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ragingpancake · 3 years ago

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Lieutenant Colonel Idiot and the Kastat Root

A/N: I randomly came across a comment the other day while looking for H/C John fics where someone mentioned they wanted to see John having to have some sort of surgery off-world and this monstrosity happened. Unbetaed so all errors are mine, sorry about it!

Part 2 will be posted soon!

It starts with a stomachache and a fever. Okay no, scratch that. It started three days ago with a stomachache and a fever that he so stupidly decided to keep quiet about. He’d known that there was an upcoming mission on the books, knew that his team was scheduled to go off-world and knew that anything so much as a hangnail would ground him. So he’d just… you know, not mentioned it to anyone. Boy, had that been a mistake. So, it started three days ago with a stomachache and a the slightest of fevers that had just not gone away, annoying and ever present, but not so bad enough that it gave him cause for concern. Even earlier that morning as they loaded up into the Jumper, he’d not given it much thought, figuring that they’d just get through this mission and then he’d go talk to Carson if it hadn’t eased up. That had been his second mistake. Which is how he’s ended up here, sandwiched in between Ronon and Teyla at the feasting table with the good people of M3-X982 while Rodney waxes poetic about the almost-meatloaf they’d been served, all while trying to ignore just how hot he’d gotten, along with the stabbing pain he was experiencing less intermittently and more frequently as the night went by. He thinks he’s doing a fine job of hiding it, really, when Teyla leans over, a gentle hand resting on his shoulder. “Are you alright, Colonel?” Busted.

He means to give her a lazy, lopsided smile, to brush off her concern but what happens instead is that another stabbing pain shoots through his middle and all he can do is gasp at the force of it, loud enough that even Rodney actually shuts up for once. Three things happen in rapid succession: Ronon, assuming the worst, rises quick enough to knock the chair he’s been occupying backwards, while pulling out the blaster and aiming it at their hosts while Teyla speaks quickly, trying to diffuse the situation, ever the diplomat. And John… well, he tries to tell Ronon to knock it off, that the Plesians hadn’t poisoned him, but all he manages is a pained whimper before his entire world seemingly shifts on its axis and sends him tumbling off of his chair and to the ground, keening like a wounded animal. -- He doesn’t realize at first that he’s curled up on his side, drenched in his own sweat and covered in vomit and oh wow, when did he even throw up? “Colonel Sheppard,” Teyla says, her voice calm and soothing, and when he glances up at her, he can see Rodney over her shoulder, completely scandalized at the mess. It might be funny, except you know, John’s having a real hard time focusing on anything other than the pain. “John,” Teyla says again, more firm this time, and right, okay, focusing. He can do this. He totally can. “Doctor Frenlen would like to examine you but for this to happen, we need to get you back to the quarters the Plesians have so graciously provided. Can you stand?” “Are you crazy?” Rodney snaps and he might be even more pale than John is. “Of course he can’t stand, if he could stand, he wouldn’t be laying in a puddle of his own puke, now would he?” Teyla, the beautiful soul that she is, doesn’t even dignify Rodney’s snappish response with so much as a glance, instead looking up to Ronon with a nod. “Sorry Sheppard,” he mutters before he’s crouching down and lifting John into his arms. And John, stoic though he usually is… Well. He doesn’t really remember that part but later, Ronon will tell him about how he screamed and promptly passed out. Great. ----

See, this a prime example as to why Rodney McKay actually hatesthe Pegasus Galaxy. Atlantis, not so much, though there have been times that he’s found himself very cross with her too, but usually, she doesn’t try to kill them.

Well, perhaps that wasn’t entirely accurate, what with the (almost) ascension thing. And the virus meant to eradicate anyone not possessing the ATA gene… And the-- Okay, you know what? May she has tried to kill them but that’s not the point right now. The point is, they’re stuck on another god forsaken planet with absolutely no access to the gate thanks to the literal acid rainthat’s pouring down outside, something that the Plesians assure them will pass come morning because it does this every damn night here and why on Earth hadn’t the ancient database warned them of this?

Maybe he needs to take Atlantis off the pedestal he’s placed her on and add her to the list of things he hates about Pegasus after all. Okay, he’ll take that back. Maybe. Probably once Sheppard’s done with his poorly timed medical emergency, which brings him back to the present, crowded in a tiny room with a man old enough to be his grandfather “examining” the aforementioned Colonel. Rodney has never wished Carson was part of their gate team as much as he does in this moment, because for all the ways that medical “science” was actual voodoo, at least Carson seemed to be the most intelligent shaman they’ve come across to date. Present company included. The “Doctor” is hovering over John, poking and prodding, each touch eliciting quiet moans and whimpers from the barely conscious Sheppard, which worries Rodney enough as is. John usually prefers to suffer in manly silence and the fact that’s unable to remain stupidly stoic in this particular instance means that something must be really, really wrong. And that’s when Frenlen’s hand barely ghosts over John’s right side and the scream that Sheppard releases is one that raises the hairs on the back of his neck. “Please,” John pants as Teyla takes his hand, offering him as much comfort as she possibly can while Ronon stands at John’s head, fingering his blaster with an almost murderous look directed at Frenlen. “Please don’t do that again,” and another pained moan escapes him. Rodney, for his part, is taken back to the week after his seventeenth birthday when he was hospitalized with acute appendicitis and oh no. Oh, no, no, no. “What is it, Doctor McKay?” Teyla asks and he doesn’t realize that he’s moved from the spot that he’s previously been rooted to. He ignores her, glaring down at Sheppard. “How long?” He asks through almost clenched teeth. “What are you—“ Ronon tries, but Rodney cuts him off. “How long, Sheppard?” And Rodney might smack him if not for the fact that his fri—the Colonel didn’t look quite so pathetic, black hair matted to his forehead with fever, face pale from the pain. He still thinks about it when John answers, “coupla’ days.” “He needs the kastat root,” Frenlen interjects and Rodney has never hated medicine as much as he does in this moment. “No,” he snaps. “He needs an appendectomy.” Frenlen blinks at him, face blank and oh great. Of course. Of course he has no idea what Rodney’s talking about because that’s absolutely their luck. “We need to get back to the gate,” Rodney says and Frenlen shakes his head. “You can’t. The rain will not cease until morning,” which was still several hours away by their estimation and what if Sheppard doesn’t have that long? If his stupid appendix has already ruptured, there’s a possibility that infection is already seeping into abdominal cavity, and with Lieutenant Colonel Idiot having sat on this for “a coupla’ days” (God, Rodney wants to punch him), there’s an extremely good chance that that’s exactly what’s taking place. If not, Rodney would bet that they don’t have much longer until it does. “Rodney,” Teyla says, pulling Rodney from his thoughts. “What do we need to do?” We? “He needs his appendix removed!” Rodney says and if he sounds a little distressed by that little fact, he thinks he’s probably a little entitled. “We need Carson, we have to—.” “Rodney, I need you to focus,” Teyla says again. “John needs you to focus.” He can tell she’s just as worried as he is, can see it in her eyes but damn if she doesn’t hide it well. “We cannot get to the Stargate until morning. Can this wait until then?” “No! No, this definitely cannot wait until morning! He needs surgery, and, and, and—” “Then tell us what you need us to do so that we might begin.” What? What? “What do you--.” “Doctor Frenlen is uncertain of this ailment, but it seems that you are. As you said, we need to move quickly and--.” “I don’t… I don’t know if I’m exactly okay with this,” Sheppard manages and as Teyla’s hand moves to his overly warm forehead, Rodney feels a little insulted by that.

“What do you mean, you’re not okay with this!” He says, despite the fact that he’snot okay with this. Now, it’s just a matter of pride, honestly. “I mean you’re a scientist, Rodney. Not a… fuck. Not a doctor.” “John,” Teyla says gently and when the Colonel glances up to meet her eyes, her face softens just a bit. “We may not have a choice. You are very sick, according to Doctor McKay, and we have no access to the Stargate for several more hours. This is our only option.” “Are we really doing this?” Ronon asks, and Rodney and Teyla respond at the same time. “No!” “Yes!” But Rodney can’t do this. He’s no longer offended because he knows John’s right. He’s not a medical doctor, he has no idea what he’s doing and, and, and. “I’ll do it then,” Ronon growls. “Oh, great idea!” Rodney snaps again because that’s exactly what Sheppard needs; Chewbacca poking around in his guts, more than likely causing more damage. “The kastat root,” Doctor Frenlen supplies unhelpfully and Rodney wonders if the entire galaxy has gone mad in this moment. “Shut up!” And the doctor steps back, mouth snapped closed, and Rodney’s just about to tell them all that they have no choice but to wait, when John pitches over the side of bed, vomiting violently, and when an actual sobescapes him, Rodney realizes that he is so, so screwed. “I need… I need something to knock him out,” he says in a voice that doesn’t sound quite like his own. “The kas—” “If you say kastat root one more time--…” “Rodney!” Teyla admonishes and excuse him if he’s a little stressed right now. He’s allowed to be, considering he’s about to cut someone open. “The kastat root,” Doctor Frenlen says, “has several medicinal properties. We use it on Plesia to numb the pain from certain injuries.” Oh. Well. How was Rodney supposed to know that? “It’ll knock him out, right?” There’s a look of confusion on the doctor’s face, and when they get back to Atlantis, Rodney is so deleting this gate address from the database. NEVER AGAIN. “What Doctor McKay is asking,” Teyla interjects, “is if your kastat root will render the Colonel unconscious.” “Oh no,” Frenlen responds. “Not at all. But it should help with the pain.” Sheppard must sense just how entirely screwed he is but he seems resigned to his fate. “Do it,” he manages. “I don’t think you understand just what you’re asking me to do!” And if Rodney is shrieking just a little, they’ll just have to deal with it. “I can’t just—” “Rodney,” John says again, voice catching in his throat. “I trust you.” “The root, Doctor Frenlen,” Teyla says urgently and the doctor moves to dig through his bag, producing the smallest vial of anything Rodney has ever seen. Before he can protest any further, Teyla pops the cork and with one gentle hand cupping John’s chin, she urges him to open his mouth to drink. He does, and once she’s satisfied, she glances up at Ronon. “Hold him down,” she says quietly. “ I need--. I need a knife,” Rodney manages in a voice that does not sound like his own, and of course Frenlen is no further help but there’s Ronon, pulling a dagger from his boot and Rodney blanches. This is so not sanitary. He uses the procured dagger to slice away John’s shirt and Rodney can see the slight distension of his stomach. He can only pray that it hasn’t yet ruptured because he has nothing to clean the infection and between that and using a dagger from Ronon’s boot, Rodney is certain that John will not survive that. But as certain as he is of that, he’s also certain that if they do nothing, there’s still a good chance that John won’t survive and, and, and--. “You’re gonna… you’re gonna have to hold him extremely well,” Rodney says to Ronon, eyes wild, face coated in a sheen of sweat and when did it get so hot in here? “If he moves even the slightest—” “I’ve got him,” Ronon assures him and Teyla does too, having moved down to Colonel’s legs to hold them in place so that he would not kick. Rodney chances a glance down at John’s face and the other man gives him a barely there

nod before he swallows hard as Rodney brings the knife down, pressing it against him… --- The sound of John’s screams will haunt Rodney for the rest of his life. He’s under no delusions about that. He’d once thought that nothing would ever compare to watching John be fed on by Koyla’s wraith, but hearing those screams, knowing he’d been the one to cause it… The acid rain has stopped.

Teyla had left some time ago to run to the gate. Frenlen had finally proved more useful when he’d produced more of those little vials of kastat root. Rodney had taken them moment he’d dropped the dagger, John’s thankfully in tact appendix on the floor at his feet, and forced them down the Colonel’s throat. He figured if the asshole overdosed from some off-world root, then that was on him because they should’ve never asked Rodney--… He should have never… They shouldn’t… He doesn’t get a chance to complete another thought before the door to the room opens and in spills Carson with a skeleton med crew, ushering Rodney out of the way. And honestly, Rodney’s doing okay, he’s holding it together until someone steps on the appendix and all of a sudden all bets are off. He gags, but before he has a chance to upend all the contents of his stomach, Ronon is hauling him off, barely managing to get him outside before Rodney loses it. The noises that escape him as he pukes up everything he’s eaten for what feels like the last three weeks should be embarrassing. The entire situation shouldbe embarrassing but Rodney doesn’t care. There’s vomit and snot and tears (oh, where did they come from?) when he finally gags one last time, spitting out a mouth full of bile, and he didn’t even realize he was no longer alone until he feels a heavy hand drop onto his shoulder. “You did good,” Ronon says gruffly, like maybe Rodney’s not the only one affected by what they did. After all, Ronon was the one who’d been helping to hold him down once Rodney had started cutting, even as John screamed and begged for them to stop. Rodney says nothing until the medical team comes out, carrying John on a gurney will Teyla following close behind. She pauses, briefly, and reaches for Rodney’s hand, squeezing ever so gently, but Rodney waits until she’s far enough away before he glances up at Ronon. “We are never coming back to the this backwards fucking…” He doesn’t even have to finish before Ronon is nodding and squeezing his shoulder. “Come on,” the Satedan says. “Let’s go home.” -- By the time they make it back to Atlantis, it seems that the entire base is waiting for them. Rodney doesn’t even get an opportunity to say anything to Carson or the still unconscious Sheppard before he’s being pulled away by Elizabeth for a SITREP and she barely gets out the standard Weir what the hell happened before Rodney is puking again. Great.

Part 2

#fandom: sga #stargate atlantis #sga #sga fic #hurt!john sheppard #john sheppard whump #hurt/comfort #john sheppard #rodney mckay #teyla emmagan #ronon dex #teamfic

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hintofcolor · 4 years ago

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If I’m in pain you are gonna feel it (I never got to tell him I loved him and it’s your fault)

Tim yells at Clark because he’s sad and misses his best friend

It was quiet. Cassie and Tim stayed back, while everyone else went up to the house, sitting under the tree that gave shade to fresh turned dirt and concrete slab. The trunk of the tree wide enough that they could sit side by side and still lean back against it.

“Conner Kent,” Cassie read aloud the name on the tombstone, “the fact that that’s the name they went with makes me want to break the ugly thing.”

“Go for it,” Tim responded as he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, willing the tears back in. He’s cried enough in front of people. “Maybe he’ll be offended enough that he comes back to tell you how rude it is to vandalize his grave.”

Cassie chuckled, “If anyone would come back from the dead because of a hurt ego, it’d be Kon.” A small, soft smile settled on both of their faces.

They sat in comfortable silence just being in each other’s presence. They were the only two left. It hurt, but at least they had each other. It was nice, comforting, to just see the other. To watch each other’s chest rise and fall, to see their eyes flutter, tired and sad, glazed over with tears, but full of life. The sun turned a warm red and the sky lit up in vibrant colors. It was beautiful. It reminded Tim that Kon would never be able to keep the promise of showing Tim the sunsets in Hawaii

“You wouldn’t believe it man!” Kon beamed, “the sunsets and sunrises are unreal. It’s like they are fake. Like some one, I don’t know, painted them. I don’t know how to describe it.” Kon sat next to Tim on the water tower in smallville. Kon had flown up there, the whole ‘not being able to be himself’ thing weighing heavy. So they sat on the tower and Kon talked and Tim listened. When the sun started to set Tim smiled and made a remark about how beautiful it was and how he doesn’t see sunsets a lot because Gotham and pollution and such. Which in turn, made Kon start gushing about Hawaii. Tim turned to give Kon his full attention, while Kon sat with his arms resting on the barricade, his legs hanging over the edge, and his eyes glued to the sky. “You gotta see it I swear.”

“I believe you.”

“No I’m serious. I want you to see it for yourself. One day I’m going to take you to see a sunset in Hawaii. That’s a promise.”

“I’ve got to head home.” Cassie’s voice breaking through the memories. “It’s been a long day, and it’s almost dark, I don’t want my mom to worry. Will you be okay? You can stay over at my place if you think your family will be to much.”

“Thanks Cass, but I’m okay.” Tim responded. A smile that didn’t reach his eyes settled in place. Like it belonged there. “I don’t think I’m through saying goodbye yet.”

Cassie simply smiled sympathetically. The look of his smile made her nauseous. She hurts too, so bad, but Tim has lost so many people already, she would give anything if she could just take his pain away. Seeing some one she loves in so much pain, knowing she can’t do anything about it, leaves her uneasy. As if she’s in pain for them. She wants to stay a little longer. Sit next to him, holding his hand, or resting her head on his shoulder, something to remind her that he’s still there, to remind him that she’s not going anywhere. She almost caved, sitting back down, staying with him till he was ready to go home. She even thought about going with him then too. Curling up in his too big bed, like how they all used to after a particularly difficult mission, leaving them feeling powerless and hopeless. All settled in one of their bedrooms, which ever was closest, just for the comfort of having other people around. They never talked, they just all silently got ready for bed and claimed a spot wherever was comfortable. However, she needed to get home to her mom, because as much as she loves Tim and wants to stick by his side, she really, really needs a hug from her mom right about now. To have her kiss Cassie’s head and tell her it’s okay, and that the pain just means that she cares.

She flies off, refusing to go up to the old house. To many memories of the four of them are stored in that rickety barn and yellow home. She doesn’t want them tainted by grief.

Tim watches her go. He leans his head back against the tree again. He was about to close his eyes when he heard footsteps approaching. He stood, perfectly ready to give whoever it was some privacy with Kon. Until Clark comes into view. An anger Tim didn’t even know he was harboring for the Kryptonian came bubbling to surface. Fast and Hot. He pushed against the tree to stand up right and tall.

“Are you proud yet?” He asked, venom dripping from every word. Clark turned to look at the boy briefly. Tim could see the guilt hanging heavy in his eyes. “He saved the world. Died a hero. That enough to convince you that he isn’t Lex? That he could be more than his DNA?”

“Tim-”

“No. I talk, you listen.” Tim spit. Clark recoiled, but stayed quiet. “You did nothing but push him away for absolutely no valid reason. What makes you think you have a right to stand here and grieve? When you were the one who made his life hell. For years, years Clark, I had to sit and listen as he doubted himself, doubted who he was, whether or not he was good, whether he was his own person. I watched him drive himself insane over his stupid DNA. Because of you, Clark! Because you couldn’t for three seconds consider that maybe, just maybe Kon is his own person. He had a mind, a beating heart, a soul, Clark, and you reduced him to a science experiment. You don’t get to stand here and act like this isn’t exactly what you wanted. Not when that stupid shield drug him down more than you could ever imagine”

“I tried-”

“YOU TRIED!? God Clark you can’t be this dense. The Kon you knew wasn’t even Kon! GOD! He changed everything about himself so that maybe, just maybe you would accept him! He died being a person he didn’t even recognize in the mirror. The clothes, that stupid t shirt and jeans, the hair cut, the glasses, his obviously dialed down personality. I can’t count how many times I listened to the same thing over and over, about how much he hated everything he had become, how didn’t feel like himself, how it was driving him insane. And every time I would tell him that there was nothing wrong with who he used to be and every time, every single time, he would respond with ‘Clark would disagree.’ All you did was change him into another version of you. Your opinion meant so much to him and you hardly even spared him a second thought. You wanna know how I know you didn’t try, because if you spent even five minutes talking to Kon like he was more than a clone bred to fight, you would know how much he hated Smallville. LOOK WHERE WE ARE STANDING! He couldn’t wait to get out of this place, and because you didn’t want to go through the, what, hassle? Of coming up with a story as to why he would be buried in someplace he liked. Buried in Hawaii? He is the in the one place that him feel even less of a person forever. God, Clark do you know how pathetic that is? How so royally fucked up that is? Do you know how angry he would be if he knew he had to spend eternity here? And yet you have the audacity to stand here and actually mourn him?.”

“I-”

“I’m not done talking. You don’t get to mourn some one you wished wasn’t alive in the first place. We both know the only reason it hurts you so much is because this perfectly crafted ‘knight on a white horse’ person you created just took a hit. God, I wish in everything that some one would knock you off of that damn high horse. I am so sorry your hero complex took a hit. I am so sorry that you have to be the villain for once. That you couldn’t save Kon, whether it was from prime or himself. I am so sorry that you worked so hard to make Kon into Clark 2.0 only to have him die. I am so, so sorry that you regret not getting to know him. But that’s on you and only you. And that guilt you’re feeling, the guilt of not being fast enough. Of not getting there in time. Of letting some one die. Of some one dying thinking that you hate them. I get it. Trust me, I get it. A hundred scenarios running through your mind about how it could have been different, how you could have saved him. How you could have done better. How you should have kept them closer. When you are laying there at night, your stomach curled in on itself, your blood ice cold. The hot tears pouring down your face as some cruel reminder that you can’t escape from this. The type of guilt that has you hunched over the toilet, choking on your vomit because you can’t stop sobbing long enough and you’re body won’t let you do both. You don’t panic, you think if I go I deserve it right? You put on the cape and become sloppy and reckless because if you make it out, if you are able to go home and take them off, the pain will set back in. That guilt that is all encompassing, that drags with you all day and all night. Cause no matter what, you can’t wake up. That guilt? I can tell you with a doubt is the worse feeling you will ever feel. And I truly mean it when I say that I hope you choke on it. I hope you scream for help and no one listens. I want you to know what it feels like to be in so much pain while surrounded by people who make a living helping people. I hope people you consider family ignore your suffering. I hope that pain seeps into your skin. I hope the sound of Kon hitting the ground rings in your ears. I hope the sound of his heart stopping replays on repeat.” Tim’s voice breaks, tears are flooding down his face he can’t see anything, but he doesn’t care. He is so angry that nothing else matters. His voice drops to barely a whisper “I wish Kon were here. I wish he could tell you this himself. I wish he could tell you himself how much it hurt to know that you would never love him.”

Tim walked off, up the dirt road that lead to Kent’s long driveway. He paused at the old worn mailbox, before deciding to just keep going. He trekked down the long dirt road, with no clue where he was going. He knew Bruce would come looking eventually. He found himself lying on the cold metal walkway of the old water tower. He just stared up at the stars, like he was waiting for Kon to appear out of the sky. He closed his eyes, tears still streaming down steadily and whispered the same thing over and over again. Maybe if he said it enough Kon would hear it.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

#dc comics #conner kent #(also cassie punches him but at a different time)#tim drake #clark kent is a bad dad #he gets better tho #i just like the angst sometimes #cassie sandsmark #if cassie was still there clark would have been doomed #poor timmy #i hated this #so i had to fix it #so here is a edited version #still not quite what i want #but its defiantly better #i also didnt tag this timkon #i dont know why #so #timkon

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thewillowbends · 4 years ago

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BotW Link/Zelda or Link & Zelda: A-10, B-13, C-3?

Oh God, this took forever to finish because I rewrote the ending like three times before I found something I was satisfied with. I hope you enjoy!

Long after the night has fallen over them and the air turned cold, the rain follows them. It lasts until midnight, where the bitter ache of his bones keep him sentry for the long night of their camp. Zelda rests fitfully, turning in her sleep, but it's more peace than she has known for years, and he dares not wake her. His guilt is a relentless beast, one that prowls and twists through the corridors of his mind when he is idle and curls at his feet to look at him with piercing eyes when he dares let his sword rest. The earth still carries the memory of pain; he feels the echo of the world's grief in the wind.

Link rubs his eyes, feeling the fatigue of a night that wears heavy, the ache of old wounds whose pain lingers after healing. Behind him, Zelda twists in her sleep, her breath so quiet he strains to hear them - and strains he does because her dreams are the blood and marrow of his. It is her voice that carried him in the long and lonely hours of a battle that seemed ever at an end, and it is his vision that drives them now, into the world hungry for hope. He tries to imagine a time when the world will be healed, when the hills and valleys won't hold the scars of great battles, when the air is no longer sullied with poison, when they are more than a scattered people scavenging the bones of a world's remains. He thinks of the Zora, where the rivers still ran clean, and the desert, with its soothing monotony and purifying heat, and the image cannot coalesce in his mind as anything whole, fragmented by loss of a mind that has only known the ruin. The dream of a world restored is Zelda's. He can only hold it in his fist for so long before he clasps too tightly, and it slips through the cracks in his fingers.

When she stirs, he stills, cautious in his regard for her wants. Zelda has spent her life a sacrifice on a great stone slab, waiting for the flash of the ritual knife. The world is always eager to ask more of her; he cannot fashion himself as one to be among their number. So when she comes to sit beside her, he tilts his head at her skeptically, his eyes sharp and knowing.

"You should be sleeping," he says firmly.

"I could not," she admits. In her hands, she fiddles with the gold chain of her necklace. She worries it keenly, this remnant of her past, as if it could be compelled to conjure something more than memory. She is quiet for a long moment, looking with him to a cloudy midnight sky, the stars hidden by the haze of a passing storm.

"I dreamed of my father," she admits after a moment, releasing her necklace to clasp her hands in her lap. When he does not speak, she continues unprompted, "I dreamed of him as I knew him in life, in the grand halls where the throne once stood. I saw him as he was in the prime of his youth when I was but a child, grand and proud." She smiles faintly. "A happier time, before the prophet brought word of the resurrection."

He looks at her thoughtfully, uncertain of the emotions that wells in him - compassion, yes, but also something more sordid, something with sharp edges that pricks should he grasp it. Envy, perhaps, he wonders, or something darker, more resentful. The cruelty of a life stolen, even as he knows the past exists mainly to cause her pain. Her grief is momentous yet contained, a lake to whose edge he can step but from which he cannot drink. Memory is a stranger to him. The novelty of it is an uncertain weight, as heavy as its absence.

"Did I know him then?" he asks after a moment.

"No," she answers, "you hadn't come to us yet."

Her feet are bare despite the cold. She wiggles her toes, digging them into the grass and soft earth. Her body still carries the litheness of youth, a countenance girlish and sweet; it remembers youth that she does not, her mind eaten away by years of madness gripped in Calamity's iron fist. He wonders if either of them have ever been children, if they have ever known laughter that came easily.

"Do you miss him?" he asks abruptly.

Zelda tilts her head to look at him, her eyes a blue as dark as the ocean in the dark. For a moment, he thinks he's offended her, but after a moment she smiles faintly. "Sometimes," she says quietly, and it has the color of a secret. "I loved him. He was a good man - but a hard one. He had to be. The world required it."

He nods, looking out in the vast plain, where the night lights up with the gentle glow of fireflies and the distant fire of Death Mountain. He thinks of time, how it shaped him as much as it has the contours of this land, how it continues to shape them. He wonders when the stories are written, will they be grand as the shadows of distant mountains or passing through like rain, a footnote among the pages. A sigh forms on his lips, and he lets it out, forming a moist cloud in the air.

"The Zora have been telling me about my family," he says finally. "My father they knew died in the Calamity. My mother and sister left soon after, and they know not what became of them. Though all these years later, they would have passed."

"I'm sorry," she says, and her tone is genuine, carrying the weight of all their failures.

"You are not the one I expect to answer for it," he tells her gently, and though he is honest, he can see she does not, cannot believe him. Perhaps with time, though he can only hope they are given as much as was stolen from them. He gives her a smile, as faint as the whisper of the night's wind, which she returns with favor.

"I only met your family once," she admits after a moment. "The day you arrived at the castle with your father." She sighs a little. "We were so young, then, to recall it. You could not have been more than fourteen, but the sword had called to you already. I remember you were so quiet, even then. I thought you shy or perhaps reserved, but thinking back on it, I think you were just as frightened as I was. A huge duty had been laid at your feet, as big as my own."

Link tries to imagine himself as a boy, the shape of the fears he held then, an abstract idea of an uncertain battle to come; he wonders whether the knowing and concrete pain of his failure wears heavier. The face he sees in the mirror has it deceptive youth, a certain delicacy that lends itself to a nurturing and condescending regard from those who cannot recognize the weariness in his eyes, who do not see the scars etched in his skin. He wonders if his mother beheld his face now if she would even recognize it.

"The past is uncertain companion," he says eventually.

"So is the future," she answers, and he cannot bring himself to disagree.

He breaks a twig and tosses it into a fire. Its sudden flare lights up in Zelda's eyes, the flames dancing in her pupils. The shadows give her the edges and contours of sculpture, something hewn from stone, sturdy and with heft. Link thinks of all the years and days and hours she spent waiting, the way she hardened her heart against the possibility of a hero that may never come for her. He wonders if the strength that carried her through that time is enough to carry them forward.

"Do you think Impa will have the answers you seek?" he finally asks.

Her face falters, the smile easing to a flat line. It hurts his heart to see it; there has already been so much pain between them.

"I don't know," she admits after a moment, her voice quiet. "I'm not sure there are even answers to be had, but we need to start somewhere. Hyrule deserves a second chance."

He nods. "We owe it to the people to try."

She looks at him curiously, an expression he can't quite read on her face, like a book abruptly closed. They sit with the quiet of the night for a few moments more, before she turns to him more fully, her face reflecting a warmth more common each day the calamity is put behind her. Reaching out a hand, she touches his shoulder, and he twitches at the feel of it, the tension that holds them snapping like the taut string of a tightened bow.

"Does your shoulder bother you?" she asks after a moment.

He blinks, rolling his shoulders a bit, feeling them crack as he does. The storm makes his bones ache, but no more than anything else does. His wounds are deep, but he has learned to value the pain that tells a body it is still living.

"It is only the rain," he says. "It is nothing of so much concern. These things pass."

"They do," she answers softly, "but so does kindness, and the world has far less of that."

His smile is bitter. "That it does."

Zelda shifts, moving to her knees, then moves behind him. He glances at her in confusion until he feels her hands come up to rest on his shoulders tentatively, and he tenses, years removed from any tender touch. She lets them rest there for a moment, letting him feel the heat of her palm warm him skin. His shoulders remain tight; this sort of casual touch is not common between them.

But oh, that it could be, his mind whispers, full of weariness and longing. Link wonders if she knows how many nights he laid awake, the sound of her voice the only comfort, the only way he knew how to remember hope.

"May I?" she asks, and when he nods slowly, the touch of her hand is so gentle and kind it makes him sigh.

She rubs firm circles around the places where his muscles twinge and bones ache. It a strange thing to let her care for him, a strange thing to be cared for at all. It unbalances something between them, like a face reflected in a rough mirror, familiar and yet indistinct, not unpleasant but neither completely comforting. What a pair they make, two incongruent puzzle pieces trying to make a whole: a man who cannot remember the past, and a queen who wishes to forget hers.

"Did you dream in the ether?"

"What do you mean?"

Link stares out into the night, feeling its cold and dark keenly, black magic of the earth. "All of those years your soul was tied to Ganon, as you watched his power slowly expand past the breach, you must have held on to something." He worries his bottom lip with his teeth. "I want to know what it was."

Her hands continue their work, but he can feel the gears of her mind turning in the quiet. It is a long moment before she responds. "I dreamed of the day you would show to the gates with sword in hand. Or with a bow, riding a great horse. I dreamed of a day when Hyrule would be whole again. I dreamed of peace."

His hands tighten around his sword, a spasm running through the palm. "And when the years wore on, and I did not appear, what carried you then?"

"I did not allow a thought, otherwise," she says simply. Her hands move down his back, to the place where the tension knots like rope between his shoulder blades, where he wears the worst of his burden. "Understand that my thoughts were not wholly my own in the seal. To bind a spirit..." A shudder runs through her, fine and brief, but he catches it. "I had not known what it would cost then. I thought only of what must be done, but when you are bound, you are one. I saw what was in him, his plans for Hyrule, and I knew it must be stopped. I dreamed because I had to. It was all I had to keep the nightmares at bay."

Her hands pause on his shoulders, and when he turns to her, her eyes are wide and wild, the dark pupils round as black holes. It is fear, he realizes. The memory of madness that was not hers but found a home in her all the same. Before can stop himself, his hand is clasped around her own, firm and kind; she returns his grip tightly, an anchor for all her grief. He smiles at her sadly, feeling how very small her hands feel in his; how they have carried all of that grief alone, he will never know.

"Link," she says, then stop, her eyes glassy. A fine tremor runs through her hand into his; Link runs a thumb over her hand, soothing her.

"You're safe now," he tells her and means it with his whole being, every muscle that swings the sword and the soul that waited for her voice in the deep well of his lonely silence.

Zelda looks down at her hands, turning them over in his, looking at the way calluses are forming there that they have never known before. She has known hard work, but not like this, building a world up from a grown-over ruin, a little like coaxing life from dry and dusty earth. Now her hands know the heft of the axe and dirt under the nails. Her body knocks the ache of muscles worn and tired.

"And you," she says after a moment, "what did you dream of all those years you slumbered?"

Link weighs the truth in his mind, the way it scales against the pain he knows it inspires. He thinks of the gaps in his memory, like the darkness of space between stars, the past that is lost somewhere beyond his reach. In the time he slept, there was nothing; *he* was nothing. It is only when her voice awakened him, coaxing him out of the dark, that he grew out of his own ruin.

He closes his hands around hers, feeling the warmth in them, the way her pulse thrums in the delicate angle of her wrist. It anchors him to the moment, tethered to her in a way that has damned him as often as it has been his salvation, but he would no sever it, not for the privilege of any freedom beyond her reach. It makes what he says feel like something a little more truth, the bones of something like faith.

"I dreamed of nothing," he says, "but I remembered you. When there was nothing else, I had your voice."

Her hands are shaking when they unclasp from his and then when they move to cup his face, gentle and light as a bird's touch. When she moves toward him, Link feels he has seen this moment before, has known the contours of its shape formed in the eaves of his mind, in the shadows where hope flickered like the pale light of a struggling flame. Pressed this close, it is easy enough to reach out and clasp her to him, whole and warm and steady, more than a dream and greater than memory, to ease her trembling with the strength of his arms as they tighten around her, the way she fits so very well against him, tucked into the space he makes for her.

"All of those years with Ganon," she says heavily, her voice loud in the quiet, "I would never have survived if not for you. If it was my voice that kept you going, it was hope of hearing your answer that carried me." She presses her face against his shoulder, and he feels the wetness of her tears. "I cannot do this alone. I never could."

And it is the promise unspoken that he did not realize had kept him wanting, the one that slept inside all the hollow spaces of the silence between them, the things unsaid. They have been alone so very long, trapped in the prisons time made for them, kept distant by the failures that made them. How he has longed for her in the hours and day and years that have made them, two halves of a whole cleaved apart by a blade that could not sever them from the destiny that awaited them It has taken a long time to come back around to the voice that speaks in the darkness, the one that says you need not be alone any longer.

"You have me with you always," he promises fiercely, a vow as weighty as any he made on bent knee, and when she sighs against him, full of sorrow and relief, he knows this much is truth. "I wish only to stay by your side, to build the world you dream of. It is our now, our future to make."

His grip loosens on her, and slowly she looks up at him, all the trembling parts of her that held when Ganon wanted her to break. It fills his heart with warmth where memory leaves him cold. When she reaches for him again, he does not fight it, even as time seems to skip its rhythm, stuttering past them to leave them this moment. Then her hands are on his face, her eyes are glittering like stars, and the touch of her mouth is so sweet against his, warm and perfect as sunlight or summer's breeze, the moment that has waited for them through darkness and shadow, memory and time.

Outside, it is raining, and the night is long and dark. It does not touch them.

#legend of zelda #breath of the wild #zelink #my fanfiction #meme response #sparklylurkdragon

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nachtai-ish · 5 years ago

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Hell No Fury Part Two (NSFW)

Pairing: Frat!Chris Evans x Soro!Jealous!Black!Reader (Dark!Chris Evans x Reader) Summary: ...you get what you ask for. Warnings: Rough sex, Rough Talk, Threats of Non-Con (...read author’s note) Previous Part

(Authors Note: there’s a part in here that I don’t want to offend anyone with. it definitely brushes on dark! but it’s brief. I will bold and italicize it for easy finding.)

When your back hit the stall, making a resounding thump, Chris’s fingers flexed around your throat making his hold a little tighter. Although tears were coming to your eyes, you continued to smile at him, lifting your chin as best as you could in defiance.

“Squeeze tighter baby, you know how I like it.” You whispered out, making him flare his nostrils.

“What is wrong with you?” He took his hand off your neck and wrapped his hand in your hair pulling your head back so that you were looking up at him. He lured over you searching your face when you didn’t directly answer him. “God, you irritate my soul. Talk damn it.”

You pushed him off of you, walking in front of him to stand in the mirror. You primed and preened and tried hair not to look directly at his reflection in the mirror. He was standing to the side of you, watching you with narrowed eyes, his neck was slightly redder than the rest of him.

“I won’t ask you again.”

You smacked your teeth, turning on him with a quickness that made your head spin. “You are what’s wrong with me. How dare you embarrass me coming out with a sophomore who’s my fucking twin? Do you know how that makes me look?”

He scoffed, looking away from you, “You broke up with me.”

You rolled your eyes, “I said I needed some fucking space. That doesn’t give you permission to come to Jimmy’s on the most important night of the week with fucking Christy.”

He turned his head then, giving you that infuriating smirk that made you both want to smack him and kiss him with all the passion in your body. “Is that what it is? You’re mad about Christy?”

You couldn’t roll your eyes harder if you tried, “No it’s not about Christy. It’s about the fact that you’re making me look fucking weak. A sophomore Chris? You could have at least tried harder and gotten a Junior.”

He stepped toward you, and you stepped back, “Christy is pretty. Why shouldn’t I go out with her?”

“Christy is a clone of me. So, I see the appeal. What I don’t get is why you would come to Jimmy’s with her on frat night?” Your voice broke slightly when the words frat night came out of your mouth, and you clenched up looking up at him with fright that he might jump on your vulnerability. You turned away from him, looking in the mirror at yourself watching the tears well up in your eyes as you tried to focus on anything but the fact that you were being a weak bitch.

You were fixing your hair when he stepped behind you kissing the back of your neck, you closed your eyes breathing in and out slowly. “Get off of me.” You spoke, your eyes still closed, your body still tight with fear and sadness.

“No.” He said, mouth still against the back of your neck.

“Chris. Move.” You spoke again as his hands gripped the back of your arms.

“No.” He said again.

You relented, sighing as you released some of the tension in your body, “Why did you come with Christy on Frat night? You could have come on any other night but this is our night.” You said quietly, your eyes still closed. You couldn’t dare look at yourself in the mirror, to see how weak he made you.

Freshman year, you had met Chris on Frat night, then he was a pledge and you were simply just a patron trying to have a good night with your dormmates. He was completing tasks for rush week and one of his tasks as you would find out was to find a random girl and kiss her. When Chris kissed you that night, lips warm and tasting of mint and beer, you had felt sparks up and down your body, and the stare you gave each other when your lips parted was nothing short of magical.

And when he smirked at you after you slapped the spit out of his mouth, you knew that you had found something special. Every Tuesday night since, you had gone with Chris to Jimmy’s, it was a tradition, a ritual, something that kept your love alive.

Now, he had tainted it with sophomore cooties.

“I didn’t.”

You opened your eyes then, looking at your reflections in the mirror, finding his eyes. “What?”

Chris sighed, “She just popped up honestly. I mean, I can show you my phone if you want. I only texted Sean and George about going to Frat night. Like she had really only just arrived a little before you did.”

You turned towards him then, your back against the counter, “What about the picture?”

“It’s a picture. It’s harmless.” He shrugged.

You rolled your eyes, “Chris, it’s college. You know as well as I do what pictures say to people.”

He sighed looking down at you. “I mean, she wanted to take a picture. I really didn’t think anything of it until you made your little announcement on twitter that you were coming to Jimmy’s. I mean, ask Sean, I literally asked him to flirt with her to get her attention because I knew you would act crazy. Which I was right about.”

It was your turn to look away then, folding your arms around your body, “I did not act crazy.”

“You did. You came in here in latex. Black fucking latex. Every fucking eye in here was on your ass.” He turned your head to his so you could see his eyes. “Where did you get it anyway? I’ve never seen this in your closet.”

You smiled a little, “Uh, it’s Z’s actually. Remember Jackson’s Halloween Party? She went as a dominatrix. …This is the dress. I left the whip and chains at home.”

“Right.” He nodded, looking down at the dress. “It’s tight.”

“Z is smaller than me.”

He chuckled a little dragging his eyes back up your body, making you tingle a little. “It’s going to be a bitch to get off.”

“I know right. I told Z that- “You were spun around and this time your head did spin a little. Chris was pressing your front against the counter in no time, holding your hair in his hand with a gentleness that did not match the look on his face.

You chewed on your bottom lip, watching him watch you. “Chris.” You started but he shook his head.

“Do you know how frustrated you made me all night?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a rubber band, something he had taken to doing for you when he got tired of you complaining that your hair was annoying your neck. He pulled your hair back, raking through it with his fingers, being gentle when his hand found a tangle. When he had all of your curls in his hand, he secured your hair in a ponytail at the back of your head.

You gulped a little, when his eyes found yours again, what was a softer blue had turned into a dark color, his iris enlarged with lust. “Wait. Penguin.”

He stepped back at little, confirming your suspicions that he was in fact in a dominant headspace. “What is it?”

“You can’t fuck me in the stall.” You said to his reflection, he chuckled and reached over locking the door.

“Watch me.” He stepped forward again, and you quickly turned around, pressing your hands against his chest.

“Penguin.”

He growled, literally growled and you had to bite down on your lip to stay firm. “Chris.”

“What? Isn’t this what you wanted? You came in here to get fucked. You came here in that short, fucking plastic black dressed to get fucked hard like only I can.” He pushed you back against the counter, lips immediately attaching themselves to that spot on your neck that made you liable to do anything he asked of you. He was right. You had come to the bar tonight for three things, one was to piss Chris off royally, two was to make Chris want you bad, and three was to get fucked hard.

…But of course, you still had a little fucking with Chris to do.

“I told Brody that I would come back and have a drink with him. He’s probably waiting for me.” You said placing your hands on his chest again, but before you could push him off you, he was pulling away himself.

He clenched his jaw and you could see the vein ticking in his neck again, “Brody?”

You nodded, standing up straight, “Yeah. He actually invited me out tonight. I wasn’t going to come but... he wanted to see me.”

“Stop fucking with me Y/n.”

You smiled and shrugged, “I mean Brody is a handsome guy. Why should I come to a bar to see him?”

You were against the door before you could even blink properly, your legs were wrapped around his waist and he made no effort to keep his hardness off of you. You moaned against his lips as he roughly kissed you. When he bit down on your lip you had no choice but to accept the tongue that was invading your mouth, beating down your own tongue for domination.

Chris lifted you off the door, and placed you on top of the counter. You leaned back to accommodate the size of him. Your hands reached for his pants but he moved your hands back to your sides, pulling back from the rough kiss with hard panting.

“I’m going to fuck you now.” He said with slight malice in his voice. “And I’m going to make you scream so loud that fucking Brody and everyone in that fucking bar is going to hear it. And when we get kicked out of here, I’m going to take you home and fuck you against every flat surface of my apartment. And when you’re fucking exhausted and laying out my bed, I’m going to fucking paint you with my cum and put that on Instagram. And I dare fucking Brody to invite you anywhere else after that.” His hands had slipped into your warmness, brushing your clit with ease that made you just as crazy as his words were making you.

“Chris.” You moaned out breath already hoarse with anticipation.

“Yeah, that’s it. That’s fucking it. That’s all I want to hear out of your pretty mouth from now on.” He stuck two fingers inside of you and you leaned back, moaning more. You watched him watch you as his fingers pumped inside of you bringing you closer and closer to that orgasm that you craved.

And as you moaned more, he pumped faster. He smiled panting with you, “I love it. Moan more for me. Make more of those pretty sounds. You’re going to be screaming by the time were done. And the best part is, you can say Penguin all you want but nothing is going to stop me from fucking you until you’re ragged.” He leaned over you, pushing his fingers up and brushing over your g-spot. You jerked as he brushed it over and over, your moans now coming out as squeaks as he started to milk your orgasm.

“You’re so wet. You liked the thought of me fucking you even when you say stop? Is that what you want honey? You want me at my rawest? You had to know there were consequences to your actions tonight.” He pressed up hard and you yelped and then a drawn-out moan came from your throat as you came, and he pressed his lips to yours swallowing your noises as you made them. “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t think of anything but my dick, and you’re going to love it.”

When you finally stopped clenching around him, he pulled his fingers out and pressed them to your lips. You opened your mouth obediently. He cooed as you sucked yourself off his fingers, watching your actions with flared nostrils.

“I want to make something clear.” He reached down and unbuttoned his jeans. “You are mine. All mine. I don’t care how much space you put in between us.” When his jeans were unbuttoned and his dick was out and jutting up towards his belly button, he pulled you off the counter and turned you around pressing you flat so that your ass was up in the air.

“Arch.” He said pressing the small of your back down to guide you into the perfect position. He slipped inside of you slowly, feeding you his dick inch by inch so you could feel him filling you up and stretching you out. You and him moaned as he bottomed out in you, and he rested adjusting to the feeling of you clenching around him. “You think Brody can make you feel like this? You think you’d clench around Brody like this?”

You smirked, looking back at him. “I don’t know, I should probably try him out and get back to you on- Ah fuck!” You moaned out as he quickly pulled out and pushed himself back in, quickly stretching you out again.

“A week and you’ve gotten so mouthy.” He gripped your hips, shifting his hips so he moved a little inside of you after a minute he was moving in and out in a slow, infuriating pace. “Don’t get your boy hurt alright? Stay away from him.”

“Stay away from Christy.” You shot back, pressing your hips back as his hips met yours. “You’re mine too, if you didn’t know.”

“I. don’t. want. Christy.” He punctuated his statement with hard thrusts that made you think of little else but the way he made you feel. “I want your toxic, bratty, bitchy, drama queen ass.”

“Well, I want your prideful, arrogant, overly-friendly, asshole, toxic ass too.” You moaned after your sentence, placing your forehead on the cool counter as he drove into you harder.

“Fine. Fine. Fine.” He grunted leaning against your back. “So, we’ll be toxic together then?”

“Fuck yes.” You didn’t know whether or not you were moaning or agreeing.

“No more space. None.” He said pulling your hips back harder, the sound of skin slapping intensifying. “I want you in my fucking bed at night, every night. I want your shit all over my room again, and the only dick you’re clenching around is mine.”

Your chuckle sounded more like a pant as he continues to drive into you, “I lied.”

“About?”

“Brody. He didn’t invite him. I just knew he’d be around and he’d be down to fuck with you.”

Chris snorted, stopping his movements, “You just saved buddy an ass kicking then.” He bucked into you hard making you moan and thrust forward. “I’m still doing everything I said tonight. You need to be punished.”

You smiled, or maybe it was more of a grin. Whatever it was, you were happy. “I love you Chris.”

“I know. I love your dramatic ass too. Now shut up and take my fucking cock.” And with that he grabbed a handful of your hair, pulling back hard and driving into you with the strength that you craved.

And when your eyes met in the mirror, he smiled at you and you smiled back at him.

…. Yeah you two were fucked up, but you were fucked up, fucking and getting fucked, together.

(Author’s Note: This was written for @jtargaryen18’s 30 Days of Chris! Join the taglist gang!)

#chris evans x reader #chris evans x y/n #chris evans x black reader #chris evans fanfiction #30DaysofChris2020 #chris evans fandom #chris evans x you

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morgan-n-cheese-91 · 4 years ago

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Rant while I’m watching

This is all season 10 the end of 9 and the begninng of 11? I think. This is copied from a chat of mine so I’m not gonna deal with the times. Please just read around them.

WAIT![7:54 PM]BITCH NO YOU CAN"T KILL CAS BITCH FUCKING NO[7:55 PM]OH SHIT[7:55 PM]OH SHIT[7:55 PM]Dean just made allllllll the mirrors frost[7:55 PM]that's nnot fucking good[7:59 PM]CAS WATCHED STAR WARS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Ok Sam has stopped pretending he's not scared of shit. You can clearly see the fear in his eyes now. And frankly it amazing.[11:14 PM]That sounds horrible[11:16 PM]but I'm more saying that more about Jared's acting skills. ma dude.[11:20 PM]Sam[11:20 PM]Bro[11:21 PM]Dude[11:21 PM]nah[11:21 PM]nah Sam was complaining about Dean liking killing these vampires to much[11:24 PM]JODY IS A QUEEN AND SHE IS A GREAT MOM! TRY AND PROVE ME WRONG YOU WILL FAIL! IS that a monster club?!?!?!?!?!?![11:27 PM]Could you settle for JB's? Was that a were shapeshifter battle? My dude your as dead as your gf your gonna bleed out[11:29 PM]shush MONSTER TURF WARS[11:50 PM]MONSTER MOFIEA[11:50 PM]I CAN"T FUCKING SPELL[11:52 PM]"Godfather with fangs."[11:52 PM]uh yea[11:55 PM]FUCKING SWEEDY TOD! Dean I know your bf is in a comanding roll and you think that's hot but please stop hitting on him[12:15 AM]Dam Dean.[12:15 AM]The King is back in town the king is back in town.[12:15 AM]THE King is BACK in town[12:21 AM]To the King and Queen of hell:[12:21 AM]Are we in heaven?[12:22 AM]You must be angels[12:22 AM]wow[12:24 AM]Crowley sold his soul for a longer dick[12:24 AM]pfft-[12:24 AM]I-[12:25 AM]I can't-[12:25 AM]I-[12:25 AM]OMG DUDE WHAT THE FUCK![12:25 AM]HAHAHAAAAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHH!!!!!!!!!!!!![12:26 AM]his son is so disaponted[12:30 AM]Dam Crowley's son got flame[12:30 AM]holy shit Dean I swear to god you go all Lord of the Rings on this motherfucking blade I will pull a Tony Stark and take it way.[12:52 AM]Is this the Cas is a little girl episode?[12:55 AM]or not I'm laughing at Metron's discribtion of Cas[12:59 AM]Dean shush[1:01 AM]Dean Cas are having a domistic[1:01 AM]and Sam's trying to medate[1:08 AM]We hate men like you[1:08 AM]He's your Leader's bf who's a little off his rocker right now so shush[1:10 AM]Dean like the Fiddler on the roof[1:10 AM]It's canon[1:12 AM]Why is 6 afraid of 7?[1:12 AM]Cas: Prime number?????[1:12 AM]Sam: The fuck? that's like a 2nd grade riddle[1:13 AM]CAS KNOWS LOTRS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!![1:15 AM]SENSEBLE SHOES![1:16 AM][1:20 AM]Heaven: Your lame spring fling Cas is dead[1:29 AM]Cas is sooooo[1:29 AM]Dead[1:30 AM]R I P[1:30 AM]Punish him[1:30 AM]Both Cas and Dean go WHAT?[1:31 AM]WHAT! OMG OMFG[1:32 AM]Pfft-[1:32 AM]Oop[1:32 AM]Rip Dean[1:34 AM]He's in love[1:34 AM]with "humanity"[1:35 AM]Thanos quoted Metatron God Fucking dam it Dean Dean will be glad to know that the Cubs finally win[2:12 AM]Fuck you died again Dean[2:14 AM]"you put on the flag of heaven..."[2:14 AM]Nah he put on the pan flag and then rekt y'all[2:17 AM]Dean's dead for what the 809th time?[2:17 AM]He'll be back[2:17 AM]Time will tell[2:18 AM]Sam he's fucking dead[2:18 AM]D E A D[2:18 AM]But he'll be back[2:19 AM]Chuck can't answer the phone right now[2:21 AM]ok ngl the blade doesn't really look real. It's looks like a prop[2:21 AM]Also[2:22 AM]WHAT THE EVER LOVING FUCK DEAN?![2:22 AM]HUH?[2:22 AM]YOU THOUGHT THAT WAS A GOOD FUCKING IDEA?[2:22 AM]NO[2:22 AM]NOT A GOOD FUCKING IDEA[2:22 AM]DUMB[2:23 AM]Ok the way they played the opening of season 10 boi that was good[2:23 AM]OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo[2:23 AM]New title card[2:24 AM]Ok so I saw this somewhere but[2:25 AM]Soulless Sam, Crazy Cas, and Demon Dean, (why the fuck are all these allterations?) all at the same time would have been a riot[2:26 AM]Cas has a cold[2:27 AM]Did I just get a read suggestion for Spn x male instert, twice in a row?[2:27 AM]YES! YES I DID![2:33 AM]THe look of relisation[2:35 AM]Cas drives like a grandma[2:36 AM]He got hannah carsick[2:36 AM]and now is also dying so[2:39 AM]Sam's gonna murder Crowley and Dean[2:39 AM]Slowly[2:39 AM]and painfully[2:40 AM]If Sam exrosised Dean? What would happen?[2:40 AM]Would he just drop his body?[2:41 AM]Or would he just straight up die?[2:44 AM]How do they keep the knives up their sleeves without stabbing themselves[2:49 AM]Dean your a fucking slut yes Sam stays quiet.[1:15 PM]Gets punch[1:16 PM]grunts[1:16 PM]"Proof of life,"[1:17 PM]OMG[1:17 PM]OMG[1:18 PM]20 y/o Dean[1:18 PM]yo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!![1:18 PM]He looks so young[1:22 PM]Ignore me just skipping all the like odd sexual sences because either they're weird or I'm very embarressed by them[1:26 PM]cas is about to fall asleep behind the wheel and crash[1:31 PM]Cas is asleep on the couch Words hurt[1:45 PM]YOU DON'T GET TO SAY SHIT Hahahahahahahaha[1:55 PM]Omg[1:56 PM]Smoke bombb[1:56 PM]Sam has an asmatha attack[1:56 PM]Dean just looks at him[1:56 PM]like WEAK[1:57 PM]This is payback[1:57 PM]THis is dumb[1:58 PM]YES![1:58 PM]THE PRINCESS BRIDE![1:59 PM]just heals[1:59 PM]Sam just shows up and mauls him with holy water[2:03 PM]Where the fuck did you bring him Sam[2:03 PM]What is this?[2:03 PM]HAHAHAHAAHAHAAHAHAW[2:05 PM]Garilla man gorilla man[2:09 PM]It's DEPRESSION DEAN but he's more homosidal You went to fa[2:37 PM]*You went to far[2:44 PM]The music is like the Skywalker theme[2:47 PM]Lets play a high stakes game of hide and seek in the bunker[2:52 PM]HERE'S DEAN![2:54 PM]You don't want to play hide and seek anymore?[2:55 PM]Heal by hug[2:55 PM]-Cas[2:56 PM]Lillo and Stich?[2:56 PM]No[2:56 PM]Ey! IT WORKED[2:56 PM]IT WORKED[2:56 PM]IT WORKED!!!!!!!!!!!!![2:58 PM]Good plan Sam[3:01 PM]WEREWOLVES OF LONDON!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!![3:01 PM]AHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO![3:01 PM]AHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO![3:05 PM]Bitcoin[3:06 PM]Obama[3:06 PM]the ice caps Did I just skip a whole episode to avoid the cringe fuck yea[4:10 PM]The two of them with cougers is the funniest thing Ask Jeeves?[4:21 PM]More like Knives out[4:25 PM]I'm lactose intolerant[4:25 PM]Sam nice[4:25 PM]nice[4:30 PM]These ladies.[4:30 PM]Complaining about dating this guy who's 'ugly' But has an island.(edited)[4:31 PM]but thristing over Sam.[4:31 PM]Who's like I live out of my car[4:31 PM]it's not even my car[4:32 PM]It's by brother's[4:37 PM]"Not to mention Homosexuals"[4:38 PM]Don't mind me just DYING![4:38 PM]omg[4:38 PM]THE FLANNEL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!![4:45 PM]Dean shush[4:45 PM]your fine she's dead[4:50 PM]The snap of someone's neck sounds like a torilla chip Cas what did you do to Jimmy?[5:14 PM]I'm sorry your kinda hot but I don't like you Hannah[5:15 PM]Hannah just dropped her vessel[5:15 PM]rip[5:22 PM]ok sometimes I feel like I care more about the car then they do Crowley's mum?[5:30 PM]Crowley's mum[5:32 PM]The RETREAT[5:32 PM]HOW MUCH I hAVE HEARD ABOUT YOU![5:37 PM]THE 2 QUEENS![5:38 PM]Jodie's got hunting sense ON[5:38 PM]THE BOIS NO![5:38 PM]They all are gonna know y'all and blow y'all's covers no[5:40 PM]Jodie's about to comit murder[5:41 PM]dang CAS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!![6:15 PM]YOUR VESSEL"S DAUGHTER"S IN TROUBLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!![6:16 PM]Claire's about to murder your ass[6:17 PM]Lucifer popped your head[6:17 PM]Cas your not making this any better[6:19 PM]Yes he owns a tie[6:19 PM]No he's not gonna wear it right[6:21 PM]Missionary[6:23 PM]Claire's a vibe[6:24 PM]I'm vibing with Claire[6:27 PM]Ketchups a fruit[6:29 PM]Cas she stole your wallet[6:30 PM]EARTH GRAPHIC[6:30 PM][6:32 PM]Yes[6:32 PM]No[6:32 PM]You had to roast Sam like that[6:32 PM]Dean and you would vibe with this girl[6:32 PM]JUST VIBE![6:33 PM]IT"S A FRUIT[6:33 PM]Ask Sam[6:33 PM]dean and claire are on the same wave lenth[6:33 PM]ask sam[6:35 PM]yes[6:37 PM]You're offended over you worth in pigs?[6:39 PM]Rowna thought he was worth anything from 180-300 $[6:39 PM]and Crowley thinks he was worth any were from 300-500$[6:45 PM]He's a teddy bear and you would get along with his bf[6:47 PM]All three have been there done that[6:51 PM]Really love?[6:51 PM]I feel like that would be a stretch for y'all Charlie's coming back!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!![7:53 PM]go get ketchup[7:53 PM]it's hell of a lot better i like your sword char Bad Charlie and Meh Dean is not a good combo[9:10 PM]CHARLIE JUST TOOK THE IMPALA![9:15 PM]Charlie broke his nose[9:15 PM]DAM![9:15 PM]USE THE FORSE![9:18 PM]Can we pleasse give charlie bad charlie's outfit?[9:18 PM]PLEASE?![9:18 PM]She looked so hot!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Ok the impalas a bench seat[9:30 PM]there's a couple inches differance between the two[9:31 PM]I know from experance that my grandma and grandpa are only a little bit shorter than me but when I pratice driving by pulling out their car I feel crampted in the front seats.[9:32 PM]so either Sam's crampted the whole time[9:33 PM]or Dean has a little stretch to reach the petals[9:34 PM]Fuk dean just got taken too[9:35 PM]YO![9:35 PM]It's 13 y/o Dean[9:38 PM]Spit it out[9:39 PM]How have you lived this long?[9:39 PM]Huh'[9:39 PM]How are u 30?[9:39 PM]How are you alive?[9:44 PM]Doess teenage dean have the mark?[9:44 PM]I would think but?[9:45 PM]TOLD Y"ALL SAM GETSS SQUISHED[9:45 PM]Also Dean should not be driving he doesn't look legal I’m watching you burn[10:03 PM]SHIT LITTLE SAMMY!!!!![10:04 PM]nvm[10:04 PM]You look amazing in a hoodie and nikes Sam did you really use COBAIN as your name[10:16 PM]jesus dude but they are listening to HOSTER!![10:36 PM]LIKE FUCK YEA[10:38 PM]Then they killed a guy the impala has a crank[10:59 PM]i mean duh[10:59 PM]but Charlie's not allowed to be dead[12:38 PM]she knew the rules and broke them Dean's about to kill Sam but[12:45 PM]I'm laughing so hard Don't mind me just refusing to watch 10 22 because Charlie died in 10 21 and I'm pissed[10:33 PM]like she knew the rules and broke them I'm forcing myself to continue watching and Dean is getting pulled over[11:03 PM]I also just told him to be a lawful citzen even though you aren't[11:03 PM]and he's getting arsetted on non existent charges[11:04 PM]They found the id stash[11:04 PM]ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm[11:04 PM]dean used Freddy Mercury[11:04 PM]a known BI man as a cover[11:05 PM][11:07 PM]Sam has lured Crowley into a trap[11:07 PM]pfft[11:08 PM]Poor form even for you[11:08 PM]not my gun[11:09 PM]Petion to give Sam a hair tie[11:09 PM]Man bun that fucker man[11:10 PM]Dean's murdering a family and Sam's murdering Crowley[11:10 PM]What a world[11:11 PM]Die[11:13 PM]Bold words coming from you Sam[11:15 PM]Ginger whore[11:16 PM]Fucking Dean got captured by this fucking bitches[11:16 PM]you fucking dumbass[11:16 PM]both of you[11:17 PM]You can sorta see the camera in the relection of his eyes[11:18 PM]XXXXXDDDDDD[11:20 PM]I like that they stormed the bunker but no ones home because the ones who would be are DEAD![11:20 PM]and cas is where ever the fuck he is[11:22 PM]OH SHIT[11:23 PM]Let the bodies hit the floor Let the bodies hit the floor Let the bodies hit the floor Let the bodies hit the floor Beaten, why for Can't take much more (Here we go, here we go, here we go now) One, nothing wrong with me Two, nothing wrong with me Three, nothing wrong with me Four, nothing wrong with me One, something's got to give Two, something's got to give Three, something's got to give now Let the bodies hit the floor Let the bodies hit the floor Let the bodies hit the floor Let the bodies hit the floor Let the bodies hit the floor Let the bodies hit the floor Push me again This is the end (Here we go, here we go, here we go now) One, nothing wrong with me Two, nothing wrong with me Three, nothing wrong with me Four, nothing wrong with me One, something's got to give Two, something's got to give Three, something's got to give now Let the bodies hit the floor Let the bodies hit the floor Let the bodies hit the floor Let the bodies hit the floor Let the bodies hit the floor Let the bodies hit the floor Skin against skin, blood and bone You're all by yourself but you're not alone You wanted in and now you're here Driven by hate, consumed by fear Let the bodies hit the floor Let the bodies hit the floor Let the bodies hit the floor Let the bodies hit the floor One, nothing wrong with me Two, nothing wrong with me Three, nothing wrong with me Four, nothing wrong with me One, something's got to give Two, something's got to give Three, something's got to give now Let the bodies hit the floor Let the bodies hit the floor Let the bodies hit the floor Let the bodies hit the floor Let the bodies hit the floor Let the bodies hit the floor Hey! Come! Hey! Come! Hey! Come! Hey! Come![11:24 PM]Don't burn the bloody photo I'm begging you[11:24 PM]Crappy taste my ass[11:25 PM]hes gay[11:26 PM]Dean's gonna raise holy hell on all because you burnt the pic of Mary[11:26 PM]Bringing holy hell on y'all[11:27 PM]Your dead buddy[11:27 PM]You killed Charlie and your gonna burn one of his only pics of his mom and Bobby[11:27 PM]Your fucking dead[11:28 PM]The man is covered in your family's blood and your mocking him about his sister's death[11:28 PM]not a good idea[11:29 PM]HOW MANY NIPPLES YOU GOT BOI?[11:29 PM]ttttttwo?[11:29 PM]Good Head shot![11:30 PM]Dean[11:30 PM]Brother[11:30 PM]blood[11:31 PM]think[11:31 PM]Don't kill the boi[11:31 PM]please[11:31 PM]what the fuck[11:31 PM]-_-[11:32 PM]he was a human[11:34 PM]you're being a dick right now[11:34 PM]he just broke cas' arm[11:35 PM]DO NOT KILL YOUR BF![11:35 PM]HRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM[11:36 PM]wow you healed quik[11:37 PM]*quicke[11:37 PM]*quick[11:39 PM]I tend to read the summary of the up coming episodes and[11:40 PM]Shot interally from the inside of the impala[11:40 PM]Blah blah blah blah ghouls[11:42 PM]Sam hasn't completely fucked up a spell yet and Cas is an angel so[11:42 PM]you ain't either[11:43 PM]How about[11:43 PM]You give them the spell and they don't kill you[11:44 PM]I swear to god the fandom loves Baby more then they do

#spn #narration #new fan

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st-just · 5 years ago

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Yet More Worldbuilding

While I’m certainly not writing anything like a novel, I am at least trying to write something more consistently this month, which is probably going to mean a lot of D&D worldbuilding. Because hey, I find it oddly relaxing.

So, here’s a bit of a snippet on an actual location for the campaign, told all episotlory style

Despite what the schoolchildren and preachers say, no one really believes the Queen-Empress rules the entire world. No matter how invested people are in saying that she should, because her great-grandad murdered something precious and a Hierophant and Archangel told him so. Still, after literal months of going from one worthless village of pious dirt farmers to another, it’s a real reassurance of my sanity that my destination still bears all the scars of conquest, and obviously used to be something more. Which is a way of saying I’ve finally arrived in the Southern Marches, and managed to spawn a couple weeks devouring local histories.

[...]

What’s now called the Southern Marches was once (as a great many preachers have seen fit to tell me) such a fertile paradise it would have left our dear Republic a howling desert by comparison. Naturally enough, they became a nursery and cradle for humanity to grow into something worthwhile-and like every land full of worthwhile people, it did eventually progress into something impressive. Warring city-states and grand monuments held together by nothing but the iron will of a Hero-King. Primitive empires remaking the map in blood and bronze, their private gods growing fat from sacrifices made half a continent away. That sort of thing. (You’d think it’s riveting, really, even if its just however many centuries of different people doing the same things to each other with the same tools. Still, I’ll see if anyone down here has ever stumbled on publishing the better Epics, maybe if I can send you a copy).

From what I’ve gathered, things continued along that vein long past the point where ‘stitching a dozen cities together only for your spoiled brat of a son to lose it all” was anything worth writing home about, but eventually things get interesting to justify this whole trial of a trip. Priests were as much of an infestation here as they were anywhere else, but the sect who ended up dominant here at least weren’t cowards about it. Maybe it was everyone being so painfully aware that as soon as they died everything around them would fall back into a pile of foraging misery and nomadic raiders, but the local high priests and mystics dedicated themselves to the study of the soul, just how it’s bound to the body and the world, and how far the gods gifts allowed them to manipulate and control them. (The official Imperial histories call them ‘the first Witch Kings, who damned all they ever loved.” So I like them already. If I manage to bring back anything interesting, the museum is going to be facing their embassy).

This is really where necromancy as something we understand got its start. All very primitive and wasteful and absolutely drowning in pomp and circumstance, of course, but then I suppose I’m really not one to complain about that last bit anyway. Conquerors feasting upon their enemies lifeblood to secure their soul’s bonds and keep themselves in a permanent prime of their life. Scholars letting their bodies waste away but linking their soul and mind to some grand idol and using some unlucky peasant’s spirit as the structural support for the connection. (And my favorite) A particular genius of a archpriest who was ritually entombed and disemboweled, each important organ sealed away in a different chamber with a different attendant. The next day he was hale and hearty, all material concerns shunted off to the entombed acolytes. (Before you ask, yes all of them were some variety of parasitic. The world likes death, no matter what your new beau says. Have to break something more fundamental than a soul to get away from that).

Anyway, things go on like this for a long while-all the delightfully holy blasphemy only getting moreso, with irrigation networks and temple cities maintained by six generations of peasant souls kept in their corpses, and (possibly related) swarms of hungry shades who could possess nomad families and have them helpfully walk onto the sacrificial altar, and battles decided when one queen tore the entire opposing army’s souls from their bodies and consumed to turn into something bad enough that putting her down was some sort of international crisis (Yes I’m looking for any sign of where she’s buried).

Nothing fun really lasts in this part of the world, of course, and before anyone tried using a dragon for raw materials or possessed an angel or anything similarly sublime, the Empire came calling. Well, properly speaking a particularly vainglorious Witch-King conquered his way up a fair chunk of the continent, and gave the Hierophant of the time enough incentives to invent the concept of a holy war in response (Which is fair, as as far as I can tell he’s the ultimate root of the whole vampire problem they’ve been dealing with since. Still, always vaguely offended one of ours didn’t get that prize).

Everything after that’s literally scripture, and I won’t bore you with it except to say that at least some of those painters must have realized that all those ‘monsters and horrors’ they spent so long lovingly painting were just much more interesting than another spotless crusader. How it ended is the really famous bit, of course-the court of immortals meeting the King-Emperor at the gate of their fortress, all poetic hubris and boasting and threats, and him showing how actually HE’s the gods favourite toady and shaking half a continent to pieces to drown half of the place and bury the rest in ash and sand. (They built a church on the spot it’s supposed to have happened, because of course they did).

Thankfully, once his ever-so-blessed highness finally got carried off by a chorus of weeping angels, the succession crisis that followed was brutal enough to let some more reasonable people float near the top. Oh, the Marcher Lords he made out of his favourite crusaders still make a big show of swearing to draw and quarter anyone caught trying to unearth what’s drowned and buried, but it’s not like any (...most) of them are dumb enough to avoid realizing that half the expeditions of the last decade were sponsored by the current Queen’s dear old dad. So really as long as I can afford all the bribes, the main threats so far are all the other tomb robbers.

As always, send more money, more men, and anything close to current fashion that will survive this climate. Will write again when I find some concrete lead.

Your Beloved Younger Sister,

Lia

#writing #worldbuilding #rpg #D&D

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jinjojess · 5 years ago

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DR Kirigiri Vol. 5 Summary Part III

I’ve had most of this done for over a week now, but god am I so tired these days.

< LAST PART | NEXT PART >

Chapter 1 The Mania of Existence: The Museum of Medieval European Torture Devices - Mizuiyama Sachi

Like Yaki, Mizuiyama was introduced in DRK3 during the Takeda Haunted House case and was given a specific Duel Noir to handle last book. Mizuiyama was the one who was framed at the Haunted Mansion case, the tiny woman in kimono with glasses. She also seemed to be developing a crush on Yadorigi last book.

Anyway, this part opens with Mizuiyama arriving at the museum a few hours after leaving the others, musing about how the building was originally for storing things for a nearby university, but about twenty years ago was turned into a museum, only to then more recently wane in popularity thanks to its creepy vibe and the surrounding home owners not being crazy about being so close to torture devices. It’s this bizarre, unnerving building up on a hill overlooking a peaceful residential area.

In the past, Mizuiyama had actually been called out to inspect the property because there was interest in refurbishing the building, but ultimately the university decided it wasn’t worth the cost, so they just closed the museum down. What’s happened there since then is known only to those in the neighborhood.

The reason Mizuiyama had come by before had nothing to do with what the museum housed, but rather to see the building. It was one of those famous places that she’d wanted to visit as a young scholar.

Arriving this time, she notes that the vibe of the place hasn’t changed--it’s still got the glass facade and the imposing square structure. She does notice that the sharp edges of the building have been angled off, maybe to try and off-set how creepy the building looks.

Also, to her surprise, the grounds are crawling with people.

Not patrons, of course, but the police and the fire department. Looks like she’s too late.

Pretending she’s supposed to be there, Mizuiyama heads inside the building, drawing some eyes but not being stopped by anyone. There’s a chill in the air inside the building, and it isn’t long before a man, wearing a university staff badge around his neck and standing by the entrance counter, approaches her to ask why she’s there. They aren’t accepting any visitors today because there’s been a...problem. About to ask further, Mizuiyama trips on her zouri��sandals and her glasses go flying, which unnerves the staff member a bit as he picks them up and asks if she’s okay. She tells him it’s fine, the glasses are made to be particularly hardy (ignoring his confused clarification that he meant is she okay), instead asking for more details into the problem.

He reluctantly tells her that there’s been a fire on the premises, which is a surprise to Mizuiyama. A fire? Didn’t the challenge card distinctly say the murder weapon would be an iron maiden? (This is the Virgo case, P.S.) This prompts a short dip into what an iron maiden is, and about its supposed use as a torture/execution device for the likes of Elizabeth Bathory and such in the Middle Ages, but its actual role in history is disputed today. Mizuiyama remembers the museum has a replica of the iron maiden from Nuremberg (the original having been destroyed by bombing during WWII), and she had been assuming that the victim of the case would be killed by locking them into the iron maiden replica.

So what’s the deal with this fire? Is it related to the Duel Noir and the Committee for the Salvation of Victims of Crime at all?

She asks the staff member if anyone died in the fire, to which he replies yes, someone affiliated with the university perished. When Mizuiyama asks for the person’s name, the man gets suspicious and says that if she’s from the media, he’s not going to talk to her.

It’s at this point that Mizuiyama starts to impress me.

So yeah, she could just tell him that she’s a detective investigating what is now a possible homicide, but instead she takes a completely different approach, since she doesn’t know who this guy is or if he’s part of the Duel Noir or not. Remember, Mizuiyama is cautious to a fault--she didn’t even want to meet with Kirigiri and Samidare until the other detectives showed up.

“Do I look like someone from the media?” Mizuiyama showed off her Japanese outfit. “My husband works for the university. I came worried that something may have happened to him...”

“O-oh? My apologies, may I have your name?”

“Mizuiyama.”

“In that case, there is no need to worry, ma’am. The deceased is a professor named Idogaki. ...Um, Mizuiyama-san, which department does your husband work in...?”

“Idogaki-san is dead?” Mizuiyama asked, ignoring the question. “My husband has been indebeted to him many times during conferences.”

“I see... My condolences, then.”

“Would you mind sharing the specifics of what happened?”

“Um, my apologies, but as you can see, things are a bit of a mess right now...”

“I owe Idogaki-san so much. At the very least, please tell me what happened.”

She doesn’t even miss a beat here with the lie, it’s kind of incredible.

Thanks to her pushing, the guy breaks down and give her an overview of what happened. The fire broke out in a small cottage built of prefab in the courtyard around four hours ago, 1 p.m. on January 11th, which was the time that Mizuiyama was with all the other detectives divvying up cases. The fire department was called and rushed out, putting out the fire quickly, only for them to find the charred remains of fifty-year-old university professor Idogaki Fukuju inside the burned hut. His cause of death has yet to be determined.

Mizuiyama asks if the building has been closed all this time, and the staff member reveals that usually it is, as a few years prior it was purchased by some organization. The only people who come are those to take a look at the records and items stored there. Mizuiyama’s next question is who the person is that is responsible for those things, but the staff guy doesn’t know--he’s only worked for the university since last year and has been mostly doing office work. Her final question is if all of the torture devices inside are still where they’re supposed to be, to which the man answers probably, but starts to look suspicious. Noticing that, Mizuiyama thanks him and leaves.

Though her usual detective work is with wood and concrete, Mizuiyama actually has a really good talent for reading people (GET IT? CAUSE SHE’S THE MEGA JAPANESE ONE?). She’s so good at picking up on facial expressions and tones of voice that if she’d become a therapist, she’d surely be running a famous clinic by now. In fact, she has experience being a school counselor. However, she believes that buildings are much more complex and difficult to read than humans, and she has an academic interest in studying and understanding the souls of buildings. (It’s a Shinto thing.)

What sort of soul dwelt in a building full of torture devices?

That’s the whole reason Mizuiyama took this case--in order to find out. Since the goal was just to gather information, nobody should complain if she wants to exercise her academic curiosity.

There’s still too many holes here in the case though--why is the victim burned to death if the listed weapon was an iron maiden? Why choose this place as the site for the Duel Noir at all? Mizuiyama decides she needs to know more, and heads outside into the courtyard to get a look at the remains of the burned-down hut.

When she heads into the back garden, it’s as she remembered it, save for one thing sitting on top of the large hill in the center.

An iron maiden.

It’s just chilling there on top of this snowy hill, the highest thing in the entire garden. Mizuiyama realizes at this point that the Committee is definitely involved. She knows their calling cards well. Strange cases. Strange motives. Strange methods.

There’s a bunch of footprints in the snow leading up to the iron maiden, which Mizuiyama assumes are from the police. Making sure to mix her footsteps in with theirs, she makes her way up to the device, and realizes something’s off about it. It’s certainly in the shape of a woman, and you could shove someone in there, but it’s missing its head.

Thinking for a second that a headless corpse might be inside, Mizuiyama peeks into the iron maiden, but sees nothing in there. Which makes sense, since if there’d been a body, the police probably wouldn’t be leaving the device on its own like this, and there’d be blood on the snow around it. Upon further investigation, Mizuiyama notices that the iron maiden is...really small. Like, even with the head, it would only be big enough for non-fully-grown girl to fit inside. Both halves are closed, but she can still see countless spikes within. Given this is a replica, for safety reasons they’ve been rubbed down into a non-threatening crayon shape.

It hardly strikes fear into one’s heart.

Two guys then show up asking what she’s up to there. They’re in suits, so Mizuiyama assumes they’re cops, and shows both her inspector’s license and her detective ID card. She wasn’t intending to give away her real identity while here, but trying to keep track of a bunch of lies wouldn’t really help much with investigating.

The cops ask what she’s doing there again, and she turns the question back on them. One looks offended while the other snorts as if she’s joking, and they both show their IDs, proving they’re actually the police. Mizuiyama is one of the many detectives out there who isn’t good with dealing with law enforcement, especially after her horrible encounter the day before (yes, DRK3 was one day ago in DRK time) at the Takeda Haunted House. Though she’s itching to get back at the police for all the questioning and indignity of being treated as the prime suspect, she decides to tamp it down for now and be good.

Instead, she shows a copy of the Duel Noir challenge card, explaining that she received it and thought it was a joke, but decided to come check things out just in case it wasn’t. One of the cops takes a look at the copy, commenting that he has no idea what it says, thanks to an effect applied to it that makes it difficult to read. She points out that you can just make out where it talks about the museum, and says that she received it from an unknown fax number (faxes are still a thing in Japan to this day). Mizuiyama reports that some other detectives she knows also received it, and asks if something has actually happened.

The policemen share a look and one of them comments that he’s heard a rumor about a black challenge card before, and wonders if this could be it. Mizuiyama plays dumb, asking what he means by a black challenge card, thinking to herself that it would make sense if the higher ups in law enforcement know that the Committee exists and were trying to find a way to combat them.

The cops ask Mizuiyama if she can spare some time to talk to them about the Duel Noir challenge card, and suggest heading back into the museum, but she wants to know what the iron maiden is doing outside and how long it’s been there. Though they have no clue why the device is in the garden, they finally relent after Mizuiyama refuses to budge in telling her that it wasn’t there as of the day before.

“So it was placed here right before the fire?”

“We don’t actually know if that’s the case.”

“So then the fire and the sudden appearance of this strange thing in the garden are unrelated?”

“We have no idea.”

“So they aren’t related.”

“Er...Mizuiyama-san?”

“Is this the only thing you found left here in the garden?” Mizuiyama continued.

The two police detectives exasperatedly shrugged.

Despite that the plan was for the two policemen to question Mizuiyama, in the end she’s the one asking questions and they’re the ones answering. She considers this to be appropriate payback.

According to the intel she receives from the cops, the cottage was a fairly large one (like, larger than my 2DK apartment) that’s situated at the bottom of the hill behind the museum. Mizuiyama was only able to catch glimpses of it, since the two cops were standing in the way. It was mostly used for storage.

Though the inside was completely charred, the hut managed to keep standing. The windows were broken by the time the firemen arrived, which was judged to be a result of the fire itself. The windows and doors were locked from the inside, with keys being discovered in the pants pocket of the victim. However, there’s a possibility that the key discovered does not actually go to the locks on the cottage entrance and windows.

Still, when the fire broke out, there’s no doubt it was a locked room situation.

The fire started after noon, and if anyone were to approach the cottage then, their footprints should have still been in the snow. The victim was found face up on a futon in the center of the room, with no outer wounds nor signs of struggle. For the time being, his cause of death is considered to be burning.

Apparently, the origin of the fire was his pillow, and there were matches and cigarettes found in the general area, so the current assumption is that the blaze was started by a lit cigarette.

While this is all well and good for a news story, there’s still several things that don’t add up. For one, why was Prof. Idogaki smoking himself to sleep in a locked storage shed on the property of a closed-down museum?

Apparently he’d quit smoking several months prior, and perhaps was getting his fix in private. Maybe since most of the campus was becoming non-smoking, he decided to hide away in an abandoned spot that belonged to his place of work?

This is the police’s explanation, and most people would consider the case closed at this point.

However, the cops have ignored one huge, glaring piece of evidence.

That lonely, headless maiden that suddenly appeared in the garden.

She’s the one who holds the key to this locked room murder, Mizuiyama thought.

< LAST PART | NEXT PART >

#DR Kirigiri #translation #DRK5 summary #DRK5 #long post

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killjoy-loveit · 6 years ago

Text

Breaking the Pattern

A/N: I would like to clarify that everything written in this story is complete fiction and isn’t to be taken as a true portrayal of reality. Tbh I personally think this piece is soft af, but that’s just me *shrugs*

Excerpt: Pursing your lips and flicking your eyes up, you’re ready to explain when the words catch in your throat. The guy standing in front of you is probably the most attractive person you’d ever laid eyes on.

Word Count: 1,608

Genre: Fluff (?)

Life had always seemed rather trivial to Joshua. Personality wasn’t as valued as productiveness, so he learned how to box his playful/bubbly nature up and set it to the side. In doing so, he felt stifled, as anyone would. Boredom came the easiest when at work, sitting behind a computer all day- fixing problem after problem as they popped up. There were times he lost himself in daydreams filled with excitement and freedom, but each time it would end and his bubble of happiness was lost.

It’s on a day like any other, solving problems behind the scenes for the company, when he decides he’s had enough. How long is he supposed to constrain himself to fit in? To become the perfect worker? Fingers flying over the keyboard, a resignation is quickly typed without an ounce of hesitation. Jumping up he rushes to the printer, snatching the paper the second it pops out and quickly jotting down his signature.

Once he’s out of his office he makes his way to the elevator, pressing the button to go up. Joshua’s foot taps restlessly, the elevator feels like it’s going slower than usual. Finally it arrives and he squeezes in, punching the number of the floor his boss is on. Around him people chatter about meetings needing to be set, mergers that are happening soon, and the accounting period that’s about to end. Thankfully the elevator appears to be moving faster and it isn’t long before he exits, leaving the corporate chatter behind.

A quick knock on the door grants him a barked, “Come in.”

Entering the office Joshua comes to stand in front of his boss’ desk. She looks up at him, a small smile appearing briefly before speaking. “Joshua, one of my star employees. How can I help you?”

“I’m putting in my two weeks notice. Here’s my resignation letter.” He replies, handing the paper over to her.

Her mouth drops open, confusion apparent on her face as she takes his resignation letter. “Why are you resigning? Do we not pay you enough? Did another company poach you?”

Joshua shakes his head, “No, that’s not it. It has nothing to do with another company nor my pay here.”

“Is there any way we can make you stay? You’re such a valued employee, it would be a shame to lose you.”

“Sorry, this is just something I have to do for myself.” He says affirmatively, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Well… Alright. There are some papers I need you to fill out then, just let me find them.”

And just like that, an end was put to his corporate career. That is, after his final two weeks pass, and then he’s free. Those two weeks seem to dredge on, time moving at the speed of molasses. Then finally his last day comes and as he leaves at the end of the day, there’s a smile present that is a prime example of pure elation.

In the past two weeks Joshua had been planning on what to do once he left his corporate job. A few ideas were scratched out almost immediately after writing them down, as the logistics just didn’t seem to work out quite right. It was the thirteenth item on the list that struck gold: moving to the small coastal town a few hours away and either find work or open his own business. What the business would be he’d yet to figure out- but he was certain something would come to him. Thus the next day, after his last of corporate work, all of his stuff was quickly packed away into a moving truck and he was off.

***Time Jump & POV Switch***

Distraught as you were with the cash register deciding now was a good time to stop functioning, the tinkling sound meant to alert you of an incoming customer completely missed you. A groan of frustration slipped past your lips as you, unsuccessfully, tried to get the cash drawer to pop open. Come on, come on, come on! Even with these desperate words on replay in your mind, the drawer refused to cooperate. At this point you were about to give up and call the guy who owned the repair shop down the street. Admitting defeat and getting help would definitely make more sense than increasing your anger at the register.

“Stupid. Freaking. Junk!” Each word came out harsh and was accentuated by a small wack to the offending object.

“I don’t think hitting it is going to help anything.” Someone chuckles across from you.

Pursing your lips and flicking your eyes up, you’re ready to explain when the words catch in your throat. The guy standing in front of you is probably the most attractive person you’d ever laid eyes on. Well, not probably, he most definitely is. His dark chocolate colored hair falls gently over his forehead, only a few wisps stray in an attempt to cover his eyes. Eyes that are looking at you in amusement, joined by a teasing grin.

“Um… It won’t open, it’s been finicky since yesterday and nothing I do seems to make it open right now. I guess I’m getting a bit too frustrated.” You comment shyly, hand rubbing at the back of your neck.

His head tilts slightly. “Would you mind if I took a look at it? I promise I’m not trying to rob you or anything- I worked at a store during college that used this kind of register. It always liked to act up too.”

Brows furrowing and eyes narrowing, you gave him a cursory glance. In a soft gray sweater and dark jeans, he didn’t exactly look like a robber. Then again, was a robber just going to come in wearing the cartoon stereotype of a black and white striped shirt with a black bandana and matching hat?

At your lack of response plus your scrutinizing gaze, the guy put his hands in front of him. “I swear! I just moved here, in that little blue house two streets over by the bakery.”

Your eyebrows shot up as your mouth dropped open. “You’re the guy who moved into the old Rowe house yesterday? I live right across from you, the house with gray siding and a bunny statue by the driveway.”

“It’s nice to meet a neighbor already, what a small world.”

“Well, I mean, it is a pretty small town. You kinda know everyone that lives here, even if you don’t know them personally. I’m sure you’ll find out soon.” You pause, a thought popping up. “I’m so sorry, I totally forgot to introduce myself!”

He laughs lightly at your sudden outburst. “It’s fine, I take it the name on the tag is yours?” You nod in affirmation. “Nice to meet you, I’m Joshua.”

“Nice to meet you Joshua!” You take a step back, waving your hand at the register welcomingly. “If you really want to try your hand at fixing this, then go right ahead. Either way you can’t mess it up anymore.”

Joshua strode around the counter before coming to stand beside you in front of the register. His mouth twisted a bit in concentration as his hands swept over the worn metal of it. Quickly he tapped the side of it three times while holding down two buttons. Surprisingly the cash drawer popped open, and he turned around to face you with a triumphant grin.

“How did you do that?” You asked excitedly, rushing forward to double check that it was truly open.

“It’s what always worked to get the one open when it was being finicky where I used to work.”

“Oh my gods, please teach me that trick!” You turn, clutching his arm and staring at him with wide eyes.

“Sure.”

After this encounter, the two of you began the process of forming a quick friendship. It was common for the two of you to meet up for lunch on your breaks, filling the time by sharing stories from your past. Never a dull moment existed when the two of you got together. Every interaction was filled with jokes, teasing, and playful banter. This isn’t to say that neither of you broached serious topics, just that the serious conversations tended to occur when one of you had a few too many glasses of wine.

It was over these glasses of wine shared in the evenings at one of your respective homes, that you learned of the deeper parts of each other. You confided in him, telling him of your fears of turning into your parents and never exploring anywhere outside the small beach town. He told you why he moved in the first place, how he was afraid of losing himself in the triviality of his corporate job. Though you had a hard time believing that anything could change his vibrant personality, it was obvious to see that was something he was truly afraid of. It shone in his eyes when he spoke of it, the air filled with unspoken emotions.

This break in the pattern, this drastic change is exactly what was needed. Not only was Joshua able to freely be himself, without having to tame his personality, he’d also made great friends in the process. He could imagine a life in that small beach town, where everyone knew each other with not an unkind soul in sight. Everyday was different, filled with new obstacles and hurdles to find a solution to, but each night ended the same. Each night ended with the two of you sitting on your porch, facing the ocean, gazing up at the stars.

#svt #seventeen #svt scenarios #seventeen scenarios #svt joshua scenarios #seventeen joshua scenarios #svt joshua #seventeen joshua

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jikook-love · 7 years ago

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love stall (pt.1)

jungkook x jimin | hogwarts au | words: ?

gryffindor!jungkook x slytherin!jimin

Young wizard Jeon Jungkook had somehow become the ideal role model for all Gryffindors by his fifth year at Hogwarts: a charming and attractive personality, the best dueller of his year, captain of the Quidditch team and the best at trespassing into places he shouldn’t be without getting caught. But even the Gryffindor poster boy holds a shameful secret, a secret that would utterly shatter his reputation should it ever come out:

He had fallen in love with a Slytherin.

Blood pulsed through his ears. The chants were becoming louder and louder, gradually reaching an empowering crescendo.

“Go Go Gryffindor! Go Go Gryffindor!”

He squeezed his eyes shut for a fleeting moment, for that was all he had. The red Quaffle was in his hands, and the goal was hovering in distance, so close yet so far. This was it. Score this and the game would be over regardless of who caught the Snitch (unless the opposing team got another goal in afterwards which was highly unlikely considering their mental state). It was all up to him.

They were already starting to gain upon him, he ought to have felt incomparable pressure. But no.

After all, he was Jeon Jungkook, Captain of the red and gold Quidditch team.

And Gryffindor’s pride.

In a mad dash, Jungkook let out a cry as he pushed forth on his broom, the traditional Firebolt. It was a broom that had been world-class competition standard in its prime, but had since been worn out through the test of time. Regardless, it was still a reliable and solid piece of equipment--and more importantly it was the same class of broom that the legendary Harry Potter had once mounted, which made it all the more suitable for someone like Jungkook.

He heard the familiar screams and cheers as he whizzed across the stadium, his speed unmatched by anyone else on the pit. Usually, it was often the Seeker who was praised for their flying abilities, but Jungkook flew in a way that outshone them all. In fact, despite his remarkable flying techniques, the coach found him more suited to be a Chaser due to his equally impressive strength and reflexes. The way he handled his broom and flying patterns was almost theatrical, a show of speed and agility, unrivalled by anyone else in their generation.

Sweat beaded from his forehead as Jungkook headed straight for the goal posts. It was a one-man show now, and despite that there were two other Chasers on the team, it could only be him who could finish this.

In the corner of his eye, he noticed a Bludger headed towards him at full speed. Anyone else would’ve been hindered at once, as the the offending ball travelled at a much higher speed than their broomsticks at full power. But Jungkook was quicker than that. He quickly arched his back, sliding under the Bludger and using his agile body to avoid what his broom couldn’t. The crowd roared in excitement, realizing the goal was now quite in reach.

Jungkook grinned in anticipation. If he did this properly, the game was theirs, and nothing could possibly stop them. This was it, they would win yet another game, the first win for Gryffindors for this year. He watched in pity as the Keeper was desperately doing Double Eight Loops around the ring as fast as she could, but it was all futile, because he was much faster and his keen eyes could detect her exact trajectory.

And...now!

The crowd went wild as Jungkook suddenly stood up on his broom, ready for the final blow. All he could see was the goal post in front of him.

“OH MY GOD! IT’S THE DIONYSUS DIVE! HE’S GONNA DO IT AGAIN! HIS SIGNATURE MOVE,” he heard the announcer declare loudly and excitedly.

Jungkook’s eyes glinted, he reeled back to throw the red object that was about to become a bullet. Drawing back, ready to punch full force--

A flash of gold.

It all happened in a blur. In spur of the moment, he’d forgotten to watch out for the most unlikely scenario of them all. A sudden impact, as he inevitably collided with someone else. Quaffle falling from his hands as he was knocked completely off his broom.

He could only watch in horror, hands grappling at air as he saw the other team’s Keeper mercilessly seize the red ball, tossing it to her teammates. His own team had cleared out to make way for him, and had only realized their mistake now. But it was too late. Seconds later, a hopeful cheer erupted, indicating a goal.

He grimaced, realizing that that should be the least of his worries right now. He desperately tried to grab for his broom, which was just that much more than an arm’s reach away.

Closer...closer. He contemplated using his wand to retrieve the broom, but that would definitely forfeit the game for his entire team. Jungkook grimaced, deciding he would just get healed later, bracing for the worst as he plummeted towards the bottom of the pitch.

But the impact never came.

He opened his eyes, in shock as he realized that he was hovering barely centimetres above the sandy floor, perched upon another’s broomstick.

It wasn’t the expected red cloak he expected to see--deep green fabric fluttered in the air.

Jungkook turned to his saviour in surprise. “Oh my god. Thank yo--”

He was suddenly dumped into the ground, plummeting face first into the sand right next to his broom. He caught a glimpse of a wisp of blonde hair before his former saviour hovered tauntingly above him.

“You won’t be thanking me in a bit.”

And then his saviour was gone, gaining incredible altitudes at an impressive speed. Jungkook didn’t have time to contemplate.

That game hasn’t been called. That means the Snitch hasn’t been caught yet so...

He quickly climbed back on his broom and rushed back up to the top, desperately wanting to regain his pride. He could still do this. It would just mean two goals instead of one, he could easily--

The sounding whistle.

His heart sank in his chest, a dreading feeling coursing through his veins. There was a silence spreading throughout the stadium, as if something completely unexpected had occurred.

He desperately, quickly flew to the top, wanting to see what the result was for himself.

“Oh my god,” one of the announcers said. “Unbelievable. No way in fu--”

“Oh no, he went and done it!” the other one interrupted before any profanities could be uttered. “The Plumpton Pass! Haven’t seen that one in awhile. A snarky one this new seeker is!”

Plumpton Pass. The one where the Seeker hides the Snitch in his sleeve to confuse the opposing team? But why now of all times--

He froze, the explanation becoming thoroughly evident. A wave of blonde hair caught his eyes, right in the dead centre of the pitch.

Mostly because the light shade of hair, that was now certainly burned into his memory, so well complimented by the Golden Snitch he had clutched in his right hand and displayed for the slowly recovering crowd to see.

Jungkook couldn’t believe what had happened. He--the soul and pride of his generation of Gryffindors--had been absolutely outwitted and beaten. In the worst way possible.

By a Slytherin.

“Well, would you look at that?” The grin was inevitable in the announcer’s voice. “It looks like the new Slytherin Seeker’s way better than we all thought.”

✧✧✧

Jungkook slammed his broom down in frustration, unbuttoning his Quidditch attire in a fury as his friends followed him into the locker, concern written on their faces.

“Hey man, come on, you did great! Everyone knows that,” Jung Hoseok, sixth year Hufflepuff reassured. “You broke an insane amount of records that game, all on your own.”

“Dude, you’re crazy,” Kim Taehyung, also a sixth year Hufflepuff, was gawking. “You got over 100 points from Quaffles goals alone. No wonder people think you’re cheating.”

“Good thing he’s a Gryffindor,” Hoseok chortled. “Can you imagine if he was a Slytherin? The amount of inspections.”

“Good. Those snakes deserve it,” Taehyung muttered. “I’ll never forgive what they did to my toad.”

“What did they do to your toad?” Hoseok asked curiously. He quickly shook the thought out of his head. “Never mind. We should probably focus on Jungkook right now. The boy’s distraught.” The sixth year student patted Jungkook on the shoulder, who was still crouched over on a bench, face buried into his hands.

“Cut yourself some slack, bro,” Taehyung mumbled, sitting down beside him. “You’ve got to lose once or twice in your life. Otherwise people will think you’re some sort of monster.”

“Yeah, it’s not like any of us saw it coming,” Hoseok echoed. “I didn’t even notice there was a Seeker the entire game--he was so subtle.”

“That’s the point, Hoseok,” Jungkook pouted angrily, pulling on his regular school robes. “Usually no one else sees these things but I’m supposed to. I can’t believe I let him get away with that. It has to be the oldest trick in the book.”

“What? The little Snitch trick he did at the end?” asked Taehyung.

“No,” Jungkook frowned. “Blending into the environment and showing up only at the last second.”

“Well, on the bright side, it won’t happen again,” Hoseok shrugged. “People will be keeping eyes on him from now on as the new Slytherin seeker who managed to best Jeon Jungkook himself in a Quidditch game.” Hoseok’s smug smile quickly faded from his face when he noticed Taehyung shooting dirty looks at him, indicating that he was not helping in anyway whatsoever.

“A-anyways,” he quickly recovered. “Namjoon and Seokjin are waiting for us in Hogsmeade. Let’s go have some Butterbeer and take your mind off things, huh?”

“You guys go ahead,” Jungkook muttered without thinking much. Upon looking up and seeing their distraught expressions, he gave a sigh and quickly gave in.

“I’ll catch up later,” Jungkook promised instead. “You guys go get a table.” The comment managed to restore a slight sense of relief to their faces, and was enough to send them on their way.

Which Jungkook to sulk all on his own, which was something he hadn’t done in a long, long while. He hadn’t had such an absolutely demoralizing failure in a long while, not since he’d gotten to Hogwarts. Here, he had friends, and somehow, he was an exemplary example of anything he bothered to give the slightest effort into. People even looked up to him--naiively, of course. It’d be a long, long while since he’d experienced such a crushing feeling in his chest.

He could already see it: the cold, disappointed glances that he would inevitably receive upon returning to the Gryffindor Common Room. After their fervent cheering and unyielding faith in him, all he had given them in return was a disheartening loss. He didn’t know how he was going to face it.

As if waiting for the worst possible timing possible, the doors to the locker rooms suddenly burst open, revealing several windblown green capes. Jungkook looked up to see the members of the Slytherin Quidditch team, still decked out in full Quidditch uniforms and clutching their brooms with smug smiles on their faces.

Idiots, you guys couldn’t even block me once. If it weren’t for your Seeker...

“You’re the only one left?” one of them called out. “That’s a shame.”

“What? Came to gloat?” Jungkook spat back without hesitance. “They're all gone.”

“Well, I think you’re the only one we need to see, captain,” said the female Keeper from earlier. The way she dragged out the last word brought the nastiest goosebumps to his skin. “That’s what you get for underestimating us.”

Despite his insecurities, Jungkook still managed shrug and give them the coldest response:

“You let me score ten goals on your hoops,” Jungkook restated the facts. “And that was just me alone. It’s hard not to judge you guys after that.”

Their smiles were immediately replaced with angry scowls, and Jungkook couldn’t help but smirk to himself. It was amazing--he was feeling his lowest now, but he could still talk back to the Slytherins without a scuffle.

I am a Gryffindor, after all, Jungkook thought proudly to himself.

“Whatever, Jeon,” the girl crooned, her lips curling in disgust. “You and your pompous team still lost, and that’s the final verdict.”

“The scoreboard also says 170-160, a 10 point difference despite your team catching the Snitch, which is also a final verdict,” Jungkook pointed out. “How about you guys just go back to your gloomy dungeon and pretend you deserved the win there? At least there’s probably people there who would fulfill your delusions.”

He didn’t even bother watching their angered and frustrated expressions as they stormed out of the room, throwing swear words behind--he’d seen and heard all that one too many times.

“Pathetic,” Jungkook muttered to himself, shoving away his broom angrily.

“I’d be more careful with that if I were you. That looks expensive.”

Jungkook whirled around at the sound of the unfamiliar voice. He froze immediately, slightly jolted by who was standing in front of him.

He’d thought the entire team had left after his harsh words but it turned out he was wrong.

One person had remained.

The one person who could probably get to his head beyond anyone else on that team.

That shade of gold...

“Relax, will you?” the boy said, his voice much more melodic than Jungkook could ever imagine it to be, high toned and somewhat pleasant. He tilted his head, a teasing yet charming smile written on his lips. “I’m not here to pick a fight or anything.” Jungkook watched as the boy ran his fingers through his unusually silky blonde hair, fully revealing what was undoubtedly the face of the Seeker who’d bested him only minutes ago.

Jungkook found himself to be surprisingly obediently, as he body loosened immediately, his grasp removed from his wand.

“Why are you still here then?” Jungkook asked, annoyed. “To rub it in my face?”

“Maybe,” came the shameless answer.

Jungkook glared at him, before turning away again. Evidently the only way to truly fight those arrogant assholes was to ignore them.

“Look, I’m kidding,” the Seeker said suddenly, stepping closer as a gentler tone appeared in his voice. “Honestly, I came to offer my condolences. What I did was a bit...over the top and unnecessary, and I just wanted to let you know that I’m perfectly aware of that too.”

But Jungkook wasn’t so easily persuaded, the burning anguish from the loss still eating away at his heart. “Then why’d you do it in the first place?” he fired back, his voice filled with spite.

He watched, as a subtle, mysterious smirk appeared on the Seeker’s face.

“I couldn’t help it,” he said. “The once in a lifetime chance for a measly, faceless Slytherin like me to tarnish the reputation of the glorious Jeon Jungkook, the pride and trophy of the entire Gryffindor House...you don’t actually blame me, do you?”

Jungkook’s chest tightened threateningly upon hearing his casual yet piercing words.

“Don’t tell me you waited until that exact moment to catch the Snitch,” Jungkook spoke, his eyes widened.

His newfound rival shrugged, the mysterious smile so beguiling, almost dangerous.

“You’re so rude,” he said casually. “We all know so much about you yet you didn’t even bother to learn my name?”

“What--”

The boy took one step closer, offering an outstretched hand to Jungkook.

“Park Jimin,” he smiled brightly. “Nice to finally officially meet you.”

On impulse, Jungkook took his hand without thinking. Jimin’s grip was firm and convincing, and Jungkook saw a strange twinkle in his eyes that he hadn’t noticed before.

“Also...I’d tell you whether or not I’d planned it all along,” Jimin spoke slowly. “But you probably wouldn’t believe me either way.”

He let go of Jungkook’s hand, turning his back and heading for the door. For the first time in a long while, Jungkook was rendered completely speechless.

But, as courteous as Jimin was, he didn’t leave without leaving Jungkook a few last words:

“I am a Slytherin after all.”

✧✧✧

“Slytherins suck man,” Taehyung hummed, kicking back on his stool as he downed his Butterbeer.

Hoseok nearly spit out his drink. “Well, that escalated quickly.”

In the olden days, Hogwarts students had only been permitted to visit the lovely village of Hogsmeade on the weekend, but for awhile now, that restriction had been lifted, and the students were allowed out for a break whenever they fell fit so long as it didn’t clash with their school schedules--many professors seemed to agree that it would be better for students to buy some sweets or go on dates to distract themselves rather than wander into the more precarious areas of the school grounds in their free time.

The group of five males were comfortably seated at the Three Broomsticks, each well-comforted with their own individual foaming hot mugs of Butterbeer. Taehyung and Hoseok had gotten a table as promised, and was later joined by their close friends and older 7th year Ravenclaw students Kim Seokjin and Kim Namjoon.

Jungkook didn’t even recall how they even got to that conversation topic, but upon hearing Taehyung’s statement, Jungkook said nothing--partly because of the recent strange encounter he’d had with Park Jimin that he’d chosen to keep quiet about until now.

Another part was due to the fact that he already knew full well of the majority of the school’s views on Slytherins. Ever since the last Wizarding War, Slytherins had suddenly obtained the reputation of being vile, devious, and calculating, and everyone abided by that generalization. Jungkook, on the other hand, was a brave and proud Gryffindor, the house that was considered a direct lineage from the legendary Harry Potter himself. Everyone loved Gryffindors, everyone wanted to be a Gryffindor. They surely were the central house of Hogwarts, their mention always coming hand in hand with the reputable image of their school. On the other hand, no one liked the kind of snakes that was associated with the horrible image of Voldemort himself. Times had changed, and nowadays it seemed even the Hufflepuffs had a better reputation than the Slytherins most of the time.

And it showed in their daily social lives as well. Jungkook, as well as most of his Gryffindor friends, had no qualms in incorporating numerous Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs into their main groups of friends. But rarely did one see a green robe amidst the red. Considering the history of their houses, it was almost taboo for Gryffindor and Slytherin students to associate, with very few exceptions. Besides, it was clear to Jungkook that the Slytherins’ sense of elitism prevented them from dwindling with the “other students”, and it was hard to befriend one in their first place due to their conniving natures--you never knew which one to trust.

“What about Yoongi?” Namjoon asked suddenly. “He’s cool. You all like him.”

“Yeah but that’s Yoongi,” Taehyung retorted. “He’s not in that House by choice, he’s in that House because no one can imagine him anywhere else. He belongs there.”

“Doesn’t that go for everyone?” Seokjin said pointedly.

“How naive,” Taehyung cackled. “That’s what they want you to think. Without realizing that the single choice was literally the difference between Harry Potter and Tom Riddle. Besides, didn’t the Sorting Hat say you had potential in other places? I was a Hat Stall, you know. Could’ve been a Gryffindor. You know, because I’m the main character of every story.”

“Oh yeah. I was almost considered as a Ravenclaw by the Sorting Hat,” Jungkook pointed out suddenly.

“Yeah see--wait, seriously?” Taehyung choked.

“What do you mean ‘seriously?’” Namjoon asked. “Jungkookie is a smart kid.”

Taehyung stared at Namjoon for a good few seconds, trying to figure out if he was being sarcastic or not.

“Well, we’ll truly see when his OWLs come out next year,” Taehyung mumbled to himself.

“Oh yeah, how’s that going by the way?” Seokjin caught on at once. “You’ve been studying well for awhile now, right Jungkook?”

“Don’t look at me,” Hoseok said. “I got through that mess last year. Did alright though.”

“You know people study for that from like third year,” Namjoon noted.

“Relax,” Taehyung drawled, grabbing onto Jungkook’s shoulders suddenly. “He’ll be fine. Besides, no one’s going to call the great Jeon Jungkook anything less than Acceptable--he’s Gryffindor’s prodigy boy. Besides, he’s probably gonna go play Quidditch anyways. Even if he fails I’m sure they’ll give him a slight nudge and let him chug along anyways.”

“You know this is school, right?” Seokjin noted. “Not a popularity contest.”

“Whatever, whatever, Head Boy,” Taehyung smirked, waving his hands dismissively. “Clearly you don’t know the true powers of the incredible and beautiful Jeon Jungkookie~”

Hoseok, in the meantime, was staring at him in disgust. “What is he? A House Elf?” he spoke. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I’m not drruuunk~” Taehyung murmured again, tilting his head over so that he was leaning on Hoseok’s shoulder.

“Oh my god,” Hoseok sighed. “I think we gotta go. If the professors catch us on the way back to the Common Room, this won’t be good.”

“Just tell them what happened, what’s the big deal?” said Seokjin.

Hoseok gave Seokjin an exasperated look. “Would you believe it if I told you he got tipsy off Butterbeer?”

“...no.”

“Exactly,” Hoseok sighed, draping Taehyung’s arm over his shoulder and pulling him off his stool. “I’m sorry about this, guys. We’ll see you soon.”

Hoseok dragged Taehyung away, mumbling something about how Hufflepuff might’ve actually had a chance for the House Cup this year but not anymore.

“So Jungkookie, what have you been up to?” Namjoon asked. “You’ve been so busy lately we haven’t seen you at all.”

Jungkook shrugged. “Nothing much, really.”

“We heard about the game,” Seokjin said nonchalantly. “I hope you don’t feel responsible or anything.”

Another shrug, indicating his confused state. If he had been his regular self, he probably would’ve gotten over it already, especially with his friends trying to comfort him like this. If it weren’t for...

“Heyyy, Earth to Jungkook,” Namjoon called, waving his hand in front of Jungkook’s face. “Why don’t you go home and get some rest then? It’s been a long day. Sleep has a tendency to heal a lot of things.”

“Oh right, sure,” Jungkook snapped back to attention, trying not to get distracted by the image of that person. “Of course...uh, what were talking about?”

Seokjin sighed. “Go home and get some rest. You seem like you need it.”

“Oh, true,” Jungkook mumbled, his brain still not entirely in the right place.

“Jungkook?” Seokjin called again.

“Hmm?”

“You gonna be alright?”

Jungkook paused for a second, before standing up and giving the obvious answer.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he spoke, grabbing his stuff. “I’ll feel better by tomorrow morning. Are you guys coming with or...?”

Namjoon and Seokjin swiftly exchanged glances with each other. Jungkook, as mentally and physically exhausted as he was, still managed to take the hint.

“No, I think we’ll be good,” Seokjin answered. “We’re just gonna...stay here a little more and just do some talking.”

“Yeah, we haven’t had a decent night out in a while you see,” Namjoon replied.

Jungkook nodded. “I’ll be off then,” he smiled weakly. “Thanks for everything guys.”

Namjoon and Seokjin waved politely, and watched intently as Jungkook waved back one last time before walking out the door, heading back to his dormitories. The both of them immediately leaned back in their seats, letting out simultaneous exasperated sighs as if they had been waiting this entire time to get it out of their systems.

“What do you think it is?” Seokjin said, keeping his tones still slightly hushed, as if he still feared the thought that Jungkook could still be around. “There’s gotta be something else. He’s nowhere near angry enough. He’s...pliant almost.”

Namjoon rubbed his fingers into his temple, attempting to think even deeper. “You don’t think someone got to him did you?” he spoke. “You know how Slytherins get snarky. They might’ve hit his ego in a wrong spot or something.”

Seokjin shrugged, wrapping the blue scarf tighter around his neck to warm himself up a bit more. “Maybe we’re just overanalyzing. Maybe he’s truly mature enough now to not get worked up over such things, being the captain and all.”

A final sip of Butterbeer entered between Namjoon’s lips before he placed his mug down, his eyes glinting as if he was suddenly understanding something.

“Yeah,” Namjoon mumbled. “He’s...growing up, isn’t he?”

✧✧✧

Jeon Jungkook had made it back to the Gryffindor Common Room just in time for his usual curfew, but he found he didn’t have it in himself to crawl into bed yet, despite how exhausted his mind was feeling. Instead, he kept pacing back and forth on the common room floors without changing into pajamas, with some nagging feeling in the back of his head that he couldn’t quite pin down. Something had been left unresolved. His thoughts were restless and there was a strange feeling in his chest. It was unlike anything he’d ever felt before.

Before long, he found his feet taking him down the Grand Staircase and out of the main building, taking him towards the one and only place which could bring peace by distracting him. After all, a true Gryffindor always had an uncanny knack for sneaking into the wrong places, at the wrong time, yet always getting out (mostly) unscathed.

Before long, he found himself in the Quiddtich Training Grounds. He quickly made his way over to an abandoned shed where he’d managed to stash an extra broom--one of the cheaper ones they used to train the first year students--for use in times like this. He quickly clambered on it and lifted off into the deep, evening sky, naturally swerving this way and that, practicing his school-famous flying maneuvers, trying to empty his mind of all thoughts. It was the one place where he felt at peace, flying without wings, in the sky where he somehow naturally excelled beyond everyone else.

Before long, he had become accustomed to the cool breeze threaded through his hair and touched upon his skin. His body finally felt calmed, and he had forgotten whatever it was that was bothering him before. He did a final loop before landing gracefully on the soft field, finally ready to call it a night.

“That was some pretty smooth flying, Jeon Jungkook,” a voice suddenly called out of nowhere.

Instinctively, Jungkook jumped, hand into his chest pocket where he kept his wand. But when he looked up, the person he saw was not a professor nor a monster like he’d expected, but rather someone completely unexpected.

The person stepped closer to Jungkook. He pushed back his blonde locks to reveal his forehead, the familiar sly yet simultaneously charming smile plastered on his face like he had been born with it. He, just like Jungkook, was still dressed in his school uniform, though without the black robe adorning his shoulders.

And Jungkook didn’t know why, but as soon as he saw the Slytherin seeker, the feelings which he’d tried so hard to ignore suddenly came rushing back again despite his efforts.

“What are you doing here?” Jungkook asked, slightly terrified at the certain prospects of his situation.

“I was wandering the halls, when I noticed you were doing the same,” Jimin shrugged. “Curious, I decided to follow to see where you were headed. I never thought you’d end up here.”

Jungkook remained speechless, still worried about the consequences.

“Relax,” Park Jimin spoke, still smiling. “I won’t tell anyone you’re here past curfew.”

Jungkook gulped. “I could say the same to you.”

Unexpectedly, Jimin shook his head.

“I actually have special permission to be here, unlike you, Jeon Jungkook,” said Jimin. “Hooch noticed my busy schedule and supposed lack of prior experience despite my desire of wanting to join the Slytherin team. So she’s allowed me to use the Training Grounds off hours.” Jungkook suddenly noticed Jimin was also clutching a training broom in his right hand.

Jimin threw another smile at Jungkook’s direction.

“I’m not like you, Gryffindor,” he spoke slowly, the words slipping off his tongue as if he was chanting some sort of dangerous spell. “I was never ‘naturally talented’ at any of this. I couldn’t even control my broom for the entire first semester of my time here at Hogwarts. So I had to work with everything I had. I hope you understand.”

“Why...are you telling me this?” Jungkook inquired, feeling slightly uncomfortable. He was out here in the middle of the night having a conversation with a Slytherin. If anyone caught him, his reputation would be as good as over. Plus, there was no telling what Jimin was actually planning.

“So there’s no animosity between us,” Jimin answered, avoiding Jungkook’s eyes as he gazed towards the dark sky above them. “Like I said, I hope you understand. It was a chance for all my efforts to pay off and be completely noticed for the first time--granted, I had to sacrifice your dignity in exchange. But now, people are finally becoming curious about me. You’d probably do the same in my situation.”

“You didn’t have to do it like that,” Jungkook grumbled before he could help it. He was referring to the way Jimin had clearly hid the Snitch away only to reveal at a climatic moment in the middle of the field. He still vividly recalled the defeating feeling he’d experienced, as that seemingly hopeful moment of recovering was crushed in an instant.

“But that would’ve been no fun,” said Jimin. “I am a Slytherin, after all.”

As he spoke the last words, he tilted his head towards Jungkook, who found himself unable to stop staring. He didn’t know if it was his tired brain conjuring up detrimental ideas, but for some reason Jimin looked strangely captivating with his slightly long golden hair drifting through the wind like that, and that ambiguous half smile with so many mysteries and hidden intentions behind it.

“How about this?” Jimin said suddenly, interrupting Jungkook’s drifting thoughts. “I don’t expect you to forgive me so quickly. I probably wouldn’t either if I were you. So...what if you played a game with me? If I win the game, you forgive me. And if you win the game, I’ll agree to any one thing you request of me.”

Jungkook’s ears perked. He was always one for a challenge. And the stakes seemed to be in entirely in his favour, regardless of the outcome.

“I’m listening,” Jungkook voiced his interest at once.

Jimin smirked. “That’s what I’d figured you would say.” He suddenly reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wand.

Jungkook froze. “Don’t tell me--”

“Accio.”

After a few seconds, a red silk bag suddenly rushed out of the school building and into Jimin’s palm. Jungkook’s eyes widened as he realized what it was that was inside, squirming and writhing for freedom.

He gaped in disbelief. “How did you--?”

“I told you, special permissions,” Jimin grinned. “How am I supposed to train to be a Seeker without a Snitch?”

Jungkook had no retort, as he stared at the bag, transfixed, and slightly impressed at how Jimin had managed to convince the professors to give him a Golden Snitch to practice with in his free time.

“So how about it?” Jimin asked. “No destruction of property and no wands with the exception of absolute emergencies. First one to catch the Golden Snitch after it gets a 30 second head start wins. Also, you can’t get caught by anyone otherwise you’re eliminated. It’s gonna be difficult because it’s pretty dark out. Are you still up for it?”

Jungkook contemplated for a few seconds, trying to figure out if there was a catch, though his blood was already pumping at the prospect of being able to have a Quidditch battle at night when no one else was watching.

“Wait a minute, I’m not a Seeker though,” Jungkook said. “I’m just a Chaser. Shouldn’t that give you an advantage?”

Jimin blatantly scoffed in Jungkook’s face. “Everyone knows how you fly, Jeon Jungkook. The only reason why you’re not a Seeker is because your flying abilities are so valuable that they should be utilized at all times, not just when the Snitch is released.”

Jungkook couldn’t help but grinning a little at the fact that Jimin knew this. He could literally feel his ego inflating, even if just a little bit.

“Thanks,” Jungkook responded dumbly, not even sure if it was the proper answer. And from the way Jimin laughed at him, he realized that it was probably not.

But for some reason, it didn’t feel too bad. Not at all.

Jimin reached out as the broom rapidly whizzed to his palm, mounting it promptly. Jungkook nodded as he did the same, his heart thumping eagerly in his chest.

“Ready?” Jimin asked, as he undid the drawstring of the bag. Jungkook watched as the Snitch whizzed excitedly at its freedom, already shooting away at remarkable speeds.

“You know it,” Jungkook answered, his eyes changing. He also had his pride as Gryffindor’s Quidditch Captain on this line. No way was he gonna lose this. Jimin and Jungkook narrowed their eyes in anticipation, both of them already shaking on their tippy toes, ready to launch on the count.

“Okay then,” Jimin smiled. “Then...3...2...1.”

They both kicked off and accelerated rapidly, reaching extreme speed and height within an impressive amount of time, despite using training brooms. They both swerved towards the direction they saw the Snitch heading, over one of the stone bridges of the school building, racing neck and neck. They launched themselves over treetops and swerved around corners with remarkable control, refusing to give in even just a little. Though Jungkook was known for his ability to accelerate in record time and impeccable control, he was surprised to find that Jimin was right on his tail.

Hmm...he’s not bad. At all. Jungkook thought. But I’m better.

Without even looking back, Jungkook took an unexpected dive towards what seemed to be impenetrable wall. However, beneath some protruding stone there was a narrow crack which he tilted his body and managed to cut through with an impressive amount of agility. One turn within a narrow, deserted alleyway followed by a quick shot upwards brought him back out to the exterior, with Jimin nowhere in sight and likely left way behind due to his sudden shortcut.

He couldn’t help but smirk to himself, trying to imagine the shocked look on Jimin’s face when he managed to pull that off.

Taking a quick breather from his sudden lead, he found himself at a vantage point that allowed him to see quite a large field of vision, despite it being the evening. He squinted his eyes, desperately trying to make out the tiny Snitch. He suddenly understood why Jimin suggested this battle--not only was it a battle of flying alone, but also a battle of vision, as a keen eye was a valuable possession for any exemplary Seeker.

Fortunately, Jungkook also had almost perfect night vision.

And that’s when he saw it. A yellow glimmer in the distance towards where a forest of trees loomed. It could’ve been anything, even a mistake. But Jeon Jungkook was a true Gryffindor, and as true Gryffindors usually were, he wasted no time in following his instincts and immediately accelerated as rapidly as he could towards the sparkling object.

Though it appeared that Jeon Jungkook was shooting at his maximum speeds, he was actually being moderately cautious this time--he’d let his neglect for his surroundings get the better of him once, and he wasn’t about to let it happen again. So he flew at a speed lenient enough to allow him to still keep a steady eye on every other movement around him.

The twinkle again, but this time, much closer, and this time, he knew for sure that it was the Golden Snitch, sparkling and beckoning him to come closer for the victory. He smirked to himself, as he already started to fantasize about what favours he would make Park Jimin do.

Suddenly super motivated, the Gryffindor Chaser pointed the nose of his broom downwards, accelerating to his maximum speeds at last. He was ready to reach his arm out, literal seconds away from finally gaining back his pride--

A wisp of gold, suddenly appearing out of nowhere and blocking his way.

“WHERE’D YOU COME FROM?” Jungkook couldn’t help but screech in pure disbelief, when he suddenly found himself tailing behind Park Jimin in their pursuit of the Golden Snitch.

He heard a bubbling laughter from the front which did nothing to ease his already tormented mindset.

“You managed to look in all directions, even behind you impressively,” he heard Jimin shout from in front of him. “But you forgot to look above you.”

Jungkook felt the blood pumping in his ears again, as an unexplainable surge of excitement coursed through him.

“Were you circling above me this entire time?” he asked, incredulous.

“Some of us prefer not to use flashy tricks, Gryffindor,” Jimin said, before abruptly gaining speed again.

Jungkook suddenly realized what was going on, and that he was now seconds away from losing this battle. And that wasn’t an option. Gritting his teeth, he used everything he had left to chase after Jimin, until they were finally side by side. The Snitch was still whizzing in front of them, but was slowing failing to shake them of their tail despite its abrupt changes in direction.

“Give up, Park Jimin,” Jungkook growled, as he lunged forwards, trying to grab at the flying ball. “I lost once I’m not gonna lose again.”

“Oh? You finally learned my name,” Jimin retorted. Jungkook was feeling his presence more than ever, now that they were side by side, chasing after a single goal. “I beg to differ, Jeon Jungkook--once you defeat someone once it’s not hard to believe you can do it a second time.”

Jungkook couldn’t help but smile to himself. He suddenly found himself seeing Park Jimin in an entirely new light--the boy clearly didn’t know when to give up. And somehow, he appreciated that. It reminded him of a certain someone he was all too familiar with.

But there was no time for pleasant thoughts. The Snitch suddenly made an aberrant move, diving madly towards one of the corners of the school building, ready to round it and disappear out of sight again. But Jungkook had seen this before, back when he was training to be the prospective Seeker for the team.

Mercilessly, being the quicker one, Jungkook aggressively cut his broom in front of Jimin, forcing him to the inner side and trapping him as they headed straight for the corner, ensuring that he would round the corner first. But Jimin wasn’t giving up, trying to push as close as possible to the wall without getting hurt. But it was useless, he would have no choice but to back out and go behind Jungkook.

Sorry Jimin, it’s my win this time.

“AHHHH!”

Jungkook suddenly halted when he heard the pained scream shoot through the otherwise silent night. His blood ran cold, as he realized that in his desire to win, he had caused something horrible to happen.

Oh my god, I’m an idiot.

In a deranged fury, Jungkook immediately halted his broom to turn around and expect the worst.

His voice started to cracked as he called out to his opponent. “Jimin, I’m so sorry I--”

A sudden whiz passed by him, his hair and clothes being picked up by the fast wind. It all happened in a blur, and he didn’t even realize what was going on for the first few seconds. He soon noticed that it was empty behind him, where there should’ve been carnage, and in front of him was Park Jimin floating triumphantly on his broom, clutching the struggling Snitch between his thumb and index finger with a glorious smile on his face, as if it was the easiest thing he’d ever done in his life.

Jungkook was in disbelief. Breathing heavily he managed a “You...you...you tricked me.”

Jimin’s smile only widened. “I win,” he declared proudly.

And when Jimin broke out into his bubbling laughter, tilting his head back and simply enjoying the moment, Jungkook felt a surge of something through his heart, and it was in that moment that he finally realized he had messed up in more ways than one.

Yeah, he had lost. Absolutely and again. Probably in the most miserable way possible.

But seeing Jimin laugh like this...it almost felt good.

He almost wanted to do it all over again.

The two of them slowly drifted back towards the Training Ground, with Jimin laughing gleefully all the way, while Jungkook was training to control this strange, confusing and overwhelming mess of emotions which he had never dealt with before.

“Now, you need to keep your end of the promise,” Jimin reminded Jungkook, as he slipped the Snitch back into its pouch for safe-keeping again.

“Oh, right,” Jungkook mumbled, words suddenly not working well with him. “I, uh, I forgive you.” What am I forgiving him for again?

But of course, Park Jimin wasn’t done tormenting him as it was.

“Hold on,” Jimin replied at once. “I never said I was going to accept your apology that easily. Don’t you think you were being much too harsh for someone so soft and fragile like me?”

Normally, Jungkook would’ve scoffed and called him out. Saying that it was Jimin’s problem, not his. But for some reason, his tongue refused to cooperate, and he couldn’t do anything but keep his eyes fixed on Jimin, who, as if by some mysterious incantation, was becoming more and more attractive to him by the second.

“So...uh...what do you...what do you want me to do?” Jungkook asked. For some reason, Jungkook suddenly wasn’t so impartial to the idea of being able to spend more time with Park Jimin after this.

Jimin pushed his hair back and smiled brightly at Jungkook. “Meet me here at the exact same time tomorrow, and every week after that for a month. If you’re so willing to see me, then I’ll accept that you’ve truly forgiven me.”

Jungkook was stunned at the awfully odd request.

“You make a good practice buddy,” Jimin continued. “Practicing by myself has its limit. So help me out for a month.”

“What if I get caught?” Jungkook protested. “I can’t be here so freely. I don’t have ‘special permissions’, unlike you.”

“Well then,” Jimin replied at once. “That’s too bad for you. See you tomorrow night, Gryffindor.” He was already turning on his heels to leave.

“Wait!”

The word slipped out of Jungkook’s mouth before his brain could catch up. Jimin had already stopped his tracks and caught his eyes.

Oh? He has pretty eyes too?

Jungkook gulped. He knew he had wanted to say something but he wasn’t sure exactly what. It seemed that he just wanted to prolong the moment, even for just a few seconds.

“Everything alright, Jeon Jungkook?” Jimin asked, slightly amused.

“I think you’re really good at Quidditch,” Jungkook blurted, instinctively, as the first thing on his mind.

For the first time, Jimin appeared shocked for a few a seconds, but that quickly melted into his usual smile again.

“I couldn’t hear you,” Jimin spoke.

Jungkook stepped closer boldly, as if this was something he suddenly really wanted Jimin to hear when he repeated:

“Park Jimin, I think you’re really good at flying.”

Jimin broke out into laughter, and for a second Jungkook thought an angel had blessed his ears.

“That means a lot coming from you, O Legendary Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team,” Jimin grinned. “But you haven’t seen anything yet. This is only the beginning.”

Jimin was started to walk away again, but this time with a strange little bounce in his steps that Jungkook couldn’t help but notice.

“Sleep tight, Jeon Jungkook!” Jimin yelled gleefully over his shoulders. “Try not to see me in your nightmares tonight.”

And with that Park Jimin was gone. Not realizing that he’d left Jungkook there, alone, barely clutching onto his broomstick with a dazed smile on his face and his heart thumping in a way it never had before. He attempted to take a step back towards the entrance to the school, but found himself to be light-headed.

And when Jungkook briefly recalled those charming eyes and bewitching smile, he suddenly felt strange lurch in his chest.

Oh boy...

✧✧✧

“Jungkook, there’s egg on your face.”

Jungkook immediately snapped back to reality, reaching to wipe his mouth. “Sorry,” he said to Taehyung. “I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Good. You didn’t hear us shit-talking you for the past five minutes,” Taehyung rolled his eyes.

“What? Seriously?”

“No. You idiot. You actually weren’t paying attention for the past five minutes I can’t believe you.”

Their usual group of friends were sat in the Great Hall for breakfast, the sky above them as clear as day. Over the past few years, the school had finally abolished the year old ritual of segregation by houses, and students could sit wherever they wanted for informal gatherings such as breakfast, lunch or dinner. Students were nowadays encouraged to set their differences aside and mingle between all the different houses, and get to learn good things from everyone. However, despite the mixture of red, blue and yellow amongst most tables, there remained a large strip of green for the long table closest to the doors by the entrance to the Great Hall, as if tradition had never changed for the Slytherins.

Of course, there were always a few exceptions.

“Oi, Jungkook, what’s up with you anyway?” 7th year Slytherin Min Yoongi groaned aloud before munching on a slice of ham.

“Are you ill?” Hoseok asked in concern, from his seat right next to Yoongi.

“No, no, I’m fine,” Jungkook muttered. “I just...didn’t sleep well last night.”

“Ah, you’re a sore loser, aren’t you?” Yoongi couldn’t help but snark. “It’s okay, I personally slept like a baby last night. It was a good day for us D-boys.”

“D-boys?” Namjoon asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Dungeon Boys,” Yoongi stated, as if it should’ve been the most obvious thing in the world. “You know, cause our Common Room is a Dungeon?”

“That will never sound appealing to me. Living in a hipster dungeon,” Seokjin commented nonchalantly.

“Shut up. It beats getting stuck outside your posh-ass lily adorned tower cause you don’t know the answer to one of those elitist dad jokes,” Yoongi shot back.

“Those are not dad jokes, those are certified Ravenclaw riddles for your information,” Seokjin grimaced, fully offended.

“Can we focus here?” Taehyung interjected. “Jungkook’s having a crisis here. We should worry about him first.”

“Guys, I’m fine, really,” Jungkook insisted. “Couldn’t have been better.”

“Really? What time did you fall asleep last night?” Seokjin interrogated swiftly.

Jungkook shrugged. “I dunno...like 4 a.m.?”

“What the hell were you doing up at that time?” Hoseok asked.

“I was...uhhh...doing laundry.”

The entire group promptly glared at him.

“That excuse doesn’t work here, Jungkook. a) we’re not your naive parents and b) we don’t do even do our own laundry here,” Taehyung frowned.

“Just tell us the truth man, we won’t tell anyone,” Hoseok insisted.

“Yeah,” Seokjin agreed. “You’re our Gryffindor baby. We would never say or do anything to make you feel uncomfortable.”

Jungkook considered his options for his seconds, weighing the genuineness of their words.

“You sure you won’t tell anyone?” he spoke.

“Promise,” Namjoon nodded, on behalf of the rest of them.

Jungkook took a deep breath.

“I met up with Park Jimin last night.”

A chorus of gasps echoed amongst the five of them and Jungkook immediately knew he’d made a mistake. The variety in emotional reaction was quite impressive: Seokjin and Namjoon looked concerned and displeased grandparents while Hoseok and Taehyung had their faces scrunched up in disgust, almost as if Jungkook had just sold away their most well-kept secrets.

Yoongi was only one grinning. “Park Jimin,” he repeated the name, playing with it on his tongue. “I know that kid. I like him. He’s a bit too naturally erotic for his own good though.”

Hoseok stared at him in horror. “Why are you talking about real people like that?”

Yoongi shrugged. “Have you seen him?”

“No, but--”

Namjoon raised his head. “I saw him once. Passed by him in the halls. The way he walks though. I wasn’t even trying to pay attention and...” His voice trailed off as he realized Seokjin looked livid, ready to choke the living hell out of Namjoon.

Jungkook was bewildered. “I don’t think he’s like that.”

“Oh, what do you know? You’re blinded by hate,” Seokjin growled, clearly agitated. Jungkook wasn’t even sure if he was talking to himself or not.

Jungkook thought about for it a few more seconds. He never really saw Jimin as attractive at first, too consumed by his competitive desire to dominate and outplay him, and it wasn’t until later that he saw him to be beautiful rather than...whatever it was they were describing. Though, it didn’t take him very long to understand their point of view.

Oh. Yup. I totally see it. Jungkook quickly shook it out of his head, trying not to make his situation even worse than it already was.

“What’d you do with him anyway?” Taehyung spoke up suddenly. “Did you guys get into a scrap or something?”

Jungkook shook his head, starting to think about how much he should tell. “No, we were just...talking.”

“About what though?” Seokjin added. “That’s always the most important part.”

Jungkook was about to answer genuinely, when he heard some snickering from across the table.

“Maybe Kookie was having some moonlight confessions with the Slytherin Seeker,” Taehyung said suddenly. Jungkook froze, wondering if they were actually onto something.

But then he realized--much to his dismay--that they all had fairly amused looks on their faces.

“Ha. Can you imagine? If Jeon Jungkook, the Gryffindor pride, actually messed around with a Slytherin? Oh man, what a knee slapper!” Hoseok spoke in a mocking voice, and finished with a loud, obnoxious laugh.

Jungkook felt his heart sink to its depths, as the vibrant sound of their joyous laugher completely crushed the seedlings of his ludicrous fantasies.

“Stop teasing him!” Seokjin scolded. “Why would even suggest something ridiculous like that? Jungkook would never.”

But even Yoongi was laughing. “Oh man, you guys kill me. Jungkook, of all people, the most ‘Gryffindorest’ person I know. With a Slytherin. That’s actually hilarious.”

“Please,” Namjoon interjected, placing a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder. “As if Jungkook could ever be infatuated with someone from the very house who did their best to humiliate him yesterday...and all other days to be honest. Everyone’s got pride and self-love. No way could someone ever fall into something so deprecating.”

“Bro, chill. I was just kidding,” said Taehyung, as he tore at a chicken drumstick. “As if Jungkook would even get close to those snakes in the first place. Other than to fight them, of course.”

“Hello? I’m sitting right here,” Yoongi waved, slightly annoyed but simultaneously used to the usual chirps Taehyung (and others) liked to poked at his house.

“I already said you’re different,” Taehyung reassured. He reached over and wrapped an arm around Yoongi who swiftly pushed it off. Before anyone could stop them, they had commenced their usual debate of whether Hufflepuff or Slytherin was truly superior nowadays within the modern social hierarchy of Hogwarts.

Jungkook chose to zone them out, having a whole new set of problems to deal with. He desperately tried to keep a grimace from appearing on his face but he wasn’t sure if it was working, so he tried to cover it up by drinking some more pumpkin juice. His chest was starting to acquire that extremely tight, uncomfortable feeling again, as that conversation wasn’t at all what he’d wanted to hear at all. He’d hoped that he could introduce the prospects of a new friend to the group, but from the way they had all reacted, that was far from reality. In fact, he wasn’t even sure if he could keep all their comments from affecting his own personal judgment of Park Jimin.

Jungkook held back a sigh, wondering what to do with himself when the evening would finally arrive again. That fluttering feeling when he was with Jimin had been pleasant, and he’d wanted to explore for a bit longer, but at this rate it seemed that he would have to seal it all off in order to keep all his current relationships as they were.

As Jungkook raised the goblet to his lips again, he noticed someone in the corner of his eye. As if with impeccable timing, Park Jimin had suddenly risen from his seat along with some of his friends, having finished their meal. Before he could help himself, Jungkook was staring again, intent on observing his former acquaintance within his natural surroundings.

He truly had a lovely smile, similar to the one he threw at Jungkook several times last night, but this one seemed more genuine. The way his blonde hair gently toppled amongst itself as he leaned back in laughter was quite nice to look at from a distance. Jungkook continued watching as Jimin gestured for his friends to go ahead of him,s tarting to pack several large books back into his bag.

At last, he was done, and Jungkook quickly tore his eyes away as he realized Jimin was headed towards his direction, or at least passing by the table in front of him. He pretended to indulge in his pumpkin juice again, when he suddenly made the mistake of glancing upwards.

Namjoon was right. There certainly was something mesmerizing about the way Jimin moved, every sway of his hips slightly more captivating than it should be. And then Jungkook was staring again, the goblet still pressed awkwardly against his lips. His eyes raked over Jimin’s pretty guise, his heart thumping way faster than it ought to.

And that’s when it happened.

In a decisive moment, Jimin glanced over towards Jungkook, right when he was passing right in front of him, as if he’d been aware that Jungkook was watching him all along. Jungkook’s breath hitched in his throat. Jimin met eye contact with him for barely more than a second, but it was more than enough to give him a slight smirk and nod to acknowledge their acquaintance.

Oh...wow...

And suddenly, a loud clatter resonated from where they were sitting, causing Jung Hoseok to curse and nearly jump out of his seat.

The sound immediately brought Jungkook back to reality, and when he looked back Jimin was nowhere to be seen. All that remained was his now empty goblet that had evidently slipped out of his hand and crashed onto the floor in his dazed moment.

“Jungkook, are you okay?” Namjoon asked in concern, as he rushed to clean the orange-coloured juice off Jungkook’s robes.

“Um...there’s some juice dripping out of your mouth...” Seokjin commented, half in concern, half in disgust.

Jungkook hurriedly wiped himself down, in order to decrease the amount of attention he was suddenly attracting.

“Sorry,” Jungkook muttered, embarrassed. “I just...um...zoning out. Really sorry.”

“See this is what you happens when you don’t get enough sleep,” said Seokjin matter-of-factly.

“Okay, mom,” Jungkook responded boldly.

“It’s fine. You didn’t miss much anyways,” Hoseok frowned as he waved his hand dismissively. “Those two are still going at it.” He nodded at the Slytherin and Hufflepuff sat next to him, glaring at each other viciously.

“Fight me, Min Yoongi,” Taehyung was growling. “You and me. Duel after D.A. tomorrow. Hoseok’s the referee.

The owner of the mentioned spit out his mouthful of potatoes, much to everyone’s else distaste.

“WHAT?! Why me?!” Hoseok protested. “Get Namjoon to do it. He’d probably be more fair.”

“Nah, we like you,” Yoongi and Taehyung both said simultaneously.

Hoseok suddenly revoked his stance, softening at once and even seeming slightly flattered as indicated by his partial smile.

“What does that make me?” Namjoon muttered, slightly offended.

Jungkook silently groaned to himself. Sure, they were excited about duelling with each other, but none of them seemed to care that he would be dealing with the most difficult battle of them all--an internal battle against himself.

Careful not to let them notice, Jungkook slowly slumped into his arms on the free space on the dining table and buried his head into them.

Their mocking laughter echoed in his ears, followed by the vivid imagery of Jimin’s smile.

Jungkook let out a sigh at last.

His heart was probably going to be torn apart at this rate.

✧✧✧

That evening, Jungkook walked towards the Training Grounds with more bravado than he could ever expect. In the hours between his last conversation with his friends until now, he had somehow managed to convince himself that maybe, just maybe he wasn’t infatuated with Jimin like he thought he was at all.

As Jungkook kept walking, he started contemplating other possibilities. Maybe, it was much too soon to jump to such rash conclusions. Maybe, in the heat of the adrenaline, he had mistaken his excitement for some other feelings. Maybe, it was his first time meeting a slightly strange person so his brain justified for his lack of social skills by making him constantly think about that person. Maybe, he wouldn’t have to worry about causing any turmoil as a Gryffindor after all. Maybe--

A pair of soft, small hands suddenly snuck around his face and covered his eyes. Before he could be startled, he felt a lingering breath on his ear, followed by a familiar voice in the gentlest whisper:

“Guess who?”

The hands removed themselves, and then Park Jimin was in front of him, smiling brightly and standing much closer than he’d ever intended for them to be.

Jungkook’s heart did a complete 180, plummeted in its cavern, rose back up and did a few flips before slamming against chest full force.

Haha, nope.

“H-h-hey,” Jungkook said smoothly.

“You’re awfully timely, Mr. Jeon Jungkook,” Jimin drawled out his name in a way that made him want to slam his head against a wall so it would echo in his brain forever. “Maybe you really do wanna forgive me.”

“O-of course,” Jungkook replied, mindlessly following Jimin like a puppy. “So, uh, should I get my broom or...?”

Jimin turned on his heels, tilting his head at Jungkook. “Oh? No need for that right now. Follow me.”

Jungkook jolted a little, before obediently following Jimin back towards an alleyway hidden between the stone walls of the school buildings. He was slightly surprised that Jimin knew of a place within Hogwarts that even he didn’t know.

Gradually, Jungkook became more and more aware of how narrow the alleyway was, and more vexingly how close he was to Jimin. He could barely feel the rustling of the other’s clothes on his own, and he was holding his breath, hoping Jimin didn’t notice his hyperawareness.

“Um, what’s in here?” Jungkook asked cautiously.

“What are you waiting for?” Jimin replied with his own question. “Take it off.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your robes, take them off,” Jungkook couldn’t help but stare with a gulp as Jimin started unbuttoning his own robe and undoing his tie.

“W-what?”

A tiny laughter escaped Jimin’s throat as he suddenly tapped Jungkook’s shoulder, nudging him aside. It was only then that Jungkook noticed there was an opening in the wall, or rather several missing stones making for a little storage space. And to further demonstrate this, Jimin cast the summoning spell once again, and out came his practice broom and the bag containing the Snitch. He threw his own robes and tie back inside.

“Wouldn’t want them to get ruined, do you?” said Jimin. “Unless you plan on using the hindrance as an excuse when you lose again.”

"Who do you think I am?” Jungkook scoffed. “Are you trying to provoke me on purpose?”

Jimin’s smile only widened. “Always.”

Swiftly, Jungkook immediately followed suit and shoved his own robe and tie into the opening, the competitive spirit already coursing through his veins.

“Also, one more time,” Jimin spoke. “Accio.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened as another broom suddenly hovered in the opening, and he recognized it as none other than the iconic Nimbus 2001 broomstick, the one that Jimin used in game.

“Bring your Firebolt here next time,” Jimin suggested. “I wanna have a battle with no handicaps.”

“Why do you use the training brooms if you have this one safely kept here?” Jungkook asked out of curiosity.

Jimin shrugged. “I guess I like the challenge,” he spoke. “I like using the training brooms because they’re the bare minimum, so when I actually go out to play, it’ll feel easier.” He paused for a second, and then added as an afterthought. “Plus, I guess I like being mildly restrained.”

Jimin gave Jungkook no time to properly process what he’d just said before he brushed past him and headed back towards the Training Grounds.

“Grab your training broom and meet me out there,” said Jimin. “We’ll have the same battle as last time?” He waved the wriggling Snitch bag

“I won’t lose this time,” Jungkook said confidently.

Jimin smiled. “We’ll see about that.”

✧✧✧

Jimin and Jungkook collapsed onto the soft, green grass of the Training Grounds, breathing heavily in satisfaction, with the sweat dripping down their necks and foreheads. Park Jimin laid with his broom falling out of his left hand, while Jungkook’s was still clutched in his right, and the Golden Snitch gripped firmly in his left.

It had been a fierce battle, neck-in-neck and without mercy. But ultimately, a victor had been determined.

“Good game,” Jimin exhaled, turning over onto his side to look at Jungkook.

“Yeah...” Jungkook sighed, his chest heaving as he remained flat on his back, staring up into the dark sky now speckled with stars.

“You really wanted to win this time, huh?” Jimin asked softly.

“What? You didn’t?”

“Fair enough. But you flew especially well today.”

“I had to. I couldn’t let you win again.”

“Mmm. If I wasn’t so busy trying to beat you I might’ve swooned for you...”

Jimin shuffled closer. Jungkook tensed, as Jimin’s eyes suddenly appeared in front of him, glimmering mischievously as Jimin leaned over and pressed a hand into his chest.

“I guess we really do bring out the best in each other huh?” Jimin’s voice was quiet, almost in a whisper.

Jungkook had forgotten about the butterflies in his stomach up until now (as he had been too focussed on winning), and when they came back in a flurry, he immediately became hyperaware of how nervous he was. He couldn’t even move, and it was as if his body was Petrified. He wondered if it was just in his imagination that Jimin was leaning even closer.

“Hey, Jungkook, I think you really have forgiven me, haven’t you?” Jimin asked.

Blood. Coursing through Jeon Jungkook’s veins. Pulse. Rapidly beating. Sweat. Dripping endlessly from his temples. Was it the remnants of adrenalin? Or was it something else entirely?

Certainly, Jimin was definitely leaning closer.

“Jungkook?” Jimin called his name. The way it slipped off his tongue felt so right. “What do you say? Have you forgiven me? This was the whole point of this, remember?”

The way Jimin’s fingers were dancing on his chest was so intensely noticeable, it delayed Jungkook’s response a few seconds.

“I...I already said that yesterday,” said Jungkook.

“Said what?”

“That I forgave you.”

Jimin pulled back, seemingly unsatisfied with the response.

“I don’t believe you,” he said. “You can’t possible forgive me so easily for humiliating you in front of the entire school.”

Jungkook had no idea what Jimin was trying to get him to say or do, it was bothering him immensely.

“I don’t care about that anymore,” Jungkook replied. “Not since last night.”

“Hmm? Why is that?” Jimin asked. “What’s changed since then?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“I think you do know.”

And then Jimin had moved closer again, his eyes slightly lidded and lips slightly pursed. And from the way Jungkook’s heart skipped a beat, he realized that he did indeed know after all, deep inside.

“Can you prove it to me, Jungkook?” Jimin hummed.

“Huh?”

“Show me that you’ve forgiven me.”

It all happened in an instant. In reality, Jimin moved slowly, giving Jungkook plenty of time to move should he choose to. But he didn’t. He let Jimin move forwards, feeling the weight of his hand pressing into his chest. His eyes fluttered to a half-lidded state as he felt the fleeting warmth on his lips, a soft, gentle sensation that made his head spin as if he was dreaming.

It lasted barely more than a second, but it was more than enough.

Jimin slumped onto Jungkook’s shoulders, so that his lips were right next to his ears. “I’ll be busy tomorrow night,” Jimin whispered. “But I’ll let you know when I can see you again. Don’t forget about tonight.”

Jungkook sensed a sudden emptiness from within him. “Jimin, I--”

“Sleep well, Jungkook.”

And then Jimin was gone, with Jungkook still lying there, still feeling completely dazed from everything that had just happened. In fact, he wasn’t sure if even happened at all, or his he’d just dreamed it all up in his exhausted state.

It was another good five minutes before Jungkook could even bring himself to move again.

✧✧✧

The answer was obvious. And anyone else would’ve known it. It was about time that Jungkook recognized it himself.

He sighed to himself as he sat up in his bed, barely sleeping a wink last night as he attempted to find alternative answers. But there were none, because the truth was as plain as day. The smile captivated him, those eyes enchanted him, and his words were like an Imperius Curse. He couldn’t stop thinking about Jimin. He liked Jimin. And he could no longer deny that his young, naive heart had fallen for the cunning Slytherin.

Last night, he speculated if Jimin had planned this all along. Seduction seemed second nature to the pretty Slytherin boy, and Jungkook couldn’t help but wonder if he was playing right into his palm without even knowing it. Despite it being a very likely scenario, he knew he was already caught deep in the web, and there was no easy way of getting out now.

Dragging himself out of his covers, Jungkook decided the best way to approach this was to ask for someone’s else opinion. Getting himself cleaned up, Jungkook quickly changed into his school robes and headed for the dining hall, where his group of tight-knit friends would surely already be waiting for him, filled with wise and unbiased advice.

As Jungkook rounded the corner, he noticed Kim Taehyung and Jung Hoseok walking ahead of him as if on cue. With a blazing smile on his face, he quickly rushed towards them, opening his mouth to call them.

“It’s like they put all the assholes in one group and called it a House,” Taehyung was saying,

“Yeah, when are they going to abolish the Slytherin house already?” Hoseok agreed spitefully. “Nothing good ever came out of it anyways.”

“When Min Yoongi graduates,” Taehyung joked. They both laughed happily at the comment.

Jungkook froze in his steps, ccidentally overhearing the conversation they were having. Heaviness weighing down his chest, Jungkook slowly hid behind the one of the pillars in the hallway, heart pounding rapidly as he contemplated what they’d just said.

They surely were not intentionally being hurtful, he was sure--they’d always talked like this, for as long as he’d remembered. And if anything, maybe others in the school shared the same cynical opinion, based on the history that they knew.

It’s none of my business, Jungkook reassured himself internally. It’s the school’s problem, not mine. Anyways, if that’s that case, then I probably shouldn’t let them know about this.

Jungkook was torn, and the already sparse pool of people who he could ask for advice had suddenly diminished greatly.

Think, Jungkook, think! Who would offer you decent advice and not be judgmental...

His eyes widened as he realized that there was one person left, the only person who could effectively aid him in his childish endeavours.

✧✧✧

“So basically, you want me to help you get into Park Jimin’s pants?”

Jungkook couldn’t help but feel humbled. Min Yoongi’s blunt way of talking somehow always had a way of revealing a person’s true desires in the most crude way possible.

They were sitting in an empty classroom, yet for some reason, he couldn’t help but fear that other students--or even worse, a Professor--could be listening in.

“Well...more or less,” Jungkook mumbled. “But it doesn’t have to be like that right away.”

“I’m surprised,” Yoongi chortled, quite amused at the situation. “I wasn’t kidding when I said I couldn’t imagine a straight-laced Gryffindor like you falling for any Slytherin, let alone the one who stole your thunder so ruthlessly like that.”

“That doesn’t matter to me anymore,” Jungkook said. “It’s the first time I’ve liked someone like this. And I really want to do something about it.”

Yoongi’s expression softened, and his tone suddenly became more understanding. He reached over and patted Jungkook encouragingly on the shoulder.

“Aw, don’t look so distressed,” Yoongi reassured. “The heart wants what it wants after all.”

Jungkook calmed down at once, grateful for Yoongi’s rare sympathy.

A sudden exhale from Yoongi nearly extinguished the relax mood.

“But I have to warn you,” Yoongi spoke suddenly. “This won’t be easy.”

“W-what do you mean?” Jungkook panicked, stumbling over his words. “Why? Why wouldn’t it be easy?”

“I’m not sure what Park Jimin said or did that made you so head over heels for him,” Yoongi explained carefully. “But you have to realize that he’s a special one--he has that charming effect on a lot of people. You may just be one single red apple in a giant orchard, if you know what I’m trying to say.”

Jungkook remained silent, waiting for Yoongi to elaborate.

“The point is, you have to stand out amongst the rest,” Yoongi continued. “Be that ripest, biggest, roundest, shiniest apple. Make yourself someone he can’t help but pluck. Only then will he truly be yours.”

It took Jungkook awhile, but eventually he understood. “That’s not a problem,” he grinned. “I’m Jeon Jungkook.” He promptly received a smack on the back of the head.

“Do you even hear yourself right now?” Yoongi scowled. “I’m Jeon Jungkook. Who the fuck do you think you are? Do you ever hear me going around telling the world I’m Min Fucking Yoongi? No. So put a sock in it. No one cares.”

“Can’t you at least let me down gently?” Jungkook complained, rubbing the back of his head.

“Listen, do you want my help or not?” Yoongi shot back. “I don’t care how much those Gryffindor jocks hype you up but to us Slytherins, being an obnoxious, dick-waving Gryffindor immediately gives you a negative ten points on the datable scale. And you, being the Jeon Jungkook who is the practical poster boy of those people, probably makes you at the very least a negative fifty thousand.” He gave another frustrated sigh before continuing again. “I mean just think about it for two seconds--if he cared at all about you and your name, he would’ve never publicly humiliated you in front of the entire school.”

Jungkook felt utterly defeated. “Yeah, I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Yoongi agreed. “But, no worries. Not all hope is lost. I have an idea. We Slytherins tend to respect those who can outsmart us, so that’s all you gotta do.”

“You want me to outsmart Jimin?” Jungkook gawked. “Do you not realize how my brain practically turns into mush every time I talk to him?”

“It’s not like you can beat him with your non-mushy brain either,” Yoongi grinned, clearly having fun with this at this point. “Which is why you’ll be following my plans step-by-step, and not acting on your own.”

Jungkook contemplated for a few seconds. “Okay...let’s hear it first then.”

Yoongi cleared his throat, looking more and more like a mad scientist by the second--and Jungkook was the guinea pig.

“First, you’ll need some Polyjuice Potion.”

✧✧✧

end of pt. 1

pt. 2 will come. eventually. but not until after i finish my exams probably. XD and ofc it gets complicated so take this as like a sort of teaser and whie you’re in the mood for this kind of trope? :3

the houses were my preference of course, what i’ve always imagined them to be. i had the longest time deciding whether or not to put taehyung into hufflepuff or gryffindor but i figured...he has those badger-like qualities and is super popular and friendly so... :)

also. the second part of this fic will focus more on the dynamics of the Slytherin house and people’s feelings towards it in general. Believe it or not, these “hateful” comments are all real comments I’ve heard about the green house, and I just wanted to address them a little. Being my “second house” recently, I think there’s a lot of qualities of Slytherins that people don’t see or appreciate, and we’ll be definitely be seeing something like that in the second part. Also, I hope that you all kind of a see a bigger image for all of this despite being just a happy go lucky Harry Potter AU--no one should be judged on superficial, pre defined categories ;)

hope you enjoyed! and believe it or not i had this started before any of this run stuff came out, so this just happened to be impeccable timing and simply validated the realness of my characters so that got me even more excited ! ^^

don’t forget to come back for the (juicier) pt 2 :P

#jikook #jikook fic #harry potter au #fanfic #secretfanfics #before i go mia for a week. lmao

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kissykiwi · 7 years ago

Text

green eyes, red handed (part 2)

wherein y/n finds harry confusing. (college au, 2700 words)

[previous]

Y/N’s head swam as she walked out of class, full of education and politics and society. They had a paper coming up, three topics possible from the entirety of the work, and she couldn’t figure how she’d be able to pick when she had so much to say about all of it.

“So, what are yeh thinking for the upcoming essay? Worth fifteen percent, y’know.”

Y/N was startled to be addressed by the low, thick voice of the person she apparently bothered so much, and cut her eyes sideways as Harry bounded up beside her. How fun, swinging back in the other direction.

“I was thinking of the one centering around justice,” she said warily. She might wanna kill him half the time, but when they weren’t at each other’s throats he was a pretty good study partner, and Plato was not a joke. “Figured that I could expand on the definition by taking the classical ambiguity of it.”

“Tha’s not a bad idea.”

“Yeah. Do me a solid and don’t steal it, will ya?”

Harry laughed as Y/N raised an eyebrow in a perfect arch. A girl down the hall fumbled her books.

“Now, now, didn’t say it was good, did I?” he quipped, tone remaining light. Y/N could see this for what it was, the peace offering that followed every spat and kept them on careful even ground, but she was ready to accept it. Their relationship had been like this for three years now, and she had learned how to prolong the amiable Harry that came between fights, and how much she preferred him.

“Fine then Plutarch, what’re you doing?”

“The use of fantastical arguments in philosophical debate.”

“Dense,” she said, surprised. They only had about three thousand words, and he was certainly taking quite the bite. It was a gentle reminder of how much was hiding in that thick skull of his.

“Behind this pretty face is quite th’ mind, Y/L/N,” Harry sighed dramatically, pushing the door open for them both.

“It’s behind a face anyway.”

“See I could get mad at tha’ comment, but because I’m a kind and gentle soul, I will instead do as Clark asked and pass along the message that everyon’s stoppin’ in Fleming and then settin’ up in Old Quad for lunch.”

Definitely offering the proverbial olive branch then. Often Harry would skip letting her know when these plans would happen (and Ginny always forgot) and she’d make it halfway back to her apartment before she knew that her friends had snagged a coveted slice of lawn. In return, Y/N offered him a careful smile and a thanks. Harry quirked a corner of his mouth back, opened it to say something, but was interrupted before he could.

“Y/N!”

Turning about, she saw black hair, blue eyes, an unassuming smile. It was Mitchell, from her Human Skeletal Biology course. He was sweet, so sweet, but nice and naive had never much been her thing and as many times as she’d tried to let him down gently, he just kept coming back.

“Mitchell, hey,” she said, voice kind and decidedly lukewarm, turning back towards Fleming and a now farther ahead Harry as the new addition came to her pace.

“Hey! I know you said you were busy last Thursday with schoolwork and all, but I thought new week, new schedule, right?”

Y/N bit her lower lip hard, frustration sparking in her gut. No matter what she tried he wouldn’t take the hint, and she was inching ever closer to the cruelty of brutal honesty. There were days where she just wanted to say yes, fine, let’s go! But she knew how uncomfortable she would be saying yes, had been down that road before often enough to tell. Sometimes people just weren’t compatible, and two conversations with this guy had told her that he didn’t have enough pushback to keep her interested.

“Listen, I-”

“”Oo’s this then?”

Y/N looked up at Harry, caught off guard by his sudden interest and the arm he’d thrown about her shoulder. Casual physical contact wasn’t out of the question between them (they were in the same friend group after all) but the warm bicep pressing into the back of her neck was certainly more than usual. She suppressed the urge to lean back into the touch.

“I- This is Mitchel. We have ANT334 together,” she replied.

“Ah, Mitchell. I remember hearin’ ‘bout this one.”

“This one?” She could see Mitchell’s face turning, a sour expression creeping across his features as he repeated what Harry had said.

“Yeah mate, one of ‘er boys. What were yeh sayin’ though?”

Now Mitchell was positively frowning, mostly at Y/N. “I- nevermind, actually.” Though it was just the time for food he turned away, booking off down the hall towards the doors they had all just entered through and away from the student commons. Y/N turned towards Harry, a confused look on her face.

“When did you ever hear me talk about him?”

“Y/L/N, yeh bitch about how he’s not gettin’ the message two t’ three times per hour every time he asks yeh out,” he said, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, but I never thought you actually listened. Looks like I won’t have to worry about him anymore, anyhow,” she said, thinking with some measure of relief of the displeasure on Mitchell’s face.

“And we won’ have t’ listen t’yeh anymore. Everyone wins! Now hurry up ‘n get yer food, I wanna get a spot in th’ shade before Todd sprawls out and declares it all as his.”

Instead of getting annoyed, Y/N picked up a sandwich and some juice and paid in an example of decision making in record time. Harry was right, Todd was an absolute slut for getting out of the sun, and she wasn’t much for the heat that seemed to ramp up as summer folded into early fall. She and Harry both got irritable in the heat, so shade was probably the best idea. Harry seemed pleased to have her agreeing, and they walked out to their friends in a warm and unexpected peace.

Old Quad was beautiful. Lush, bright green grass (and props to the grounds crew for that, because it was pretty well trafficked) boxed in by the big, old founding buildings of their school, all dark stones and gothic arches. The corners left spaces to get in and out but it felt like a universe inside the universe of the school, filled with cool breezes and big trees and the noises of college students taking a breath between classes. The ever present crowd of students fanned out across the lawn for the peak noon lunch hour, but the blindingly pale hand of Ginny waving ecstatically from under her favorite oak tree showed that their friends had grabbed prime seating.

“This way,” Y/N mumbled, grabbing Harry’s hand distractedly as people flowed around them. Their friends liked to call Y/N the gazelle because of her careful feet and how good she was at picking through a crowd- ironic when compared to her inability to walk over flat ground but then there you were. Harry, on the other hand, had enormous feet, both of which were left. Last week he’d fallen on a girl and squashed her sandwich, and the starry eyes she’d given him had inflated his ego to truly unbearable proportions.

“Holding hands? My god, maybe world peace is realistic after all,” Clark laughed as they walked up to the group, Ginny staring with raised brows at their connected hands. Y/N rolled her eyes and plopped onto the blanket laid across the grass, leaving Harry to take his hand back.

“More like keeping him from taking out half the quad. I’m fairly sure the lovely young lady from last week is still thinking of ways to incorporate falling into a pickup line. If he dazzles any more that way, we’ll never have another lunch in peace,” she replied, plastic crinkling as she unwrapped her lunch.

“Not my fault tha’ these eyes make women fall in love, darlin’,” Harry replied smugly. Y/N maintained eye contact with him as she took a large bite of her sandwich, chewing slowly.

“Nope, still wanna strangle you. Who does that work on again?”

Todd sighed happily. “God, Y/N, we need to bottle whatever keeps you from falling over sideways for this twat and vaccinate the rest of the campus with it. You know that guy I’ve been trying to get closer to in physics, the cute tall one? Came up to me and asked for Harry’s number this morning.”

“Well-” Ginny started, but Y/N was faster.

“Oh, not Andre, really? I liked him, too.”

“I’m gonna ignore tha’,” Harry said breezily. “Sorry though mate, ’s shit.”

“Yeah,” Todd shrugged. “I gave it to him though.”

Idly, Y/N wondered what Harry might do. Clark liked to say that Harry played with his food, never settling for long with one partner and keeping them on their toes if he ever took a brief landing, and she didn’t know if she could stand watching him flirt with the guy Todd had been on about for nearly a month now. It seemed like the whole blanket agreed, breath held as they waited for Harry to reply. Y/N could feel Ginny’s eyes on her.

“I’ll put in a good word for yeh then.”

Y/N’s phone buzzed in her pocket, undoubtedly from Ginny based on the elbow sneaking into her side, so she pulled it out to read.

>>babe u just visibly relaxed u have it SO BAD

>i was worried abt todd u absolute psycho

Ginny rolled her eyes, about to reply, when across the way Clark decided to ask “what’s so interesting there ladies?” Her ginger head snapped up, almost hilariously conspicuous that they were discussing someone sitting on the blanket, and which meant assuredly that Y/N would have to save it.

“Your weak dick game, actually.”

Clark squeaked out a highly offended noise as Ginny dissolved into giggles, halfheartedly trying to convince him that that probably wasn’t what they were talking about, and Y/N was so amused by the overplayed outrage that she only barely noticed the boot nudging at her thigh. It was Harry of course, poking at her with a delicately extended foot from where he was already draped in a long line on his side. When she looked over, he beckoned, and since she was feeling generous she scootched over so they could talk.

“There’re free coffees for the next month of Classics with yer name on ‘em,” he said as she leaned down towards him, his breath blowing the ends of her hair like a light breeze. Y/N gave him a doubtful look.

“That so? What’s the catch then?”

“Yer notes. Been readin’ em over your shoulder, ‘n they’re a damn sight more coherent than mine. Jus’ lemme see ‘em to piece together my essay, that’s all I’m askin’.” Y/N’s eyebrows stayed up, but she’d never been one to turn down caffeine and Harry didn’t skimp on good coffee.

“Make it coffee for the whole semester and I’ll keep letting you see them, how about that?”

Harry grinned, a certain amount of relief seeping through, and nodded enthusiastically. From there it was easy to melt into a discussion about outlines, Y/N leaning down towards him to sketch out some tweaks on his main themes, Harry pushing up on an elbow to point at the book in her lap as he suggested the lines he thought would work best. Neither saw it, but across the quad people were staring- here a sigh over Harry’s smile, there someone missing their mouth as Y/N brushed hair out of her face with a careless grace.

“I don’t mean to break up this weird, academic ménage à trois between you two and Plato, but Duncs just texted to plan next Monday Meal,” Todd called from across the blanket.

Monday Meal was a longstanding tradition among the friend group, masterminded and orchestrated by the fourth roommate in the cellblock, Duncan. He was a nutrition sciences major possessed of serious doubts as to his friends ability to care for themselves, and he’d decided about halfway through their first year that if they all died of scurvy he’d feel in some way responsible. So once a week they all got together to eat (“vegetables, Todd, a human can’t subsist on mashed potatoes alone”) and have a beer after the gauntlet of a Monday. It was where both Todd and Hil had come out to everyone, where Ginny and Clark were locked into a closet together so they would get together already, where hookups and Potential Serious Things™ got to be brutally scrutinized for a minimum two hours. It also required everyone to bring something, on a rotational basis after they all realized that Hil would never learn to cook if they didn’t make her bring something besides beer. It had been cancelled for the week (Duncs was out of town for his mother’s engagement party), but next week was on.

“Y/N and I already have a stuffed cabbage planned, so tell him that,” Ginny said, pushing herself up. “But right now, we have some grocery shopping to do. Up you go bubs!”

She grabbed Y/N’s hand, pulling her onto her feet. Y/N quirked a brow, resisting the urge to sigh.

“I’ll see you all later,” she said flatly, nudging a goodbye to Harry with the toe of her boot. He tapped her ankle before Ginny had her off.

“We went grocery shopping yesterday,” Y/N sighed as soon as they were out of earshot. “What’s actually going on?”

“When are you going to accept that you have feelings for Harry?”

Oh, but Y/N didn’t like this. Ginny was serious, dead serious, in a way that her bubbling smile almost never gave way to.

“Ginny, I don’t,” Y/N groaned, rubbing at her temples. Ginny grabbed her shoulders and pushed her into one of the archways.

“Y/N, I love you. You’re one of my best friends, and we tell each other everything, which is why when I say this please know it’s because you’re important to me. You like him, you’re in fucking denial about it, and it’s tearing you up.”

“Wh- I’m fine! I am fine, and I’m not in denial about anything.”

“You fought this morning. The two of you.”

This stopped Y/N, and she frowned slightly, tilting her head to stare at Ginny.

“How the fuck did you know that?”

“He’s always nicer to you and you’re always more careful talking to him. Because you think it’s something you do to make him mad and you want to change it. Because you like him.”

Y/N let her head drop. Sighed. Rubbed her face.

“So what if I do Ginny?” she finally replied, voice noticeably weary to her own ears. “It doesn’t-- it doesn’t matter, even a little bit. He’s him and I’m me and we don’t get on and no amount of feeling whatever I feel or parsing out why is going to change it.”

This time it was Ginny’s turn to frown, and she reached forward to put her hands on Y/N’s shoulders, pull her closer with a soft little hum into a hug.

“Oh, peaches. I know you hate to hear me say it-- and maybe that’s you protecting yourself, you are basically a pill bug-- but I don’t think he’s mean because he doesn’t like you. I think you make him nervous honeybun, you know how strong you are. It scares guys, especially ones like Harry, especially with what he was like when we met.”

Y/N rubbed her face into Ginny’s shoulder, mushing her lips together instead of replying. The soft slide that her cherry chapstick produced was enough to ground her, let her whisper a soft “maybe.”

“What did you even fight about peaches? It can’t have been much, usually it takes you two longer.”

Y/N had to breathe unhappily through her nose at the “usually”, no matter how fair it might be. She took a moment before responding.

“I don’t really know Gin. I was talking to the Professor, made a joke or somethin’, and as soon as Harry was in he was on my case.”

Ginny nodded, face thoughtful, then said, “Is this the classics prof, the one that half the campus wants on?”

Y/N had to roll her eyes at that.

“Yes, Professor Morrow is the one everyone else is drooling after. What does that have to do with anything, you creep?”

“Harry was probably jealous, peaches. You know he’s good at makin’ you laugh, bet he likes to be the only one.”

#harry styles imagine #harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #himagine #text #a heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeere she is!

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