that's alright with you kitten" He said, opening the door for me like a proper gentleman

The restaurant hadn't been overly fancy, Namjoon admitting that he had wanted to take me somewhere fancy, but his funds were short this month due to a few problems he didn't disclose. I told him that it was quite alright, flashy things made me uncomfortable, especially in the beginning of a date.

He had asked me questions, about myself and your hobbies, what classes I'd taken in college, small things. He listened intently, and even looked like he was interested in what I'd had to say.

"I wanted to do music," Namjoon told me when I'd'd ask what he did while in college . "But everyone seemed to tell me it was a dead end, so I dropped it" he shrugged, taking a bite of his food. I frowned, eyebrows nitting together.

"You shouldn't have given up if you wanted to do it" I say and he shrugs again

"It's okay. If I hadn't had dropped out, then I wouldn't have ended up taking the path I did. And I wouldn't have had the opportunity to meet" he smiled softly, and my cheeks flushing bright pink

"Namjoon we've only just met" I tried to argue "In the most weirdest of circumstances" His dimples came out as he grinned

"And I like you already. I consider myself lucky I got to take you out" he says, a tad but smugly

"You blackmailed me, remember?"I point out

"I don't see you complaining though" he retorts, and he had me there.

The movie wasn't some cheesy Rom Com or horror movie tatic to comfort the scared girl. It was an action comedy, right up my alley. It was like he knew me already. I enjoyed the movie and raved about it afterwards when Namjoon was driving me home. The entire time Namjoon remained quiet, a smile on his face as he listened to me. I had smack his arm lightly,

"Are you even listening?" I laughed and he smiled lightly

"I'm hanging on every word" He says truthfully

Hands wrapped around my waist, startling me and I dropped the dishes I'd been washing. There was deep chuckle from behind me, and a warm kiss was placed on my neck.

"Did mean to startle you kitten" he hummed. I smile, turning around in his arms and pressed a kiss to his awaiting lips. He pulled me closer and nuzzled into my neck when we pulled away. "What were you so deep in thought about?" He asked

"How we met" I say and he laughed, pressing another kiss into my neck

"I remember that. You were downright terrified and you looked so innocent and cute" I huff against his chest and felt the vibrations of a chuckle. He pressed a lingering kiss into my hair, and I knew that meant he was going out again.

"I'll be home late" he says, his words muffled by my hair. I frown, looking up at him.

"I thought you had the night off?" I ask, a bit disappointed. He'd been so busy lately and while I appreciated and respected what he did for a living, but I missed his warmth at night.

"I did but something came up. Anjo wants to have a.... calm discussion" His voice turned cold and I raise my eyebrows.

"Namjoon that worries me. There have been several disappearances as of late. Remember Taehyung was almost taken by his thugs just the other night." I say in protest. He sighs, fingers playing with the hem of my shirt and he nods.

"That's why we're meeting up. Come to some kind of agreement and get his goonies off our back. They did a number on Jimin, he's so jumpy now" My mind went to after Jimin had been taken and questioned a month ago. He was dumped behind my favorite Diner, bruised and bloody and shaking. He'd had a long cut down his face, a scar he'd probably have forever.

"I remember" I mumble. "You better be safe Kim Namjoon or I'll go in there myself and give Anjo a piece of my mind" I threaten, and Namjoon laughs, placing a kiss on my lips

"That's something I'd love to see. We'll be okay kitten don't you worry" We kissed, his head tilting to get a better angle. I let out a soft moan and he grunted, his hands gripping my hips. A knock on the door caused us to pull away, and a second later Yoongi and Jin walked in. Yoongi smirked when he saw us and Jin blushed darkly. "Bye kitten. I'll be home soon" Namjoon murmurs, before leaving with the other two.

I stepped out of the shower, wringing my hair dry and searched for my pajamas. I was worried for Namjoon, he'd been gone a couple of hours and while I knew that it may take longer, until he came home.

I slipped on one of his t-shirts and a pair of shorts before climbing into bed. I scrolled through my phone, trying to pass the time before I was tired enough to fall asleep. A creaking noise caused me to freeze. I stared at my closed door, and heard another creak. I turned off my phone, hand slipping under the mattress for the gun Namjoon had put down there in case I needed help. I gripped it, flipping off the safety and tried to calm my pounding heart.

The creaks grew louder, mixed with the sounds of heavy footsteps. The door slammed open and I screamed, aiming the gun and squeezing the trigger. The bang was loud, and jolted me off the bed. The man gave a cry, and clutched at his shoulder. Two more men came in, and I aimed at them. One was quicker, and grabbed my wrist and twisted it until I cried out and dropped the gun. The other came and grabbed me around during the middle and I kicked and screamed, scratching at his back. He hissed in pain and I kneed him in the gut and it sent us both crashing to the ground.

I shoved past as one tried to grab me and I took off down the hall and out the broken down front door. I heard thuds and curses as I knew they were following me. I ran down the steps two at a time, and I ran out the apartment lobby. A dark van was parked there and I skidded to a halt, the bottoms of my feet scratching against the asphalt. Two more men got out of the car, and lunged at me. They grabbed me and I fought against them, biting and scratching and raising bloody murder. In the distance I saw a familiar figure walking down the road and I screamed as they shoved me into the van. The other three men clambered in after me and the van took off with a screech down the road.

[austenpoppy]

When fanfiction begins to be worrying

Warning : Ron-lovers, if you read this it is at your own peril. I am already suffering from long-lasting damage. Vivi, don't read. Really. Don't. Trust me.

We won't even talk about incest and other criminal and sickening fanfictions, which are mostly rejected by the fandom with the utmost disgust - fortunately.

No, no, what I'm going to talk about is admired by a - sadly - large part of the fandom. I was just looking for a cool fanfiction about Ron during my break when I found this, on the first page : "101 ways to kill Ron Weasley."

I know, I shouldn't have clicked on the link, but I couldn't help myself. I had to know.

This is the Author's note :

"This story is inspired by Crys' 1001 Deaths of Lord Voldemort on

For many of us, we hate one character in canon more than any other. No, not Lord Voldemort. I am, of course, talking about Ron Weasley.

Ron is lazy, stupid, annoying, and, in my opinion, mentally retarded.

Now, many in the fanfiction community hate Ginny much more than Ron; however, I find that to be more based upon their experiences with fanfiction than Ginny's actual roll in canon. Let's all be honest, outside of CoS and a cameo in OoTP, Ginny has very few lines and almost no involvement in the plot while Ron plays the role of a giant douchebag throughout the books.

This story, which I hope people will enjoy, is my way of killing off the dumbass in as many colorful ways as possible.

In case you can't tell, expect major Ron!Bashing."

...

I should have stopped as soon as I read this. I didn't, pushed by a morbid curiosity : I wanted to know how far people were ready to go. Useless to say that I bitterly regret it.

First, notice here that Voldemort and Ron are the only characters that I know of who have entire fanfics dedicated to kill them.

Voldemort and Ron are put on the same level. A teenager, the best friend of the hero and a hero himself, is compared to a psychopath and a murderer.

Moreover, I have to underline that the author judges Ron as "mentally retarded". I find it worrying. Just because a teenager have not the same grades as the best student in his year, just because he does not display the same way of thinking as his clever best friend does not mean he is stupid. Far from that.

That is a judgement on intelligence that I think is horrible. You have to know that intelligence, despite what tests such as IQ's claim, can not be really measured. It depends on so many factors. The results of IQ tests depend themselves on so many factors.

Furthermore, having real problems to understand things should be seen as a disability, a handicap and not an insult. It is a very difficult situation to deal with.

Also notice that the intellect is one the major criteria differencing the characters for those people. Intellect is practically above everything else.

I read the fanfiction, constituted of two chapters and multiple drabbles.

First reaction :

First one : Ron dies from eating too much. He chokes on his food.

Second one : In first year, wanting to prove a point to Hermione, Ron willingly mispronunces a spell and conjures a buffalo which crushes him

Third one : In Deathly Hallows, Ron takes the locket with him when he leaves. Harry and Hermione try to stop him and splinch him (he is split in two), but they don't recover the Horcrux. Last sentence : "Even in death, Ron Weasley found a way to be a pain in the ass."

Fourth one : Ron, charged by Harry to give Hedwig her treats, eats them in front of her. Hedwig, with the help of thousands other owls, avenges herself by attacking and killing Ron. Reminding of "The birds" by Hitchcock.

Fifth one : Ron, jealous, accuses Hermione of loving Harry and calls her "a Mudblood". She kills him. Harry and her hide Ron's body before they have sex. Petty remark about the length of Harry and Ron's manhoods. Note of the "author" explaining that it was a summary of another fic.

Sixth one : the Trio enters Bellatrix's vault. Ron is immediately fascinated by the amount of money and begins to steal it despite his friends' warnings. He burts into flames and jinxes his friends. Particularly petty sentence : "He never knew, or cared, that his greed had doomed them as well."

Seventh one : Ron speaks proudly about the unbreakable vow he made when he was five. Hermione asks him what it was about, he says he had sworn he would never say he wasn't a jobbernowl, he dies. Worst thing : use of a real passage of the book.

Eighth one : Ron dies on the chess set. His sacrifice is presented as stupid because it 'had to be another way.'

Nine : Harry uses Sectumsempra on Ron while he is sleeping. Ron dies. Harry transforms his corpse into a sock and burns it.

Last one : after Ron is made prefect, Hermione refuses to have him as a partner, jinxes him and kills him "for the greater good." Particularly nasty sentences : "Harry looked at the badge and fought the urge to go downstairs and ask McGonagall and Dumbledore if they were high when they selected the male Gryffindor prefect this year." / "'Sure', Ron said, completely shocked. 'I was positive you would get it, Harry.' 'You and the rest of the world,' Harry thought darkly." / "I can already see Ron not taking his duties seriously and flaunting the privileges that prefects normally deserve."

I won't comment all of them, but I really want to say something about some of them.

The first one uses a trope overused in Ron-bashing fanfiction : the fact that Ron eats a lot and sometimes speaks with his mouth full. Obviously, the author has forgotten what it is to be a teenager, and especially a thin teenager. Their metabolism needs food, and loads of food, because they are growing up and thin people tend to burn off energy more rapidly.

The fourth makes me sick. (Not that they don't all make me want to throw up.) First since it uses the overused trope I have already mentioned. Moreover for Ron would definitely do what Harry asks him to do, and for Ron is definitely not cruel. And thirdly because... THE BIRDS ! Does it ring a bell, a physical assault on Ron with birds ?

The fifth one. There is absolutely no universe where Ron, I'm-going-to-kill-Malefoy-with-my-bare-hands!Ron, would call Hermione a Mudblood. No. Way.

The sixth. Just because Ron said once something like "It would be nice to have galleons for a change", once "I hate being poor" (ONCE !!!), "Lucky you" (referring to Harry not noticing the difference on his amount of gold when the fake money disappeared), "Where's mine ?" (asking Bill where his money was because Bill has just given Harry a purse full of gold), that's it, Ron is greedy. Just because he doesn't want to be in need. Although he never complained that much.

These people hating Ron for he does not like to be poor are just self-righteous and have very probably never lived in the same situation. They have never been homeless, have received all the gifts for Christmas they wanted, have lived in a warm and comfortable house. It's easy to think about morals when your stomach is full, your health is perfect and well taken care of, and your basical material needs are fulfilled.

I remember a story my dance teacher told me : there was a poor woman in Africa who had lost a husband, a son and a leg in a war and still considered herself luckier than a French homeless person because she had a roof above her head.

I'm not saying that losting a loved one is less terrible. Nothing is more terrible.

Just that hating a fourteen-years old boy who never received another Christmas gift than a maroon jumper he hates but still puts on without really complaining because his mother made it, because he would like to have clothes that fit him or galleons he could spend to offer things to his friends is stupid. Really. And shows a lack of empathy.

Moreover, it's not as if Ron was not generous. All he has he shares it. His galleons, he mostly spends it on gifts for his friends. He gave his Christmas gifts to an house-elf. Ron has a really big, big heart and nothing is more important to him than his friends and family.

Eight. Just. How dares he / she ? That's what I hate with this fandom. Everything is twisted to correspond to the views of people.

Last. The prefect badge. My god the prefect badge. Maybe the most disgusting one, because Harry and Hermione are depicted as thinking the worst of him and somehow echo the 'No one in their right mind would make Ron a prefect'. The fact that Ron is often belittled by the fans who don't think he deserved the badge is reminiscent of the fact that Ron didn't either. Ron didn't think he deserved it. That makes me soooo angry.

Pansy Parkinson deserved her badge, but Ron ? Nooooo of course.

The question of worthiness in Ron-bashing is central. People operate a grading : some characters are better than others. The worst is to think that they do it in real life.

I am really naive. I thought that most readers would be inflamed by such display of stupidity. How wrong I was ! This story had 242 reviews, whose only 12 were critical. On the twelve crital ones, 4 were saying that Ron was just an ordinary teenager with no talent, but that it was a shame to dislike him for that.

The rest ?... At this point I don't know if I want to cry or burst into flames out of rage.

I have warned you before. I warn you again. Be aware of the violence of what will follow.

"More!

In order to get a good nights sleep, I need to read about Ron dying in horrendous and funny ways, due to his folly and vices."

At this point it looks like a caricature, doesn't it ? We can notice, however, that people vent out their frustrations and violence on fictional characters. It's up to you if it is good or not. I think it is sick to post it on the Internet, on a personal level.

"A note to a couple of Ron fanboys that posted. First, don' t like? Don' t read. You can tell it is a bashing story from the summary. Second; each person can interpret the canon events the way he wants. Personally, i see it like this: Ron betrayed and abandoned his supposed best friend when he needed help the most. Twice. And he never even apologised properly! It is not our best moments and actions that show us who we really are, but our worst ones. Because, usually, that is when one lets his true self show. Ron is not a bad person, but he is an idiot in canon."

It actually reflects a way of thinking. Ron is defined by the moment he felt betrayed and argued against his best friend - and he tried to apologize, though didn't make Harry apologize for hitting him - and the moment he left under mental torture - the first one who tells me Ron isn't strong-willed will have to run really fast from my anger, because Ron resisted possession and once rebelled against a thought mass murederer on a broken leg and they know nothing about torture -. For this kind of people, you can't have flaws. You can't be faulty. You have to be perfect. You can't ever be forgiven. This is unhealthy.

"*Insane laugh* I love this story! I've always hated Ron. *Sigh* If only he died in cannon, then my life would be complete!"

Once again I am amazed by the VIOLENCE of such a statement.

"I just love the first one where Ron dies while stuffing his face. I have often thought that he had either Bulima or a tapeworm. I have actually seen someone eat like him. It turned out that this person was Bulimic. How else does someone stuff himself and remain skinny?"

It displays a total lack of understanding of what eating disorders really are. Those are disorders which are really extremely difficult to deal with on a daily basis. They are mistaken here with bad eating manners.

"Are you in middle schoolers? Because that's how they teach you how to write in middle school. Also, Ron IS stupid. His grades show that. And Hermione is always caring and helping Harry, even when Ron is off sulking, jealous of Harry. And who cares if Ron came back after leaving? He still left! And getting his ass off of bed is not an excuse for Ron. He only goes along with Harry because he needs to! To keep being Harry's friend, that is. You're actually as mentally deficient as Ron is, and I hope you learn some proper fucking grammar."

Once again intelligence is confused with good grades. That's how you end up with teachers telling students who don't have good grades that they are too stupid to do anything of their life. Ron is here considered as an opportunist. As if he had chosen to be friends with Harry for fame -internal scream. As if being friends with Harry was easy. As if he had not commited his life to help his friends. Notice that once again someone is judges according to his so-called bad actions (to me, Ron leaving is not a mistake Ron did, as I said multiple times already).

"Oi weasel!, for the first and final time, there will never be an Hermione and you, so stop dreaming about her; she's way, out of your league, otherwise l will make you into an weasel patty..."

Love is seen as a question of worthiness.

"Can the Basilisk eat him? please please let the Basilisk eat him"

Once again the violence strucks me.

"ugh i hate him 2 he always runs away or gets jelous. The one thing he did was play stupid chess. Like geez. I love the owl 1".

Chess is considered stupid. CHESS IS CONSIDERED STUPID, BUT WRITING AN ENTIRE FANFIC TO KILL A FICTIONAL CHARACTER IS NOT. Those people are sickeningly judgemental and self-righteous.

"Thank you, I really needed a good laugh and nothing is more funny than Ron dying in horrific, nasty ways."

*throws up*

"Hilarious. Keep updating. I can't stand Ron. The flaws of Snape, Albus, Remus, Sirius and the rest makes them interesting characters. The flaws of Ron make him a putz."

Notice that Ron is the one character that apparently can't be forgiven for his flaws. Ever.

"Lol, Keep killing Ron, it's enjoyable. It's a good stress reliever to read these. :)

See ! Ron is nothing more than a punching ball to those people. I'm scared, really. Their immaturity is worrying.

"I agree with you about Ron he really is a good for nothing person in canon."

*sees red* That's what I'm fighting against in real life. People telling teenagers (and here one of the most admirable fictional teenagers I've ever seen) with a crippling lack of self-esteem that they are worthless. DON'T LISTEN TO THEM !

"this is so funny. i love the owl treats one. my favourite so far. anyone who dares say this is rubbish will face my anger, dont worry. just because it wont happen in canon dosent mean its not good."

Well, sorry to break it to you, but this is rubbish.

"Harry could have been the next Voldermort or Dumbledore if Ron hadn't infected him wi"

Ron and his friendship with Harry are seen as DISEASES.

"Weasley must die! Weasley must die!"

"I actually don't mind Ginny as a character, but Ron has always severely irritated me. The ending to Deathly Hallows was disappointing - how could JKR stick Hermione with a git like that? Ron's been nothing but awful to her since day one, and let's not even get started on how he's treated Harry...

Not really such a "loyal" sidekick, is he? When it all comes down to it, he's a selfish prat, thinking of nobody but himself. The PoA incident with Crookshanks, then GoF when he accused Harry of putting his name into the Goblet - there's been numerous occaisions in which that red haired git has allowed his jealously to get the better of him and abandoned his friends all because of his own petty insecurities.

Halfway through Deathly Hallows, I was ready to strangle him. I know the locket probably brought most of it on - but I don't see that as an excuse for him to throw a childish temper tantrum and blow up about Harry not knowing what he's doing. Okay, so you miss mummy's cooking, and living your life as a lazy sloth..

No reason to take it out on your two best friends. At least your parents are still alive, you ignorant MORON. I was rather pleased when Harry told him off, though. :)

All in all; Ron has always been an annoying, pain in the butt character to me. Utterly useless, really.

I can't wait to see what other creative ways you come up with to kill him.

*adds story to favorites*

Weasley is NOT my king."

So many things wrong.

Ron has been nothing other than awful to Hermione ? What about 'You're the most wonderful person I've ever met ?' 'She's been perfect, as usual.' ? What about getting detention several times (and one washing bedpans) for defending her ?