#and both Lees and Longs have magical family members?? like?? i get tired just thinking about it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

moonbeamsung · 4 years ago

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Winter Nights & City Lights

Because nothing says ‘Christmas’ like spending the big day (and not to mention the whole holiday season) in the Big Apple living with your high school friend-turned-roommate, Mark Lee.

member: mark (featuring johnny)

au: roommate!mark x gn!reader, college roommate au, christmas au, ‘the gift of the magi’ au/inspired

word count: 9.5k

genre: fluff, angst, slice of life

warnings: profanity, underage drinking, hangovers, insecurities, mentions of food and drink, money issues, embarrassing moments

author’s note: This fic is close to becoming my favorite that I’ve ever written. It’s also almost twice as long as I planned, not to mention that tumblr crashed right as I tried to post it so here I am, two hours later. Overall I had a blast writing it and I hope you enjoy reading it! Please let me know what you think, too! :,) Happy holidays! <3

taglist: @astroboy-lele @kisshim @radiorenjun

network tags: @kpopscape @neo-constellations @starryktown @culture-cafe @dreamlab-nct

“That parade was so cool! I mean, did you see the size of all those balloons? They were huge! I’ve never seen so many people all in one place before,” Mark chatters away like an excited child as you navigate through the crowd that always seems to grow bigger year after year, gathered along the curbs of the New York streets to watch the famed Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade.

“How are you not more excited about this?” He questions, and you stifle an amused giggle. “I’ve lived in the city for over a year, Mark. I’ve seen a thing or two.”

“Oh, right. I knew that.” The cold air only accentuates the blush on his face as he remembers that particular detail about you. It isn’t often that it’s demonstrated, however, considering you spend so much time cooped up inside of your shared apartment cramming in university work and studying. There are hardly any opportunities during the year to take in the sights of the concrete jungle you live in the very heart of, but luckily, one of your long-awaited breaks is coming up soon.

Thoughts of Christmas vacation are the only things keeping you going, along with countless cups of steaming hot coffee, as you prepare for exams in just a few weeks, weeks that seem to go by in a flurry of snow.

There’s less than three days left until your first one, but you’re nothing short of drained after pulling so many all-nighters, and you need a break. A breath of fresh air seems like just the cure for your burnout, so you slam your textbook shut and lethargically drag yourself off of the soft comforter you’ve been sitting on for the past two hours. You grimace at the deep imprint left behind.

Trudging through the living area, you knock softly on Mark’s bedroom door. A tired “Come in” sounds from the other side, and you push it open, immediately noticing his disheveled state. Eyes heavy with fatigue and lacking their usual sparkle of youthful innocence, he blinks back at you, “What’s up?”

“You look like you need a break just as much as I do,” you insist. His already-open mouth widens a bit more, “But... our first exam is on Monday, we can’t just—”

“Mark, come on, you’re one of the smartest people in our class. If anyone’s going to pass, it’s you.”

He huffs, “Maybe you have a point.”

“I do have a point, and you know it. A little walk in the park never hurt anyone, right?”

Mark rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, fingers raking through his dark locks before he musters up enough strength to push himself off of his bed and into a standing position.

“I’ll get my jacket.”

Central Park is a sight to behold on its own all year round, but something about the Christmas season makes it even more magical. You and Mark step at the same pace, your paths lined by metal benches blanketed in fresh snow. Even through the many layers of warmth you’re both wearing, the chilly air still nips at your skin. It’s Mark’s first time experiencing the holidays in New York City, and you’re determined to show him everything this real-life winter wonderland has to offer.

The story of how you two came to be roommates in the first place is an extremely lucky one. You met in high school, and had been part of the same group of friends along with six younger boys. Both Canadian, you’d been hoping to get into the same New York college since what felt like forever. The day that you received your acceptance letters in the mail was full of joy and celebration, but not even a week later, Mark got an unexpected scholarship to a local but prestigious university not far from where you lived that he simply couldn’t pass up.

Parting ways after graduation, you had thought you might never see each other again until you got a call from him. It was the day after your last exam of the spring semester in college and you were sitting on your two-person couch, feeling rather lonely. The number seemed too familiar, too good to be true, and scrambling to pick up the phone as it blared throughout your fairly small apartment, you answered with a shaky voice. Mark’s recognizable tone met your ears, and a wide smile met your face. Though he couldn’t see it, he could hear the happiness in your words.

As it turned out, his college had given him the opportunity to transfer to yours for the remainder of his four years, as their programs were closely linked and on similar levels. Graciously, he had accepted, and wanted you to be the first to know.

“So, uh... are you living with anyone?”

The question he dreaded asking more than anything else. Call him cliché, but he had the biggest crush on you in high school, much to his dismay and to the rest of his friends’ excitement. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to like you, but he feared that college could tear a potential relationship apart, regardless of whether or not you went to the same one.

As a result of this, he had never acted on his emotions. But he’s older now, and wiser, which leads him to believe that maybe it wouldn’t be so hard to maintain one, should he ever gain enough courage to ask you out.

“No, actually, I have my own apartment.”

Silence.

“...Are you looking for somewhere to stay?”

“Yes! Yes,” he replied a little too quickly, eager to accept what would hopefully be an invitation from you. He wasn’t disappointed.

“Well, my place isn’t the biggest, but you can live with me if you want to. Plus, we could split the rent between us!”

You’ve always liked Mark. He’s hardworking, kind, and humble, maybe a little too much of all these things for his own good. Even back in high school, you spent endless nights and very early mornings on the phone with him, trying to convince him to go to bed after he refused to stop studying. To reassure him that he did the right thing by ending that friendship, or to insist that he tell the teacher no one worked on the group project, so he did everything himself. You’ve been his shoulder to cry on for years, you’ve seen a side of him that he’s never been brave enough to show anyone else because they expect so much of him.

Mark knows he’s blessed to have had a picture-perfect childhood, a good family, and an education that was rigorous yet rewarding enough to prepare him for his next chapter in life. The pressures that came with being so lucky just got to him sometimes, and they made four years of high school seem more like fourteen.

You, on the other hand, didn’t quite have all the same luxuries that he did, but you still managed. He’s been there for you plenty of times, too. In your opinion, though, he’s the much more vulnerable one of the two of you, mainly to his cumbersome insecurities and shortcomings, however rare those shortcomings may be.

So in your mind, Mark Lee deserves the entire world and then some. The least you can do is share your apartment with him, either until he finds what you’re sure would be a much more desirable place to live, or if he wants to stay with you indefinitely.

What you don’t realize, and will eventually struggle to admit to yourself, is that your admiration for his perseverance and endless generosity is teetering rather precariously on the edge of blossoming into something more than just platonic.

“Sounds good, then. Thanks so much!” He had exclaimed, the sound of his pure excitement and gratefulness bringing a wave of heat to your face, and you were glad he wasn’t there in front of you to see it.

You talked a little bit more for the next few minutes, catching up and enjoying a lighthearted conversation about what you had both been up to. These sessions on the phone began to occur more and more frequently, turning into weekly, and soon daily, affairs. Mark planned to move in a couple weeks before school started again, giving himself some time to settle in and adapt to urban life in general. The calls became a highlight of your summer vacation, and every day without fail, you found yourself waiting to hear the unique ringtone you had set his contact to.

Less than twelve hours before Mark was scheduled to arrive at New York’s largest airport, you were on the phone with him just like always. The clock in your apartment chimed eleven o’clock, and as reluctant as you were to hang up, you knew you should turn in for the night. After all, the sooner you went to sleep, the sooner the morning would come. The morning you would meet him at the airport.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow?” His voice was hopeful. Slightly unsteady, but hopeful all the same.

“I guess so. What time does your plane land, again?” You confirmed the time you had scribbled down onto a neon yellow sticky note a few days earlier as he repeated the short string of numbers, nodding to no one in particular. Why did you feel so nervous? It’s just Mark, you had told yourself.

“Have a safe flight!”

He bade you goodnight in return, accidentally throwing in a “sweet dreams” before he could stop himself. When you put your phones down, you were both too busy trying to calm your racing pulses, however, so it didn’t matter. Mark collapsed onto his bed, hand bumping his duffel bag and heaving a sigh. You sank down into the couch cushion, closing your eyes and leaning your head against the back of the furniture. Neither of you could find the strength to stand in those moments, scared that your legs would give in from the unsteadiness of your nerves, your hearts, your emotions.

A singular worry occupied both of your minds from that point on until you greeted him in the JFK airport terminal the next morning, shy smiles on your faces: is it dangerous to enter into the impending situation of living together? Are you really ready to be in such constant close proximity to the object of your affections, however oblivious you might be to them?

Before his brain could talk his heart out of it, Mark had wrapped you in a tight hug, extra thankful for the welcome since you were all he had here, in the city. You wouldn’t have missed his arrival for the world, and you told him so. You also wouldn’t have missed the chance to make him flush a deep but adorable shade of red, reaching from his rounded cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears.

In your long-term rental car, you drove him back to your apartment, enjoying the quiet sounds of surprise and amazement that spilled from his lips, generated by the city’s sights. As you passed underneath towering skyscrapers, navigated bustling avenues, and caught glimpses of world-renowned landmarks that you both had seen only in the movies when you were younger, you just knew Mark’s eyes held their signature sparkle, despite your inability to see the dark brown orbs glimmer with wonder. You kept yours on the road ahead.

His first day was spent unpacking his suitcases and bags full of possessions, one of which was his most prized: an acoustic guitar.

It had been a gift from his parents when he finished the eighth grade, and all throughout high school, he had turned to music as an escape whenever he needed it. As any new musician does, Mark had played around with chords, experimenting and seeing what sounded good, and before you knew it he had composed a song. Another one followed, then another, and by the end of his freshman year he had written enough to fill an entire album if he so wished.

The guitar had heard every note, every lyric, carried every melody from his heart into the world. It had grown to be a part of him, a worldly sliver of his soul in the form of a simple musical instrument that could convey every hope and every dream, every concern or every frustration. Every love confession. Though that wasn’t saying much, since he only had eyes for you. You didn’t know it, but one of those songs was about you. For you.

You and Mark’s circle of friends tried to set you two up one day in the school’s band room after hours, with the excuse that the second-youngest of the group, Chenle, had forgotten his piano sheet music in there. They sent you to retrieve it, which you only agreed to do after being persuaded by the boy’s intimidating but still lovable pout.

With no sheet music in sight, your eyes landed instead on a diligent Mark that appeared to be the only sign of life in the room, plucking away at the strings as the sun set outside. You had sat with him for a while, neglecting your task and listening to him strum gracefully, softly murmuring lyrics that sounded like your name at one point. You didn’t think much of it, though, not making the connection behind the rest of the words coming out of his mouth and accompanying the chords. His love song was left unacknowledged by the subject of it themselves, and that was both the first and last time he ever attempted to confess to you.

He wondered if now that you were sharing an apartment, he would let something slip by accident. What would he do then?

University had other plans, though, and his fears were temporarily relieved. So fortunately and unfortunately, you were so occupied with schoolwork that trying to balance dating, or even mere thoughts of doing so, with all of your other responsibilities would have been exhausting, not to mention impossible.

Snapping out of your memory-induced daze, you realize that you nearly wandered off the path into a deep snowbank, only aware of this fact because Mark catches you by the wrist and pulls you back toward him to walk at his side. His fingers stay curled around your forearm as you approach a famous bridge, stepping to the side and gazing down at the icy waters below, calm and rippling with the chilly breeze.

“What do you want for Christmas?”

You honestly haven’t thought about it yet, so you can’t give Mark a definite answer. The same goes for him, both of you leaning against the brick railing in a comfortable silence.

In Mark’s mind though, he knows what he wants to give you: something to complement your own equivalent of his guitar, a large collection of handwritten letters and notes from your childhood and school days. Sentimental by nature, you had saved every colorful post-it note one of your friends would slip through the narrow slats of your locker, every birthday card received over the years, every thoughtful postcard from someone’s vacation.

Your favorites are undoubtedly the always-awkward Christmas cards that your friends’ families consistently mail out each December, by far the most humorous parts of your growing collection. You always found yourself chuckling at the pictures displayed on the front. Eyes bright with mirth, you would observe their forced smiles and arms slung carelessly over siblings’ shoulders, their eyes flickering between the camera and something going on behind it, probably the family pet getting into trouble across the yard. You pitied the photographers, surely beyond frustrated as they would try to get everyone to stand still for more than five measly seconds. Mouths were clamped shut and for a brief moment, the air was void of complaints of how itchy someone’s sweater was.

Then the camera would snap, capturing an image that was simply “good enough.” They’d plaster it on the card and in a few days, it would magically appear in the mailboxes of relatives and close friends. Grandparents would overlook the uncomfortable expressions and focus instead on how fast the kids were growing up. You didn’t blame them. Even in four years’ worth of cards, so much could change. In between fits of laughter, you’d stare in awe at the way your friends grew into their features, only becoming more handsome with time and some growing so tall that they even towered over their fathers. You always kept the letters they included, too, detailing the highlights of the year that was soon to come to an end by the time they dropped it into a nearby mailbox.

And like he could read your mind, Mark makes an offhand comment right then and there. “My folks texted me the other day to ask for our address. You know, for the Christmas card.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” he laughs. “Shame I couldn’t be there for the family photos this year.”

“Is it really a shame, though?” You prod, tilting your head a bit at the boy. “You always told me you couldn’t stand waiting around for the so-called ‘right lighting’ and all that.”

“Well, I couldn’t, but now that I’m not there I wish I could go back to those days. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know?”

“Right,” you sigh, thinking about how the same saying could easily apply to the way you felt about Mark all throughout your first year of university.

You have a box, made of a dark mahogany wood and lined with elegant golden trim, where you keep all of these letters, these handwritten memories and souvenirs from some of the happiest moments in your life. A gift from a past Christmas, your family had your initials engraved onto the front in a loopy cursive font, making it truly unique and utterly irreplaceable. And, you’ll soon come to realize, valuable.

Mark remembers it well, remembers the many times you’ve shown him its contents, remembers how his eyes sometimes land on the delicate container resting beneath the windowsill in your room, sunlight catching the accents. He knows how much those letters mean to you, and he also knows how much you love returning the favor.

That’s why he wants to give you the tools you need to do just that, and to do it well.

You’ve always been one for writing thank-you notes for any and every gift you receive, your parents having ingrained the habit in you since you were very young. Slowly, crayons turned into pencils and lead became ink. To this day you remain unfazed by the increasing amount of yellowing papers residing in the letter box, but the words imprinted on them never quite fade, strong enough to withstand the test of time.

Too many times in high school Mark would find you, hunched over your dining room table in frustration with a stack of letters beside your arm that you deemed “failed” because your handwriting was bad, or something of the sort. Usually it was the other way around, him being the one in need of comfort, but on those days your roles were reversed.

He had always wondered why you didn’t have fancier supplies that were more suited to your task, but he supposes now that maybe it simply wasn’t an option for you and your family. So a stationery set seems like the perfect gift for you this year.

On a similar note, you’ve already decided what you’re getting him: a guitar case. You happened upon a sleek leather one while browsing the website of a popular music store, coincidentally with a location not too far from your apartment.

Now it’s no longer a question of what to get the other, but how. As university students living on your own, money is scarce. Unknowingly, you both contemplate this concern as you walk side by side, returning to the start of the path that you set out on at least a half hour ago.

This stroll of yours was supposed to clear your minds, but why are they racing even more than before?

There’s no time to worry now, though, and for the next week, your thoughts are forced to shift back to the topic of school and midterms and all your academic endeavors.

Your exam week is over before you know it, and the two of you return to your apartment after the last one only to collapse onto your respective beds, beyond exhausted.

The dreary Friday afternoon clearly calls for a nap, but unbeknownst to you, Mark decides to seize the opportunity that has so conveniently presented itself to him: a chance for him to go out and buy your gift without suspicion. He drops his backpack on the carpet next to his dresser and sighs, wondering if what he’s about to do will be worth it. But it’s you, of course it’ll be worth it.

Thus, his next move is done with a heavy heart. He’s been forced by a lack of funds to come to a decision about your gift, and a difficult one at that. The only thing he can think of doing to even come close to affording a nice stationery set is to sell some things in exchange for cash. Namely, the most valuable item he owns: his beloved guitar. He doesn’t really want to, but deep down he knows that a true friendship warrants the occasional sacrifice. He’s done some research on a nearby pawn shop, and however sketchy those kinds of places may seem, it’s his only feasible option at the moment, with just a week left until Christmas Day.

After making sure you’re fast asleep, he not-so-stealthily slips out of your shared flat, his actions far from silent but even so, you don’t wake up. Mark winces at the unintended high volume of pulling the front door shut behind him, sticking his hand into his jeans pocket and relaxing when he feels his keys at the bottom of the fabric compartment. Guitar strung over his shoulder by the flimsy, fraying strap, he sets off.

With his phone in hand and directions to the pawn shop displayed on the screen, he strides through the lobby of the apartment building and pushes the revolving door, stepping onto the busy sidewalk and into the cold winter air. Shoppers crowd the pavement with hands full of department store tote bags, crinkling loudly as they pass by one another. Shoulders knock together and heels click against the concrete, just some of the many sounds of the city that Mark is still growing used to hearing.

A few blocks and several wrong turns later, he finds himself on a quieter street, standing in front of the shop. It’s dimly lit inside and looks almost abandoned, the letters painted on the window chipped and faded from the wear and weather of past years. A soft bell rings when he lets himself in, searching for some sort of employee.

From behind a cluttered shelf a tall man emerges, the shabby name tag pinned to his vest reading “Johnny.” Well, he’s not some shifty-eyed, balding man wearing a muscle shirt stained with grease. New York continues to be full of surprises.

His dark hair looks neat, the jacket he’s wearing free of any wrinkles and face young but chiseled, high cheekbones prominent.

“How can I help you today?” Johnny booms, stepping behind the counter and absentmindedly sifting through some loose change in bottom of the cash register.

Mark gulps, “I’d like to sell something.” Still not entirely sure he wants to do this, he instinctively tugs on the strap resting atop the fabric of his wool jacket.

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” Johnny assures with a small laugh. “What did you have in mind?”

Taking a deep breath, Mark slides the guitar off his shoulder and holds it near his chest for a moment, before extending his arms out towards the counter.

“A guitar, huh? We don’t see many of these,” the tall man comments. “Are you sure? It seems pretty valuable to you in more ways than one.”

Mark’s fingertips trace the strings for the last time and he decides to just get it over with, before he can change his mind. His hands are shaky as he gently places the instrument down on the counter in front of Johnny, taking a step back once he’s done so. “I don’t have much of a choice. I need the money to buy a gift for my… uh, my friend.”

Johnny raises an eyebrow, “Just a friend? Or a special someone?”

“They are special,” Mark confirms, noncommittal to either title that Johnny suggested.

“They must be if you’re willing to give up something like this for them. Okay, that’ll be…”

Johnny tells him what the guitar is worth, matching the amount with a stack of cash and a few old coins, rusty but still holding their value.

Despite the pain of letting something so meaningful go, a bit of joy creeps into Mark’s heart as he realizes that now he can give you a gift that will hopefully become just as meaningful to you as his guitar was to him.

He thanks Johnny and bids him goodbye, step lighter than when he entered, much to his surprise.

It’s the next day when you and Mark find yourselves getting into the Christmas spirit for the first time this season. After he had returned yesterday, you were still out cold on your bed, so he chose to follow your example and do the same. The both of you had slept the rest of the day and almost the entirety of the following morning away, waking up just before noon.

With a sudden burst of energy you spring up from the sheets, overtaken by your excitement for the nearing holiday as you dig out the artificial Christmas tree you had bought last year from your closet. Sure, it may seem lazy of you, but let’s face it: there was no easy way to find a real one in New York City, let alone lug it down the streets, through an elevator and down a narrow hallway to a door it wouldn’t even fit through.

Mark hears the loud rustling of various decorations as he begins to stir, leisurely getting out of bed and checking one of his dresser drawers to make sure he hadn’t merely dreamed up his shopping adventure of the previous evening. There the stationery set sits, tucked safely at the back of the wooden cabinet.

The bookstore he stopped at on his way back last night had many different options to choose from, so he made sure to get one that both matched your box of letters and reminded him of you, with its color scheme and style. A surge of pride brings a smile to his features, pleased with his choice, and he pushes the drawer shut before joining you in the living area.

Your knees brush as he sits down next to you to help unpack the large but manageable box, taking out the tiers of the tree to eventually stack on top of one another. Working more quickly than usual (and probably necessary, there are six days left after all), you assign Mark to stringing the lights across your small balcony while you finish setting up the tree. You knew you shouldn’t have let him do it alone, though, because when you look over at his progress you find more lights wrapped around his body than the metal railing.

“Do you need a hand?” You question, holding back a laugh at the way the cord restricts his arm movements to the point where he can’t even reach for the handle on the sliding door.

From outside he opens his mouth to reply, but pauses, looking down at himself and the mess he’s made of the lights before meeting your eyes once more. His voice is muffled by the glass, but you hear him shout playfully, “I’m the tree now! We don’t need that one.” He tries to gesture to the one you’re currently decorating, but fails, and this time you aren’t able to contain your amusement.

“Let me help you,” you offer, joining him on the balcony and helping him untangle himself from the glowing strands. “Thanks,” Mark replies, sheepishly rubbing at the back of his neck. With your combined efforts, you manage to thread the string of lights through the railing with little to no mishaps, and both of you continue decking out the apartment with other seasonal items for the next several hours.

At some point during the afternoon one of you decided to connect their phone to a speaker and play some music, all Christmas songs of course. As the classic version of “Jingle Bell Rock” begins to blare throughout the living room, Mark abandons his task momentarily to walk over to you. He extends a hand down to you, sitting on the floor, and you accept the invitation to stand up with a questioning look.

“Dance with me?”

It’s hardly a platonic request, Mark realizes once the words leave his lips, but even so you don’t shy away, glancing down at your feet with a slight trace of bashfulness in the action.

He intertwines your fingers somewhat loosely, placing his non-dominant hand on your waist and beginning to sway, slowly at first but then his movements become more exaggerated, shoulders tilting dramatically to one side after the other and straying from the rhythm of the music. You join Mark in drawing out the jesting movements, losing yourself in laughter and leaning forward to bury your face in his shoulder, the heat of your breath hitting his skin through the thin t-shirt he’s wearing. In one last attempt to keep the joyful smile on your face, he steps back a bit and holds your wrist above your head to twirl you in a circle.

The electric guitar in the song fades as you collapse onto the carpet, recovering from your fit of giggles. The sun has begun to sink in the sky, you can tell by the gold and orange glow that your apartment becomes bathed in as it sets, inching closer to the horizon and eventually becoming hidden by tall skyscrapers in the distance.

Satisfied with your progress so far, you both decide to call it a day, though in truth there aren’t many decorations left to put out. A few stray ornaments and some garlands remain, still packed up in boxes that you would need help reaching. You’re also eager to get your mind off of the way your heart was palpitating as you danced with Mark, your roommate and friend but nothing more, nothing less. You have enough to worry about at the moment, not wanting to add potential feelings for the boy into the mix. Shit, you think, you still need to buy his gift.

“What should we watch?” Mark asks, scrolling through the list of movie choices on the TV screen.

“I don’t really care, anything’s fine.”

His finger presses a button on the remote to select a film at random, the intro playing as you scan the refrigerator shelves for a frozen meal. Hopefully it’s not one of those cheesy holiday romances.

Settling down on the couch a few minutes later, you with the warmed-up container in your lap and Mark holding a cup of ramen noodles, both of you fall into a comfortable chatter about the movie. Thank god it’s a comedy.

Occasionally you find yourself diverting your attention from the harsh display and directing it over to the panes of floor-to-ceiling windows, where you watch more and more lights flicker on in the distance, illuminating the urban landscape as night falls. The view is breathtaking, but so is the way your face softly glows with their warmth, even from blocks away. Not that Mark would ever tell you that, of course.

“I’m going out!” Mark hears shuffling from outside his bedroom the next morning, your voice instantly bringing him to his senses. Curious, he shoots out of bed and flings the door open to find you, one arm stuck through the sleeve of your coat and the other buried in a bag, but it’s not the one you usually bring when you leave the flat. Eyes wide and panicked at the boy’s unexpected appearance, you clutch it to your chest with a visible amount of difficulty, Mark notices.

“Where are you off to?” He squints at the brightness of the living room, the early morning light pouring in through the glass on the far wall.

“...Maybe I can’t tell you,” you respond with a huff, slinging the heavy bag over your shoulder and pulling the rest of your coat on.

“What do you mean, you can’t—oh.”

“Nice going, genius,” you shake your head, feigning disappointment. “It’s not like it’s Christmas this week or anything.”

“My bad, sorry.” Mark winces and rakes a hand through his bedhead, abashed.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?”

With that, you step into the hallway and offer a parting smile over your shoulder, shutting the front door behind you.

At least your being out of the apartment gives Mark time to wrap your gift. All he has to do is figure out how.

Johnny gets a familiar feeling when he sees you enter the pawn shop, fumbling with your things and reluctantly gazing at whatever’s in the tote you’re holding. Are you also about to make an exchange you could potentially regret?

“One second,” you excuse yourself as you step up to the counter, placing the heavy bag down and removing the large item from inside: your letter box, minus its contents. Of course you would never get rid of those, but despite the letters and notes being so special to you, the box they were always kept in is also a significant part of your attachment and the memories you hold dear.

With a thud you set it down, Johnny glancing between the hesitation on your face and the wooden container on the counter in front of him. “Let me guess, you want to exchange this for cash?”

“Yes, sir, that’s exactly what I—” You pause, biting your tongue. “Hold on… Look, I know this is a pawn shop and that’s what people do here, but how are you so sure?”

Johnny’s gut tells him he shouldn’t give away the fact that a boy wearing the very same expression and with the same sense of purpose and determination was in here just two days earlier. So he corrects his mistake with a simple “Lucky guess” and a hearty chuckle.

Without Johnny even asking, you tell him that you’re also looking for some extra cash in order to afford a gift for your “friend,” and you say the word with so much conviction and certainty that it’s almost laughable. The information given to Johnny helps him fully connect the dots in his mind, realizing that each of you are the one the other talked about.

Before handing you the money, Johnny tears off a sheet of paper from a nearby notepad and asks you to fill out your information, most importantly your address. He has to lie a bit, saying it’s for contact purposes, but his heart is in the right place nonetheless. Just in case something goes south (and the sinking feeling in his stomach tells him that it will somehow), doing so gives him an option, even if he doesn’t know what that option might be yet.

“Thank you, Johnny, and Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas!” He returns your wish cheerfully as you push the door open to leave.

“Good luck finding a gift for your ‘friend,’ too.”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks when you see his teasing use of air quotes, but still smile.

On your way back to the apartment Mark texts you and asks you to check the mail, saying he forgot to do so yesterday. When you arrive in the lobby and make your way over to the cluster of mailboxes, you’re instantly shocked to find a large cardboard box shoved into the small cubby with your and Mark’s name on it. You’re already struggling to carry the guitar case you bought for him, so you decide to make a second trip later.

A few moments after stepping out of the elevator, you knock on the door to your apartment, hoping with all your might that Mark won’t actually open it and instead just answer with a “Come in” as he always does. Your wish is, thankfully, granted, but it’s quickly followed by “Wait, wait, wait!” As it happens, he just finished wrapping your gift and needs another minute or two to tuck it away somewhere until the big day arrives. “Can you stay out there until I say?”

“Sure,” you reply, “but I’m going to have to ask you to do the same.”

“How about I stay in my room while you come in and do… whatever you need to?”

“Sounds good.”

With his door closed, Mark hears the front one open and shut as you enter. Trying not to make any noise that would give away the size of the item you just bought, you finally settle for hiding the leather case underneath your bed, concealed by the drapery attached to its frame that hovers just above the floor.

Mark had hastily placed the now-wrapped (though not elegantly so) stationery set back into his dresser, so he’s already out of his room by the time you leave yours. “Any letters or packages?” He questions when he sees you.

“Oh, right!” You snap your fingers, “We do have a package but my hands were full, so I’ll bring it up right now.”

“Eggnog?”

While the box had looked fairly ordinary from the outside, upon opening it and glancing at the return address you learned it was actually anything but that. Mark’s and your parents had sent a holiday care package of sorts, including both of your families’ Christmas cards and a carton of eggnog, along with some small gifts that are meant to be saved for the morning of the 25th. Also mixed in are a few small decorations (not that you need more), some baking supplies complete with a copy of the recipe for the cookies you make every year, and a soft pair of mittens for each of you. He hopes you don’t realize that one of the items is a sprig of mistletoe.

“You don’t like eggnog?” You ask, stunned. Mark shrugs, “I don’t really care for milk but it’s the thought that counts, I guess.”

That evening you and Mark take another stroll, this time choosing to stay on the streets and admire the festively adorned buildings and shops as you pass by them. Admiring Christmas lights at this time of year is nothing new to you and Mark. In fact, when you lived in Canada you would do the same thing. The only difference is that back then, it involved driving through quiet suburban neighborhoods and not ambling through crowded city streets and alleyways on foot.

Snowflakes begin to cascade from the heavens as you make your way back around to the block where you live. Mark sticks his tongue out to catch one of the small crystals, and it immediately melts in his mouth, eliciting a high-pitched laugh from the boy. Snow is also something you both are more than used to by now, having grown up with white Christmases all your lives. It makes you wonder if the holiday season would be the same without it.

“You know what we should do?” Mark turns to you just as you’re about to enter the apartment building again. “Go ice skating at Rockefeller Center.”

“Mark, c’mon, you know stuff like that is overpriced. And besides, I can’t skate to save my life. Remember—”

“That time in sophomore year? You bet I do,” he laughs as he remembers how you clumsily fell not even two seconds after stepping onto the ice with your skates, and then refused to let go of the railing for the rest of the day. The elevator whirs to life, climbing floor after floor with ease.

“Hey,” you offer, “we can still go and watch people skate, I’m sure there’s some place to sit.”

“And we can look at the Christmas tree, too,” Mark adds, eyes brightening at the idea.

“Right. I forget you haven’t seen it in person before.” The cabin doors open with a ding and you step out, your eyes landing on the door to your apartment a few yards away.

When you turn on the TV, Mark becomes mesmerized by the movie that’s playing, since it takes place in NYC and he recognizes so many places from actually being there. He scrambles to remove his jacket and beanie, plopping down onto the couch once they’re safely hooked on the coat rack.

Watching him, you sigh. Would anything really change if you were dating? Assuming your feelings were returned, of course, but you can’t imagine that your relationship would differ much. You certainly wouldn’t go on extravagant dates, or buy expensive gifts for each other, but that’s not what love is about, anyway. With the exception of a few extra hugs and the addition of kisses, along with more forms of physical affection in general (actually, scratch that, Mark’s always been awkward with those kinds of things), you’d still be by each other’s side just like always.

As you sit down next to him and feel an arm wrap around your shoulder, you don’t shrug it off, instead embracing the warm and fuzzy feeling in your heart that you can’t blame on the holiday season this time.

Mark’s glad, too. He’s been working up the courage to do that all day.

Late that night, you quietly tiptoe into the living area, retrieving an old box from your move-in last year that will fit his gift perfectly, and won’t give away what’s inside. Your hands fold and tape the wrapping paper with care, tying a neat ribbon once you’re done. Sure, you had to give up something that meant a lot to you in order to afford Mark’s present, but the gains outweigh the losses. You find comfort in imagining the way his face will surely light up with pure joy on Christmas morning, drifting off to sleep with ease once you’ve hidden the rectangular parcel back underneath your bed.

A few days pass and soon it’s the 23rd, and you join Mark at the railing of the ice rink, of course on the side with solid ground. “Ice is solid ground,” Mark had corrected, but you stood firm in your words. “More like slippery ground, if you ask me.”

Luckily you had been allowed to stand here for free, because god only knows what small, simple thing someone would be charged for in New York. It’s happened to you before, and you’re not even a tourist.

Mark’s dark eyes gaze up at the 75-foot-tall tree in wonder, pupils dilating and reflecting the tens of thousands of bright lights strung through the dark green branches. They seem to sparkle with sheer amazement. Just then someone skates a little too close to the section of railing you’re leaning on, startling Mark out of his LED-induced daze and putting the most adorable look of surprise on his face.

His focus shifts to the people on the ice, wearing sweaters and jackets of every color imaginable, and the sight is still as beautiful as the looming Christmas tree above. He notices some couples, holding onto one another or skating hand-in-hand, and it makes him wonder if that could be you two someday, at a future Christmas, or if it’s an idea absurd enough for an alternate reality.

Mark sees you shiver out of the corner of his eye, and it’s his cue to suggest returning home for the evening. In a very cliché and boyfriend-esque gesture he offers you his jacket, but you decline, insisting that it’s not far and assuring him that you’ll be okay.

Back in your heated flat, you twist open the lid of the eggnog carton and pour a small glass for yourself. “Are you sure you don’t want some?” You call out to Mark from the kitchen, snatching one of the cookies you made the other day and finding a paper plate for the thin shortbread wafer, lined with elegant white icing and dusted with sprinkles.

“I already told you, I don’t like eggnog!”

“Have you even tried it before?” Mark grumbles at your nagging. You really sound like his mom right now.

“No…”

You appear at the other end of the couch, holding out a small cup with just a sip or two of eggnog in it. “Try it. You never know.”

He knows you won’t leave until you see him lift it to his lips for yourself, so he does. Immediately the sweet drink overwhelms his taste buds, and also leaves a slight sting on his tongue.

“What’s in this stuff?” He coughs, nose scrunching a bit from the strong taste. Surprisingly, though, he doesn’t hate it. Following you back to the kitchen, Mark pours a full glass this time, already gulping it down.

“Uh,” you scan the ingredients on the back of the carton once he sets it down on the counter, “milk, cream, sugar, eggs…”

“...whiskey? What the hell?”

“It has alcohol,” Mark slurs, his giggling interrupted by a hiccup. Having never drank before, he’s undeniably a lightweight, and even a little bit can get him wasted almost instantly.

“Mom and Dad must have mixed something up, because they definitely didn’t mean to send us alcoholic eggnog.”

Sure enough, back home in Canada your parents are wondering why they only have the kid-friendly stuff in their fridge.

Mark latches on to you, arm curling lazily around your waist. Great, he’s one of those people that gets clingy when they’re drunk. “Try some,” he whines, nuzzling into your shoulder a little.

“Are you crazy?”

“No one will know,” he laughs, hiccuping again. Giving in to his adorably drunken pout, you take one sip from your original glass but no more, an unpleasant buzz taking over your whole mouth.

Not looking forward to finding a hangover cure on Christmas Eve of all days, you pray that you’ll stay sober enough to take care of the tipsy boy, who’s currently pressing his face into the back of your neck and—shit, did he just kiss you there? You really don’t need this right now.

“Mark, you’re drunk, okay? Stop it,” you caution.

“But I love you,” he murmurs, warm breath fanning your skin, and you want to kick yourself for almost saying it back. Does he even mean it, though? Alcohol makes people say crazy things, things they don’t mean, so you shouldn’t get your hopes up. You unhook his arm from your torso and turn around to push against his chest, frustrated. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He seems to have just remembered something, because he ignores you and instead goes over to where the care package was still sitting, digging into the bottom and pulling out something you hadn’t noticed before. “Look,” Mark declares in a nasal voice, “mistletoe.”

You exasperatedly hang your head, desperate to slam it into the nearest wall. With much difficulty, you eventually manage to get him tucked underneath the blanket, leaving a glass of water on his nightstand for when he wakes up. “Get some sleep,” you say simply.

He tells you goodnight with a fond mumble of your name as you shut the bedroom door behind you. Rubbing your eyes, you yawn before turning off the lights and heading to bed yourself, trying to block out the events that had just taken place.

Your head aches when you wake up the next morning, and you feel like garbage, so you can only imagine how much worse Mark must be doing. Quickly chugging a water bottle, you reluctantly go to knock on his door, hearing a pained groan once you enter. He’s sitting up, chin resting in one hand and the other anchored onto the heavy comforter covering his legs.

“How are you feeling?” The obvious question with an even more obvious answer makes Mark wince. “Awful.”

“Sorry.” It’s silent for a moment, Mark pressing three fingers to his throbbing forehead and you staring aimlessly at the wall. “I knew that eggnog was a bad idea.”

“You were the one that told me to try it!”

“I didn't know it had alcohol in it!”

You sigh, dejected. Something tells Mark that your head isn’t the only thing hurting.

“Hey, I know that look. What’s wrong?” He prods, voice soft and gentle and altogether unlike how it had been last night. You meet his eyes for a moment, about to speak but biting your lip at the last second. Mark’s brain puts two and two together at your expression.

“Oh god, did I say something? Do something?”

“Yeah, actually,” you reply in a huff. “First you kissed my neck, then you told me you loved me, and then you held up a clump of mistletoe and implied that we should kiss underneath it.”

His memories of the previous evening are all a blur, so he truly would have no idea what happened if you hadn’t just said something. Mark knows he screwed up, bad.

You tense when you feel him place his hand over yours, but you don’t snatch it away. After collecting his thoughts, Mark clears his throat.

“Look, I… I know that’s not the best way for you to find out how someone feels about you. But I’m completely sober, and I can tell you that I meant what I said last night.”

“You promise?”

“Promise,” Mark replies.

“...Can you say it again, then?”

He blushes, “That I…?”

You nod, the corners of your lips lifting into a small smile.

“I love you,” Mark tells you for the second time in the last 24 hours, but this time you know you can believe him. The pain of your hangover goes away for a moment as he takes your jaw in his hands and connects your lips, just barely retaining the buzz of the alcohol but not enough to bother you. Slowly you kiss him back, sinking down onto the mattress beside him.

Mark pulls away for air a few seconds later, thumb grazing your cheek lovingly. “Does this mean we’re—”

“Dating? If you want it to, then sure,” your finger traces swirly shapes on the small of his back while you assure him that neither of you need to rush into anything if you aren’t ready.

“I don’t want things to change, though.”

“Who said they have to? I’ve been thinking about it for a while, and we’re already pretty close, you know? Making it ‘official’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘different,’ so...”

Mark hums in agreement, “You’re right. Okay, I can live with that.”

“And I can’t live another second without food. I’m making breakfast,” you quip, reverting back to the usual banter between you and him.

“I’ll cook the eggs,” Mark insists as you both make your way out of his bedroom and into the kitchen.

“You absolutely will not!”

The night before Christmas had started out unlike any that you’d ever experienced before, with you confronting your now-boyfriend about a drunken love confession the previous day. But now, it’s ending just like every year, with you cozy and curled up in front of the television as the last few segments of the news play.

It’s the coldest Christmas Eve in years. You learned this after the meteorologist had informed viewers of the record only a few minutes earlier, inadvertently planting an idea in Mark’s mind.

Right as you’re about to turn in for the night, setting a plate of decorated cookies and a glass of milk down on the end table (as is tradition in your families, no matter how old you are), Mark holds out his arms like a child might. “Can we…?” He asks in a quiet voice, nervous to finish his sentence.

“Huh?”

The boy inhales sharply, “It’s freezing. Do you wanna sleep in my bed tonight?” His cheeks flush a deep red that’s almost the color of Christmas itself.

You’re slightly taken aback, and then you remember it’s just Mark. “Sure, why not,” you answer with a light shrug and a smile on your face.

“But no funny business,” you inform him as you climb under the sheets together, instantly happy with your choice to join him because double the people means double the body heat. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mark replies, pecking your lips. His wrist finds the warm skin of your neck and you flinch away.

“Your hands are cold!” He just snickers at your whining.

The two of you fall asleep more quickly than you ever have on Christmas Eve, usually overcome with nerves and excitement, but now, as two college-aged kids, you’re comfortable and not rushing the morning’s arrival at all, content in each other’s arms for the moment.

You feel like you’re 10 years old again as you rush into the living room at 8am the next day, the bright, early morning sky lighting up your entire apartment. At the base of your Christmas tree sits a humble amount of presents, composed of the two that you bought for each other plus the half-dozen small ones from your parents.

You hand Mark one of the cookies from the end table and grab one for yourself, taking a bite of the sweet treat as you sit down and motioning for him to do the same.

“Open yours first,” you say eagerly, referring to your gift for him. Mark shakes his head and points to what he got you, “No, you go first.”

“Fine, we’ll open them at the same time.” Mark nods, satisfied with the compromise and handing you both the packages.

“On three. One, two…”

The final number barely leaves your lips before you both begin tearing into the paper excitedly, Mark reaching for the flaps on the box and you unfolding the tissue paper.

When you each see what the other gifted you with, it’s completely silent, save for the TV playing a Christmas Day special in the background.

He gazes blankly at you, licking his lips as his eyes dart between the guitar case and your expression.

“I appreciate the gift, but I…” Mark pauses, unsure how to tell you this.

You don’t say a word, raising your eyebrows as a signal for him to continue.

“I sold my guitar to pay for your gift,” he breathes.

“You what? Mark, that guitar means everything to you! Why would you do that?”

“Because you’re worth it, of course!”

“Well, I did the same thing,” you break the news with an unamused expression. “I sold my letter box to pay for that case.”

His eyes become impossibly wider at that, nearly bulging out of their sockets. “Are you serious?”

“Dead serious.”

You groan and lie down on the floor, beyond discouraged. “Let me guess, the pawn shop on 23rd?”

“Yep.”

“Hey, wait a minute.” An idea hits Mark like a rush of cold air. “Maybe we can work out a deal or something.”

“Meaning?”

“We go back and see if we can trade in our new gifts for enough money to get our old things back.”

“One, I doubt it’s that easy, and two, pretty much everything is closed on Christmas Day.” You’re half tempted to laugh because of how ironic this situation is.

Mark sighs, “I guess that makes sense.”

“We can still try, though.”

Sure enough, the pawn shop is dark, even more so than usual, and the door doesn’t budge. A sign taped to the window from the inside confirms your fear: Closed on Christmas. Gloved hands pressed onto the glass, you and Mark admit your defeat. You had been bested by the giving spirit of the holiday season, almost too generous for your own good.

But it’s the message that the day itself stands for after all, for putting aside material value and doing something out of the kindness of your heart just to make someone else happy. That’s what it’s all about, and you and Mark had personally experienced it this year.

So you’re surprised to find two boxes leaning on the wall beside the door to your apartment the next morning, shapes oddly familiar. Could it be?

Just hours earlier, the hallway surveillance cameras caught a tall man striding down the corridor, carrying those exact packages under his arms. In the video he pulls out a scrap of paper and a pen from his coat pocket, scribbling a short message before tucking it underneath the ribbon of the larger parcel and leaving the building just as quickly as he came.

You and Mark’s only clue as to who had returned your items is a messy ‘J’ at the end of the note attached to the box containing his guitar. Exchanging knowing glances, you both grin, squeezing your intertwined hands with the same name in mind.

...So what if Johnny had to take a bit of money out of his own paycheck to cover the cost of the items? Besides, it’s Christmas. And his boss never has to know.

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too-attached-to-fiction · 5 years ago

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I Know I Can’t Stay Too Long | f.w.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!

Masterlist here

Word count: 1640

Requested by @kellysimagines

Request: Hey! Can you make a Fred Weasley imagine where the reader is Hermione's sister and she is coming with them to hunt the Horcruxes and Fred insists her to stay but she doesn't want to because she wants to be with them, and they fight over it and they didn't make up before she left and they are both sad and regret not making up and when they are at Hogwarts, they reunite and they make up? (And Fred doesn't die :) and a cute ending? :)

A/N: I said that it would take me a few days, turns out it only took me a few hours! I actually was referring to my copy of DH while writing this so some of the dialogue is copied from it. I kind of lost track of time and the word count but I’m actually pretty satisfied with the results!

~~~

It felt like you and Fred were going in circles as you argued back and forth. You’d known for a while about Harry’s plans to hunt for the Horcruxes, but it wasn’t until you and Hermione reached the Burrow that things became serious.

You and Hermione had grown up around each other, almost always attached to the hip. You were a half blood, although when you met you were already in control of your magical outbursts. You were one year older than her, after all.

The years came and went, and as soon as Hermione started running with Harry and Ron, you did too. You had promised the Grangers that she’d be safe under her watch, and that was a promise you intended not to break. Even now, you knew it would be safer to hide with the Weasleys. You’d graduated from Hogwarts already, although you planned to help Fred and George with the joke shop before everything. You and Fred had started dating in your fourth year, and by now, Molly had basically groomed you into being a part of the Weasley family. The three of you were the youngest, official Order members, although you stayed behind during the last mission to retrieve Harry. Hermione had asked you to go with them, and she came first, no matter how much Fred tried to convince you otherwise.

Now, you were busy packing your things the night before the wedding, arguing with Fred in between shoving various things into your knapsack.

“She’s my family, Fred.”

“A family friend!” He objected for the umpteenth time in the last half hour. “You don’t need to protect her, she can take care of herself. They don’t call her the brightest witch of her age for nothing!”

“I made a promise-”

“A promise that’s gotten you nearly killed six times already!”

“I’m not leaving her alone with them. They’re barely of age and all three of them wouldn’t know common sense if it hit them like a stack of bricks.”

Upstairs, the Golden Trio listened to you argue with Fred. The two of you had never fought this badly before, and Harry felt the guilt start to rise in his stomach. They were fighting because of him.

Hermione caught the look in Harry’s eyes. “We’re coming. There’s nothing you or Fred can do about it.” She said, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“It’s not safe. You’d be safer with me and George.” Fred argued, and you brushed past him to grab your clothes from your trunk.

“What does it matter, Fred? My family got hurt, killed, because I’m a target too. I’m not letting you get hurt if they find me with you.” You sat down on his bed, tears in your eyes. “If I have a choice to increase their chances of saving the Wizarding World, I’ll take it any day if it means keeping you safe.”

“This is complete rubbish.” Fred muttered as he walked out of the room.

You took one glance at the door he’d walked through then back to his wardrobe. You flicked your wand, pulling a few of his shirts from his dresser then quietly closing it.

Tomorrow, you’d leave.

And there was no stopping you.

~~~

When Fred had initially told you about the wedding, you’d daydreamed about dancing with him, peaceful amidst the chaos of the rest of the wizarding world. Instead, you sent him sad glances all night.

Kingsley’s patronus arrived, interrupting the festivities. A ball of blue light swirled around the room before floating to the middle, his voice ringing out.

“The ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead.” You looked at Harry and Hermione with wide eyes, rushing to their side of the room.

“They are coming.” Kingsley’s voice whispered, before the patronus faded and the light returned to the room.

“We have to go.” Harry said, grabbing onto your hand.

“(Y/N)!” You heard Fred shout. You locked eyes with him as Hermione prepared to apparate the four of you.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered before you felt a familiar pull in your stomach, the Burrow and Fred fading away within a blink of an eye.

~~~

The Weasleys had only reached out once since the four of you disappeared that night. Arthur sent a talking patronus when you arrived at 12 Grimmauld Place.

“Family safe, do not reply, we’re being watched.”

“They’re okay.” You said in disbelief, choking back a sob. Ron seemed to be in the same state you were in, collapsing onto the couch. Hermione followed him, squeezing him tightly.

As time went on and the four of you jumped from place to place, you kept a journal, writing down the places you’d been and what had happened so far. You were sure you were close to dead when the Death Eaters found you, stuck in the Malfoy’s dungeon as prisoners. When Dobby took you out of the Manor, you nearly cried with relief when you spotted Bill and Fleur and their cottage.

“Bill.” You cried, rushing over to the eldest Weasley in tears, collapsing in his arms.

“Fleur, would you mind helping our guests to their rooms? (Y/N), Harry and I will be there shortly.” Bill said, running his hands absentmindedly through your hair.

Bill showed Harry a place to bury Dobby before returning his attention to you.

“You’re safe now,” He promised as you sniffled. “I have good news. It’s going to be okay.”

He led you to the living room, where Fleur was tending to the others.

“What’s the good news?” You asked, wiping your tears away as you sat down next to Bill. If Hermione and Ron noticed, neither said anything.

“They’re all safe, and out of the Burrow. We’re lucky Ginny’s on holiday. If she’d been at Hogwarts, they could have taken her before we reached her, but now we know they’re all safe and accounted for.” Harry stood in the doorway, but you were too tired to care, hanging onto Bill’s words.

“I’ve been getting them all out of the Burrow. Moved them to Muriel’s. The Death Eater’s know Ron’s with you now, and they’re bound to target us-” Bill glanced at Harry, who was opening his mouth, “Don’t apologize. We all knew it was a matter of time, Dad’s been saying so for months. We’re the biggest blood traitor family there is. We had a target on our backs long before you came around. We’ve been protecting them with the Fidelius Charm - Dad and I are the Secret Keepers, and we’ve done it on this cottage too.”

As the others left to talk to Griphook and Ollivander, you looked at Bill. “Has he said anything?”

“He misses you. We’ve all been wondering about your safety.” Bill sighed. “You really did a number on us, (Y/L/N). He’s been regretting everything he said to you, that night. He told me.”

“Bill, can… Can you give this to him, the next time you see him?” You pulled out the journal from your locket, handing it over. “All of the things I want to say to him are here and I don’t want it lost in case…”

Bill squeezed your hand, taking the journal cautiously. “I’ll do it.”

~~~

The hole in the wall in the Room of Requirement opened again behind you, and you nearly screamed when Ginny, Fred, George, and Lee Jordan all climbed out. You’d heard the twins on Potterwatch, but seeing their faces for the first time in nearly a year was relieving as ever.

“Fred.” You gasped out, the two of you meeting in the middle for a long overdue kiss.

“I’ve been so worried about you.” He breathed out, and you smiled.

“Ditto, Weasley.”

As Harry ran off to find the diadem with Luna, and the others waited for the rest of the order, you couldn’t help but cling to Fred.

“I thought you were dead.” He sighed, and you gave him another smile.

“It’ll take more than that to kill me, Freddie.”

When the two returned, all of the remaining Order of the Phoenix members were gathered inside the Room of Requirement with Dumbledore’s Army. You looked around in amazement.

You held Fred’s hand as Harry announced you were fighting, and he squeezed back when Percy reappeared.

“Come on.” You nearly raced out of the room until Fred pulled you back.

“I’m not letting you get away from me this time. We’re sticking together, understand?” You nodded, running off with him and George after giving Harry a curt nod.

Minutes later, you were dueling back to back with Percy, before the back of your neck pricked. Just before the air exploded, you screamed out, “Protego!” The shield glowed around you and Fred, and you refused to let up until the dust settled.

“I’m not losing you that fast.” You breathed out. “Harry, take care of those spiders, will you?” You shouted, pulling Fred and George in another direction, firing hexes and jinxes everywhere as you ran.

The rest of the battle seemed to be a blur to you, even when Voldemort announced Harry was dead. Quickly after, you jumped into battle with Bellatrix. Molly, Ginny, and Hermione all stood by your side.

An hour later, the sun rose. Voldemort had vanished into ash, and you and the other survivors sat at the tables in the Great Hall. You, Fred, and George were all covered in soot and dust, but you couldn’t care less as you squeezed your boyfriend tightly.

“We’re safe.” You mumbled in between kisses, sighing as the adrenaline started to wear off.

“Oi, you’d think with one ear I’d be able to hear less of that sappy rubbish.” George interrupted, and the three of you laughed.

The war was over, and you were together. You survived the end of the world in one piece.

And you couldn’t be happier.

#fred weasley #harry potter fanfic #battle of hogwarts fanfic #everybody lives #fred weasley imagines #harry potter imagines #no beta we die like men #fuck jk rowling #requested #REQUESTS ARE OPEN

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collectsfallenstars · 5 years ago

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WARNING: Absolutely long post

IN DEFENSE OF KIM EUN SOOK'S "THE KING: ETERNAL MONARCH"

The King: Eternal Monarch has been getting mixed reviews 10 episodes into the season and it has boggled my mind as to why this has been happening. It’s a grand project, has a robust storyline, beautiful cinematography the likes of which is done for full-length films, and has a love story between two adults who behave like adults and not in perpetual high school. It is very different from most Korean dramas I have come across, and that alone is reason enough to watch it.

Granted, I have not watched many of them so maybe I don’t really know what I’m talking about. But what I am sure of is that I get tired of things very easily when they’ve become predictable.

See, before watching The King: Eternal Monarch, the last Korean drama I watched was Something Happened in Bali back in 2004. Then coronavirus happened, billions of pesos were to the government but no mass-testing happened, ABS-CBN shut down, people speaking against the government were being put in jail, and I thought, hmm let’s go to Netflix to escape. K-dramas with beautiful autumn colors should do the trick.

I watched maybe one or two series in full but soon found myself giving up on the ones that came next. Watching them one after another made it clear that they were built like romance novels – no matter how different each premise was for a series, they always followed a pattern. And patterns, while they may be dependable, can sometimes be boring.

And then I decided to give The King: Eternal Monarch a try even though the binge-watching monster inside me disagreed with it. So there I was last week, Netflix open and a lunch of Sinigang na Baboy with rice laid out in front of me.

The series opened with a serene view of a bamboo forest, wind blowing gently through it, and the voice of a man talking about the legend of a bamboo flute back when monarchs ruled Korea. Oh, a historical series.

1 minute and 40 seconds later, it cuts to a man covered in blood, in a police interrogation room in modern day Korea. Oh, it’s also detective fiction. Gotta watch out for red herrings then. Oh but wait, the man covered in blood, Lee Lim, is supposed to be 70 years old but he doesn’t look a day over 30. I mean, yes Korean genes and skin care are magical but not to this extent. The idea of immortality is introduced which suggests that the series has supernatural elements too. This means world building for these magical elements and forming rules that govern them. (I mean, Bram Stoker and Anne Rice made their vampires perish under the sun and Stephanie Meyer chose to make them…sparkle.)

And then 4 minutes in, we get a flashback to winter of 1994 in the Kingdom of Corea. Uhm. Typo? No? Lee Lim, the bastard son of the former king, murders his half brother, the current king, in order to steal the bamboo flute that grants the owner much power. The king’s young son, 7 year old Lee Gon, witnesses his father’s murder, struggles with Lee Lim, splits the power laden bamboo flute in half, and nearly dies if it weren’t for a mysterious figure coming in to save him. The mysterious figure drops an ID card with the name and picture of Lt. Jung Tae Eul on it and Lee Gon clutches it along with half of the bamboo flute. Lee Lim escapes to the forest with only a broken half of the bamboo flute. He comes upon a pair of obelisks, passes through it and lands in Korea with a K. Lee Lim comes face to face with the face of the person he had just murdered, except he isn’t a king anymore. He’s just an unkempt unemployed man. We now have the introduction of parallel worlds and doppelgangers. It had only been 18 minutes into the first episode.

I put it on pause, finished my lunch quickly, cleared the table, and settled down on the couch to watch. I did all that before resuming to watch it because it clearly wasn’t the kind of K-drama you could easily watch while eating, glancing up and down between the screen and your food, missing bits of the subtitle here and there and not paying any mind. Because of its structure, the kind of story it wants to tell and the breadth of its narrative, it demands your full attention.

I get why people find it difficult. I found it difficult. But it was infinitely exciting. It’s as if someone laid out a puzzle with a thousand pieces, a maze, Connect the Dots, Spot the Difference in front of me and told me to play with them all at the same time.

What kind of story did the writer, Kim Eun Sook, want to tell? She began with the murder of the parents of Lee Gon by his bastard uncle, Lee Lim, who feels he has been deprived of power for too long and intends to take it all for himself. It becomes a story of both sides seeking justice for their own separate tragedies. To flesh out this story, she has to give Lee Lim a plan for world domination and give Lee Gon a defense strategy in place, as well as an active pursuit to entrap his uncle. She has to give them motivations, conflicts, moments of doubt and triumph. If this were the only story she wanted to tell, a linear storyline with flashbacks and flash-forwards should be enough. Throw in a romance, love triangle, one final obstacle, 2 chaste kisses, 1 passionate kiss, 1 tearful kiss, 1 reunion kiss and you will arrive at your happy ending.

But Kim Eun Sook wanted to do more. She expanded Lee Lim’s plan for world domination into two parallel worlds. Adding science fiction to the mix complicates matters because you will have to build another world that is visibly different from the other even if they are parallel to each other. Audiences should be able to tell one apart from the other quickly in order to keep up with the story. The difficulty that The King: Eternal Monarch faces is that the Kingdom of Corea and the Republic of Korea look almost exactly alike. It takes almost a few seconds to recognize the Royal Seal, or the European inspired trams running in the background to ascertain that the scene is in the Kingdom of Corea. But once the characters appear, it becomes easier to tell which world we’re dealing with. Jung Tae Eul and the police force belong to Korea. The Royal Staff and family, Prime Minister Koo and cabinet members belong to Corea. The only ones to traverse between both worlds are Lee Gon and his uncle.

Therein lies one of the criticisms for Kim Eun Sook’s work – the pace is too slow. I would argue though that the pace is just right when you’re creating two worlds, with very different characters in each, whose stories run parallel to and interweave with each other. It is very easy to place all evil characters in World A and all good characters in World B. But that’s lazy writing, and also ugly.

Kim Eun Sook humanizes and fleshes out a significant amount of the supporting cast with such care, developing them alongside the major characters. Usually in dramas, the side characters will get hints of a back story in an episode or two, and then have just one episode dedicated to them. Kim Eun Sook did so much more and in effect, her two parallel worlds became so concrete, with real, moving characters contributing their bit into the two separate forces of Lee Gon and Lee Lim that are about to clash. It creates anticipation, excitement, and spreads your heart out amongst many characters instead of investing your emotions into just the main leads.

But aside from the science fiction element, Kim Eun Sook also takes on the task of writing detective fiction into her already robust narrative. Lee Lim is essentially building an army of doppelgangers from the Republic of Korea and planting them in key positions in the Kingdom of Corea. He then takes the dead bodies of these Corean citizens and dumps them in the Republic of Korea, leaving Lt. Jung Tae Eul and her squad in the police force with a trail of unsolved cases. Detective stories are by themselves difficult enough. You begin with a dead body, a search for clues, weeding out which clues are significant, chasing a lead, failing, planting and then ignoring red herrings, closing in on a suspect, interrogation, a surprise turn of events, and so on until the murder is solved.

But Lee Lim didn’t leave just one dead body in Korea. There’s an entire army of them and Jung Tae Eul has to be on the trail for some of them in order for her to work with Lee Gon in order to solve them and in turn, help him uncover his uncle’s evil plans.

This brings us to one of the major criticisms of this drama – the romance between Lt. Jung Tae Eul and King Lee Gon. Apparently, there’s not much of it as it has taken a backseat to the struggle for power in Corea by the Prime Minister, Lee Lim’s murderous spree and body switching between the two worlds in a bid for a two-world domination, and murder investigations that Jung Tae Eul and her squad must carry out in Korea.

Would I like to see more of the actors Lee Min Ho and Kim Go Eun on screen? Why, yes of course! But as early as the 1st episode, it was already apparent that this was not going to be the usual K-drama. They weren’t going to meet cute, fall in love, fight their feelings, work on a murder mystery on the side, finally confess, become a couple, fight the final boss side by side, and then live happily ever after. Fantasy, science fiction, and detective fiction all seem bear equal weight with romance. It was different, and I found that absolutely interesting. And just because romance doesn’t dominate 80% of the story does not mean that the romance is lacking.

The first episode tricks you into thinking that there is very little romance in this drama. The lead characters of Lt. Jung Tae Eul and King Lee Gon meeting each other for the first time in the last 6 minutes of an episode that was 1 hour, 12 minutes, and 15 seconds long. What can possibly develop and deepen in 6 minutes? Not much, right?

But what happened in the last 6 minutes? Lee Gon rides into Gwanghwamun Square on his white horse after having crossed over from Corea and into the parallel world of Korea. He creates a slight commotion what with his royal handsomeness and almost ethereal white horse. Lt. Jung Tae Eul reprimands him. Lee Gon recognizes her as the woman on the ID card his savior had left behind 25 years ago. And in dramatic fashion, he alights from his horse, walks towards her, stops, and then engulfs her in a tight hug. He tells her, “I’ve finally met you” and the episode ends with a shocked Jung Tae Eul in the arms of an almost reverent Lee Gon.

In Kim Eun Sook’s other, wildly popular work, Goblin: The Lonely and Great God the first meeting between Kim Shin and Eun Tak also had that moment of finally finding the one they’ve been searching for. But for the Goblin, his bride’s existence was merely functional, as he needed her so he can finally die in peace. So their first meeting was your typical first meeting in K-dramas. There were no feelings yet, but they develop from there. So the whole drama then became a stage to establish the growth of their relationship that would give him the will to live instead of dreaming of death all the time.

But now, in The King: Eternal Monarch, the first meeting isn’t an easy blank canvas.

Lee Gon bursts into the first episode, already halfway in love with Jung Tae Eul long before he’s even met her. As a child, Lee Gon had held on to Jung Tae Eul’s image as his a savior. There is deep gratitude. As a young orphaned monarch, he held on to the idea of her to ease his loneliness. His first duty as a king was to bury his father and learned to cry only in the privacy of his own room when he was 7 years old. But somewhere out there, there was someone who had cared for enough for him to have saved him. This thought sustained him as he grew up.

And at this point in the first episode, we’re working with the idea that time travel hasn’t been introduced yet. Which means we’re treating time as a straight line, allowing Lee Gon and Jong Tae Eul to age at the same time. So if Jong Tae Eul had been 25 years old when Lee Gon was 7 in 1994, then she would be 50 years old and he would be 32 in the present year, 2019.

Then, as a man in his 30’s, he still keeps on searching for her. But in his head she is frozen in time as the 29 year old woman in her ID picture, and at this point he might possibly be half in love with her already. And when he finally meets her in the flesh, he had spent nearly all his life loving her in different iterations. Finding out that she hadn’t aged as he thought she would have gives him another possibility of loving her as a man would a woman.

Now the audience has to grapple with this idea, that he had loved her for 25 years already, prior to seeing her in the flesh. But then if you add the idea of time travel as hinted at by the 10th episode, then this first meeting becomes heavier. Not only would he have loved her for 25 years, but he also would have loved her for 25 years multiplied by the number of timelines he had crossed as a time traveller.

That’s why their first meeting had to happen in the last 6 minutes of the first episode. Everything that happened in that first hour and 6 minutes, all the murders, plotting, collision of worlds, and clash of doppelgangers in the past 25 years had to happen in order to bring Lee Gon and Jung Tae Eul to that fated meeting at Gwanghwamun Square. Kim Eun Sook had played with the idea of destiny with Goblin: The Lonely and Great God’s Kim Shin and Eun Tak. Now she takes the same idea of a fated meeting between two souls, Lee Gon and Jung Tae Eul, and proceeds to tear them apart with time loops, parallel worlds, and a frozen dimension to test how their love can endure all of that.

There can be no slow burn; there is no chase that starts with attraction, denial, bickering, jealousy, no you-make-me-worry-so-much love confession that is so often found in K-dramas. The lovers don’t even have that poor girl-rich boy/immortal-mortal or whatever uneven power dynamic that’s so popular in dramas. I guess that's what most people inevitably look for because these things were built to be formulaic.

But now you have a writer who is trying to build a bigger, more ambitious story, who is willing to take some risks with that formula in order to tell a love story that can transcend time and universes. The stakes had to be raised higher, the backdrop made grander, in order to hold a love story as epic as this. How can this not be romantic enough?

There are six more episodes left in this series. Quarantine has been extended. Give this series a chance.

#the king eternal monarch #kim eun sook #kim go eun #lee min ho

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ultrashadowkai · 4 years ago

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Avatar: The Last Airbender - The Promise Part 2

One part filler, two parts bad mindsets

Katara and Aang being all love dovey. It's still a little weird but less weird than the pet names

How does Toph sense the ground from on Appa? Could Toph always smell trees and differentiate the trees based on location as opposed to breed? Was that always a thing or did her senses get better with age?

There's dirt on the bottom of Toph's feet and I love that detail.

If Toph found her calling as a teacher then why did she became police chief of Republic City. The yelling and bossing people around thing makes sense but Toph really doesn't seem like the kind of person to go around enforcing rules that aren't her own. Admittedly, there is a large gap of time between now (13) and Legend of Korra so anything could have happened to turn her into a police chief, but still....

Okay, it being a firebending dojo that had to move as part of the Harmony Restoration Movement makes sense. Kunyo's still a fool for questioning Toph, though

Sokka.... Just Sokka. A match to the sit? I assume he means whoever can knock the other student off their feet and onto their rear first rather than just sitting.

This metalbending school plot feels slightly more like a side episode, not quite a filler because it does involve the affects of the Harmony Restoration Movement but it doesn't feel as politically important

Does the Earth Kingdom palace not have the ability to house guests, especially guests here on diplomatic missions?

Aang has a fan club. Considering how Kyoshi has a state of herself on Kyoshi Island (and an island named after herself) and I do know that Yangchen was regarded in an almost diety-like way in the books that I swear I'll get to someday, this isn't all that surprising. This better not be "The Kyoshi Warriors" all over again.

Katara seems to remember Kyoshi Island rather well. Unfortunately, she will now have to deal with some of the worst aspects of having fans -- the delusional fans who want to date their favorite celebrity and refuses to realize that they have no chance even when said celebrity is already taken.

Aang wants to see something that looks somewhat reminiscent of his culture, and also likes the attention and is just all around a friendly enough guy that he would genuinely love to see their clubhouse. Having said that, don't stay at the houses of strange children when Iroh and the Earth King are right there.

Turtle-crabs are literally just hermit crabs.

"I dove in myself" - Ozai. As opposed to.... Nice to see that Ozai is still a terrible parent. Is the whole family vaguely cryptic on purpose?

Toph's magic metalbending sensing space rock bracelet. Okay. At least it's acknowledged that her students are kinda one off emotional 2d cutouts.

Sokka the Motivationalbender

I like that Katara admits (to herself) that she may have jumped the gun just a little in not seeing any other reason Aang would be excited about his fan club taking him to their clubhouse loosely modelled off of the Western Air Temple to ask questions about his culture and share old relics that seemingly anyone can just buy from a random traveller.

Ozai is trying to spin this as Zuko being so indecisive that it harms him -- and he's right, in a way. Zuko is indecisive; he's had his problem back in Ba Sing Se when he's torn between his honor and his morality. But he also isn't. Not really. He makes a choice; his problem is committing fully to a grey choice. Siding with the Avatar is an objectively good choice; this problem with Yu Dao is a grey one where both sides have a bit of a point (Zuko's moreso). All in all, he should really stop talking to Ozai.

Oh look, combo attacks consisting of different elements, almost like harmony can be achieved despite the differences. I wonder what Yu Dao and similar colonies were doing during the war.

I wasn't going to comment on Kori and Sneers but the conversation is important. Sneers sees her as a member of the Earth Kingdom and is shocked and appalled that she's training with Firebenders despite the fact that they're her cousins. Does he even really acknowledge her Fire Nation heritage? At least Kori doesn't take his attempts to make her choose a side and him leading the protests against Yu Dao. Either he accepts her as she is or they're though.

Moo-Chee-Goo-Chee-La-Poo-Chee the Third is a terrible name. What were his parents and his parents' parents thinking?

Oh...Kuei is exactly as Ozai said (tired of being seen as weak and so overcompensates with military might instead of talking things out with Zuko). I hate when Ozai's right.

Aw, Toph fears that she's being too much like her parents in regards to her students; expecting them to be something their not and getting upset because of it.

Aang's fan club is going to unintentionally cause more problems in Yu Dao

Props to Kunyo for turning that weapon Toph bent around his head that he clearly can't get off into hat. Remove props for "dirt-people" though

Huh, no one ever believed in them. I can see it. A touch cliché but heartwarming nonetheless

[Mai leaving] Well, that was quick. This was probably a longtime coming thing with a lot more build-up offscreen over the year long time skip but still; it feels kinda sudden. I figure Mai's going to be back in the comic or in future comics, not necessarily back with Zuko but back in general otherwise that's kinda a lame way to send Mai off. Mai, Ty Lee, and (I think) Azula are the mainish characters we don't hear what happened to in LoK. At least we know Sokka got into politics and Ty Lee's chi blocking became a widespread thing but we never knew what happened to Mai. Azula can be guessed at seeing as how she was imprisoned or implied to be at the end of the first show. All we have to go on is Izumi's assumed parentage.

Good thing I'm me and don't fall for this relationship drama bullcrap. Suki's with Sokka and that's not changing

When did the Earth Kingdom get war balloons?

Zuko looks like he's wasting away under the stress.

#kai reads atla #avatar the last airbender #atla #the promise

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markleesthighs · 6 years ago

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Black Mamba | Chapter 3

Pairings: Reader x Mark Lee, Reader x Hendery, Reader x Jaehyun, feat. ot21

Genre: NCT mafia!au, angst, fluff, light smut (suggestive), comical

Warnings: Swearing, A LOT of flashbacks, passive-aggressiveness

Words: 3.045k

【 ❶ ❷ ➂ ❹ ❺ ❻ ❼】

Chapter 3 - Moving On

Seoul, Korea, a week after Valentine’s Day 2023

One week. One week since your heartbroken, one week since you’ve lost your love and heart to a man full of shit. You had never stepped foot into Mark’s bedroom since and have taken off your necklace you had kept on for three years was now in a box in your bedside dresser locked away forever. You both never talked with each other since that night and kept it strictly professional.

You focused on your work and have helped succeed almost 80% of the missions since last week. You also found yourself accepting more assassination missions wanting to get out of the mansion. You also got closer to Hendery, and it would not have been a shock to see that Mark took notice to that. He always gazed at you looking at you laughing over something Hendery said or when you let him come into the lab with you to look at what you were working on. He became a really close friend to you since that night.

You came back from an assassination, riding on your motorbike with your helmet on. You rode into the garage and took off your helmet and walked into the mansion and you heard the voice of the guys from the main entrance looking through the windows.

“Who is that?”

“She’s pretty.”

“I wonder when he broke the news to her.”

“Bet Mark bought her that necklace.”

“Ha, I bet he bought her everything she is wearing.”

You immediately knew who they were talking about, a/n (any name). Mark finally decided to bring her to the mansion and show her what he really does for work. You are going to assume its some spoiled brat who only wants Mark for money and his dick. You put your helmet down along with the others in your closet and started to walk down to greet whoever this a/n is. All the guys and Mark immediately stopped talking when they saw you, hearing the clicking of your boots approaching them. They all moved out of your way, and you made eye contact with Mark and a/n. Mark looked at you in panic and awkwardness, awaiting your reaction. I guess Mark thought you wouldn’t be at the mansion by now and try to sneak her in the mansion without you noticing. You reached out a hand to a/n.

“Hello, I am y/n, nice to meet you.”

“Hi! OMG, I LOVE your outfit.”

“Thank you, I’ve heard so much about you.”

You noticed her necklace, it was the same exact one Mark gave you, same letter engraving, the same pendant that you wore for three years.

“How do you know Mark?”

“Oh, Mark?”

You put an arm around his shoulder and gave him a noogie.

“I’ve known this idiot for four years, we are practically family, right, Mark?”

“y-yeah, family.”

She looked somewhat intimidated by you. You had a perfect, healthy body (all bodies are beautiful :)), friendly with all of the guys, and appeared to be a goddess to her.

“Oh, don’t worry about me, if I were to date anyone of these dumbasses it would be Hendery or Jaehyun.”

Both of their faces immediately lit up, and they started to laugh and hit each other

“Hey! That doesn’t mean I would date you, I would only do so if I were forced to by Mark.”

They both calmed down, and a/n seemed to calm down from her worries.

“Y/n why don’t you take a/n for a tour?” Mark said.

You fake smiled and said

“Sure, I would LOVE to.”

The guys and Mark soon dispersed back to their work while you led her around the entire mansion, explaining where everything is.

“So this the main entrance, obviously with high tech security, and has loaded guns and missiles built into its walls to ensure safety.”

“From what?”

“People trying to kill us.”

“This is the kitchen, living, and dining room, we don’t spend much time in the living or dining room since we are all busy 24/7. We also have a personal, professional chef and maid service for you if you feel like it.”

“So if I want anything I can get it?”

“Yes…”

“The floor below is mainly the garage, which you can’t have access to since you are not allowed to leave without Mark, another member, or a bodyguard.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Whatever,” you thought.

“If you go upstairs, this is the floor where the most work happens, and YOU MUST knock on the door before going in, understood?”

She nodded as you continued.

“If you look out here, you can see our bathhouses inspired by Japanese onsens, and you will go into the women’s side, not the men’s side. You can also see our outdoor and indoor shooting ranges where we train our trainees to shoot. Here on this floor, you will find all of our conference rooms and offices, if you look at the end of the hallway on the right that’s Mark’s office, you can feel free to pop in if you’d like. If you need any help, ask Taeyong, whose office is the last door on the right. If you look left, you will see the weaponry and technology labs, my lab is all the way at the end. However, you are NOT allowed inside.”

“Why not?”

“First, you physically can’t come in, and I don’t want anyone or you knocking on the door thinking you can, it has a facial and fingerprint scanner impossible to hack. Only Mark and I can access or allow anyone in. Second, Mark wants you to be safe, so he wants you to stay away from this lab so you can’t get hurt when we are testing weapons.”

“Aww, he’s so sweet.”

You roll your eyes so hard that you might hurt your skull of how annoying she is.

“This is the third floor, where all of the bedroom quarters are, this is where we all sleep, and you will be sleeping in Mark’s room.”

You walked her to Mark’s room and hesitated to open the door getting flashbacks of that night.

“Um, are you going to open the door?”

“Yeah I was, I was just making sure no one was in there.”

You swung the door open and let her walk around, looking at his room. It smelled just as you remembered, musk, cigarettes, and whiskey. You saw as nothing changed except the picture of you two were replaced by her and presents given by you were nowhere to be found. The one thing you still saw was the wall. The wall he threw you into was slightly dented and would only be noticed if you knew what happened there.

“Alright let’s go” (before you start crying at least)

“Okay!!”

She was WAY too peppy and energetic for your type, you have NO IDEA how Mark found her attractive, heck even started dating this chick. You led her through the rest of the house and eventually ended the tour.

“This concludes the tour any questions?”

“Uhhhh, yeah! What do I get to do!”

“HA, nothing.”

“W-what?”

“Listen, you are here to keep Mark happy, pick up a hobby or something. At least make yourself useful here.”

You left her in the elevator walking to your lab exhausted from talking to her and continued working for the rest of the day. You needed a bath and steam, so you headed to the bathhouses to relax for your tiring day. It was still snowing out, and the contrast of the cold breeze and the hot water and steam made you feel extremely relaxed.

You kept thinking in your thoughts about a/n, and how she magically seduced Mark. You also thought if Mark was really over you, or needed to distract himself. But nonetheless, you hoped Mark was happy since you still cared about him and would always support whatever he does with his life.

That was until you heard a crashing in your bathhouse. You immediately got out and put on your robe with a dagger, a throwing knife, and a gun equipped in your pockets. You held your gun and saw the shadow in the changing room who knocked over all of the buckets and towels. You prepared to protect yourself as you put them into a chokehold with your gun to their head.

“If you move or speak you will die got it?”

“y-y/n it’s just me.”

“What are you doing in here?”

“A/N??? WHAT THE HELL YOU SCARED THE SHIT OUT OF ME!”

“I-I just came to take a bath.”

“Well, a WARNING could have been nice.”

You calmly removed her from her chokehold and walked back to the outdoor onsen to have some steam and she soon followed shortly. She didn’t get in, but she looked around for a bit.

“What do you do around here?”

“You get in and relax, this is usually the time where I can clear my head, but you decided to come along.”

She then hopped in and sat across from you.

“So, do you like anyone here?”

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t know you are surrounded but so many handsome guys, I’m surprised you’re not dating one of them.”

“Why so you can cheat on Mark with one of them?”

“What? No. Never.”

“Well, I’m sorry I’m focused on my work, so I don’t have time for dating.”

“Oh. Have you ever thought about it?”

“No…not any of them are my type.”

You then got out since you’ve been in the onsen bath for too long and felt light-headed.

“BYEEEE I’LL SEE YOU TOMORROW!!!”

You waved and had a cold shower before you left. You felt better after and walked back into the mansion to find Mark reading on the couch, looking like he was waiting for his girlfriend.

“Oh, y/n, I have something for you.”

Mark got up and handed you an envelope with gold lettering with your name on it. You took it and opened if, in front of him, it read “25th Annual Masquerade Ball.” You remembered this ball since you remember your parents attending one every year. Mark was telling you that every member of NCT was required to attend, protect, and enjoy others and themselves.

He told you a fashion designer will come and take your measurements for your custom mask and ball gown. You remembered attending this ball with Mark several times. Even if he was busy, he still promised to give you a dance and never forgot his promise. You have memories of those magical nights, but this is the first time you are going solo. You walked away, but before you entered your room, you heard Mark’s laughing from the living room. You missed that, hearing his laugh and making him smile, it was a bittersweet feeling.

Every morning regardless of the weather, you do a morning run before you work on anything. You wake up really early to go on your run, so you are not disturbed by others in the morning. However, you didn’t realize that someone as looking for you. A/n actually asked a maid where you were. When you returned, she looked at you in awe, after your workout, you looked even more like a Goddess compared to her.

“How was your run?”

“Fine.”

“I was wondering if us girls wanted to hang out today since I have nothing to do here.”

“But unlike you, I have work to do here, so you run along and pick some flowers.”

You walked away with maids holding water, towels, and your change of clothes before heading into the lab. In the lab, your eyes met the invitation again, reminding yourself that the Masquerade Ball is coming up and the fashion designer was coming to see you today. Since you had a fitting around your lunchtime, you decided to design some Masquerade Ball friendly weapons. Gun holsters, knife pockets, tracking devices, earpieces, and night vision lenses. Soon after, you were called for your fitting and walked to the garage, got on your motorbike, and rode off to the fashion designers workshop. You arrived and went up to the top floor to meet a similar face who’s designed all of your outfits to the years prior to the ball.

It felt awkward, but, you kept calm during the entire fitting. While you were doing your fitting, you looked around and saw Mark’s and a/n’s outfit designs on the wall, matching in a beautiful navy blue and gold theme. You never matched Mark at these balls, since you kept your love hidden. The designer decided on a red dress with a golden snake necklace and golden embroidery. He would tell you he would send everyone’s outfits early for you to input any proper equipment or defenses.

It wouldn’t take long, it would just be a quick sew and an add on. You had given him the blueprints of the weapons prior so he can highlight and sew in pockets for special items like poison gas. He showed the masks that fit your special requests and accommodations. They had trackers, analyzers, and night vision mode when you looked through it. They also had an x-ray option to see what weapons the person is currently carrying (only for your mask). They also were secret gas masks and could see through smoke bombs. You soon left your fitting and rode back in peace, knowing that the gala will be left in good hands.

A week later, you were sent everyone’s outfits in a vast array of colors from black to yellow. You equipped everyone’s outfits until you hesitated at Mark’s. It was beautiful, and you knew how good he would look in it. It had golden vines across his navy suit jacket. You looked at a/n’s dress thinking how the dress could have been yours, that if things had worked out differently, you would be wearing this dress. This dress should be your dress, not hers.

You were about to burn the dress when you realized how selfish you were being. It’s Mark’s first time going to a ball with a date, and it’s not like he’s unhappy with her, he smiles all the time around her. You delicately placed her dress down, put a tracking device, dagger, and an alarm system connected to Mark, to know when she’s not within the eyesight of Mark. Your dress, you made sure it could be ripped off for any emergency. The skirt part can rip off and reveal your black pants underneath equipped with everything you needed, guns, knives, bombs, and ammo.

You sent the maids to deliver the suits and dresses to all the NCT members, while trainees were either working or have the night off (depending on how well they did on their tests). You also started talking to Hendery more and more, and now you both became very close friends. Mark did notice this and started to fill up Hendery’s schedule so you couldn’t see him often. You both would eat together, and he would hang out with you in the lab on late nights and bring you tea to keep you working. It would not be surprising if you didn’t say you started to warm up to him, or heck even likes him. He was there for you when you needed it, and you trusted him with your heart.

That night you were tired from all of your work you lied down on your bed and thought about Hendery. You wondered if he felt the same way or even liked you. You remembered when he seems excited when you said you would date him, maybe that’s a sign? You told Hendery all of your worries and concerns, and he was there to listen and comfort you. You two also occasionally had sleepovers in your room, pushing each other playing Mario Kart or watching sad romance dramas. He was like a best friend that you loved more. Since your break up with Mark, it’s been a long time since you’ve had a genuine best friend.

Sure, Mark was your best friend (that you dated), but a person to hang out with and spend your free time with was lovely. Yeah, the other guys are still your friends, but they are always super busy and can’t even catch a break with you. The only reason why Hendery can is that he is the head of his own department, and has other people working under him to do his work. Hendery strictly just reports what he gets from his peers. He works in the medicine and health department, which was in another building, to prevent sickness from spreading and allow a separate hospital for NCT.

You didn’t feel like that lonely child anymore, you felt love. Those same fuzzy warm feelings for Mark resonated within Hendery, but were you ever going to tell him? If he doesn’t feel the same thing what is going to happen?

You took a quick shower and changed, continuing to lay on your bed, thinking. Just as you were in your own thoughts, you heard a knock at your door. You got up to answer it, and speak of the devil, its Hendery. He walked in a little nervous and sat down on the bed.

“What’s up Hendery?”

“H-hey y/n, can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

“Do you w-want to come with me to the Masquerade Ball?”

“...”

“A-as f-friends of course...if that makes you feel comfortable.”

“...”

“I-I know you are still hurt from Mark, so I figured you should still enjoy the ball regardless.”

“T-thank you, I would love to go with you Hendery.”

“R-really??”

You then pecked his cheek, which made him blush a crimson red on his cheeks.

“You can also consider me your date then.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

He then hugged you before saying goodbye and goodnight, and you somehow lost all of your worries and fell asleep peacefully.

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homenum-revelio-hq · 5 years ago

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Welcome (again) to the Order of the Phoenix, Nicky!

You have been accepted for the role of non-biography character AINSLEY ABBOTT with the faceclaim of Olivia Taylor Dudley! I really loved the idea of having a half-blood character who is pretending to be pureblood, especially in the climate of this rpg. I think it will add a lot of excitement to the roleplay!

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Nicky

AGE: 30+

TIMEZONE: EST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: Medium, sporadic; I work retail hours which means that my schedule is not consistent between days. I expect to be able to make several replies each week, however, and am available to check-in or chat often. Tuesdays and Thursdays are the only time I’m really out-of-touch for considerable periods on a regular basis although in general I have more free time in the latter half of the week than I do at the beginning – and of course when Winter Holiday Shopping Season rolls around I will be more absent than usual!

ANYTHING ELSE: currently playing Dorcas Meadowes!

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Ainsley Marigold Abbott

AGE: 28

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Cis-gender female, she/her. Ainsley does not realize it (because it’s not a term or identity she’s ever heard of before) but she is in fact a panromantic asexual. She has experienced crushes before, but since kisses and cuddles leave her feeling nothing but tired and bored she assumes that her affections are utterly fleeting – not understanding that a desire for sex and a desire for romance may be two different things – and said crushes usually curdle the moment anyone acts on them; elsewise they simply flicker-out after she pines from afar for a while, telling herself there’s no point because she just isn’t wired that way. She thinks there must be something wrong with her but (especially lately, with her sister) what she has seen of romance does not seem to be enticing enough for her wish she were any different. (note: I am aware of the delicacy of writing any asexual character with the notion of them being “broken” but as an aromatic asexual myself, I think I will be able to approach the topic with appropriate sensitivity! I am, however, happy to discuss this idea further both with the admin and with any fellow players who are concerned or curious about my reasoning or experience.)

BLOOD STATUS: Half-blood (but currently faking status as a pure-blood at the request of her sister)

HOUSE ALUMNI: Ravenclaw

ANY CHANGES: none

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY:

Ainsley fits very well into the mold that people like to think of as the “traditional Ravenclaw” – bookish, quiet, academically gifted. That stereotype very much does not fit the majority of the House, though; Ravenclaw Tower is often a noisy place full of chaotic experiments and passionate arguments and the occasional impassioned spurt of poetry. While there are quietly studious Ravenclaws, even they tend to be more of the obsessive breed than the merely academic; a House based around a love of learning for its own sake is not, necessarily, going to be a House full of good test-takers and obedient homework-doers. Ainsley enjoyed the chaos most of the time (except right before tests – which was the only time the academically-minded Ravenclaws revolted against their noisier, more idiosyncratic housemates to demand quiet for a while) and considered it to be both educational and entertaining. An uncharitable person might call her voyeuristic; a nicer description might merely state that she is an observer of human nature. However you say it, AInsley likes to watch people. She finds her peers both fascinating and, with increasing frequency with every year, baffling. A sort-spoken girl, Ainsley is also easily mistaken for meek – which she isn’t; only quiet. She would rather have an argument through owl post or in impassioned papers and essays than face-to-face, where it’s too easy to fumble over one’s words or forget an esoteric fact that can’t be looked-up mid-shouting match. Her writing, however, can become quiet fiery, to the point where one might almost expect her quill to scorch the paper as she scrawls her way across it. (For such a quiet, reserved girl, she has very broad handwriting – especially when emotional!) When she does have to stand-up to someone in person, she tends to shake and shrink in on herself – but fortunately, she usually has her more boisterous sister there to take-over when the stress of a fraught social interaction overwhelms her. Or at least she did, when they were both children; now Ainsley is on her own more and more, both because Nessie can’t exactly follow her to work and because she’s occupied with her own endeavors – the main one of which Ainsley does not approve, and isn’t at all shy about saying so. Ainsley is more opinionated than she seems; it’s just that her strongest opinions tend to be about things like Arithmantic equations or antique Runes or the history of the etymological development of spells. Not things that most people care about enough to have opinions over. Perhaps the most surprising thing about Ainsley is that she’s actually good with a wand. One would think that a witch like her would be interested strictly in the theoretical – but Ainsley believes that the only way to truly understand the theory behind something is to also understand it in practice. Since her allegiance with the Order of the Phoenix, many a Death Eater has had the unpleasant experience of being hexed by this seemingly-harmless bluestocking while they were focusing on shielding themselves against someone who actually looked like a threat. Of course, take her glasses away and Ainsley isn’t going to be hexing anything smaller than a train car– not with any accuracy, anyway.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY:

Ainsley‘s extended family is a large and widely-dispersed one and she grew-up knowing that just about anywhere she went, there would be someone related to the Abbotts close by enough to have her back in a pinch. It was quite the safety net, really – although at times it came across as stifling, especially during her awkward adolescent years. (How much can one truly feel like one is spreading one’s wings when one has to constantly wonder how much of the story is getting back to mum and dad?) For the most part, Ainsley liked it – especially given that her immediate family was small, so her childhood ended up having a rather good balance between intimate family relationships and broad family network. As far as that immediate family, Ainsley’s consisted of two parents (Hubert and Moira Abbott) and one sister, Vanessa, who went almost universally by Nessie. (Ainsley herself did not favor nicknames, and once out of the toddler-stage where both she and her sister referred to herself as “Lee-lee,” preferred to use her full name.) The girls were born barely two years apart and, thanks to Ainsley being born late in the spring and Nessie at the very end of summer, actually attended Hogwarts with only a one year gap between them. This led to them being very close both as children and later as adults, and the sisters suffered from little of the disagreements and competitions common to many close-age siblings – due in part, no doubt, to their parents’ insistence on focusing on their individual strengths rather than comparing their talents or weaknesses against one another. The Abbotts (at least, Ainsley’s small branch of that three) were the sort of parents who could and did spend time indulging their children’s particular interests, but didn’t hover over every aspect of their lives, especially as the girls grew older and could be more easily left to their own devices and entertainments. Part of that was due to mum’s increasing workload – she was one of the original designers for the Nimbus Racing Broom Company, having been a close friend of Devlin Whitehorn for years, and as the company’s popularity soared so too did its demands on its employees’ time – and part to dad’s promotion from junior to senior auditor in the Ministry’s Department of Magical Finance Management; they both simply had less time to spare to parent as their careers demanded more and more of their attention instead. It wasn’t that Moira and Hubert ever became bad parents – just busier than they had been, when their girls had been young. It meant more financial security and comfort, though, which was nice – but also more distance and distraction from their daughters. At least they were both already in Hogwarts by then, with plenty of their own distractions on which to focus. Ainsley and Nessie made up for any lack of parental involvement by sticking together, and neither would have said they ever noticed anything missing from their childhoods – until Nessie fell in love with someone she could not have. Now as long as she was a half-blood, anyway. There was no way that someone like Jayesh Rosier would ever be permitted to marry an Abbott – not since they slipped off the pillar of purity on which they had once stood, anyway. But Nessie wasn’t going to let a little thing like blood-status stand in her way…and as little as the idea of pretending to be pure-bloods appealed to Ainsley, she couldn’t say no when Nessie asked: “Oh come on Ainsley, you know there’s no real difference between a pure-blood and a half-blood. We were raised in the magical world too, it’s not like we’re muggle-borns! Our blood’s as good as anyone else’s. In fact it’s already mostly the same blood, so it’s hardly even a lie to say ‘oh actually, we checked the family history, and our branch is still pure, look at that!’ And if it is, it’s a lie that everyone’s telling. How many people do you think can really say they don’t have any Muggles in their family tree? Anyone? No, everyone does it–” “Not to the Rosiers, they don’t! I’m not protesting the–the morality of what you’re doing, you idiot, I’m worried about your life! These people are fanatics!” “Jayesh isn’t a fanatic–” “Jayesh won’t be the one holding the wand when they find out you lied and kill you for it!” “Ainsley…who’s going to find out? Are you going to tell them?” “What? No, of course not–” “Besides, Jayesh loves me. His family won’t hurt me. He wouldn’t let them. And after they see how happy we are together, it won’t matter anyway.” Ainsley was very much sure that it would, but she could also see that there was no talking her sister out of this foolishness. Love, Ainsley thought with disgust, it destroys people. I’m glad I’ve never fallen victim to that kind of stupidity – not realizing, of course, that she very much had, for it was love of her sister that compelled her to go along with Nessie’s mad plan. It wasn’t hard: a bribe here, a forged document there…as Nessie had said, everyone did it. The methods were well-established. Ainsley couldn’t help but wonder if everyone else who had walked this reckless path had felt so sick with nerves over every step. But her sister was happy. And that was what mattered. NOTE: I am leaving many details about Nessie deliberately vague in case anyone would like to pick her up as a Secondary or something, I hope that’s all right! If not I will gladly make some more concrete defining choices about her, just let me know!

OCCUPATION:

Ainsley is a staff editor at The Daily Prophet. She keenly wants to be a columnist, but so far none of the pieces she has turned-in have been run in the paper – there’s just too many stories this week, dear; it’s all this Death Eater-business, you know; maybe next month… It isn’t a lack of wordsmithing skill that gets in her way, but a focus on topics that just don’t interest other people. The Prophet values AInsley for her keen eye for detail, impeccable (obsessive) fact-checking, and grammatical precision; many of the staff-writers give her their pieces for proof-reading prior to publication. Many of those same staff laugh behind her back about her weird obsessions with archaic forms of magic or speculative archaeology – or the Arithmancy! Oh, the Arithmancy! Ainsley has no idea that she is an object of ridicule at the office, which makes it hard for the “gallant” reporters who try to catch her interest by “defending her” to their fellows whenever they think she’s listening – but she usually isn’t; Ainsley is very good at tuning-out the world around her, and spends most of her downtime with her nose buried in some ancient tome or fresh academic journal. Sadly for those young gallants, she’s perfectly content without their company – or perhaps it’s for the best; none of those wizards would probably enjoy a date with Ainsley, should they somehow manage to secure one. Sure, she’s easy-on-the-eyes – but what about the ears? It’s not like she’s going to want to make small-talk about the latest Quidditch upset, after all…and so few people find a discussion on the importance of comma placement or the intricacies of reverse Arithmancy to be entertaining dinner conversation, much to Ainsley’s bewilderment.

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER:

Surprising to most people, Ainsley is a fighter for the Order. That isn’t all she does, of course; none of them can really only do one thing when they’re part of a rag-tag army of volunteers on what is seeming more and more like the losing side of a war. Her other chief areas of value to the Order come from, firstly, her esoteric knowledge: Ainsley never made a particularly study of Dark Magic, but her research into odd little archaic bits and pieces of magical history and alternative theories means she knows more about it than most of her fellows. Knows enough to help pick-apart Curses and alleviate their suffering; knows enough to help undo many a boobytrap without loss of life along the way. She doesn’t have Moody’s grizzled calm or Dumbledore’s warm wisdom – but when they aren’t around, she’ll do in a pinch. The area where she should be the most obviously valuable – that of The Daily Prophet – is not one where she’s been of as much help as the Order would like. Ainsley doesn’t have the sort of clout they need to turn a story in their favor; doesn’t have enough influence over her coworkers to try and change anyone’s mind (and honestly, probably lacks the delicacy of social interaction to get away with such efforts undetected anyway). She gets to see the stories before they publish a lot of the time, because she’s editing them for grammar, punctuation, and outrageously nonfactual statements (far too many of the latter of which the Editor in Chief overrules her on and publishes anyway) but she rarely has enough time between when she turns-in her polished drafts and when the paper goes to print to give enough advance warning to her fellows in the Order to do any good. On the surface, having someone inside The Daily Prophet seems like a real coupe…but unfortunately, that someone is Ainsley Abbott. As for Ainsley’s feelings, she knows that she’s often a disappointment – but she doesn’t know how to make that better, so she pushes the feeling away as best she can and ignores it. On the other hand, it’s getting harder and harder to ignore the realization that the Order might be losing this war. When she joined, Ainsley loved being a member. Sure, it was dangerous and often scary and sometimes overwhelmingly awful…but it also reminded her, a little bit, of life in Ravenclaw Tower. The arguments had different subjects and the experiments were less creative, but there was the same sort of energy in the air. Now most of that’s been sapped, and the influx of “new blood” looks to be too short-sighted and foolhardy to bolster AInsley’s flagging spirits. She doesn’t mind breaking the law (is too much that sort of Ravenclaw to worry about silly things like human laws…or the laws of nature even, at times!) but she didn’t join the Order for a lark; she had an end goal. And every day, that seems to be slipping farther and farther out of the Order’s reach…

SURVIVAL:

As far as ordinary logistics go, Ainsley survives on her salary as an editorial assistant for The Daily Prophet. She shares a small, plain-but-decent flat near their London offices with her sister, Vanessa, although she might have to move to a less expensive location when the inevitable happens and Nessie moves out to get married – but that’s a problem to face in the future; maybe she’ll take a roommate instead. (Maybe someone from the Order. It’s one of the few places she has real friends.) It will be odd, getting used to living with someone who isn’t family again – the first time she’ll have done that since the Hogwarts dormitories – but AInsley is a Ravenclaw; she likes new experiences. As for staying alive…for the most part, Ainsley survives because no one thinks she’s a threat – no one who would want to hurt her for it, anyway. Many of her own allies have trouble wrapping their heads around the idea that this seemingly-meek, nerdy little eagle is anything more than a useful bookworm; the Death Eaters certainly have no reason to suspect her at all…and less reason than most, maybe; after all, as far as they know, she’s a middling pure-blood without ambition or angles of advancement, happy to take a back-set to her sister’s social climb. And no one who was helping said sister marry into the Rosier family would be so foolish as to join an organization opposing everything the Rosiers hold dear…right?

RELATIONSHIPS:

Ainsley’s most important relationship is, of course, with her sister – and despite the strain that Nessie’s marital prospects (and their attendant secrets and lies) have placed on the sisters, that is one bond that remains as strong as ever. As for her co-workers…well, Ainsley has yet to figure out where and how to really fit-in with the rest of the Daily Prophet staff. (Perhaps because she’s so often correcting their misuse of commas or calling their attention to “innocent” little factual errors that she’s too hard-nosed to let slide into print.) The closest she’s come to making a true friend at work is probably Edmund Gwynder, their newest staff photographer. Maybe he just hasn’t been around long enough to find Ainsley tiresome yet…or maybe the fact that she can’t correct the grammar of a photograph endears her to him. The fact that she feels guilty enough over the fact that he almost lost a hand in an Order-related incident, and consequently she makes more of an effort to actually engage when he talks to her, might have something to do with it too. Within the Order of the Phoenix, Ainsley fares much better. Maybe it’s the bonding-effect of facing death together; maybe it’s the fact that she has saved many of her fellows’ lives once or twice before (and they, her) or maybe it’s just that in a group made-up so largely of misfits in one fashion or another, Ainsley fits in. Maybe it’s just that she’s much too curious to be judgemental when someone else confesses to fears or failures, and that makes her a great comfort in times like this. Those she’s particularly close to include Edgar Bones, with whom she once shared a common room and classes – although Ainsley was, and remains, shocked that it was Edgar who joined the Order, not Amelia….but then, she joined too. Maybe the rest of the world should stop underestimating quiet Ravenclaws…and maybe Ainsley, of all people, should have known better than to jump to that same stereotypical conclusion. At any rate, she’s glad Edgar is here; it’s nice having someone around with whom she shares so much in common – not just a former Hogwarts House, either; they both have a penchant for watching, a drive for learning, and a sibling they love more than life itself. Caradoc Dearborn isn’t quite as familiar a face – or at least he wasn’t, before they both found themselves in the Order; they knew each other at school of course, but their paths crossed less often. These days, Ainsley finds him not just familiar but reliable – a pillar of strength and logic in a world tilting off its axis. Gladys Gudgeon is another year-mate she’s glad to see getting involved, although so far the other witch has been staying at more of a distance…but Ainsley thinks that ought to change. The more legitimate government connections the Order can form, the better – especially if they all mean to not be arrested once this war is over!

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS: I think it would be interesting to get AInsley to a point where she realizes that she can fall in love without falling in lust – but I’m not sure that’s likely to happen, and I’m definitely not sure what kind of character would be the one(s) to inspire that breakthrough…but if something looks like it’s kindling, I’ll certainly be all for exploring it!

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

Ainsley isn’t prejudiced at all. Sure, she knows that being raised in magical society is a superior upbringing to that of Muggles but that doesn’t make her prejudiced; in fact, it just means she expects less of Muggle-borns because she knows they’re starting at a disadvantage, which is the opposite of being prejudiced against them of course. And it has nothing to do with blood-status, oh no! As a half-blood (even if she’s pretending otherwise these days), Ainsley would be silly to pay any credence to blood-status. It’s all to do with one’s experiences. Being born magical is just better, that’s all – that’s obvious. And of course the older one’s magical lineage, the better one is established within the magical world – but purity has nothing to do with it. Of course not. And as for unclean – sorry, as for inhuman beasts like werewolves and giants and goblins and centaurs…well, they’re interesting to study, sure enough! But Ainsley wouldn’t invite one of them over to dinner! That would just be absurd. She’s no more likely to treat a House Elf with the same respect with which she does a person than she is to sprout wings and start flying without a broomstick – less, honestly; that sounds like just the sort of experiment that Ainsley would be captivated by. House Elves, on the other hand…well, they’re useful and they’re often sweet and that’s nice, but they aren’t people. No more are any other non-human beings or (worse yet) those unfortunate half-breed creatures. Oh, Ainsley can be perfectly civil and even kind to them – especially if she’s studying them; she’s learned quite a lot from her forays to the McKinnon farm to talk to and observe the lycanthropic subjects sheltering there, for instance, and she was one of the few students to have managed to strike-up the occasional interaction with one of the notoriously shy merfolk inhabiting the Hogwarts lake back at school – but she’d never make the mistake of thinking that they’re people like her. That sort of foolish, illogical anthropomorphizeing empathy is how good researchers get eaten.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

I am honestly just so excited to get to explore the imperfections and prejudices within the Order; too often fandom makes 99% of the characters in HP so black-and-white in terms of good-vs-evil when most of them aren’t. Sure, there are extreme end-of-the-spectrum characters like Voldemort and Bella and Umbridge who are pretty much Pure Evil (and the occasional opposite end like the hardly-flawless-but-wholly-good-hearted Luna Lovegood) but for the most part, the people in this story are just people. (All that “both light and dark inside us” blah blah blah stuff.) But when you only focus on the Good Guys vs Bad Guys – particularly when the cause the bad guys are fighting for is so bad – it’s easy to gloss-over the flaws in the people fighting against them; easy to forget that they aren’t always great too. Easy to forget that just because you’re fighting against a group of people trying to enshrine prejudice as near-holy writ in their society doesn’t mean that you’re automatically free of prejudice yourself. (Maybe some of the people in the Order are there because they oppose blood-supremacy, but does that mean they like werewolves? Doubt it! Or what about the ones who come from Muggle roots who thus have Muggle prejudices that the wizarding world has little of – racism, for starters! What about queerness? Is it more tolerated in a magical society where people can change genders as easily as they transfigure themselves into rabbits and armchairs, and where marriage has always been about preserving the family line more than romance so who cares what the gender of your “bit on the side” is as long as you produce a proper heir? Etc. What about religion? I doubt too many wix go in for Muggle religions, when so many of those belief systems take the tactic of “thou shalt not suffer a witch to live!” so how does that conflict play-out between those who grew-up with one foot in the magical world and one in the Muggle? So many options for turmoil!) Just because someone is paying enough attention to know that Voldemort is evil doesn’t even mean that they don’t share some of the same ideals being spouted by the Death Eaters – maybe unconsciously, maybe to a lesser degree, etc…but still there, in their head. Internalized. Needing to be unpacked, confronted – but fandom does so little of that. Good Guys are Good, End of Story. The Order were all friends who got along, la la la! Nope. Don’t think so. The Order was made up of a bunch of scared, desperate, angry, beleaguered people (several of them outcasts in their own way) fighting life-and-death battles against an enemy they couldn’t always even find, opposing their own government in many ways in order to “do the right thing” – fighting a war that half the populace would rather just went away. Even if they had all started as buddies, that would have been enough strain to crumble half their friendships by the end – and conversely, to forge people who otherwise have nothing in common into lifelong mates. The interpersonal relationships and inevitable clashes and arguments and confrontations – those are going to be awesome. I’m so excited.

PLOT DROP IDEAS: Things to inspire more inter-personal conflict in the Order; things to erode people’s trust in one another. Unfortunate circumstances, suspicious choices – maybe someone is seen talking to somebody whom other Order members know to be a Death Eater, but they didn’t get the memo yet and just think they’re an old friend, but the others don’t buy that explanation… Maybe someone has to make a purchase in Knockturn Alley that they don’t want to talk about publicly, which should be fine – everyone deserves a little privacy! But can they afford to grant that in the middle of a war…? Maybe someone (a Death Eater, a concerned citizen, a copy-cat) stages an attack that the Order gets blamed for, and certain members of the Order (Dorcas and Emma? James and Sirius?) have a hard time convincing the others that it wasn’t them… Maybe somebody defects; maybe somebody dies.

ANYTHING ELSE? nope!

EXTRA FOR NON-BIO CHARACTERS:

PAST:

There are a lot of Abbotts in the world. They’re an old family and rather than dwindle over the years like so many other old families, they’ve multiplied. Ainsley has cousins upon cousins upon cousins, and ties to most of the magical families in Great Britain (and abroad) if you trace those family trees back far enough. Everyone knows an Abbott – and everyone knows they aren’t pure. Not anymore; not since the 1940s, when the societal shift post-Grindewald led to a relaxation of blood-standards among many of the older families (the Bulstrodes, the Bobbins). But not every family loosened their ideals of purity, and some of those that did not were the most prestigious. This led to the Abbotts not so much being exiled from the higher echelons of society as drifting slowly to the side as the blood-purists solidified their grasp on the top slots and everyone else stood back and let them. For Ainsley, that was a stroke of luck; she’s the type of witch who prefers the sidelines, prefers watching to interacting, especially in a crowd. It is a trait that surprisingly few of her Hogwarts Housemates shared, but while AInsley preferred the company of her fellow quiet academics she was nonetheless delighted to let the more rambunctious Ravenclaws entertain her with the endless experiments and impassioned debates that made their Tower such an eye-opening place for a quiet, curious young Abbott to grow-up.

PRESENT:

Ainsley might have been expected to go into some esoteric research position after Hogwarts, locked away in a room full of dusty books and quills and quiet. But quiet was best when it was surrounded by something exciting – and Ainsley liked sharing what she knows almost as much as she likes learning something new. So she turned to a very different source of the printed word: journalism. Her career at The Daily Prophet has not proved to be as fulfilling as she had hoped when she was first hired as an editorial assistant, however. She thought that would include writing a few articles herself – fleshing-out the paper’s coverage of current events and societal gossip and economic and investment minutia with some columns on important topics like Arithmancy theories and archaic rune translations. Somehow, though, there’s just never enough room to squeeze in her pieces; too much other news keeps getting in the way. That isn’t what drove Ainsley to leave her desk and take up wands against the Death Eaters, though; she did that for her sister. Vanessa was always the more impractical, romantic of the two – but their differences did nothing to drive them apart, and there’s nothing Ainsley wouldn’t do for the person she loves most. Including fight to make a world where Nessie would be safe to follow her heart. That’s why Ainsley went along with her sister’s scheme to pretend to be pure-bloods so she could marry Jayesh Rosier – and why AInsley decided to cut to the chase and just destroy blood-prejudice. The Order hasn’t had as much success as she’d hoped, though, and now Ainsley is starting to wonder if she isn’t potentially doing Nessie more harm than good. What will her prospective in-laws do if they find out Nessie’s sister is fighting against their precious Dark Lord?

FC CHOICES: Olivia Taylor Dudley, Song Ji-Hyo, Amy Acker

#homenumaccepted #harry potter rp #harry potter roleplay #harry potter rpg #marauders rp

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prettywordsyouleft · 6 years ago

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New Year, New Adventure

Summary: Last year you had let your family know that you were getting engaged. This New Year’s Eve you had a special surprise to share with your husband Seunghoon.

Characters: Lee Seunghoon x reader

Genre: fluff

A/N: This story is set in the same universe as Late for Christmas (Idol Advent Day 14). I keep thinking back to this drabble storyline and decided to extend it out to bring in the New Year. I hope you enjoy it!

Yes this is very obvious, and fluffy as hell, but I wanted to end the year on a note like this!

Word count: 1341

This Christmas you had made it home without a delayed flight. You had been there in time to open presents with your family and enjoyed all the festivities that you expect each year to be involved in. Unlike last Christmas, where you spent the holiday stuck in an airport terminal with your fiancé Seunghoon, this time you spent it with your now husband and your families. It had felt like a perfect way to wrap up the year, but you knew better now.

It was New Year’s Eve and you wondered why it was becoming a tradition for this day to hold significant meaning to you. Last year you had used the last day of the year to show off the new addition to your ring finger, letting everyone know you and Seunghoon were engaged. Now you would have more news to share and you were anxious to do so.

“You okay?” a familiar voice asked and you turned to see Seunghoon approaching you, kissing you on the top of your head before enveloping you in his arms. You sighed happily, it didn’t matter how many times he took you in an embrace it felt magical every time. You had to work hard to keep your emotions at bay and not blurt out what you needed to tell him right now though. You wanted him to be surprised, and whilst he would be, you wanted the heightened atmosphere of the countdown to the New Year to assist your big news.

Even if you felt like you would combust before that time tonight.

“I’m fine now that you’re here,” you murmured and he smiled, looking at you for further information. Since you weren’t giving any up, he pouted.

“You look tired,” he concluded and you nodded. After all, it wasn’t a lie. You had been struggling with sleep lately and it showed. Seunghoon then smiled again. “But even so you still look beautiful tonight. Are you ready to go out to the party?”

“Just give me a few minutes and I’ll join you,” you replied, smiling as your husband walked off and you were left staring into the reflection of yourself in the mirror.

You nodded once. You could do this.

Seunghoon could tell there was something up with you all night. You were barely conversing with him, opting to find others in the party to greet and talk with instead. At first, he left it down to you wanting to catch up with friends and family, but as the night wore on, he knew there was something you were avoiding.

More than just him too.

He let you go for some time, observing you from afar as best as he could. But then he grew concerned. You kept placing down glasses of champagne when handed one and you hadn’t really eaten any food offered to you. Were you sick? He was all too happy to not see the New Year in if you needed to go back to the room and rest up.

He excused himself from talking with your Father and walked over to your side, grabbing your elbow to garner your attention. You stared up at him wide-eyed for only a moment and then smiled. “Are you having a good night?”

“Are you okay?” he asked for the second time tonight, brushing off your question with his own. Your eyes diverted from his and he frowned, he knew you too well for you to successfully hide anything from him. “Are you unwell?”

You shot your head back up and nodded a bit too enthusiastically. He eyed your reaction warily. “You know how you noticed I was tired, well I feel a little nauseous too. But I’m okay. I want to stay tonight.”

“If you’re feeling unwell, we should just go,” he suggested and you grabbed onto his lower arm, encouraging him to let go of the idea. He sighed heavily and looked around the party before back at you. “We can stay a little bit longer but if you start to feel worse, let me know and we’ll retire early, okay?”

You nodded with a smile. “Deal.”

Despite the promise, he didn’t feel comfortable leaving your side and you were starting to sweat over keeping up your act. You clutched at your purse for dear life, knowing what laid inside was itching to come out much like the words were. But you needed to wait; you had done so well to make it to fifteen minutes until midnight as it was. There had been a couple of slip-ups that you managed to catch before Seunghoon or anyone around you did, and whilst you were thankful, it had you teetering on the edge of an anxious excitement, you wanted to get it out and done with so the stress of your secret would be over, yet you were anticipating his reaction. Would he laugh, cry, do both? You had never told him anything big like this before, and you wondered as the minutes ticked by how to announce it. You were so invested in your thoughts that when you walked right into the appetisers’ table leg, Seunghoon had to grab you before you fell over.

He mistook it for dizziness. “Right that’s it, we’re going.”

“No, Hoon, I’m fine! There’s only a couple of minutes until the countdown. I can make it.”

“You’re not focusing on anything anymore!” he cried in frustration, searching your eyes for an answer. “Why are you being so stubborn? It’s just another night babe. We don’t need to stay up and-”

The one minute countdown began and you smiled, not quite listening to the words your husband was still speaking. He stopped as the room filled with excited chanting the closer it got to the mere seconds left of this year, and he heaved a heavy breath right as you dove into your purse, retrieving the weight you had been carrying around all night long.

“Eleven – ten – nine –”

You held it up to Seunghoon, who froze.

“Eight – seven –”

“Seunghoon, I’m pregnant!” you called out and then grinned, catching up with the numbers being counted down. “Five – four – three –”

Your lips were captured within his then and the New Year struck loudly within the room as Seunghoon kissed you passionately. When he finally pulled away, he had tears in his eyes.

“Really?!” he asked and you laughed as your own happiness brimmed within your tear ducts, bouncing your head up and down as you laughed again. Seunghoon hugged you tightly before you were both jostled by other members of the function celebrating. You quickly snapped the test back and hid it in your purse as your parents came over to greet you in the New Year, Seunghoon giving you an odd look until you were alone again.

“Don’t you want to tell them yet?” he asked and you shook your head. “Why not?”

“I know last year we surprised them with our big news and we’re in a position to do it again, but I only just tested yesterday. Whilst it still was positive this morning too, I want to make sure we can give them something more than just a pregnancy test.”

“Like a sonogram?” he offered and you nodded. Seunghoon grinned again and rested his forehead on yours. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you uttered, kissing him again.

“I can’t believe this.”

“Neither can I. Who knew this year would bring us another adventure and so soon too?” you wondered and Seunghoon’s eyes widened.

“This time next year we’ll have a baby.”

You smiled giddily, letting him capture your lips again in a breath-taking kiss. And as you continued to kiss well into the start of the New Year, you were glad you decided to tell Seunghoon tonight. Because there was another 365 days ahead of you both, and during those, you knew there would be another special date aside from New Years and your wedding anniversary to celebrate.

Your adventure ahead had never looked so fulfilling until now.

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radgies · 7 years ago

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Red Rose, Yellow Rose - TAEYONG

The year is 2044, the world has advanced beyond anyone's expectations. Not even the highly thought of theorists could have predicted what the world was going accumulate to when they were alive. Crime and fatalities have not been heard of for many decades, the only death known is the natural grip if mother nature. The question you're probably thinking is - well, how? If you're reading this currently I'm more than likely dead, but I have a feeling that my cause of death was certainly not from the natural serenity from mother nature. What you're reading is a visual diary of my experience of the 'Utopian' city of Veil', thanks to technological advances this is the only reason you'll be experiencing my life as if you were the embodiment of me.

Let me take you back 10 years to when in this delightful society we were lining up in order to put our names into the running to be tested for the purity of our blood.. Sounds dark, right? Well it is - except I never realised it until further on in my life,but you'll see why this day is significant to my memories.

"Where has she gone now” My mother’s tone rang among the echoing voice of the other passer by’s, the location was a newly proposed method by the government to produce a Utopian society, they thought this would be the way to cleanse the problems faced in previous centuries My mother would always preach to me even at a young age about how extraordinary the works of our social higher arch's has done for us as a generation.

“She gone investigating again” My dad let out a tiring sigh as he held my mother’s pink coat draped over his forearm. Right he was, little me was too busy trying to see through the perfectness of the world. The pavements are too smooth with no cracks, the flowers bloom all year around and the temperature is always a comfortable warmth as if we were under a fake light source.

This is the day I met Lee Taeyong; he was also on his own as our innocent curiosities both strayed us away from standing calming by our parents side in the very long stream of people all dressed in their pastel clothing - little did i know at that point being so young how we would both see the world for what it was.

I watched as the boy would pick the flowers from the smooth flowerbeds and how they would regurgitate themselves almost instantly as if they had never been picked before.Then he saw me, both of us even as we grew older never loved art of conversations. The blooming strange yellow rose was something that I kept with me, as the flowers were so false it made it easy.

If you’re wondering why we are at this strange sounding place it’s because that day 10 years ago was the day our families would be sorted in the previously mentioned Blood Faculties. This was mandatory for all family’s living in Veil to go through. To sum it up, each family member would have to cut themselves with the special crystal - enough to draw blood to fill up the locket that was said to behold special spirits that decided if your blood was pure or in fact in-pure. Of course having pure blood meant you continued to live the high-life in Veil, if in-pure it meant you were out-casted. Pretty much the world had never changed when you think about it.

Many lines of people would cue to sign their names to be eligible for testing, anticipating families awaiting to know their futures. Whilst Taeyong and I were too busy being fascinated by the magic- like flowerbeds and how they would sprout new colours. I picked one of the red flowers and handed it to him and said “It remind me of your strange hair colour” which he would then get offended by it - but we would still be best friend after the ‘argument’.

That was the day Taeyong and I’s families signed our lives away, like every other family in Veil.But what did we know? We were the ones’s who thought we would always be best friends, the symbolism of the red and yellow rose. Irony is an amazing thing - something I also learned overtime.

Today was the day were going to find out the results of the Blood ceremony, all families were instructed to wear white the girls and women in dresses the boys and men in suits. If i remembered correctly Taeyong and I were about 14 years old at this point. The results are presented on a stage in front of nearly half the population and in front of the higher-classes of residents and elders.The whole family has to be cleared for purity for all of them to get in, the members who aren’t are simply out casted.

Taeyong and I stood next to one another laughing about the topics that were at our classes in school, we took no notice of the whole big deal that was made of this specific day because we expected everything to stay the same. His red hair stood out even more in contrast with the white suit. I had turned the yellow flower into a broach with the help of my mother and wore it on my white dress. All the other children had excited faces whilst the both of us were lost in our own world and talking about different matter.

“Next!”

It was my family’s turn, we stood on the large excessive stage in front of the display with the ring and the cutting crystal. The ring would produce and sparkly white cloud of smoke if the blood was pure and a red-ashy coloured smoke if it was to be of the opposite. My mother and father’s both turned the desired white and they cheered whilst the crowed applauded. It was my turn, the first inical slice made me wince with the stinginess of the fresh wound. The blood filled the ring and then the white smoke appeared, but i did’t feel the same joy as my parents, but I smiled anyway.

“We need to wait for the Lee’s” I said stopping my mother and father as a white bandage was wrapped around my wound. Both his parents had the white joyous cloud of smoke and then it was his turn, his blood almost the same colour as his hair as he squeezed the blood onto the ring. But instead of the stark white, the red-dusty smoke appeared.

In that moment I wanted to be dreaming, the fall of his features as he looked panicked at his parents and then over to me. Shaking my head as if it was some prank - but then remembering they got outlawed in the previous years. His parents clung to him as the guards separated them, I tried to stop them but my mother had a threatening grip on my wrist, all I could do was watch my best-friend being dragged away with no remorse

It’s not so much a perfect world now huh?.I think everyone has this perception of what a perfect world would be like until it actually happens and you see through the fake barrier that is put up in order to make people feel a period of momentary happiness. My next memory was when I met Taeyong again for the first time, which is 10 years later.

Routine that’s all it was, like a never ending loop. Deeply depressed by the facade that Veil had put up, turns out the pure-blood life isn’t as great as they make it out to be.

Today was the day I ventured far outside the walls, ever heard the saying curiosity killed the cat? The curiosity never killed me, but the need for finding out the truth behind the falseness of Veil did. Beyond the smooth pavement of the city it stopped at a large barbed wire fence that lead into sand. Instead of the colours being the pretty pastels it turned dull and rusty. The houses were barely standing due the the sand storms, but they were still inhabitable. The whole town was a complete contrast to Veil as I stared through the rugged hexagon shape of the barbed wire.

It wasn’t a place you could just walk into, but at the same time not many people wanted to. People of in-pure blood found inside the city are killed on the spot after being verified of the in-pure blood.

Somehow I manged to pass through the small hole in the fence I had found as I stepped through. I walked around the back of the first few houses the dark lighting even when it’s bright and sunny intrigued me.

Not to bore you with anymore details - let’s just skip to why this whole scene is in my memory diary.

It was night-time before I was finished with my exploration trip for the day but by that time I had wondered why there was no one to be seen through the day, it turn out everyone that lives here comes out at night.

Making my way back to the place in the fence where I had got in at, my eyes widened when someone grabbed me holding something sharp to make neck. “What are you doing here” the female voice spat, I guessed from my attire she knew where I was from. It was a glass shard that was pressed against the vital vein in my neck.

Fear took over as I kept quiet - but not so soon the woman had enough of me and dragged me by the neck with her arm still locked around it backwards, struggling to stay on my feet. I was dropped on the middle of the road out of breath. “HEY!” The woman screamed before I heard multiple doors creaked open and loads of people flooded onto the street.

Yikes, at this memory because it actually scared me until I was the colour of a ghost.

People shouted vulgar slangs at me about the purity of my blood and how I was wearing white. I couldn’t say anything as they all stared at me as if I was a rat they found in their soup.

My eyes landed on a pair of worn down shoes that stepped in front of my line of sight that was aimed at the ground. I looked up the tall frame and my eyes widened with shock and disbelief.

“Taeyong?”

The whole street fell silent, he just looked at me as if I was a stranger. “How do you know my name” He spat angrily, he didn’t reconfigure me? That’s when I reached for my white - well previous white socks and pulled out the small yellow flowered broach that was now covered in the rusty sand and held it up to him - he took the small broach and it’s as if he replayed the whole story of how I got that in his head.

“Why are you here?” He breathed out. Still shocked by my response I had no idea on what to say. “Everyone go back home” He commanded and they listened as I watched the depart.

“Are you in charge or something” I laughed out as my awkward and nervous laughter ruined the deafening silence. “Why? Do you find it hard to believe” He snapped. I raised an eyebrow at him.

“It was just never you,what happened the the quiet Taeyong who avoided all contact with people as much as possible” I was still using my joking tone as I stood up from the sandy ground. Then his words rang out “He’s long gone” As he handed me back the broach. “You need to leave” I was in disbelief to say the least.

“What happened to the best friend code we made all them years ago” I said teasingly, my last shot at trying to have a glance at the old Taeyong.

“It died the day, I was shown the red smoke” He looked at me, I got the chance to finally see him properly and not from the lower angle. He was tall, still had the same red hair that I remembered it was just less kept. Taeyong was always handsome but now he was incredibly captivating.”

He turned and walked away with no more conversation, then i clicked with me. “You blame me?” I asked almost in a laugh in anger at the sudden realisation of his anger, he stopped but never turned around.

“You blame me because you were outcasted and sent to this place?” I paused “How? What could I have done Taeyong” I spoke, my voice gaining a higher tone as I became angrier. “Tell me!” I screamed at him.

He finally turned around and looked at me. “You could have came with me” He said. I laughed bitterly due to this not being the expected reunion that played in my head for the past 10 years. “We were 14! I had to stay with my paren-” Ths time he laughed. “What about all the conversations we had about how much we hated the city and how we would run away and discover something new” He shook head. “But when it came to it, you stayed, you supported the way the Veil works”

“That’s not true, you can’t just put your anger all on me because of what the stupid result said. I tried to search for you but my parents always tried to block me and I even went to your parent to see of they would tell me anything. I haven’t forgot about you since the day we met by the flowerbed, and not since you were taken away! So don’t you dare try to make me feel like shit for something I had no control of” Finishing my rant, out of breath.He still wore the same stone cold impression as before.

Shaking my head I turned around headed back for the way I had came. The his deep voice rang out my name, but i kept walking. Then he grabbed my wrist turning me around.

“I’ve felt alone for so long, the abandonment feeling has never went away. It’s eating me alive day in and day out, I have’t slept properly in months, there’s been many’s of times i’ve just wanted to give up.”

“Why didn’t you?” It was hard seeing even your previous best friend looking so broken and stepped on. He paused looking at me;

“We made that promise as well, to never give up even when it gets unbearable - you always had said you would punch me in the face if I ever did” I couldn’t help but laugh at the memories.

“Times are so different” He sighed, I nodded in agreement. “I’m sorry, non of what happened was your fault, it was just the shocked of seeing you after all this time”

The looked around the empty street, the light breeze making the sand skim across the air.

“You run this place?” I whispered. “I look after it and the people” He interjected.

“You’ve done well for yourself Taeyong, you should be proud” I have him a small smile. “What about you?”

“The Veil’s fake perfectness is draining, mother and father seem to be enjoying it though” He knew there was an underlying meaning to that but he could tell by my expression to dig no further.

He was about to say my name before the woman from before ran out of the house and screamed “The Guards!” Panic seemed to wash over the deserted town as everyone rushed out and stood behind Taeyong.

I watched as three of the guards came running forwards and had their weapons pointed at Taeyong and all the people who stood behind him. It was a surreal moment as one of the guards had grabbed me me knocked Taeyong to the ground, then I understood why. My white dress that was now slightly discoloured due to the sand gave away I wasn’t from this place and it looked as if Taeyong and the people had taken me. “No, i’m fine they didn’t take me “ I yelled to the guard but he ignored me as I was dragged away, still clutching the yellow broach in the palm of my hand as Taeyong faded into the distance, yet again.

This memory is a significant one as you can tell. at this point Taeyong and I were old enough to start seeing the world for what is really was. There wasn’t such a thing a Utopian City such as Veil, there never can be when there’s still divisions between people. Life was hard for both sides of the blood, but yet the government still managed to try and plant the seed of a perfect society. Little did they know it would crumble due the hands of a yellow and red rose.

Hope you guys have enjoyed, this is the fist imagine type think I have ever posted so a lil nervous not going to like. But oh well, never the less. Sorry if there are some mistakes this is not proof-read but it will be soon enough! Thanks for reading!

🌹

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heilewelt · 7 years ago

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Wander Landes Festival, 21-24. September 2017, Seignosse, France

So, basically I was missing to see Sunset Sons live so much, I booked some flights to see them in their hometown during their very own surf, food and music festival, The Wander Landes Festival. Plus I've seen a lot of movies about surfing and the ocean this year on several festivals, so going to a beach with surfers sounded pretty right. As soon as I arrived and set my foot in the sand I knew I made the right decision. No matter what will happen, I'll be fully relaxed by the end of the festival.

It all started on Thursday, 21th of September 2017 with the Opening Party at Heads Beach Brewery with some DJ's and a tiny bit tired band called Consolers, an surprising amount of disposable packaging for food and plastic cups for drinks and after the gig some 90s/2000 Hip Hop which apparently still works for parties – who knew? I didn't. That's because I basically only go to concerts. Tina Turner still works as well with young people. Astonishing.

On the second day I realized I'm in a small village and am probably the only one who doesn't know anyone – except for four people who I don't really know. It's basically some sort of extended family event I stumbled into. Everyone got up pretty early in the morning and we were all waiting for some coffee, croissants and surf boards to arrive. Most were quite impatiently waiting for the Foam Froth Surf event to start. I was there, too. Waiting for I don't know what – I can't surf and am pretty afraid of drowning in the waves but the coffee was great. It almost seems like a small torture to make surfers wait until they can go to the beach when the waves are crystal clear. When there was finally a 'go' I could see some guys basically running. I was following slowly to the beach. There are things for me to do as well. I can quite surely watch surfers from the beach, can read a book on the beach, listen to the calming sound of the ocean, ponder about my work out plan for the next 12 month, how to overcome fear of drowning or something like that, so next year I won't feel that out of place.

(Here is the difference between Dörte walks up to the water and a surfer walks up to the walker. Hint: My footprints are not the straight ones)

After a few hours I left the beach – the weather wasn't that great, I took an extra long way to walk home – getting lost in Seignosse on purpose. Seignosse is – once you left the beach a great place to discover architecture from the 60/70ies, pine trees and more pine trees. I imagine every house has a little tiki bar. They should. The one I stayed in surely had a little tiki bar. Can I have one for my flat?

Well, by the time I started to get hungry again it was already time for the Street Food Festival at Louvine with live music and DJ's (the DJ's were very often someone and Rory of Sunset Sons who magically didn't repeat himself too much musically). One thing that surprised me was: No crêpe! In Germany there is a crêpe stand on basically every festival, no matter what kind of festival actually. Do they sell food? Yes = one crêpe guy. Not in France. In France I had the pleasure of eating Italian waffles with Nutella. Ok, I didn't take Nutella – I got a little experimental with dark chocolate spread. In my head I was laughing when I said that out loud ordering a waffle. I started to recognize some more faces, too. On the next morning I was greeting people I didn't knew I know. It's a small town. I'm not used to this.

The whole festival smelled soooo good. The poulet teriyaki bowl, basque dog, fish fingers, the greek whatever, the burgers, everything. I wanted to eat all of it, even the fish although I don't eat fish. I thought I started with something small, some delicious Peking duck pancakes. And that was that. Next time I won't eat for two days beforehand so I can really eat everything. The later it got the more busy the small street was and I found a place to sit inside Louvine's with some good cafe latte to wait until Haunt The Woods would play. Well worth the wait. I loved the band instantly. They reminded me a bit of Dry The River – the vocal harmonies, the melodies, the guitar play of Phoenix Elleschild all of it but without being a copy of Dry The River. Since Dry the River called it a day some time ago already, it's really good to have finally found such a wonderful replacement. Rory of Sunset Sons joined the band for the song “Beautiful Catastrophe” from Haunt The Woods latest EP “The Line”. It was beautiful. It might be possible that I bought their CD that night and then – since it would have been too long until I would be able to hear it – downloaded it from Bandcamp two days later when I had some free wifi. It would be the soundtrack to the rest of the vacation. Haunt The Woods can sound huge and at the same time very intimate and it doesn't matter weather it's the small stage of the Street Food Festival or a day later as the first band one the big stage of Salle des Bourdaines. The main event of Wander Landes Festival.

After Haunt The Woods the only woman performing this night entered the stage: Lee-Ann Curren. Yes, it was a bit of a boy club overall. Anyway. Lee-Ann made a huge step in her musical development. From playing with her band Betty the Shark to being on her own making some pretty electronic music. House with a little extra in form of guitar and her beautiful voice. The more we went into her set, the more she reminded me of my younger years where I was listening to a lot of Techno and House, dancing the night away in Berlin clubs. These days this kind of music is often a tad boring so I was a bit surprised to find someone in a small beach town in France to make me enjoy this kind of music massively.

After Lee-Ann the German band Consolers hit the stage – just like on the opening event they proved to be an absolute party band, hitting the nerve of the audience on both events. On the opening party with a new song about surfing which got them the love of everyone in the audience, during Satuday with their whole appearance. Also it surely has to do with their 70ies inspired easy going Surf Pop and the well fitting moustaches of some of the band members. They should be from California or something but are actually from Hannover, Germany. And yes, Florian, we've all been there: Rory, the white horse, a beach. Some dreams are dreamt by all.

Nathan Ball and his band were a little quieter but only a tiny little bit. One an evening with six bands you need one that gives you a little time to breath, to dance a little slower. Maybe it was just my tiredness kicking in after a long day at the beach that I thought the music was slower – mind I'm from Berlin and nothing in body is prepared for days of clean, oxygen filled air. I remember I thought he was fucking amazing and some dancing. And many others danced and some sat on the floor relaxing.

The small rest was over as soon as New Carnival hit the stage to make some real shit because that's what they wanna do according to their facebook page. I think my memory is a bit blurry from that set. Enjoyment. Dancing. Powerpowerpower. The energy of singer Max is infectious. My tiredness blown away. Mixing up with the excitement of Sunset Sons going on this stage next. It was already around midnight – not because they were running late, it were just so many bands. The evening just like the whole festival was so well organised and so running smoothly one could think they're doing it for years but it was the first Wander Landes Festival.

So, quickly after New Carnival left the stage it was finally time for my beloved Sunset Sons. The audience went crazy right away and the security had finally something more to do then just checking if everyone had the right wristband. Up until this point I thought they were not needed. Apparently the French crowd is a bit of next level wild – jumping, crowd surfing, a bit chaos and barriers that were not made for this kind of audience, almost breaking a few times. Sunset Sons's concert crowd I know from Germany are actually a bit quieter. This time I was really glad to “work” as it meant some side of the stage to enjoy their set.

Of course they played songs like “Remember” or “On The Road” from their debut album “Very Rarely Say Die”, basically all the tempo numbers, the crowd wasn't into slow at that point anymore anyway. They also played some new songs like “Cherry Red Lips” or however it was called – I personally thought they are ready to be recorded. Especially since the energy didn't differ much from the old songs. Even in the audience – in my experience people are often quieter when there are new songs played in a set. Not during this concert. High energy on every side during their way too short set. Although you could see a bit of exhaustion in some band member faces. You use different muscles when you're surfing and when you're performing. Train more. To my surprise didn't really clap for an encore. Not even the fans I met during a Meet & Greet with Sunset Sons earlier that day. But then again it was maybe 1.30 a.m. Or something. I don't know. I've lost all sense of time that night. They could've played for two hours and it would be enough, especially since I don't know when I'm going to see them again.

For me that was the end of the festival. Happy, relaxed and with a bit of a heavy heart I left Seignosse before the closing party on Sunday. It was an absolute beauty of a festival. I hope it'll all happen again next year. On Sunday morning when I had my breakfast at L'Açaï someone suggested (seriously not my idea but I'm not naming names here) I shall threaten to shave off Rory's beard if they don't repeat this wonderful festival next year. But let's be honest: that would hurt me more than him (or anyone actually)*. Counterproductive. So, I'll swear I'll overcome my fear of drowning until then and just hope they will repeat it next year. I already miss this place.

Thank you Wander Landes Festival,

Dörte

Some more impressions:

When you just want to have breakfast and the bands gather for a surf lesson on Saturday morning:

And then you return from the beach to have a lunch with a great entertainment from Alexis Distraction DJ set:

But seriously tho: There were way too many plastic and paper cups used when there could've been other options, way too many beer bottles and cigarette butts and other plastic shit lying around. I always wonder why you'd trash your own beach, pavement and so on. I thought the festival would have been a good opportunity to point that out as well.

photos: (c) Dörte Heilewelt

(*I shall seek some help concerning this beard obsession tho. It’s a little worrying someone I barely know already knows me so well. haha.)

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stardust-squish-blog · 8 years ago

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fairy tale ♡

it was chan’s birthday yesterday so here’s a little something i wrote

member: lee chan / dino

genre: fluff with the tiniest bit of angst

11 . 02 . 17

the first good thing about today was not missing her alarm. she had woken up precisely at 08:15, when the sun had risen and the birds were chirping and there was stardust in her room. the air smelled nice, too. she had no idea why.

the ‘ding’ that came from the device on the nightstand gave a clue.

reminder: chan’s birthday ♡

her eyes found the little brown bag and balloon by the door and instantly, a smile blossomed. today was a special day.

on the eleventh of february, nineteen years ago, a boy named lee chan was born.

today, he was going to turn nineteen.

and today, she had things to do.

09 : 19

“alright, guys, have a quick break. we’ll resume practice soon.”

choruses of groans and ‘thank you’s’ echoed throughout the practice room as thirteen bodies flopped to the floor, cheeks squished against the cool surface. for a while there was no movement, just contented sighs coupled together with the gentle whirring of fans.

then the oldest boy sat up. “good job guys.” carding a hand through his hair, seungcheol flashed a reassuring smile. “it isn’t easy, but let’s work hard. we’ll get there.”

his comment elicited a snort from the chinese boy lying on his tummy. minghao snorted, “what do you mean? that wasn’t good at all. did you see mingyu? he totally sucked.”

a gasp rose from the accused, who immediately shot up, hands clasped over his chest. “how could you say that? that hurt my heart. and besides,” mingyu pouted while glancing distastefully at the other boys, “i wasn’t the only one who screwed up. why, chan kept on messing up that part! vernon was the one who got scolded by our choreographer the most! an-and jeonghan-hyu—ow! hyung!"

jeonghan leisurely stood back up, dusted his hands on his hoodie and shot mingyu a glare. “you dare to insult an angel? know your place, gyu.”

“chan!”

all eyes instantly focused on the figure sitting in a corner of the room. the boy in question lifted his head, mumbling a reply with a quiet “yes?”

“come here. let’s practice that part again.” a sigh left their choreographer’s lips as she adjusted the music. “focus, okay? this part has to be perfect.”

but not matter how hard he tried or how many times he practiced, chan could not get it right. the other boys watched as the duo danced, again, and again, and again. no longer than ten minutes had passed and their choreographer was at the end of her tether.

“gosh, chan, what’s wrong with you today?”

twelve minds thought of twelve answers, all exactly the same.

twelve lips shared twelve hidden smiles.

out of the thirteen boys, all knew. all, but one.

“i-i don’t know. i think i’m just tired. i’m sorry, i’ll work harder.”

09 : 31

jeonghan watched the boy leave the room, dollar bills poking out from his fist. poor kid. he thinks we forgot. he sighed as he chuckled to himself. that’s good, it’s all going according to plan.

soonyoung sidled up to him. “hyung,” he whispered, nearly scaring the elder boy out of his wits, “is she here yet? when’s she gonna come?” his eyes sparkled with excitement and anticipation. “hyung, i can’t wait to see his reaction!”

“she’ll be here when we end,” jeonghan’s eyes settled on the wall clock of the practice room. “about an hour more.”

the notification that popped up on his phone told him otherwise though.

baby’s baby: i’m here :>

jeonghan’s eyebrows shot up. she’s here?

over his shoulder, soonyoung’s eyes expanded to the size of saucers. “hyung, take the stairs. it’s faster.”

“i’ll be back.”

angel: already? hold on

as he sprinted down, taking the stairs three at a time with a hand running through his hair, jeonghan’s mumbling got increasingly heated.

“did she have to come an hour earlier? what if he sees her? then everything would be ruined! everything we worked so hard for would be ruined! why are kids so inconsiderate?” the adrenaline pulsed through his veins and the fire burned in his blood as he vehemently spat, “sometimes i just want to slap some consideration into them!”

the second good thing about today was her mood.

she liked the way she dressed today. yes, it was her usual style, and yes, it was honestly nothing special, but she was in a good mood today. she left the house smiling, she didn’t forget anything and she looked pretty nice.

was it magic? days like this were rare.

the walk to pledis was good too. people smiled at her. middle-aged aunties tending to flowers, young couples with hands intertwined, businessmen in suits and ties. their lips curved up when she passed them by, with a lilt in her steps that was never there. it was as if they knew where she was going, what she was doing and why she was doing it.

who could blame them, really, when her dreamy expression and the balloon in her hand made it all too obvious.

she was early too. maybe a little too early. sighing as she tucked her hair behind one shoulder, she sent a quick text to a certain self-proclaimed angel.

while awaiting his response, her hand found its way to her head, making sure no hair was out of place, and then she was dusting fluff off her skirt, adjusting her bag strap—she almost burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. why was she being like this? she was hardly ever this concerned about her appearance.

perhaps it was the excitement of surprising the person you love.

yeah, that was probably it.

a million thoughts raced through his mind as he saw her standing there. when did chan grow up? he now has a little lady friend to call his own. everyone expected jun to be first. wow, my baby is growing up :’). i can’t accept this. why is he growing up so quickly? what has he been eating? i need to kn—

the calling of his name brought him back to earth. she appeared in front of him, balloon nearly hitting him on the head. smiling sheepishly, she tugged it closer to her and looked up at him expectantly.

“you’re an hour early.”

cue the increase in size of said sheepish smile. “i know. i’m sorry. i just didn’t want to be late.”

jeonghan sighed as they made their way to the lifts. “it’s alright. it’s good to be early, but an hour early? are you nuts?” then with the biggest shit-eating grin plastered on his face, “or is this perhaps something only couples understand?”

at his comment, she turned pink. as pink as jihoon’s hair.

well.

chan blushed too when he got teased.

“gosh, you’re just like him. but what would i, an innocent who has never experienced such a feeling, know, right?” he smirked as the hue on her cheeks deepened.

attempting to change the subject, she held up the paper bag in her hands.

“i have the cake.”

jeonghan nodded approvingly. “good good. you’re officially accepted to be my daughter-in-law.” they shared a laugh, both knowing the possibilities, before he continued, tone a little more serious.

“you know where to go right?” at the nod of her head, he continued, “i don’t know how you’re going to entertain yourself, but i suppose you can do up the room a little more. rearrange stuff, add stuff, remove stuff, whatever floats your boat. set up the cake and banner. knock yourself out.” she nodded once more, and the lift doors opened.

“i have to go practice now. good luck!”

she smiled back. “good luck!”

10 : 25

back pressed against the wall, she admired her work. presents nicely arranged, balloons and streamers framing the mirror, the birthday banner, the lovely cake—and she didn’t smell bad.

well, what could she say? today was a really good day.

the minute hand ticked closer and closer to six. hurriedly, she stood up and brushed herself off. they should be here by now.

as if on cue, eleven boys started to file in, all whispering in hushed tones.

“get into position, idiots. hurry!”

“ooh, it’s jeonghan’s other baby. hello.”

“hi.”

“did you do all this?”

“yeah.”

“wow. very nice.”

seungcheol’s command ceased the chatter. “alright guys, shh!”

there were a few seconds of silence. then a giggle broke it.

“i can hear him,” soonyoung wheezed. “he’s grumbling because we left him behind.”

seungkwan whacked him on the head. “i can hear his footsteps. shut up!”

“remember, shout ‘happy birthday’ when he walks in,” seungcheol whispered as the door knob turned. the countdown silently began.

1…

10 : 29

the 19-year-old boy trudged along the deserted corridor, drink cans clutched tightly in his hands. his eyes brimmed with tears as he recalled his hyungs’ behaviour this morning.

“did they really forget?” chan mumbled, taking small and heavy steps towards the practice room. a sigh escaped his lips. could he tell their choreographer that he wasn’t feeling well? the morning without birthday wishes or claps on the backs or hugs and kisses was enough to make chan feel sick.

they had left him behind too. making him go and buy drinks from the vending machine two floors down and ditching him at a different practice room because of a “blackout”?

what an absolute load of nonsense.

it was because he couldn’t perfect that one part, wasn’t it?

but it wasn’t his fault. they were the reasons why.

maybe it was true that nobody cared about the youngest ones. chan’s bottom lip trembled as the tears threatened to spill. maybe he was just insignificant in seventeen. they didn’t even tell him where they had shifted to. he had to ask one of the cleaners if they had seen twelve rowdy boys leaving practice room A.

no. that can’t be. we’re family, right? the small voice in his head repeated the quote that joshua always said. ohana means family, and family means no one gets left behind.

but even his own girlfriend did not send him a birthday greeting whatsoever. no text message, no video message, no snow story, no skype call or face time. did she know how long he had waited for his phone to light up? for the notification that read from: my love ♡ to pop up on the screen?

a lone tear dropped onto his palm, shaking chan back to reality. it’s okay, chan. you’re strong. you aren’t going to let them see you cry, right? it hurts, but mum’s gonna send you something later. it’ll be alright. with a final swipe of his hand across his face, chan took a deep breath, held his head high and pushed the door open.

“hyungs! here’s the drin—”

but chan was blown away by the shout of “HAPPY BIRTHDAY CHAN!” and suddenly the whole room erupted into hoots and balloons and faces and everything was blurring together into one big, happy, sparkly and beautiful mess.

“aw look! he’s crying!” soonyoung ruffled chan’s hair affectionately. this was followed by a bear hug, courtesy of minghao, who yelled, “jeonghan-hyung, your cliché blackout story actually worked!“

junhui pinched chan’s cheeks. “you’re so cute. you really thought we forgot, huh?”

jihoon laughed. “fat chance of that happening. we’re family, remember?”

that made it even worse. chan was now straight up bawling into jeonghan’s chest. how could he have ever doubted them? they were right.

joshua was right.

seventeen was family.

and he knew they would never leave him behind.

seungcheol’s gentle hand coaxed him away from jeonghan’s embrace. “come here chan, let’s sing the birthday song. there’s someone whom you want to see and who wants to see you too.”

and there she was. shining brighter than the nineteen candles sitting atop the cake. chan’s eyes curved into crescents. she, out of all people, would never forget a date like today.

aish, i ought to hit myself. i am so so so stupid. the youngest in seventeen and also the dumbest.

she looked so pretty right there and then. as they ended the birthday song with cheers and claps, chan found himself gravitating towards her and capturing her in a cuddle.

“you’re here too.” he breathed her in. she smelt like flowers and warmth and home. he liked it.

she giggled. “of course i’m here. i would never miss your birthday, you know.“

"i know.” chan sighed and closed his eyes. what was this feeling? was it bliss? happiness? he didn’t know. maybe one of his hyungs would. he’d make sure to ask later.

but there was one thing he did know: he loved everybody in the room. so, so, very much.

the voice of their choreographer cut through the cheerful atmosphere. "come here everybody, gather round, i’ll help you take pictures.” she tutted as she reached for the camera. "wow, this looks really nice. like something out of a storybook. look here everyone! say ‘happy birthday chan’! 1, 2, 3!"

23 : 05

she got one polaroid as a momento. "here,” their choreographer had said, “you’re his girlfriend. i picked the best one for you. go home and display it somewhere. if chan comes over and sees it, he’ll be very happy."

as she tucked herself into bed that night, she rolled over to face her study table. the polaroid hung from a string strung across the cork board above her desk. and when sleep lulled her into dreamland, the only thing she remembered was how lovely the picture looked, with sparkles, streamers, happy faces and so full of love. oh, and how the stars twinkled so bright tonight.

today, was indeed a fairy tale.

11 . 02 . 17 ♡ happy birthday, chan ♡

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