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nobodyfamousposts · 5 years ago

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Runaway: Roommates AU

For @a-marlene-s and the contest, for the prompt: Runaway

A Harry Potter-based Miraculous Ladybug AU. With roommates.

_________________________________

Marinette was a big believer in luck. She came by it honestly, as there was something of a family belief regarding the unknown force that impacted their lives.

Her Uncle’s luck helped him work his way to becoming a world famous chef.

Her Mother’s luck led her to her husband.

Marinette’s luck gained her a strange roommate and his equally strange cat.

...If there really was a universal force directing fortune as her family believed, she had some questions for it.

It was just Marinette’s luck that the day she met Adrien, she was in the market for a new roommate. She had been sharing her flat for the last five years with her best friend, Alya, and they got along well. But Alya had a boyfriend and they had recently chosen to take the next step in their relationship and get a place together. Marinette understood, of course, but it still left her now as the sole resident of a flat that was outside of her budget and forced to choose to give it up or find some other way to make ends meet that wouldn’t involve giving up food and end up causing Alya and Tikki to stage an intervention.

The choice should be obvious, but Marinette loved her flat and was loathe to leave it. Sadly, she had only been able to afford it previously because she had shared expenses with Alya. On her own, it was more costly than she could afford and more room than she really needed.

But oh...what other place had an extended balcony that was perfect for a garden? Or such wide windows that were positioned to let in light but avoid the sun’s glare? Or had a built in desk and a space she could use as a crafting nook?

She was already having to say goodbye to Alya, she wasn’t ready to say goodbye to her home, too.

But it seemed that Luck pulled through for her, albeit in a rather...unusual way.

When the blond cinnamon roll appeared in her bakery, looking so lost and confused with no idea what to do or where to go, and nothing with him but a suitcase and an equally unhappy cat...she hadn’t known what to think of him.

Well, that’s not quite right. Her immediate thought had been to take the poor boy in and hug him until he stopped being sad.

Then he tried to pay for a single croissant with an overabundance of a strange type of coin. And it became clear that the man was very much not from around here. And had no idea how money worked.

Or how anything worked apparently, given his multitude of strange reactions to things.

Admittedly, she had been a bit hasty in her offer of letting him stay with her. After all, inviting a complete stranger to live with you was...generally not the brightest idea. If anything, it was usually the setup to a horror movie. But Marinette still went through with it anyway.

To this day, she still didn’t know what made her do it. Desperation, perhaps? Attributing it to her luck and not wanting to let an opportunity pass her? Or maybe it was the way something about him had drawn her in...

Regardless, he had no place to go. And she had a place he could use. It seemed like a mutually beneficial arrangement.

She just hadn’t realized just how lost Adrien was when they first met and introduced themselves to each other. Not until after he first moved in and it became abundantly clear how unfamiliar he was with...well...everything. It was no wonder he had been so overwhelmed when she first met him.

She couldn’t help but want to help him.

She just hadn’t realized what all that would entail...

____________

“Marinette! What is THAT?!”

“That’s the microwave.”

“WHY IS IT BEEPING? ARE WE GONNA DIE?”

“No, Adrien, it’s just popcorn.”

“What are these words?!”

“Do you really not have popcorn in the country?”

“Why is the bag big now? Is it magic? Are you magic? Because—”

She just shoved a couple of the popcorn pieces in his mouth at that.

_____________

"Wait, you mean you don't know how to use a washing machine?"

He shrunk in on himself. "No."

She blinked in surprise. She could have sworn…

“But...then how have you been washing your clothes?"

A long pause.

He simpered. “Can I choose not to answer that?"

She sighed.

_____________

“Marinette! Your morning wake-up box is beeping. You need to get up.”

She mumbled and turned away from Adrien and the offending noise.

He frowned. “Marinette, it won’t turn off unless you do the thing.”

She pulled a pillow over her head and continued to ignore him.

Undeterred, he approached her bed. Against better judgement, he poked at her to get her attention.

“Mari—”

A hand suddenly made contact with his face. In an all too similar manner to how she would normally try to subdue the ringing wake-up box.

It would take two days worth of apologies and make up gifts of hot chocolate and pastries for him to forgive her.

_____________

She frowned, looking at an expanse of wall and empty space on one side of the den.

“That’s weird…didn’t we have something here before?”

Adrien stilled at that.

“No.” He answered tersely.

“I could swear there was something.”

“Nope.”

She tilted her head, thinking. “I thought this flat had a fireplace? Didn’t we use it sometimes?” She could have sworn...

“You must be imagining things.” Adrien told her, taking hold of her shoulders and trying to guide her to the couch on the other side. “There hasn’t been anything there since I moved in.”

“Oh. Maybe it was a shelf or something Alya took with her.”

“That must be it.”

“Hmm…maybe we could set up a television there…”

“Yeah, sure.” He replied automatically as he drew her away from the area.

So caught up in her thoughts, she never noticed the dirty glare Adrien shot towards the now blank wall.

_____________

She had thought the introduction to television would be the biggest thing.

And she was right.

“What is THAT?” He asked in wonder, staring in shock at rectangular box with moving images inside.

“It’s a television.” She explained, gesturing to the screen as Romero confessed his love to Julia in the Spanish soap opera her cable had somehow allowed her access to.

She bit back a laugh when Adrien attempted to touch the screen. “Are they stuck in there?”

Omg, he was so adorable.

“What? No! It’s…well…it can play sounds and images from somewhere else. Things that were pre-recorded and are replayed for entertainment.”

He perked up at that. “Like a radio?”

Okay, good. So wherever he was from, he wasn’t THAT far behind on technology. Only early 1920’s instead of the nineteenth century like she’d feared.

“Yes! It’s just people pretending.”

“Oh.” He sighed, still enraptured by the TV.

“Yeah, and there are all different types of shows and movies. Different genres and different styles.”

“Styles?” He asked, finally tearing his eyes from the television to look at her.

“Sure. There’s live action, CGI, animation—”

He blinked. “Animation?”

“Yeah, like cartoons and anime.” She frowned, considering. “Actually, I think there’s…what channel was it on again?” She used the remote to flip through channels until she reached one particular network that was currently playing some anime she vaguely recalled.

Adrien gasped, his eyes even wider than she had previously thought possible. And there was a particular shine to them as he stared at the TV like it was the holy grail. He barely noticed Marinette anymore, now standing in front of the TV and completely enthralled.

Marinette chuckled softly to herself as she lightly took his arm and pulled him back so they both sat back on the couch. Adrien let her, his gaze never straying from the screen as the teen magical girl protagonist transformed to fight the monster of the day.

That was the day Adrien was first introduced to anime.

It was also the day Marinette inadvertently created an otaku.

_____________

One day, he had called her in a panic while she had been at work.

“Adrien?! What’s going on?” She asked.

“It…this thing just came out and it’s crawling the floor! IT ATE PLAGG!”

She balked. “WHAT?”

“He tried to attack it and—wait. Plagg? You’re alive! What are you…NO WAIT PLAGG, NO!”

Marinette had practically thrown her apron to Tikki and rushed home. Within minutes, she had reached the flat and slammed the door open to what could only be chaos.

Or at least the sort of chaos that comes with Adrien huddled with his legs held up on the couch and glaring in betrayal as Plagg proudly sat atop the Roomba that was still making its way across the floor.

And…

Yeah, Marinette couldn’t.

She just couldn’t.

It took a good five minutes for her to stop laughing.

Adrien pouted the whole time, muttering about traitorous cats and roommates.

And Plagg continued to ride the Roomba. Looking for all purposes like a king, even when it knocked into the counter at one point and an empty can of Camembert fell on his head.

Marinette just laughed harder.

_____________

She had slowly been introducing Adrien to the world. Bit by bit. One lesson at a time. And with each day that passed, he seemed to become more comfortable with her and the world at large. And while he never said much about his life before, what he did say (and what he didn’t) was more than enough to paint a picture. One that Marinette didn’t like and made her silently swear to herself she would be having WORDS with his family if she ever met them.

But Adrien had been getting better. Happier. More outgoing as time passed.

He had even gotten a job at the coffee shop as a barista. Which was kind of amazing, to be honest. He didn’t know anything about coffee, but he seemed skilled at mixing things. When she had asked, he made a comment about “potions” being his best class.

Funny guy. Though she wasn’t sure she understood the joke.

There was also just…something about him that seemed to draw people in. Whenever he was working the register (after he had finally learned how to work the machine and count money, and wasn’t THAT an experience in itself?), the number of customers seemed to grow exponentially compared to other days. It just didn’t make sense. Adrien just smiled and said it was part of his charm.

Another joke she didn’t understand.

Tikki seemed to get it though. Her friend was also a bit weird, but she and Adrien seemed to get along rather well. It was like they shared a bond of some sort.

To be honest, Marinette was a little jealous.

But she was happy for him. He was really growing over the months they spent together. Wherever he came from, it didn’t seem to be the healthiest place. Adrien certainly never wanted to talk about it, so the best she had to go on were his behaviors and conjecture.

He seemed happy, at any rate. He was able to leave the apartment now. He was making friends, and seemed to be getting rather popular even. He had a job—not that he seemed to need it given how much money he had…even if he had no idea how to use it.

Who tried to pay for a pastry in gold coins anyway?

Ah well. It didn’t matter.

Whatever happened, he was her weird roommate.

And she wouldn’t have him any other way.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Adrien liked his “roomie”. Marinette was…nice. She was patient and took the time to explain things when he didn’t understand. She didn’t yell at him for making a mess—which he did…often. She smelled like cookies.

And most importantly, she didn’t ask questions.

Oh sure, she gave him weird looks fairly regularly. And she was clearly confused by his lack of knowledge about things that were normal to her. But she never ridiculed him for it. If anything, she was teaching him, and he had to thank her for it—especially for anime. Because this? This was awesome!

She was the best roommate he could have asked for.

Even if she was a Muggle.

He shouldn’t be with her. Or here at all. How could things have possibly worked out this way? Or even half as well as they have?

Adrien Agreste was a Wizard. The son of Gabriel Agreste, a high-ranking official of the French Ministry and personal friend of the French Minister of Magic. He came from a long line of powerful Wizards and no blood pollution.

At least…not until his mother, whom had been a half-Veela.

Gabriel hadn’t known at the time when he chose to pursue her. And it remained questionable to this day whether it had been her Veela charm that had driven him to her in the first place. But he had been furious when he had realized it, and it was considered a dark mark on the family line.

Maybe that was why she was gone? It was certainly why Gabriel had kept Adrien isolated for most of his life. At least until Beauxbatons. But even there, things had been…stifling.

A private room. His classes carefully chosen for him. Personal tutors. And his interactions with other students were kept limited to avoid anyone falling under his charm. But even then, his heritage gave him an aura of some sort. One that made people in awe of him, but only further increased the distance between him and everyone else.

Sure, Chloe was there, and she had been his childhood friend, but the Minister’s daughter did not endear herself to anyone. And when it became known he was her friend, it hadn’t helped matters.

It was little wonder that a number of the other students avoided him.

Other than ones who wanted to use him.

Like Lila Rossi.

He hadn’t known what to think of the girl. She was popular enough, sure. But her stories rang false to him and she tended to treat people around her like helpers rather than friends. He knew from the start that there was something about her that was untrustworthy.

Lila…had an unusual interest in him. One he didn’t like. It made him uncomfortable.

And yet somehow, she wormed her way into his father’s good graces. So much so that of all people, Gabriel had decided to arrange a marriage for Adrien to her. Because of course it just made sense for the two to get together.

Not that Adrien’s opinion had ever been consulted on the matter.

Gabriel was nothing if not stubborn though. Once he had set his mind on something, that was it. Adrien had never won an argument against him. And he knew he wouldn’t win here either. Even when it was his own future on the line. Even when it was his life being decided for him.

So he ran.

It was quite possibly both the best and worst decision of his life.

He had been completely lost and overwhelmed at first. And almost immediately questioned his sanity. But he just couldn’t let himself back down on on this one. Sure, his father had always been somewhat overprotective of him and controlling of his life. And he had been fine with it. Mostly. Kind of. Not really.

But an arranged marriage was just…too much? He ended up gathering his more important belongings into his trunk and taking off with Plagg before he had even realized what he was doing.

Adrien had kicked himself afterwards. He had always given in to his father’s orders before and it turned out…well, not “fine”, but all right, at least. Surely…surely this wasn’t that big of a deal right? That his father was selecting his wife for him? That his future would be set in stone before he even really had a chance to figure it out for himself.

He was an adult now. Surely…he could choose what he wanted to do, right?

Well, he was an adult, sure, but he knew nothing about the world. And especially not the Muggle world, where he had escaped to in a rash bit of insight. Because surely his father would never think to look for him there? His father didn’t know anything about the Muggle world, after all.

Except then Adrien had realized all too late that he hadn’t even known anything about Muggles, either. His father wouldn’t let him take the Muggle Studies class, so he knew nothing about what they were like or how to fit in. He had money on him, of course, but what currency did Muggles use? How did he convert it? Where could he even look to for a place to stay?

Within two hours, he was regretting everything. He was debating giving in to his fate when Plagg had seemed to get an interest in something and ran off, resulting in a chase that led Adrien to a quaint little coffee shop.

If nothing else, he could take a break here and regain his bearings.

But…

Everything had smelled so wonderful. And the pastries looked heavenly. He had known it was a bad idea, but…well, maybe they could accept Galleons here?

How many Galleons were one of these pastries worth?

Well, a dozen should be enough, right?

The strange look that the girl gave him only made him want to duck his head in shame.

It wasn’t enough, was it?

But as if she was proficient in Occlumency and could tell exactly what he was thinking, she instead took him aside and talked to him. And despite himself, he told his story.

Well…half of it.

A third?

A little, at least. Just enough to give the basics of what she needed to know.

And it turned out to be enough, as she made him an offer he’d had to have been a fool to refuse.

That was how he ended up sharing a home with a Muggle. A sweet and strong woman whom, for all of their differences and completely separate worlds, he had felt closer to than anyone he had known in the Wizarding world.

She didn’t understand where he came from. And he certainly couldn’t tell her. Wizarding laws and secrecy and all. But she was still trying to help in her own way. And he could tell her…some things, at least. About his feelings. About his wants. Things he had never been able to tell his father. Things his father had never cared to listen to.

But she listened. And she cared. And she offered shelter. For him and Plagg, regardless of how much a of a pain the cat could be.

He had his own room, sure. But it was a quarter of the size of the old one and somehow all the better for it. While bare at first, the walls were eventually covered in silly posters from his favorite anime. The shelves were filled with books and toys, little knick knacks that actually made him happy to see. Some things Marinette helped him picked out. A lot of which were just things he saw and wanted. All sorts of things he had never been able to get back…there.

And he wasn’t stuck in the room either. He could leave it whenever he wanted. Spend time in the living room and watch the “television” and feed his growing love of anime (once he had gotten rid of the fireplace because he wasn’t about to risk someone trying to get in through the Floo Network, even by accident). Play “video games” with Marinette. Go on the balcony and enjoy the sun. Even just go out into the city whenever he wanted.

It was…a truly marvelous experience for someone who had been isolated for so long.

He even had a job now, working at the very shop where he had met Marinette. He knew nothing about coffee or the machines, but Potions was his best class and one he enjoyed. Mixing and cooking things to create something new was a rather amazing thing. And while coffee weren’t potions, he had come to realize that certain things he had learned in his class could translate over. A difference of heat and changing the length of time the coffee was allowed to roast resulted in a different flavor. Though he did have to fight for the position with another coworker by the name of Tikki, a friend of Marinette’s whom she introduced him to.

And that was the other thing…

“You’re a Wizard, aren’t you?”

He had admittedly not expected to run into anyone from the Wizarding world at all. But the short red-head with twinkling blue eyes caught him off guard completely.

Even as she smiled sadly at him.

“Marinette doesn’t know, does she?”

Dumbly, he could only shake his head in response.

He hadn’t wanted to be discovered. Not by anyone.

It turned out to be for the best though. Tikki was a huge help in getting him more acclimated. She explained to him more about fitting in as a Muggle. She even led him to the nearest Wizarding Bank where he was finally able to change his Galleons to the correct currency.

As a Witch herself, he knew she wouldn’t reveal him. And it was nice…having someone else who knew, even if she didn’t know the full story. She was still in touch with the Wizarding world and could help him. Giving him news or updates, point him to the nearest hidden shops for anything he might need. And yes, even laugh with him over his latest failures.

“It’s not funny!” He pouted as Tikki was practically howling after hearing the latest story about King Plagg the Roomba Rider.

“Yes, it is! YES, IT IS!”

“I even have video.” Marinette added cheerfully, much to Tikki’s pleasure as both women proceeded to look at her cellphone and chortle over the recording. Adrien was simply ignored and left to sulk.

He would never live it down.

It had been months like this, and some embarrassment aside, he had thoroughly enjoyed it. All of it.

He even enjoyed working. Though he admittedly felt a little guilty that his Veela charm seemed to draw in customers to the point where there would often be a pretty long ling just to order coffee. But Marinette and the other workers just laughed it off.

He was…really starting to consider this home.

The coffee shop. The city. The flat.

Tikki.

Plagg.

Marinette.

Rooming with Marinette was probably the best thing to happen to him. He had been trying new things. Learning so much he hadn’t known previously. Seeing things. Doing things.

Living.

It was...nice. It was home. It was everything he wanted in a home. Even if he was banned from activating anything besides the television when Marinette wasn’t there.

He was ever grateful that Plagg had led him to her.

#ml fic #ml prompt #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #tikki #plagg #plagg no #ml au #harry potter au #roommates au

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ii-kanjiiiii · 3 years ago

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A Crazy Day at Miku Expo

A Vocaloid shitpost story

Warnings: swearing, contains Kaito x Meiko

Chapter 1

It was a normal day in the Cryptonloid household, like always. It was 12pm and Meiko was already up because she’s a normal person.

“GET UP YOU IDIOTS WE HAVE TO LEAVE FOR MIKU EXPOOO!!!!” she woke the rest of the Cryptonloids up as she was a thoughtful person.

“OH SHIT I FORGOT!!” Miku screamed. Her hair looked like Chuckie Finster from Rugrats but had a much larger mass.

“WAIT WHAT THE FUCK WE’RE PERFORMING TONIGHT?!!? PLS NOOOOO I HAVE A PIMPLE!!!” Len cried.

Miraculously, all of them had somehow forgotten that they had a Miku Expo concert in the mystical country of Hajarputa that night. Except for Meiko, because she was a responsible person.

Once they were done packing and getting ready, they went into their private Miku jet which was covered with Miku faces and had big words that said “HATSUNE MIKU” because Miku is the best and owns the world.

Inside, ‘World is Mine’ was playing on loop and the wall was covered in Miku wallpaper and posters. Meiko sat on a Miku couch at the front, because Meiko is queen and is obviously the sexiest one. Kaito, being the simp that he is, sat next to her.

Luka went all the way to the back of the Miku jet and sat in a Miku chair in the corner, away from everyone else as she was tired of everyone’s bullshit.

Miku and the demonic twins were in the middle, just jumping around and throwing shit everywhere as they were still high as fUCK from the FRUIT loops they ate for breakfast.

Suddenly, ‘World is Mine’ stopped playing, and the pilot made an announcement through the plane intercom. Or whatever it’s called lmao I don’t know.

“Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome onboard Flight Miku. We will be taking off from Sapporo to Hajarputa. I am Sonic the Hedgehog and I am your pilot for today. Just kidding bitch, my name is actually うんち(‘Jonathan Harris’ in Japanese). We are expected to reach Hajarputa in about 22 hours. I swear to God, PLEASE put on your seatbelts or you’re gonna fucking die. We also ask that you ensure your seats are in the upright position for take-off, if not you’ll fucking die. Please turn off all personal electronic devices, if not you’ll fucking die as well. Don’t smoke too, cause you’ll get lung cancer and fucking die. Thank you for choosing Miku Airlines. Enjoy your flight. I definitely will not crash this plane. I swear.”

'World is Mine’ was back playing on loop again.

“Well that was comforting,” Meiko said, being a sarcastic piece of shit.

“Lol what? I don’t remember hiring this man,” Miku said. “Lol, whatever,” she shrugged.

Some time after the Miku Jet took off, Kaito and Meiko started fighting over what they would name their non-existent kid that they would never have.

“If she’s a girl, Sakura is the best name!! It represents beauty and optimism,” Kaito said.

“It also represents death,” Meiko argued. “And who the fuck names their kid after a plant? Enaado is the best name!!”

“The fuck kinda name is Enaado?” Len, who was seated far away from them, muttered to himself. Meiko, who was somehow able to hear him, pulled a super soaker gun out of nowhere and squirted him all the way from the other end of the plane.

Some hours later, the vocaloids were bored as heck and ‘World is Mine’ playing on loop was driving them to insanity(except for Miku of course).

“Can you turn that shit off, Miku? I swear to God, if I hear “sekai de ichiban ohime-sama” one more damn time, my internal organs are going to explode,” Luka said, smashing her head against the wall.

“Geez, fine, Luka! You don’t have to be so mean about it, it’s not my fault you don’t know how to appreciate good art,” Miku rolled her eyes, then she changed the song to ‘Popipo’ on loop, which was probably 100x worse.

“YOU’RE my sekai de ichiban ohime-sama, Me-chan~<3” Kaito UwU-ed. She smacked him with a magazine.

Another time skip, Miku wanted to play truth or dare lmao. Luka, Miku and the twins sat in a circle and started playing.

“Oh yeah, by the way, Mei-nee and Kai-nii are in the game too,” Miku said.

“Wtf no thanks,” Meiko immediately said, not looking up from her magazine about self control & anger management.

“No, you can’t escape, Mei-nee,” Miku replied, staring intensely into her soul. She then got a piece of rope out of nowhere and tied Meiko and Kaito to their chairs.

“TRUTH OR DARE, MEI-NEE?” Miku asked, her eye twitching.

“Ugh, fine. Truth,” Meiko replied, as she had no other choice.

Meanwhile, Kaito was having Vietnam war flashbacks as Miku tying him to the chair reminded him of that one time he got kidnapped by Sonic the Hedgehog. (An event that happened in my other fanfic that I’m not going to post.)

“Do you want to make out with Kai-nii?” Miku asked with a stupid shitty grin on her face.

“What the fuck? Oh, HELL NO. I think I already know how this is gonna go,” Meiko muttered.

“AnSwEr tHe qUeStiOn!!!” Miku yelled impatiently, flipping the fucking table.

“Dare!” Meiko quickly said, sweating.

“I dare you to make out with Kai-nii,” Miku said, raising her eyebrows up and down like fucking Mr. Bean.

Upon hearing this, Kaito’s attention was caught and he snapped out of his Vietnam war flashbacks.

“GODDAMN IT!!” Meiko cursed.

“Oh my GOD, Kaito. Don’t give me THAT look,” Meiko said, terrified for her life as she noticed Kaito looking at her with considerable interest.

“Why the hell did you give that dare, Miku? Literally NO ONE wants to see that shit,” Len said, staring judgingly at Miku. He definitely did not have to see his parents smashing their faces together.

“Yeah, Len’s right,” Luka said. “Aight, Imma head out. Bye bitches,” she flipped her fabulous long hair and strolled out elegantly. Once she reached her seat at the far corner of the plane, she opened her laptop and looked at images of the Gingerbread Man from Shrek.

“Shut up Len and just watch the show!” Rin, who was just as delusional as Miku, scolded.

“MEIKOUT MEIKOUT MEIKOUT MEIKOUT MEIKOUT” the crazy girls started chanting.

I’m so sorry

I really have no idea where this shitty fanfic is going

TIME SKIP LOL

It was nighttime and the Cryptonloids were sleeping in their beds with Miku blankets and ‘Popipo’ was still playing on loop. Suddenly, the Miku Jet started shaking really hard, then everyone flew out of their beds and hit their heads on the ceiling. After a few seconds, the Miku Jet stopped shaking and everyone fell back to the ground.

“Heh heh, sorry folks. Just a little air turbulence is all,” Pilot うんち announced.

“What the actual FUCK?? “A ‘liTtLE’ aIR tUrBuLeNcE” he said!! I don’t think we should be entrusting that guy with our LIVES!!” Meiko seethed. “I’m going to have a word with him.” she stormed off to the Pilot’s cabin.

“Wait Me-chan, I’ll come too,” Kaito said, and tagged along with her for extra support because he was a good boyfriend.

Once they reached the Pilot’s cabin, she slid open the door and shouted “LISTEN UP, MISTER, DO YOUR DAMN JOB PROPERLY!!”

“Oh, Meiko-san, hello!” the pilot spun his chair around and smiled. “Oh, Kaito, you’re here too! How’s it going, buddy? Has Sonic been bothering you any more?”

Meiko and Kaito’s eyes widened as they realised who the pilot was.

“FUKASE??!!!!” they screamed in shock. His Ronald Mcdonald hair was unmistakable.

“No, I’m うんち. Who the hell is Fukase?” うんち/Fukase said.

“WHY ARE YOU FLYING A PLANE, FUKASE??!! AREN’T YOU LIKE, FOURTEEN?!??!!!” Meiko screamed.

“Uh, no, I’m fifteen. Also, the age of consent in Japan is thirteen, sooo I don’t see any problem with it,” he replied.

“WHAT THE HELL DOES AGE OF CONSENT HAVE TO DO WITH FLYING A PLANE???!!” Meiko screamed, ripping her hair out. I really need to stop using scream.

"Umm… with all due respect, Fukase, are you even qualified for this?” Kaito spoke up.

“Yeah, DUH. I’ve had years worth of flight experience from Microsoft Flight Simulator on the Xbox!” he replied. “What kinda dumb shit would hire someone who ISN’T qualified??”

“oH mAN OH GOD OUR LIVES ARE IN THE HANDS OF THAT DUMB KID OH MAN OH GOD OH MAN OH GOD OH MAN OH GOD-“ Meiko was hyperventilating in the corner and hugging her legs, sweat pouring down her face. It was unlike her to freak out like this, she was usually calm and kept her cool. However, this is Fukase we’re talking about, and any rational person would be freaking out and fearing for their lives.

“Breathe, Me-chan, breathe,” Kaito attempted to calm her down. “Don’t worry, okay? Everything’s gonna be just fine. Nothing bad will happen. Everything is okay,” he assured her, hugging her tightly.

“How would YOU know that???” she asked.

“I don’t,” he replied. “When things get rough, denial is all we have,” he said, giving his Stupid Bakaito Grin™.

TO BE CONTINUED MAYBE???1??1

#im so sorry #vocaloid #fanfic #vocaloid fanfic #hatsune miku #meiko #kaito #kagamine len #kagamine rin #megurine luka #trash

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ibelieveinahappilyeverafter · 4 years ago

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Good morning, good afternoon, and good evening! I'm writing for Drarropoly for @gameofdrarry this year along with my girlfriend so I hope you guys check my stories out and have a good time reading them!

Position: The Burrow | Theme: Gryffindor.

Things are always easier in groups. Unless someone is keeping a secret.

Choose one of the following: Group Project Group Date Group Vacation

N.E.W.T.s Level: + Include non-linear storytelling. +Include the Established Relationship trope OR the Secretly Pining trope.

Min-Max Word Count: 3333-4444 words

Rating: Teen Audiences

Tags: Harry Potter, Drarry, Relationship - Drarry, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Hogwarts, Drarropoly 2.0 - A Drarry Game/Fest, secretly pining, Non-Linear Narrative, non-linear storytelling

Word Count: 3,350

Summary: Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter have never gotten along as everyone in their lives will attest to. That's about to change when their so called 'friends' betray them and force them all to go on a group vacation together.

It goes better than they would have expected.

what will this change? (everything)

Harry breathed in the crisp night air sharply, collapsed on the ground and still trying to regain his breath as he shivered at the cold, wet sand pressing against his bare back as warm palms dug into his shoulders. The heat of the palms only grew more prominent as fingers grasped at his skin even harder, Harry’s attention soon shattered and shot as he felt chilled, bare thighs pressed into the skin just above his hips.

The silence of the night was only broken by crashing, breaking waves of the ocean only a few dozen feet away and the whisper-soft words of, “You’re staring.” Harry, who made absolutely no move to look away, couldn’t help the amused quirk of his lips as his hands moved. Sand still stuck to his palms, but instead they pressed into those chilled thighs, Harry feeling a thrill at the shiver that wracked through the body of Draco Malfoy.

“I could say the same thing about you, you know,” Harry finally said, only absently feeling his heart pounding away as he watched Draco’s eyes flutter, long lashes only just brushing the edges of his cheeks. “The others are probably wondering where we are by now.”

It was barely a token protest, Harry’s own eyes starting to fall shut as Draco leaned in towards him, whispering a soft, “Probably.” The word brushed against his lips, Harry panting around warm breath as those lips swayed even closer. “We should probably head back.”

“Probably,” Harry repeated, fingertips pressing into soft, cool skin. It was more effort than it should have been to cut himself off with a sharp bite of his lip, watching as Draco breathed out a long, slow breath, thighs shaking on either side of him. “Draco.”

Those lips, chapped and bitten and dry like his own, were so close. Harry could just tilt his head up the smallest amount and… Draco’s shivers echoed against him, the other’s breathing heavy and hot as his hands clutched at him even more tightly, nails scraping against his skin.

Harry bit back the sharp hiss of what was certainly not pain, instead looking up as he noticed stormy grey eyes looking into his own. They truly were a storm in their own right, swirling with magic and emotion and apologies and explanations and begging and so much. It was the most Draco had ever spoken to him and it was all said without a word.

“What will this change?” Draco’s question, soft and whispered and immediately whisked away by the summer night breeze, was the question that Harry had been avoiding thinking about — the question they had both been avoiding.

“I-” Harry shuddered as those lips were so close again, the breath they shared the exact same. Finally, miraculously, Harry managed to choke out, “I don’t know.” But… But, but, but-

Draco started to lean away, and Harry had a hand on the back of the other’s neck before he could move more than a breath away. Draco froze in his grip and Harry was overcome with the same feeling he always had when he was on the verge of doing something stupid and incredible and overwhelming.

He was standing in front of fierce flames with enough potion for only one person to pass safely through. He was speaking in a language known only to a few, ready to find the truth to the answers kept from him all year. He was staring at himself across a lake, knowing he was about to lose everything and yet safe with the knowledge he wasn’t.

It was the feeling of facing down dragons, and Death Eaters, and mermaids, and the corrupted Ministry, and Tom Riddle, and Dumbledore’s plans, and Death, and it was the feeling of not yet. I’m not ready to let go yet.

Draco was tense against him, hands shaking from where he had been trying to push himself up before Harry had pulled him back down because Harry really didn’t know what this would change in the end, but… “But isn’t it worth it to find out?”

“Is it?” A hand slipped up to press against Harry’s cheek, Draco’s gaze harsh and heavy. His eyes showed a storm that was ready to break; to rage and scream and destroy. “Is it really worth it?”

Harry was silent, watching that storm grow as excitement beat away in his chest. Finally, somehow, he managed the breath to speak, answering with a soft, “No.” Harry met Draco’s eyes, breathless as he finished, “But you are.”

The storm broke.

⁂

“Pansy, my dear, you know I care deeply for you, but are you absolutely mad?” It was a terrible enough fate that Draco had been forced into agreeing to spend a summer vacation with Hogwarts’ Golden Trio of all things, but this? This was asking too much of him. “Why can’t I simply room with Blaise? We shared a dorm for seven years!”

“But Draco, darling, Ron is rooming with Blaise on this trip, remember?” Pansy’s sickly-sweet tone was a threat just as much as it was a warning and Draco cursed the day she had made friends with Hermione bloody Granger. Granger, on her part, only seemed as pleased as Pansy, the two standing with their arms linked together and identical smiles on their faces. Bloody harpies. “And there are only a limited amount of rooms available.”

Draco opened his mouth to argue because like bloody hell that was true. Their little ‘group vacation’ was taking place at the beach house of Pansy’s aunt, and if that woman was one thing it was extravagant. Unfortunately, before Draco could craft an argument that would get him his way, Granger stepped in.

“Oh, that’s right, you were just telling me about that! Your aunt is doing renovations in most of the bedrooms here at the moment, right?” Granger was smiling but the look in her eyes was pure evil. Pansy, the little tart, seemed to get off on it, beaming.

“Right you are, darling. I’m so glad someone seems to remember the things I tell them.” Pansy snapped her gaze to Potter, who had until that point been silent. Shame it wouldn’t remain that way. “Harry, darling, you’re content sharing a room with Draco, aren’t you?” Ah, but the anger in those shimmering green eyes was always so nice to admire.

Draco had half a hope that Potter would actually throw his weight around for once and get them out of the mess they were about to be stuck in, but then he looked at Granger. Potter heaved a sigh, tone dull as he responded with defeat, “I’d be perfectly fine with it, yeah.”

“Excellent!” Pansy clapped her hands together before whisking Granger away to another part of the house to no doubt seduce her into more misdeeds. Weasley, vapid git that he was, didn’t even seem bothered by the Pansy and Granger bonding.

Instead he just gave a low whistle followed by an idiotic, “Rotten luck about the renovations, huh?”

Blaise glanced to Draco, a clear look in his eyes of, He really can’t be that stupid, can he? There’s simply no way someone can be that daft.

Draco, reasonably, turned his own look to Potter, a very, very clear, Of course he’s that bloody stupid. What do you expect? He’s friends with Potter of all people.

Potter, for one shining glorious moment, looked as if he actually regretted choosing the weasel as the one he was stuck with as a friend for the rest of his life. As it was, he sighed and turned towards the prison cell they were stuck sharing together, “Let’s just settle in. We don’t have to be in these rooms apart from when we’re sleeping.”

“That’s the part I’m worried about,” Weasley snorted, the heathen. He then glared at Draco, who made sure to give his own nasty glare back. “Perfect chance for a ferret to slit some throats-”

“Why you-!” Draco dropped the bag he had been carrying and stalked forward and so what if the girls had confiscated their wands as soon as they had arrived to teach them a lesson in ‘restraint’? Draco didn’t need magic to teach irritating little weasels a lesson-!

Blaise turned traitor and grabbed him before he could add one more murder to his long life of mistakes, sighing and half-laughing with a cheerful, “Well, this is going to be a fun trip, gentleman, don’t you think?”

“We’ve been here for two hours,” Potter said, stating the obvious as he always did. Honestly, he was good for nothing except brute strength and looking not completely bad. “I’m pretty sure you already made some blood pact with Hermione about something and Draco’s about to kill Ron.”

“Draco?” Blaise asked before Draco could because since bloody when had he been Draco to that prat? As far as he was aware, they were Malfoy and Potter to the bitter end of the world. Honestly, acting as if the two were friendly after… well, everything. “Since when has he been Draco?”

Potter looked back at Blaise and then at Draco, those bright green killing curse eyes locking with his own. There wasn’t hatred like there had been for so many years — there wasn’t even annoyance and frustration. There was- Merlin, Draco didn’t know what to call those emotions. Breathtaking, perhaps, for a start.

As Harry spoke, he didn’t look away from him. “You two may feel differently, but we’ve all lost enough after this war and fighting. I think I’ve had enough of enemies and burning bridges for a lifetime.”

With that he was turning and walking into their room, Draco’s mind spinning a million different ways a minute because that- What had that been? Was he saying that he didn’t want anything to do with Draco anymore? Was he saying he wanted more to do with Draco? Did he, perhaps- Well, did he mean… Was it possible…?

“You know,” Blaise whispered quietly, finally letting him go. “I think this little ‘vacation’ of ours just got a lot more interesting.”

⁂

Harry sighed softly against warm, pink skin, lips twitching into a grin as he felt the body pressed against his own give a small shiver, followed by a groggy, “This is a terrible idea, you know.”

“Absolutely awful,” Harry agreed, lazily shifting on the gritty, sand-covered bed before ducking down to press his lips against more of that smooth, soft skin. His tongue edged out to trace against bright red marks and slowly forming bruises. It was more than gratifying to hear Draco Malfoy give a wrecked, quiet moan that bordered on a whine. “Probably the worst idea we’ve ever had, huh?”

“The worst,” Draco agreed around a soft pant, tilting his head up to allow Harry just the access he needed to nip at already bruised skin. Harry had thought the man had been beautiful in the light of a full moon, but he was now certain that there was nothing more beautiful than Draco Malfoy groggy and half-asleep and hopelessly turned on in the early morning slips of sun that fell over their shared bed. “It’s just going to end in tragedy.”

“Mhm,” Harry hummed, kissing at the sunlight touched skin and only stopping when fingers were tangling through his hair and tugging sharply. Harry laughed but followed the pull, lips slotting easily against Draco’s own. The kiss was already dangerously familiar, as was the way Draco’s hands dropped down to the back of his neck, pressing him closer — as close as they could get. “Probably use us an example of who not to fall for for years.”

“Probably,” Draco repeated absently, those grey eyes warm and soft and still edged with sleep. “Harry…” The soft call of his name had shivers running down Harry’s back before he could even try to stop them. He was pretty sure he had never heard a better sound than Draco Malfoy calling his name like that. “It’s… It can’t be this simple.”

“Why not?” Harry knew what Draco meant. It shouldn’t be so simple for them to just fall together so easily. There should have been far more kicking and fighting and screaming. It should have taken weeks or even months to realize there was something there between them, and even longer than that to act on it. That’s how it should have gone, but… in some fucked up way, Harry was pretty sure it already had gone that way. “Why can’t it be this simple?”

Draco’s hands clenched against him, annoyance starting to filter back into his eyes as he glared at him, muttering a sharp, “You know why. I’m- I was a Death Eater and you’re- You’re Britain’s Golden Boy! You-!”

Harry cut Draco off in his new favorite way, smothering the words with a kiss that Draco slowly but surely fell into. It was not long enough, in Harry’s opinion, when Draco pulled away with a pout, “Stop that. It shouldn’t- It shouldn’t be so simple.”

“Maybe,” Harry allowed, going back to pressing soft kisses against wherever he could reach, grinning when Draco relaxed into the touches. “You wanna hear what I think, though?”

“What’s it matter what you think. You’re utterly daft,” Draco complained, tilting into the kisses before tapping at Harry’s shoulder blade, a clear message for him to continue. “Well? I’m listening, Potter.”

Harry snorted, shaking his head and pulling back. He moved a hand to cup Draco’s cheek, grinning when he saw the other’s eyes flutter shut. “I think that I’ve had well enough of the world telling us who we’re supposed to be and what we’re supposed to do. So… I gave it some thought and you wanna know the answer I came up with.”

“Mm?” Draco cracked his eyes open, seeming to almost study him before he was pressing his cheek more against Harry’s palm. “And what answer did you come up with, oh brilliant one?”

Not even trying to smother his laugh, Harry leaned forward until his forehead bumped Draco’s. The sudden heat and craving in the man’s eyes had a shiver crawling down Harry’s own spine. “I decided… that I don’t care.”

“You- What?” Draco blinked, some of that heat slipping away in favor of confusion. “What do you-”

“I mean that I don’t care what the world thinks or what it wants of me. I defeated their bloody Dark Lord, so now I’m going to do whatever I want — I’m going to chase after whatever makes me happy.” Harry ducked in to press a soft kiss to Draco’s lips, something sweet and short and simple. “And, God help me, you’re the one that makes me happy, Draco Malfoy.”

Ah, there it was. Draco finally seemed to realize what Harry had been trying to tell him all night. Honestly, he shouldn’t be surprised that Draco was immediately trying to hide his face, cheeks flushed an even brighter red than they were when Harry had him on his back and was pounding into him. “You-! You can’t just-! Bloody prat-!”

“I can do whatever I want,” Harry teased, guiding Draco closer so the man could hide his face against Harry’s chest like he so desperately wanted. Harry wasn’t too upset about it. He had a feeling he would be seeing Draco’s flushed face far more in the future. “Haven’t you heard? I’m the Chosen One.”

Harry laughed as Draco cursed and squirmed against him, doing nothing whatsoever to actually get free or move away — and, really, Harry wasn’t stupid. He knew it wasn’t that simple and that the real world was still out there waiting for them, but…

Surely it wouldn’t hurt for the two of them to be just Draco and Harry for just a bit longer. After all… they had time.

⁂

Pansy, the little harlot, had waited until Draco had taken a sip of his tea to tell him and Blaise her latest bit of news. As it was, while Draco hadn’t spitten his tea out because he was a gentleman, thank you, he did immediately start choking. Blaise didn’t even attempt to help him, in shock himself — not that Draco could blame him. It wasn’t everyday that their former best friend turned traitor was telling them that she had sold them out to Gryffindors.

“Are you bloody mental?” Blaise shook his head, paused, and then shook it again. “Is this punishment for something? Have you been imperioused?”

“It’s a vacation, Blaise,” Pansy lied to their faces, rolling her eyes as if she was in the right. “It’s not as if I’m signing you up for your deaths — besides, we’ll be going to my aunt’s beach house! Draco, darling, you love it there!”

“I do, yes,” Draco agreed, voice harsh from where he had almost died. “It just so happens that I also like it when it’s the three of us and not the three people in this world who most want me dead.”

“Honestly, Draco,” Pansy scoffed, settling back with her own cup and a disappointed cluck of her tongue. “You simply must get over this delusion that you hate Potter when we all want to know you want nothing more than for him to shag you silly-”

“Pancella-!” Draco hissed, and oh, she was never going to hear any good gossip from him ever again! “I am not going on this little suicidal mission you seem so intent on putting together with Granger of all people!”

“Hermione, darling, is perfectly pleasant.” Draco looked to Blaise, who looked just as disturbed as Draco felt over the matter. “And we agree that it’s time we put all of this school rivalry nonsense behind us and, since all of our schedules have lined up just so, we thought it would be great to vacation together!”

Blaise was the one to take up the fight, edging in with a hesitant, “Pansy, you know we love you. Truly, we do. We’ll fight any number of light-loving fools for you, but…” Blaise glanced to Draco, who made sure to show an expression that conveyed how properly upset he was with the matter. “Is this really such a good idea for all of us to go?”

“Honestly,” Pansy tsked. “Potter already agreed to the trip and you know that Weasley will do whatever Hermione asks of him-”

“He agreed?” Draco was surprised to find that he was the one who had spoken since he hadn’t actually meant to voice his question out loud, but… “Potter, knowing full well that I- we’re going to be there still agreed to go?”

Pansy looked at him, something like sympathy warming her expression. It was far worse than any mocking she could have done. “Actually, Hermione mentioned to me that he hadn’t wanted to go at all until he knew you- Sorry, ‘we’ were going.”

“Of course,” Draco scoffed, looking away sharply. “The fool probably just jumped at the chance of tormenting me, no doubt.” Still, though… For a moment, just a moment, Draco had heard Potter was going and he felt something like…

A fool. Draco was an absolute fool who hoped for things that would never happen far too easily. Flights of fancy, as his mother would call them. He had no reason whatsoever to agree to this trip, and, for as much as Pansy seemed to believe she was in charge, she couldn’t make him go along with it.

“So, then.” Pansy sounded close to laughing, Draco firm in keeping his gaze on his empty tea cup, faint memories of tea leaves and their meanings stirring at the back of his mind. “Do you want to go on a vacation with us, Draco?”

She couldn’t make him go. Nothing would change. They would never get along. This was doomed to end in disaster. Draco was not going to go and simply make things worse. He was going to say no. He was going to, but…

Well…

“You know, Pansy, dear… A little vacation to the beach sounds lovely right now.”

Surely, just this once, the world could keep spinning in the face of Draco Malfoy’s hope.

#harry potter #drarry #draco malfoy #drarropoly #my writing #my moodboards #original

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theslashmix · 3 years ago

Text

I didn’t merely see

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31545329

Written for the LLSS prompt “ Harry Welsh isn't as oblivious as everybody thinks he is. (ft. Winnix and/or Speirton not being that subtle after all)"

beta-read by @thrillingdetectivetales

will publish a translation/ rework of it in Italian

For some reason, people seemed to forget that Harry was an observant man. He was an officer, and in his modest opinion, a decent one. This meant that he must have a good eye for detail and an even better brain to put things together in a coherent manner: it thus surprised him a bit that people seemed to stop at his jovial façade, somehow separating it from the competence that he had shown on the battlefield. It was almost as if there were two of him- good ol’ Harry, always down for drinks and shenanigans, and First Lieutenant Harry Welsh.

He had known that Winters and Nixon were a thing since Toccoa, and had guessed that they had been for a while before that- since OCS, probably. The signs were all there, almost painfully too easy to spot for someone who truly watched, instead of just seeing: the little touches that lingered just a second too long; the brief stretches of time when no one seemed to know where they were; the constant invasion of each other’s personal space that wasn’t an invasion at all, because at some point it had gotten from being my personal space, to you’re welcome in it, and it was slowly morphing into our personal space under Harry’s very eyes.

He had wondered why on Earth Sobel hadn’t picked up on it, what with him hating Winters’ guts and desperately trying to find even the smallest fault in the man. After some more careful observation, Harry had come to the conclusion that it wasn’t so surprising after all, because Sobel, consciously or not, didn’t want to see it. It was glaringly obvious that Sobel was very good at lying to himself, and him hating Winters was a big, fat lie. He was not good enough at lying to himself that he would try to destroy Winters with that particular tactic, though.

When Sobel was removed from Easy, Harry drew a big sigh of relief.

It had made him uneasy, back then. It was hard to reconcile the stereotype of fairies he had in his head with the reality of how the two officers were. They should have been effeminate, weak, hysterical: they weren’t. Winters was everything that the high brass could want in an officer and a soldier, and Nixon, despite his flaws, was a good man, and a good intelligence officer. Harry wondered for long hours whether he ought to report them: a lifetime of conditioning was hard to shake. In the end he didn’t: D-Day arrived too quickly, and he had other things to think about rather than trying to convince a court martial that Dick Winters and Lewis Nixon were a homosexual couple. Especially since he had nothing more substantial than a lame “well, they are often together” and his own impressions.

After Normandy, Harry actively decided that he would do nothing about it, even if he didn’t approve. After Normandy, the boys would follow the two officers just about anywhere, and Harry couldn’t in good conscience take them from Easy, because that would mean that more of the boys would die in the incompetent hands of Norman Dyke.

After Bastogne and Foy, after Nixon had decided to stay in that freezing hellhole with them (and with Winters) instead of taking the much sought-after furlough stateside, Harry decided that he would actively cover for them, if that was what it would take to keep Dick and Nix with them. He decided that it was completely wrong that the world had decreed that the two of them shouldn’t stay together, because after the long scrutiny Harry had imposed on them, there was only one conclusion possible: the two fit so well together that God must have made them to be together. Their relationship evolved to its full potential in a way that shouldn’t have been possible, if what was between them was just sinful lust.

Now it had fully become our personal space, and the two could hold an entire conversation in just a single, prolonged stare, like an old married couple. Even the boys seemed to be always talking about them as a package deal. “Winters and Nixon said that…”, “Yesterday Winters and Nixon…”, “Do you think that Winters and Nixon will…?”, “Where are Winters and Nixon?”

There could be no doubt whatsoever that Nix belonged with Dick and Dick belonged with Nix, the same way that Harry himself belonged with his beloved Kitty.

He noticed the signs of the very same thing going on between Speirs and Lip in Haguenau. It was nowhere near as long standing as Dick and Nix’s relationship. If he had to pinpoint its starting moment, Harry would have guessed around Bastogne, at the earliest. Probably when Speirs had stopped going to Dyke for updates on Easy and had started to go directly to Lip. There was still a tentativeness around them, the sweet, hesitating exultance of discovering each other, the pressing need to be together and close as much as possible.

It was in the way Lip perked up as soon as he heard Speirs’ steps, and in the way Speirs’ eyes kept turning in the direction of the house where a sick Carwood Lipton was billeted with a worried frown, as if the lieutenant was magnetic north and the captain was the hand of a compass. It was in the way Lip murmured Speirs’ Christian name when they thought that nobody was there to hear them, and in the way Speirs had claimed the right to take care of Lip as if it was his God-given privilege, and woe betide whoever dared to interfere.

He hadn’t known the true depth of it though, not until one evening in Haguenau when he had decided to go and visit Lip in his billet. The lieutenant had healed from pneumonia in a way that Roe had defined “miraculous”, but was still quite weak and needed rest. Harry hoped that a Hershey bar would lift his spirits a bit, and distract him from his desperate need to mother everything and anything that breathed. They should probably have him infiltrate the German troops, he’d have them tucked up in bed by 2100 sharp, and no sneaking out to invade Poland, is that clear Adolf?

Harry walked softly, making no noise in case Lip was asleep. As he got close to the flimsy door, he realised that Lip wasn’t asleep, and was in fact talking with none other than Speirs.

“- if you die, what good would you be to the boys?” Speirs was saying, with an exasperated tone that indicated that they had had this discussion a few times already.

“There’s no other second lieutenant, Ron. If I don’t take care of my duties, nobody else will, and the boys will go without supplies.”

“Car- you seriously think so little of the other officers that we’d let Easy starve?” There was an obvious subtext there- do you think so little of me?

“No!” Lip’s exclamation was scandalized and filled with frustration. “No, I don’t. But you all have so much to do already. You shouldn’t be doing my job on top of yours.”

“You’re talking as if you were purposefully slacking, Car. You aren’t. You are sick, you didn’t want this, and nobody thinks any less of you because of it.” Speirs’ tone was getting increasingly frustrated.

“But I can’t-”

“No, I can’t, Car!” Speirs’ voice rose a little before the captain brought it back down. “I can’t stand the thought of you grinding yourself to the nub. I’m scared, Car, for the first time I’m truly scared in this goddamn war because I’ve got something to lose,” he said, and Harry was surprised to hear him admit such a thing. Hearing Captain Ronald “Killer” Speirs so vulnerable, admitting to his fear so openly with a voice raw with emotion, was something Harry had never even dreamed could happen, not in a million years. It must have cost him a lot to admit it.

“It’s hard enough that I have to send you into action knowing that you could die, but I can accept that because it’s out of our control. I can’t accept the thought of losing you to a pneumonia relapse, not when it can be avoided by you simply resting a bit!” Harry had never heard Speirs talk so passionately.

There was a rustle of cloth, and a muffled sob- they had probably embraced, seeking the comfort of touch and closeness in the very real solidity of each other’s body.

“Please, Car. Please. Do your best to live- I just can’t bear it,” murmured Speirs.

There could be no doubt left that the love between them was the real deal and not something wrong or twisted, not after hearing the pain in Speirs’ voice at the thought of losing his lover. It couldn’t be wrong, not when it could give back humanity to a man like Ronald Speirs, giving him something not only to die for, but to live for, which was much, much more important.

“Oh, Ron…” said Lip in a voice that was heartbreakingly tender, and Harry decided that it was time to go. He suddenly felt ashamed, as dirty as if he had spied on them having sex- no, not having sex, he amended. They would make love. He shouldn’t have eavesdropped. It had been a moment of deep intimacy between the two men, not only of the body but of the soul, and he couldn’t bear to spy on something so pure for a moment longer. Even though he had to admit that he was glad to know that there was something that had remained pure and unsullied despite the war.

It was a week later or so, when he heard Luz talking about how quickly Lip had bounced back from pneumonia.

“Couldn’t bear the thought of us boys being without their Mama Lip, especially now that he’s got Papa Speirs to take care of him,” he said wisely, and his audience nodded solemnly, unanimously agreeing that Lip and Speirs were a package deal as much as Dick and Nix were.

He knew then, with certainty, that Speirs and Lip belonged to each other the same way Nixon and Winters did.

Of all the things he had expected to change during the war, his perspective on homosexuality hadn’t been one, but he solidly counted it among the few, positive things to come out of that particular bloodbath. When Dick announced at the end of the war that he had decided to accept the job offer at Nixon Nitration, and Speirs that he would go to West Virginia “to see what opportunities I can find there,” Harry felt happy for them.

They belonged together, and they would stay together. Maybe there was some justice, in this world.

#hbowar #speirton #winnix #harry welsh #band of brothers #slash #ronald speirs/carwood lipton #richard winters/lewis nixon #ronald speirs #carwood lipton #richard winters #lewis nixon #sobel/winters but it's beyond one sided

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theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin · 4 years ago

Note

I really like Tequila from Lee's world. What would that weird Tom/Ginny combination be like if Lee had never returned to the HP universe? Would they become more like October Tom? Or something else entirely? How would Tequila handle the mad creature their main soul has become?

Oh man, you give Tequila far more credit than I do.

For simplicity’s sake, I’ll refer to Tequila below as “he”, mostly because it’s really Wizard Trotsky at the wheel in “Minato Namikaze and the Destroyer of Worlds”. He just happens to rock Ginny Weasley’s adolescent body.

Tequila’s a hot mess, a dumpster fire, and it doesn’t matter if he’s pining after Tom Riddle’s childhood friend Ellie Potter, if Tom is stuck in a diary only to be released to confront Ellie/Harry Potter, or if he’s stuck in a diary and released only to find out Ellie Potter isn’t even there. Tequila will always be a mess.

Let’s say Lee never showed back up. Tequila’s life would be one of hilarity and woe.

Wizard Trotsky likely would have continued masquerading as Ginny, i.e. being Tequila, out of a sheer lack of ability to answer the question “what the hell do I do now?” That’s why he stuck around as Ginny in the first place.

So Tequila goes to Hogwarts, milks “I’m an invalid, woe is me, I can’t go to class cough cough I am traumatized by snakes on planes” excuse for as long as he can get away with it (which is forever) and ends up with decent marks (having gone through Hogwarts twice now) but not nearly as good as he once had or, say, Hermione has because he’s gotten profoundly lazy. Sadly, this still puts him ahead of 50% of Hogwarts’ population.

Similarly, Tequila’s effort at impersonating Ginny Weasley is half-assed at best. However, because Ginny went through an incredibly traumatic experience, no one gives him shit for it or wonders “Hey, is this really Ginny?” Due to this, Tequila’s soul is dying inside even more than usual. He doesn’t even have to try around these assholes. He could walk up to the wall, spray paint “I am Voldemort, bitch!” and they’d probably just try to console him.

Lee showing back up out of the ether is the most exciting that has ever happened to Tequila possibly ever. It’d be better if Lee wanted to do epic ninja battle, so Tequila could prove how cool and not useless he is and defeat his prophesied enemy, but even Lee just being in the castle, insulting everybody, and lighting all of Hagrid’s pets on fire is amazing.

But anyways, Lee never shows up.

Tequila gets a pretty good idea of who the original Death Eaters were thanks to gossip but there’s not much he can do about it as all the Death Eaters (aside from the ones in prison) have disavowed Voldemort out of self preservation. His showing up as an adolescent schoolgirl just doesn’t have the same effect and it’d be a little hard to prove who he is given that he doesn’t even really know these people.

Not to mention that Voldemort was this distant thing in the future for him and he has no idea how to actually go about doing any of that. The actual Voldemort has many years experience on him in recruiting, guerilla warfare, logistics, etc.

Tom Riddle was in dueling club one time, it was great, he learned things.

So Tequila likely wiffle waffles a lot, telling himself, “One day, I’m going to run out on all these assholes, return as Voldemort, and then Granger will cry” only to sigh and realize it’s far more realistic to start from fresh. Besides, why just try to redo what his other half did, he wants to be his own person (a better more competent version! He won’t get blown up by any toddlers!) and that means finding his own cause. And if he can make Dumbledore’s Order his Order, then great.

Not to mention there’s the disturbing possibility that Voldemort’s not quite dead. Now, Tequila can give this credence as being the horcrux, he knows that Voldemort’s not really dead. He’s amazed Voldemort managed to blow himself up with a baby, amazed, embarrassed, and offended, but Tequila isn’t willing to completely throw out the idea that Voldemort’s this evil wraith who occasionally possesses muggle studies professors. Not exactly on Tom Riddle’s bucket list, but clearly, the original screwed up everything and doesn’t even deserve Tequila’s respect.

(Tequila went through a brief, extremely brief, period of wondering if he should seek out the main soul and help him return it to power. Being the horcrux, technically, he should probably serve the original soul.

Then he remembered that asshole had one job, only one job, and he ruined it. Tequila was shoved into a diary for nothing and look what happened. Now there’s a national Harry Potter Day. Clearly, the wrong half of Tom Riddle was put out of commission and if you want it done right you’ve got to do it yourself.)

So, in 1994 without Lee’s involvement, Voldemort returns from the grave. Because I’m realistic, Neville probably dies. Sorry, Neville, you lived a good if short life and I’m sure you gave it the college try. Dumbledore falls into despair and “THE WORLD IS DOOMED!” mode now that all his even remotely prophesied children are MIA and immediately gets the Order of the Phoenix together.

Ginny, being thirteen at the time, isn’t allowed because that would be ridiculous. Despite it being ridiculous to include thirteen year olds, Tequila is pissed that he’ll have to wait another god knows how many years before Molly lets him do what he wants.

Offscreen Dumbledore probably goes through varying levels of extremely horrifying solutions to the Tom Riddle problem.

First, he probably goes horcrux hunting. Unfortunately for Dumbledore, in “Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus” and “Minato Namikaze and the Destroyer of Worlds” there are only two horcruxes and only one was intentional. Tom had originally planned to make seven but the hangover from the first one was so mind breakingly awful he went “New plan, I will make one horcrux, and then I will think of something else”. He never really got around to thinking of anything else.

Dumbledore, however, doesn’t know this. So he dutifully collects memories, banks on Tom’s ridiculously romantic nature, and starts going to places of importance. Not to reveal too much, but Tom actually laid several traps around for those poking their nose around looking for his horcrux. Dumbledore steps into several of these with not so good results.

Given that one of the horcruxes is Ginny and the other is still stuck in Konoha without any access to magic, Dumbledore is 0 for 2.

More, given that only Neville Longbottom was prophesied to have the ability to defeat the dark lord either Dumbledore has to somehow resurrect Neville or else get himself a new Neville. Because I love terrible, but funny, things let’s say he does both and we get a round of Pet Semetary (sometimes, dead is better, Albus) and pulling in Harry Potters/Neville Longbottoms from other dimensions (but miraculously not Eru Lee somehow, which is great for her because she’s busy having a terrible time in the third shinobi war).

Back to Lee for a bit and why Dumbledore’s first solution isn’t just to desperately try and find her.

First, she is completely off the map and has been for years. She isn’t even registering as “dead” or “in mortal peril” she’s just gone. Somehow finding her and hoping, miraculously, for her blowing up Voldemort a second time just isn’t on the table.

Second, Lee’s involvement in the prophecy is... a bit wonky. This has been noted a bit in “Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus” but the prophecy in “Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus” and “Minato Namikaze and the Destroyer of Worlds” actually explicitly does not refer to her in that it specifies a male child born at the end of July. This is because the universe is falling apart and we’re all doomed, doomed, doomed, but that’s a different story. Point being, especially in this Lee-less version, Albus has no idea what’s up with Lee but he’s putting his money on Neville. Poor, dead, Neville.

Tequila meanwhile gets to read news of how everything’s going to hell in the dumbest way he can imagine. Voldemort clearly came back wrong and missing a lot of brain cells, even with a body he keeps not taking over the ministry even though they’re practically begging him to do it, and everything he does is not only a) very embarrassing but b) it prevents Tequila from rising into power and becoming amazing.

Clearly, he must be stopped, there can only be one Lord of the Rings.

Well, destroying him completely means destroying Tequila first, and we can’t have that. So Tequila comes up with the only reasonable solution: they have to seal Voldemort’s evil spirit away in some magical artifact.

Tequila drops out of Hogwarts, goes adventuring for a few years, finds some exorcism sword or something and learns how to use it. Comes back and anticlimactically defeats Voldemort while everyone else was busy panicking and Hogwarts was being invaded or some nonsense.

Nobody, not even Tequila, knows how to handle Voldemort’s sudden and very anticlimactic defeat.

Then Tequila recovers and shouts “Weasley is our king!”

Tequila, probably eighteen around this point, is voted the youngest Minister of Magic ever. With Dumbledore dead, Tequila strongarms his way into taking over the Order of the Phoenix, and everything’s coming up Tom Riddle.

Only then Tom Riddle has that terrible sense of deja vu as the, “What now?” question hovers in his brain. Once again, he has absolutely no answer. Tom is the dog who has caught the car.

Congratulations, Tom.

TL;DR: Without Lee, Tequila would probably end up dealing with the original Voldemort himself/herself. He’s still a mess, he’s learned nothing, and at the end just finds out that actually, he didn’t want to be in power, being in power is stupid.

All he figures out is that he has no idea what he wants.

On the plus side, at least Dumbledore’s dead.

#ask #anon #minato namikaze and the destroyer of worlds #eru lee #tequila weasley #wizard trotsky's a dumpster fire #there is no way around this eternal truth #lee actually showing up might just be the best path for him in a way

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terrorandtales · 4 years ago

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Where the fuck are you supposed to start with something like this? My therapist has encouraged me to try this exercise to help with my night terrors. Which I trust her. Dr. M is one smart cookie. I’m just scared shitless to have all of my night terrors come to life while I’m awake. The whole point of this is to redirect the story. Control the narrative and directly know that they aren’t in fact real. They may share some oddly sick similarities, but hey Doc knows best so let’s dive in.

Arctic Tundra

So I’m trying to piece this together eloquently. It’s been a few days since I had this night terror. Bear with me please. Alright like most dreams/nightmares how are we supposed to know where the beginning, middle, and end are. Could it be that the end is the middle? The middle is nomans land, and the beginning nonexistent? Does time even exist in this pandora’s box, this colorful brain of mine? Half the time I don’t even know if it’s me in the dream as the lead character. Most of the time I am, but sometimes I feel like I’m a ghost floating through these nightmares scene to scene. Still, living the God awful fucked up shit, but seeing my physical self below my floating self just asking the other me, “what in the actual hell is happening? Can I wake up now? Let’s set the scene…

My other me (I guess my sleeping me) is seeing my physical me in a Biergarten walking around aimlessly. Fretting about some assholes that look like storm troopers rounding up the masses. It almost feels like we’re all the Anne Franks of the world in this place. My brother, sister, and Jean Paul (my lover) are in the dream. So these motherfuckers find our hiding spot which honestly isn’t hard to find because it’s literally the Biergatedn I’ve been to before in real life on a drunken Seattle night. Anyways, we all start panicking and make a run for it through these hidden secret hatches on the floors. Tear gas is dispersing and those fuckers are closing in. I lose sight of my brother, sister, and Jean Paul. I think they made it out before me. So I’m running and trying to get through this secret hatch with all of these panicked people. The hatch turns into a ceiling shaft. Almost like the one in the movie Posidean where they were all trying to escape a sinking cruise ship that was overturned by a tsunami wave. Anyways so I’m panicking because I know those God-awful Sith bloodsuckers are coming for us. The person in front of me is crawling and turning the corner then he starts screaming because he gets blasted in the face with this green and orange acid that starts burning his flesh off immediately. Kind of reminds me of the contagion movie where those people started bleeding from their eyeballs. Sick stuff man. Don’t ask me how it smells because I have no idea. I haven’t had the terrible pleasure of smelling burnt skin in my waking life. So his skin starts peeling off, his eyes are burning out of their sockets. Meanwhile, I’m in shock and trying to crawl back to get away from him and the acid. I don’t know if there’s more coming!! So I’m like what the hell!! When I turn around on all fours which I think is much faster than crab-walking backward up a metal shaft by the way the scene changes again. Now I’m on an airplane. The seats are gone. Everything is stripped away. I’m in what looks like a cargo plane, but the emergency windows look like the ones on a Boeing 737-800 aircraft. There’s padding along the sides of the aircraft and I’m not alone. There’s a little boy stuck inside with me and we’re trying to get out before the plane sinks in the arctic ocean. I’m scrabbling around to try to get the windows open. The first two exits I try are jammed because I guess the plane hit an ice burg or something and it’s dented in. We’re peering out the smaller windows and we can see people lined up in huge parkas with gear. They made it off the plane, but somehow we’re the only two left. The snow is coming down hard and whistling so loudly. So they can’t hear us screaming for help. You can barely make out the faces of the people because of the blizzard. Plus they have their heads down to protect their faces. I look at the kid and say, “don’t worry we’re going to get out of here. We’ll be okay.” I can feel the bile rising in my throat and the butterflies in my stomach. I feel guilty because I honestly don’t think we’ll make it out alive, but I can’t lie to this kid. So the third emergency exit that I try and put all my strength into opens miraculously! I yell to the crying kid, “come on let’s go!” He gets up and runs to me. I throw his gear out first and then push him out of the plane. Meanwhile, the plane starts jerking violently. So I know I’m running out of time. I throw my pack out of the exit. When I try to get out the exit seems to become smaller. All of a sudden I can’t fit. I start panicking. Screaming for help, but they can’t hear me. I’m crying and try to use my arms to push along the ice-cold plane to push myself out. My tears are freezing to my face. My lips are burning because of the cold. My lungs are on fire, but I’m still fighting. I can see the plane approaching the water. “I’m going to die,” says my sleeping self to my physical self. Then before the nose of the aircraft hits the water I wake up shaking and gasping for air. (End Scene)

Okay, so now here’s the part where I take control of the narrative and direct it elsewhere. So which part do I change? Nomans land, end, the nonexistent beginning? Just seems like a lot of work, but we’ve come this far. So let’s pick up from this particular part of the ending scene “I’m going to die.” Ready? “And scene!” “Action”

As I close my eyes preparing for my doom strong hands grab my forearms and violently pull me out of the aircraft seconds before the tip of the aircraft hit the water and the ice underneath gives. I can’t see the person’s face at all because my eyes are closed shut with fear and ice streaked tears. All I can hear is the loud crashing sounds of the ice breaking and the aircraft sinking into the ocean. The blizzard is swirling around us like we’re in the eye of a hurricane. My body feels like ice and I’m so scared I refuse to open my eyes. I just let myself be carried by these strong arms. I feel the wind swirling around us still. I can hear the air and feel the wind pick up. All of a sudden the terrible cold starts to fade. I start to feel warmth coarse through my body. I feel my cheeks start to warm. The wind starts to die down, and those strong arms...Wait Cut! Let’s talk about that for a min. Not a dream min, but a real-life minute or two. The arms holding me are just arms. I don’t imagine anyone. I don’t even imagine the body of a man or woman. If anything it’s more the comfort of them and the bravery of them. They’re magical; invisible strength and comfort you’d feel from a father figure. Caring arms, strong arms, non-judgmental arms. What I’d imagine Hagrid’s arms to feel like as far as size is concerned. I’m remembering that particular scene when he’s carrying Harry’s body back to Hogwarts, minus the death because these mystical God fearing arms saved my life. Anyways let’s get back to the scene. Ready? Take 2! Or is it 3? Anyways, Action! The wind starts to die down, and those strong arms holding me lie me down on what feels like the softest fur, almost like what I’d imagine the Lorax’s fur would feel like. Finally, when I start to feel this immense calmness overcome me and flood through my body I decide to slowly open my eyes. I’m in a white vast 2-dimensional allusion. I’m on a soft mound of grass resting underneath a Pink and orange Truffula tree that smells like papayas and lemons. My skin is glowing like I’m Joy, from the “Inside Out” movie. Except I’m still me. My skin is just the same, just bright and I feel warmth, love, and wonder coursing through my body and mind. When I look up into the white nothingness the scene changes again. Now I’m looking at a beautiful night sky lit up by green, white, purple auroras. Shaped as beautiful people dancing to the music I can’t hear. I’m sitting up against the Truffula tree and peace overcomes me; a faint smile comes across my lips and I fall into a deep slumber. (End of scene)

Okay, Dr. M!! I see what you’re saying. This was a very enlightening experience. I can feel that peace and comfort right now. I feel safe and adventurous. Off to the next one I suppose.

Goodness, I’m writing these back to back. So I’m going to be on a roller coaster of emotions. Extreme fear, anxiety, wonder, enlightenment, and finally peace. It’ll just keep repeating. Rinse, Freak Out, Repeat. No matter, I’ve been putting this off long enough. I have 4 more stories to share. They’re all blending together so I better hop to it.

#new blog #short story #my story #storytelling #story #original story #about me #life #night terrors #nightmare #bad dream #flash fiction #fiction #truffula tree #wonder #auora #blackgirlbloggers #blackgirlmagic #black girl

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bittykimmy13 · 5 years ago

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Miss Clara’s Charmed Jewelry and Pets ~ 5 (GT)

(( Read from the beginning ))

Synopsis: While looking for a place to rest on her aimless journey, Valentina comes across the cottage of Miss Clara, who welcomes fairy guests with open arms.

Characters belong to @pr-fae <3</p>

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5 ~ The Aristocrat Hours passed, but Valentina barely noticed. She was too occupied with the bliss, the absolute exhilaration of having magic back at her fingertips. She had waited until Jaune and Silky were gone to try it. They had left her on the table, food and water within reach, after asking several times if she was comfortable there. She all but ignored the provisions now. Tears had sprung forth along with the magic, and for the first time in so long, she was not crying from fear or misery. Tiny little flowers of every color bloomed on the wooden tabletop in patches. She knew she could do so much more, but she feared pushing herself too far after her month of iron proximity. For now, she was content to miraculously grow flowers for the dead wood and contemplate how she might use her magic to escape if needed. All peace in the room shattered when the door flew open.

Valentina screamed and sprang up, shuffling to the furthest corner of the table. She eased up only slightly when she saw it was Jaune. She fought the urge to hide—there was nowhere to go within reach, anyway. The door slammed shut and made her flinch, and she forced herself to hold her ground. But Jaune’s harried state was frightening. That was nothing compared to her realization that Silky was nowhere to be seen on his person as he approached with rattling, too-fast steps. Her forced bravery crumbled immediately. She was all alone with a towering human who came from a Fae-hating family. “She took Silky,” Jaune uttered in a broken voice, his eyes red. Valentina felt sick to her stomach. “No…” He gripped the edge of the table, looking down at her desperately. “You have to help me get her back—please.” He was panting now, the sorrow in his eyes overwhelming. “Please, you’re the only person I have right now.” She shuddered, locking her fingers through the hem of her blouse—Silky’s blouse. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “I—I can’t!” The thought of going anywhere near Clara again made her want to fall to pieces. “I-I wouldn’t be of any help to you.” He eyed the flowers on the table and clenched his jaw. “Your magic is back,” he said in a non-accusatory voice. Still begging. “I released a fairy from his cage at the market, and he was able to magically vanish after a few minutes. You do have spells on your side, Valentina.” “B-but, I told you, I don’t know where Clara lives.” “There has to be something!” Although he didn’t raise his voice, his whispering took on a panicked intensity. His crushing fingers tightened on the table’s edge, and she couldn’t help but picture them closing around her. “Some clue that can lead us to her—please, anything!” She bit her lip, scrounging her mind for anything to make him stop looking at her like that—stop looking at her at all. And then, it came to her. “Ambrose Clemente!” she blurted. “An aristocrat from Westhelm. He visits her cottage personally, a-and he buys out all the available fairies. The only reason I didn’t end up with him is because I wasn’t properly healed yet.” She swallowed hard, looked at Jaune pleadingly. “It shouldn’t be hard to find him. Clara mentioned that he’s one of the wealthiest people in Westhelm.” Jaune exhaled sharply. “Ambrose Clemente. Okay. Okay, we may have a chance now.” He looked at her expectantly, face falling when he saw she was cowering away from him more than ever. “I… I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, but… please. I need all the help I can get, especially if this is a wealthy person we’re going after. And who knows what Clara has up her sleeve.” Valentina didn’t answer, looking down at a patch of yellow and orange flowers at her feet. The floorboards creaked, and she squeezed her eyes shut, certain that he would simply grab her and walk out the door whether she wanted it or not. “Valentina,” he whispered. His voice sounded further away than before. She tentatively peeked her eyes open, startled to find that he was no longer looming over her. Gaze traveling downward, she found him on his knees in front of the table, hands clenched on his lap. Literally begging for her help. She shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. “I won’t force you,” he said. “But you have to understand. She is my world. My heart. It hurts me to ask you to go anywhere near Clara and Westhelm again. I’m sorry. But if even the smallest part of you is willing to trust me… please.” He shuddered, making desperate eye contact with her. “Tell me to leave, and I will. But I need you to say it.” Shivering, Valentina inched forward. He could force her if he wanted. Could threaten to hurt her if she didn’t do as he said. Instead, he was begging, as if she held any power over him. And Silky could very well be undergoing torture while Valentina stood there like a coward. “Jaune,” she croaked. “Let’s go get her.” ~~~ The sun had already set by the time they reached Westhelm. In his panic, Jaune had still somehow managed to come up with a plan of how to find Ambrose Clemente—and it came in the form of an empty envelope he had bought from a shop on his way out of Camveil. The streets were less bustling than they had been yesterday. Folks were getting back to their homes, and shops were closing for the night. Before proceeding with the plan, Jaune ducked into an alley to check on Valentina. Impatient as he was to hunt down Clara, the poor fairy girl could not be left alone to her own terrified thoughts the whole time. Once he was certain no one was near enough to see, Jaune pulled at the lip of his front pocket and peered inside. “Are you doing alright?” he asked. “We’ve reached Westhelm.” “I… I’m fine,” she croaked, looking up at him with her scared little eyes while she clutched desperately at the fabric around her. He knew she was lying, but she had been much more terrified of the offer to ride on his shoulder. He supposed it hurt a bit, to not have her trust, but such thoughts were trivial compared to everything else assaulting his mind. “We’ll reach Clemente soon,” he promised, not bothering to ask if she wanted to move out of the pocket now. Not in Westhelm, were disgusted gazes would be set on her, even if there were less people. As he exited the alley, he tried not to focus on how Valentina trembled against his chest. “Pardon me!” Jaune approached the first patrolling guard he laid eyes on. The man looked him up and down warily, no doubt noticing right away that Jaune didn’t fit in with the other townspeople. But Jaune kept his tone light, somewhat exasperated. “Could you point me in the right direction? I have a message for Ambrose Clemente, and I seem to have gotten turned around.” He held up the empty envelope. The guard relaxed, then looked somewhat exasperated himself. “Clemente? That bastard. I used to be a private guard on his estate, until he ordered all of us away.” He shook his head. “You’re at the wrong end of the district, messenger. Head down this road and take a right at the very end. You’ll see the estate—you can’t miss it.” Jaune stifled his curiosity about why Ambrose Clemente would get rid of his guards, but that certainly made things easier. He thanked the guard graciously and moved on. By the time the estate came into view, the streets were utterly quiet. The large house stood on its own at the end of a cobblestone road, and indeed, there didn’t seem to be anyone patrolling the outside. Jaune kept the envelope visible, in any case. “Be ready, Valentina,” Jaune muttered as he stepped up to the door. He squared his shoulders and knocked three times. A few moments later, footsteps approached on the other side. The door creaked open slightly, revealing a man with dark hair and grey eyes. Just the way Valentina had described Ambrose. It took every ounce of Jaune’s self-control not to shove the door open all the way. “Hello. Can I help you?” Ambrose said in a cautious voice. “Miss Clara,” Jaune bit out. “Where can I find her cottage?” The man stared for all of two seconds before slamming the door shut without a word. Jaune heaved a sigh, balling his fists up at his sides. He was ready to break in, until he remembered the vulnerable cargo in his pocket. “I’m going to put you down,” he said apologetically. He reached in with a careful, practiced hand and pulled her out. She squirmed right until he set her down on the sill of a nearby front window. Wasting no time after that, he set his sights back on the door. A few well-aimed kicks at the handle broke the lock, and he shoved the door with his shoulder to open it all the way. Valentina stared at him with awe and terror, looking like she’d rather not climb back onto his hand when he offered it. But she did. After depositing her safely back inside his pocket, he stalked past the ruined door and found Ambrose backing away through the foyer with his hands raised slightly. The cold, cruel personality Valentina had described seemed to be absent at the moment. “Look, I don’t know what this is about—” Amrose started. “You’re going to tell me where Clara lives,” Jaune said in a low, dangerous voice as he advanced with measured steps. “Now.” “Why?” Ambrose shook his head. “If you want a fairy so badly, you can find her at the market. Unless… I mean, unless you intend to steal them?” He looked positively horrified at the idea. Jaune clenched his jaw furiously. “Oh, that would simply ruin your day, wouldn’t it? Not having a new plaything in your grasp the moment you want it?” Paling, Ambrose said nothing. He turned to run, but a table miraculously slid across the room and blocked the archway that led to the rest of the house. He could have climbed over it, perhaps, if he weren’t shocked enough to whirl and look at Jaune. Valentina was poking halfway out of the pocket, arms still poised up from the spell. Using Ambrose’s surprise against him, Jaune raced forward and grabbed him by the front of his tailored shirt. “Where is the cottage?” Jaune gritted out. Trying to wrench himself free, hands scrabbling to pry away Jaune’s, Ambrose was still staring at Valentina, who ducked away from eye contact. “You… your fairy isn’t collared,” Ambrose uttered. Jaune shoved him up against the wall by the archway, never letting go. “Don’t you dare even look at her. The next words out of your mouth better be the location of the cottage.” He braced one hand against Ambrose and raised a fist. “Or I’ll—” “No!” a tiny voice screamed. “Amie!” Jaune faltered and looked for the source of the voice—the ground. There, running beneath the table that blocked the archway, was a wingless fairy. She had pale blue hair tied in a half ponytail. She stopped behind one of the table legs, looking up at Jaune with horror. “Lark,” Ambrose croaked, trying to wrench away from Jaune more adamantly. “Get away, you shouldn’t be here!” When Jaune returned his narrowed eyes to Ambrose, the man looked back pleadingly, looking more panicked than ever. “Please, whatever you want, whatever you’re going to do, leave her out of this. Please—don’t hurt her!” “Let him go!” Lark shouted at Jaune. A sharp gust of wind ran through the room, seeming to originate from her. Her hair flew around wildly, and she balled her fists up at her sides, but she still looked at him beseechingly. “Please!” Jaune could barely think straight while both Ambrose and Lark pleaded with him. None of it made any sense. It wasn’t until he felt a small tug at the top of his shirt that he looked down. Valentina was still halfway out of the pocket, now looking at him with wide eyes. “She doesn’t have a collar, either,” Valentina said over the sound of whistling wind. “Let him go. Maybe… maybe we should see what he has to say.” With no small amount of hesitation, Jaune let go, then immediately tensed again when Ambrose bolted away from him. But he wasn’t trying to escape—he was rushing to Lark, scooping her up to hold her protectively as he backed away from Jaune with wary eyes. The threatening wind had settled down, but the tension in the air was still thick enough to cut with a knife. Although the fury burning through Jaune had faded into confusion, his voice remained gruff. “Start talking,” he said to Ambrose. “Who is she? Someone you bought from Clara?” “I didn’t buy her,” Ambrose said rather defensively. “He saved me,” Lark said, still rigid as though she would ignite her magic again at a moment’s notice. “From my previous owner—the one who bought me from Clara.” “But—” Valentina stammered a moment before gathering herself. “I saw you—you buy fairies from Clara.” Ambrose’s expression turned strangely sad as he eyed her. “I thought I recognized you. Saw you at her place not too long ago, didn’t I?” He sighed and shook his head. “I didn’t get to the market in time to stop someone else from buying you. I’m sorry.” “So you do buy fairies?” Jaune said. “To give them a safe haven, or to release them, if that’s what they prefer.” Ambrose kept his eyes on Valentina, and once more addressed her apologetically. “I saw how frightened you were at Miss Clara’s cottage. Sorry, again. She hates fairies. If she knew I was actually releasing them, she might not let me buy from her anymore. Then there’d be no saving anyone.” “He was quite upset that he couldn’t save you in time,” Lark put in kindly. “If that’s any consolation.” Her eyes moved up to Jaune’s face, wariness returning. “But it seems you’ve at least got someone who doesn’t collar you.” Jaune huffed, looking at the unusual pair skeptically. “She’s not my pet either. How do we know that Lark hasn’t been… brainwashed? Maybe you make her think you’re saving her when she’s really a pet.” “Watch your tongue,” Lark said, standing upright on Ambrose’s palm and glaring. Ever since he saved me, he’s done nothing but use his money to save others.” She looked up and behind her at Ambrose. “They should meet the others, to prove that we’re not lying.” Ambrose bristled. “Not meet. See them through the window, maybe.” He fixed his gaze back on Jaune and nodded. “Follow us.” Reluctantly, Jaune allowed himself to be led toward the back of the estate. He stayed on guard, ready for anything that Ambrose tried to pull. And by the number of looks he was getting thrown back at him, Ambrose was preparing himself for a potential attack as well. The backdoor led into a greenhouse, which opened up to the back garden. Ambrose made no move to open the door, however. He gestured for Jaune to join him at the window, which provided a view of the greenhouse and part of the garden. There were about a dozen small, makeshift houses amongst the greenery, and Jaune could see the movement of fairies from within. He gave a small exhalation of surprise. “You see?” Lark said, crossing her arms. “No one’s being held against their will. If they want to leave… Well, chances are they won’t survive out there—not without their wings. But if we can’t convince them to stay, they are welcome to take off.” “It’s never easy,” Ambrose muttered, staring through the window. “Sorry for the confusion,” Valentina said quietly. Her arms were folded on the lip of the pocket, and she flinched when Ambrose turned to face her. “I… I thought I was very lucky that you hadn’t bought me.” Ambrose smiled softly. “I’m glad that you seem safe now.” His gaze trailed up to Jaune’s face and became more guarded. “I can see you mean no harm to fairies, but… why are you so hell-bent on getting to Clara?” “She has my wife,” Jaune said, trying not to let his urgency get the best of him. “I… I saw her in that cage, and I—” He shuddered. “Please. Show me where Clara lives. I need to get Silky back.” Heavy silence settled over them all for a few moments. “Your wife is a fairy,” Lark said quietly. Jaune nodded. “Please…” She gave a sad, wistful sigh, her entire demeanor changing all at once. She twisted around to look up at Ambrose, tapping his palm. “He’s trying to save his wife, Amie! You have to help him!” Making no move to argue with her, Ambrose turned and shrode away. “Here.” He led them away from the back window and down two halls before he reached the door he wanted. It turned out to be a study. Several of the shelves seemed to have homemade ladders suited for fairies, but Jaune didn’t have the time to explore and wonder about Ambrose and Lark’s accommodations. Ambrose gingerly set Lark down on one corner of the massive desk in the middle of the room, then unrolled a map of the region. “There,” he said, pointing to a spot. “Right at the edge of those woods.” Jaune took care not to make Valentina tumble out of his pocket as he leaned over the map. He frowned and shook his head. “That can’t be right… You must be mistaken.” “He’s not,” Lark said, striding over to stand by Ambrose’s pointing finger. “But that’s Camveil territory.” “It… what?” Ambrose frowned in puzzlement. Valentina gave a soft gasp of disbelief. “If… if she lives in Camveil territory, then—” “What she’s doing there,” Jaune said slowly, “luring fairies and severing their wings… it’s illegal.”

#mywriting #gt #gt writing #fairies #fairy #fantasy #size difference #miss clara's charmed jewelry and pets #valentina #jaune #silky #ambrose #lark

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thepotionbat · 5 years ago

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All These Things That I’ve Done

Hi guys! Somehow I deleted this post, LOL, so here I am putting it back up.

I am happy to announce that I have finally finished the first chapter to my Snape lives AU fic! It is going to be a multi-chapter fic and I feel that it will end up rather long. If you want to keep up with when updates drop, let me know and I will add you to the tag-list!

Notes: I am writing mostly from the Deathly Hallows Part II movie simply because that is freshest on my mind, but that's not to say that book scenes and details won't ever be mentioned. I don't own Harry Potter or anything in the universe, including the characters. The only thing that belongs to me is what I decide to do with this AU as well as the one original character I plan on including later on. Also, the title and the italicized couplet kicking off the story is derived from the song All These Things That I've Done by The Killers, a song which I feel captures the essence of what this fic is about. Credit to the respective owners.

Edit: Here is an amazing piece of artwork that served as inspiration for the idea of Fawkes saving Snape. It was lost in my likes so I had to dig to find it.

Chapter word count: 3,254

Summary: The world post-Voldemort is a complicated one to navigate: the Ministry is taken over by a Minister who does not know of Snape's service to the Order, Dementor's are still at Azkaban, Snape's name remains uncleared, and, perhaps surprisingly of all to Snape, Harry seems to have respect for him now. Despite the uncertainty of his future, Snape is amazed to find that he actually has one in the first place -- his years of living as a spy and a puppet to Dumbledore as well as undergoing faux obedience to Voldemort have left him in a state of mind that abandoned all hopes of living a life for himself --now, however, he realizes there is a life post-war for him after all, no matter how unsteady it may be.

Chapter One

While everyone’s lost, the battle is won With all these thing’s that I’ve done

Harry sat outside on the steps in the breaking daylight, steeped in an utter quietness that seemed deafeningly loud.

The majority of people were inside the castle, tending to the sick or burying the dead, indexing the names of all who had been lost; Harry had taken this moment to himself, having broken away from the thick air of grief he had been smothered with inside, unable to stop feeling responsible for the mangled and bloodied bodies littering the Great Hall.

Outside, the birds chirped; a breeze stirred, urging leaves to dance through the air. It was as if nature, too, was celebrating the death of Voldemort.

The weight of the responsibility Harry had felt virtually his whole childhood was, at long last, lifted off of his shoulders; he had done his job, he had vanquished Tom Riddle once and for all — yet, still, he couldn’t find rest. Exhaustion clung to his bones, but the idea of sleep was far out of his reach.

He breathed in a deep breath of morning air, staring out at the courtyard where he had been just hours earlier. He hoped the air would fill him in some way, cleanse him of the heaviness that persistently tugged at his skin.

Voldemort was gone, the Wizarding world saved — so why did Harry feel so lost, so hollow?

His consciousness echoed with the faces of the dead; memories of cold, lifeless bodies strewn on the ground, overwhelming in number, were imprinted onto his brain, imprinted onto the back of his eyelids; every time he closed his eyes, he saw Remus, Tonks, Fred...

Snape.

The loss of his parents, the loss of Sirius, Remus, Fred, Tonks, Hedwig... out of all of these, it was Snape’s death that was bringing Harry the most confusion—

This was because he wasn’t sure how to feel, how to cope with it. Snape, the man he had hated since coming to Hogwarts for the first time, the man he thought had hated him in return... Harry couldn’t stop picturing the anguish on Snape’s face when he learned that his mother had died, the way he had stood in Dumbledore’s office in complete despair; the horror in his eyes after Dumbledore told him that Harry was a horcrux and must be killed by Voldemort.

Most of all, though, Harry couldn’t shake the way Snape had met his gaze as he bled out into the palm of Harry’s hand, the silvery residue of memories on his cheek; it was Snape’s black eyes that were seared into his brain most hauntingly.

Harry picked up a nearby rock and tossed it into the clearing; it clattered against the cobblestone ground, an action that scraped the silence and broke the calm stillness of the morning.

He wanted to feel angry; angry with Dumbledore, for withholding the entire truth from him all these years; angry with Snape, for giving the prophecy to Voldemort, for sacrificing his life as a double agent, for playing his part so convincingly, for loving his mother — but he couldn’t.

Anger was a familiar friend, an emotion that Harry knew well. He had felt it in intense bouts for the better part of his life, been chained under its control again and again—

But he didn’t feel that now. Now, all that was left in Harry was grief.

He once again picked up a stone; its roughness pricked his hand. He hesitated a moment, taking a second to consider the weight of it— but before he could throw it, another sound cracked the silence: the scuff of a shoe, not his own.

Harry turned automatically to see Ginny, who was rushing outside with a look of urgency, her red hair pouring over her face as she moved over to him.

“Ginny,” he said, standing. “What—”

“Harry,” she interrupted, her voice breathless with shock, “Snape is alive.”

The news utterly knocked the wind out of him. Again, Snape’s eyes flashed before his mind, as did the memory of the man’s blood staining the palm of Harry’s hand. Pure shock electrified his nerves, and he was unable to do anything else but blink at Ginny, dumbfounded.

Distantly, he heard himself repeat, “Alive?”

She nodded quickly. “In the Great Hall. McGonagall went to go get his body and— well, Fawkes was there. Fawkes had saved him.”

Harry continued to stare at her for several seconds, in complete disbelief.

“He doesn’t look good,” Ginny warned, and in fact she did look paler than normal, a testament to her warning. “But he’s still alive.”

Harry moved past her, an automatic reaction more than anything, but he felt her presence close behind, following him. He went back inside and turned to enter the Great Hall, in which he immediately spotted the location of the commotion.

People were grouped together, murmuring in hushed voices; those that weren’t amongst the crowd were quiet too, observing with various expressions of dispassion, their lack of reaction influenced by their lack of knowledge of Snape’s heroism.

Harry pushed through the throng of people numbly. In the center of them all indeed lay Snape; Fawkes was at his shoulder, the Phoenix’s tears dripping onto the man’s ravaged neck.

You must have shown me real loyalty down in the Chamber. Dumbledore’s voice rang clearly in Harry’s mind, the memory from his second year at Hogwarts tossed to the surface of his consciousness. Nothing but that could’ve called Fawkes to you.

Harry stood there for an indefinable period of time, staring at the Professor’s bloodied and torn black robes, the undeniable but faint rise and fall of his chest, awash with utter shock; McGonagall was there, muttering spells and pointing her wand at the wound on his neck.

Madam Pomfrey came through the crowd seconds later, looking disheveled but commanding.

“All of you, give us space,” she ordered. The people dispersed, leaving behind only Harry, Ginny, and Professor McGonagall.

Madam Pomfrey murmured healing spells, her wand moving from various puncture wounds throughout Snape’s body, while McGonagall stayed at his neck. To Harry, everything was muted in silence under the blanket of his shock; he only distantly heard the rush of footsteps behind him that announced the arrival of Ron and Hermione.

“So it is true,” Hermione said, her voice hushed, as she looked at Fawkes. “He really was Dumbledore’s.”

The sound of Hermione’s voice drew Harry back out of his stupor; the Phoenix chirped, peering at Harry with characteristically shrewd eyes.

“If it wasn’t for Fawkes,” Madam Pomfrey remarked, overhearing the exchange, “Severus would be dead.”

He didn’t look far from it, even still. Harry found himself crouching nearer to the former Headmaster, staring at his pallid, sweaty face.

“Will he live?” Harry asked faintly.

Madam Pomfrey didn’t answer at first, murmuring another string of spells. Finally, she glanced up at him, her eyes grave.

“If I can get him stable enough to Apparate before he dies here, he’ll need to go to St. Mungo’s immediately.”

Harry nodded shortly, expecting such answer, but hearing it aloud still gave him an odd feeling in his chest.

Suddenly, the shock of everything, the war, the loss of so many lives, his grief, the shock of finding out Snape was miraculously alive and still might die yet, caught up to him all at once, and exhaustion seeped over his bones in such a crushing manner that he all but swayed where he crouched.

He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder, and looked up to see Ginny. “Come on, Harry,” she murmured, concern in her eyes. “There’s nothing you can do.”

————

Harry managed to find several hours of exhausted sleep in one of the salvaged dormitory beds.

He had all but fallen into the sheets and, despite his certainty that he wouldn’t find rest, collapsed quickly under the weight of the mental and physical strain he had faced not just hours before, but also the months leading up to the battle.

He had woken to find himself alone, and wandered back down to the Great Hall. There were a lot less people there now, and similarly, a lot less bodies. It seemed that most were now healed or moved to Saint Mungo’s, and nearly all of the bodies of the dead were placed away with proper arrangements.

He had moved carefully around the Hall, dreadfully certain he would soon stumble across Snape’s dead body, but instead, Madam Pomfrey approached him first.

“Severus is at St. Mungo’s,” she had told him.

A strange and surprised relief had washed through Harry, and subsequently, he planned on going to see him. Some part of him didn’t believe it was possible, that Snape could have survived; the images of the last two times he had seen him were stained in his mind, and Harry felt like he needed to see him for himself.

Hermione and Ron insisted on going with him. Together, they walked through the wards of Saint Mungo’s, finding themselves in the Dai Llewellyn Ward for Serious Bites; all three seemed to be feeling uncomfortably reminiscent of the time they had come to the very same ward to see Arthur Weasley.

Finally, they approached one of the Healers; she was at the front of the dingy ward, and when she saw Harry, her expression had taken up the familiar amazed recognition, but only for a moment before she surveyed the three of them in a businesslike manner.

“How can I help you?”

“We’re here to see Prof— Severus Snape,” Harry said.

The Healer’s eyebrow quirked up in the slightest, as though surprised. “I see.” She looked again to Ron and Hermione, seeming to be carefully considering something. “I’m afraid I can only permit you, Mr. Potter,” she said finally.

“What? Why?” Ron spoke up.

“Mr. Snape’s legal circumstances are unique,” she explained patiently. “We’ve been instructed to allow only those from the Ministry to see him. However, Mr. Potter, seeing as you are who you are…” she allowed her sentence to trail off, for it needed no further explanation. After a second’s pause, she addressed Ron and Hermione again. “As for you two, I’m sorry, but I simply can’t allow it.”

“It’s okay,” Hermione rushed, before Ron could say anything else. She looked at Harry. “We’ll wait for you outside.”

“Okay,” Harry said. His mind was churning with the information, the words legal circumstances and only those from the Ministry sticking out in his head, but in the moment, he was unable to make sense of them, to fully process what they might mean. “See you outside.”

He parted from them there, allowing the Healer to lead the way in the opposite direction; as they walked, they passed many beds of several injured people. Harry had no doubt that all or most of them were from the recent battle, and the thought made his stomach twist with a guilt so painful that he felt sick.

Eventually, they reached a set of curtains, and the Healer peeled them back, nodding for Harry to go in.

He entered to see Snape laid in the bed, not looking much better than the last time he saw him. At least now, he was no longer covered in blood; his throat was wrapped in many bandages, and he was wearing white, a color that looked decidedly wrong on the man he was so used to seeing in black. Though his Dark Mark was exposed, its color was fading fast now, just a faint grey.

“He’s lucky to be alive,” the Healer remarked, then studied Harry shrewdly for a moment. “And if the rumors are true, so are you, Mr. Potter.”

Harry scarcely heard her, for he had wandered to the bedside, something catching his eyes — Snape’s wrists were tied, confined to the bed with magical binding. “What’s this?” he asked, looking back to the Healer, his mind once again calling attention to the odd information she had given the three of them earlier. “Why is he bound up?”

She blinked at him in surprise. “You know he’s served under You-Know-Who for the past couple of years, at least,” she said, as if it were obvious. “As soon as he’s stable enough, the Ministry is sentencing him to Azkaban.”

“But— he’s innocent,” Harry blurted, an immediate reaction that allowed him no time to think about his words before he spoke them — of course she wouldn’t know that Snape was innocent; no one did, save for a few.

The Healer was regarding him strangely. “Sir?”

“Never mind,” Harry muttered quickly, returning his gaze to his former Professor. He needed to get the memories to the Ministry as soon as possible, though it seemed he had some time before they threw Snape in Azkaban — he was far from fit enough to be sent there. “Has he — been awake yet?”

The Healer shook her head. “Not yet. His injuries are quite extensive. He seemed to have been poisoned, as well.” “Voldemort’s snake,” Harry supplied, ignoring the way the witch flinched at the name.

“Ah, yes,” she murmured. “That’s what we were told — we had seen nothing else like it, not since Arthur Weasley. Not many who encountered You-Know-Who’s snake lived to tell the tale.”

This made an uncomfortable chill go down Harry’s spine. He watched the faint rise and fall of Snape’s chest.

“So, you were there when he was attacked?” The Healer asked, a note of timid curiosity in her voice.

Harry remembered vividly the sound Snape’s body made as it was thrown against the glass from the force of Nagini’s striking, over and over and over again, the amount of blood pouring from his throat, soaking his robes…

You have your mother’s eyes.

Harry ripped himself from the memories and finally looked away from where Snape lay, blinking at the Healer. “I thought he was dead,” he answered simply, assuming that would be all the response she needed.

She nodded, her gaze thoughtful. “It’s a miracle he isn’t.” After a second longer, she moved towards the curtains to leave. “If you need anything—”

“Actually, I’ll be going too,” Harry broke in, not impolitely. “I’ve just realized I’ve got something important I need to do…” He glanced at Snape once again, determination glinting in his eyes. Snape had saved his life several times over; he’d loved his mother, for all these years — Harry owed it to him to work his hardest to let everyone know the truth about the man, that he was a hero all these years, not a Death Eater.

————

What came to Severus’s awareness first was the noise.

He heard the murmur of voices, the bustling of light activity.

Next came the pain, the dull aching in his neck, traveling seemingly throughout his veins; then the heaviness of his eyes. With effort, he opened them, and flinched from the bright whiteness of everything; curtains surrounded him, oddly familiar.

Under his mounting awareness, panic thrummed in his heart; having thought himself dead, he was surprised to find himself obviously living, and was even more disturbed that he wasn’t altogether sure where he was; he tried to move his arm only for it to be jerked back, confined by what he dimly recognized as magic binding around his wrist.

“Professor,” said a voice, filled with surprise; it was a voice he would always know.

He turned his head, a searing pain scorching through his neck at the movement, and his gaze finally found Potter, sitting beside the bed he was in. There were too many lines on his face for his age, and he was wearing dark circles under his eyes, a testament to his lack of sleep— his eyes… the green of them stared out at him with concern so much like Lily’s.

Severus ripped his gaze away from the boy, back to the sheets of the bed he was in, now recognizable to him as St. Mungo’s.

“How?” he murmured.

“Fawkes,” Harry said. He swallowed. “I suppose he found you, sometime during the battle.”

Flashes of memories tore through Severus’ mind; the Dark Lord’s face; a burning gash across his throat; Nagini, striking him over and over again.

Potter, staring at him with Lily’s eyes as he died, not a trace of his father’s cruelty in him.

“You,” he clarified aloud, a question still in his voice, which didn’t sound quite right, even to him. Speaking caused pain like fire to burn across his throat and down his neck. He finally returned his gaze to Harry, who was blinking at him in surprise, wearing the same expression as when Severus called on him unexpectedly in class. “You survived.”

“Oh,” Harry said, understanding. “I went to the forest, to let him kill me, and he did… but not really. He killed the horcrux, I suppose — but I lived.”

Severus absorbed this information, dimly noting how little of it answered his question, but not having the energy to voice his irritation aloud. Instead, his gaze flitted downwards once again, this time with enough awareness to take in details; his black robes were gone, and instead he had been donned in white. His forearms were exposed, his Dark Mark revealed to the world — except now, it was nearly faded completely, leaving only the outline where it had been burned into his skin.

His gaze lingered on his left forearm, taking in the near absence of the Mark tainting his skin, and with sudden abruptness, it hit him fully that the Dark Lord must truly be gone.

The idea seemed like an utterly impossible reality, and it took several moments of staring at his skin before he allowed himself to feel a tremendous weight lift off of his shoulders that gave way to a relief that — had he been standing — would have brought him to his knees.

“You did it, then,” he said softly, his eyes moving back to Harry.

“Not just me,” he murmured, sounding years older than he should. Despite everything, the words shocked Severus, some part of him still expecting the boy to jump on the chance for praise with a hubris that mimicked his father’s. “If it wasn’t for Ron, Hermione, and Neville getting rid of some of the Horcruxes…”

Harry let his sentence trail off, and silence washed over the room. Severus’s gaze flickered away from the boy and fell once again to the bindings around his wrists; both of them were confined, he realized now.

He peered at them for a long moment in resigned contemplation. He knew, and perhaps he had known for several minutes now, what they were for, why he was bound. It was something he had considered happening many times, and yet also he had never considered the thought of him living long enough to meet the consequences that awaited him now.

“Azkaban?” he murmured.

Harry blinked at him in surprise before insisting, “I’m not going to let them.” The annoying and naive stubbornness that Severus remembered so well was making a flaring appearance in the boy’s tone. “I’m working with the Ministry, telling them the truth. You won’t go there.”

Severus absorbed his words, pondering them, but was unwilling to speak aloud any more. No matter if they believed the memories hadn’t been tampered with; he was still responsible for Dumbledore’s murder, along with a number of other things.

Deeply doubting the likelihood of his salvation, he closed his eyes, half succumbing to the sea of exhaustion he was swimming in and half wishing Fawkes had just left him to die.

I hope you enjoyed the first chapter!

I’m also posting this story to ao3, where it can be found here.

Tag-list: @madamecoyote (Thank you again for beta reading!) @eruditeslytherin

#snape lives au #snape lives #snape fanfic #severus snape #pro snape #mywriting #atttid

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a-marlene-s · 5 years ago

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Fanfic Accounts and Stories~

Fanfiction.net Account: https://www.fanfiction.net/~amarlenes or https://www.fanfiction.net/u/5329546/

Ao3 Account: https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Marlene_S

WattPad Account: https://www.wattpad.com/user/A-Marlene-S

Diviantart Account: https://www.deviantart.com/a-marlene-s

My fanfics: (Fanfiction.net has it all in one place. The other places are.. well, not all of them are on there.)

Complete:

Title: Mending Fandom(s): Soul Eater Rating: T Genre: Hurt/Comfort Type: One-Shot Summary: This is the first angsty thing I have ever wrote. Maka dealing with the loss of a love one.

Title: My (so many greats) great-Shaman King Fandom(s): Shaman King Ships: Anna x Yoh Rating: T Genre: Humor Type: One-Shot Summary: What if Anna were to make sure a descendent of hers were to become Shaman King.

Title: Alchemy Fandom(s): Harry Potter & Fullmetal Alchemist Rating: T Genre: Hurmor/Drama Status: One-Shot Summary: The One-Shot that started the Alchemy Series. Edward Elric has had enough. There is no hope for teaching Alchemy in a place where magic overrules science in everyone’s mind and heart. No one has the heart to study Alchemy…or is there?

Title: Alchemy: Magic vs Science Fandom(s): Harry Potter & Fullmetal Alchemist Ship: Edward x Winry, Alphonse x Mei, Ling x Lan Fan Rating: T Genre: Humor/Friendship Type: Multi-Chapter/Complete Summary: Magic and Science, are they the same or are they completely different? It just takes one person to point out all up and downs. Along with breaking the stereotypes that come up with being a wizard, alchemist and most of all being human. Part One of the Alchemy Series.

Title: Alchemy: Tiny Steps Fandom(s): Harry Potter & Fullmetal Alchemist Ship: Edward x Winry, Alphonse x Mei, Ling x Lan Fan, Severus x Charity Rating: T Genre:Humor/Friendship Type: Multi-Chapter/Complete Summary: Part 2 of the Alchemy: Magic Vs Science. Politics. Either you love it, hate it or you live it. For Alchemy Teacher Edward Elric, he lives it, hates it and loves it when he gets the upper hand. Here is to another year of teaching Alchemy and dealing with conniving politicians and idiots in general.

Incomplete:

Title: A Long Search For Happiness Fandom(s): Yugioh 5D’s Ship: Yusei x Carly Rating: T Genre: Romance/Hurt/Comfort Summary: How could someone have everything yet feel as if they have nothing? Yusei has the dream job, a good home and yet friends nowhere to be seen. Carly lost her dream job, close to losing her home and surrounded by people who care for her. Could one and the other compensation for this?

Title: A Shadow’s Touch Fandom(s): Naruto Ships: Naruto x Hinata, Shikamaru x Temari Rating: T Genre: Family/Friendship Summary: What would have happened if a certain Uzumaki made friends with a certain Nara. Someone that had stuck by him, even when times got troublesome. This Nara showed everyone that he is not your typical Nara. Let's see how one Shikamaru Nara helps out his friend without completely breaking his non-troublesome persona.

Title: Alchemy: Little Brother’s Turn Fandom(s): Harry Potter & Fullmetal Alchemist Ships: Edward x Winry, Alphonse x Mei, Severus x Charity Rating: T Genre: Humor/Adventure Summary: Part 3 of the Alchemy Series. Now it is Alphonse's turn to taking over his brother's position at Hogwarts. He quickly began to realize how much...stuff... Edward left behind to figure out on his own. Like, The Boy Who Lived, Sirius Black... and a Philosopher's Stone you say?

Title: Casper High Magic Fandom(s): Danny Phantom & Harry Potter Ships: Danny x Sam Rating: T Genre: Humor Summary: What if Casper High teaches magic in secret? What if they were invited to the Tri-Wizard Tournament? What if they help or makes things worse in the British Wizarding World? What if...

Title: Corpse Groom Fandom(s): Cropse Bride Ships: Yet to be seen... Rating: T Genre: Romance Summary: Like how the title states, it a swap from what it would be with several twists and turn. Emily is about to be married off to Lord Barkis Bitter in order to pay off her father's debt to the man. Not wanting to be put up with an arranged marriage Emily runs off and to only end up marrying someone from her past. Someone who's outlook looks rather grim.

Title: Floating White Lotus Fandom(s): Avatar: The Last Airbender Rating: T Genre: Humor/Adventure Summary: Water Floating White Lotus, a former fire nation ship that was converted into a traveling tea shop. The shop is led by the rumored the Dragon of the West, (No knows if this is true or not… yet) and his nephew who wishes to forget the ever lasting war. Well, until a certain someone decided he'd be the perfect fire bending instructor. Au inspired by @captainkirkk

Title: He Just Ninja’ed us! Fandom(s): Naruto & Young Justice Rating: T Genre: Humor/Friendship Summary: Superboy wasn't the only one they saved form Cadmus that night...Robin, Kid Flash, and Kaldur found a rather Youthful...ninja tucked away in Cadmus. Far too youthful for their own taste.

Title: Kit or Fawn? Fandom(s): Naruto Rating: T Genre: Family/Humor Summary: Shikamaru isn't the type to allow whispers or glares bother him, but it does become rather troublesome when it becomes known the reasons for it all. Should he let it get to him? Maybe? But that would be too troublesome. "How is it I repeatedly get defeated by a mortal in this pathetic game!" "You're just mad you got beat by a three-year-old, Troublesome Fox." Jinchuriki!Shikamaru.

Title: Koi-Koi Fandom(s): Naruto & My Hero Academia Ships: Shikamaru x Temari Rating: T Genre: Friendship Summary: A cover-up, to cover-up the actual cover-up. Might as well make this a game on who can figure out everyone's secrets. Konoha experienced a heavy blow for the superhero community. So much so, that everyone that attended Konoha Shinobi Academy had to be transferred out to different schools until further notice. Now let's see if U.A. can play a game.

Title: La Red Fandom(s): Miraculous Ladybug Ships: To be seen. Rating: T Genre: Drama/Salt Summary: Marinette was not Lila's first, let alone last victim. Let's see how Marinette decides that she needs outside help to take down one Lila Rossi. Salt. WARNING: Lot's of salt coming from Lila, Alya, and Adrien.

Title: Legend of the Miraculous Seas Fandom(s): Miraculous Ladybug Ships: Nino x Marinette Rating: T Genre: Adventure/Drama Summary: One moment you are laughing and giggling with your friends during a time of peace. What was once a peaceful country all thanks to the Book of Peace, now it appeared someone had taken the book and used it to their own devices, thus leaving a wave of chaos behind. When the book went missing and the person being blamed has a close connection to one legendary pirate.

Title: Past vs Future Fandom(s): Fullmetal Alchemist Ships: Edward x Winry, Alphonse x Mei Rating: T Genre: Supernatural Summary: Winry Rockbell had inherited a home out in the country from her late grandmother. She moved into the home to get away from the city and all the problems that came along with it. Old problems only seemed to double as she moved into the old home.

Title: Phantom or Fairy Fandom(s): Fairy Tail Rating: T Genre: Friendship Summary: Lucy ended up finding a couple off Phantoms when she ran away from home… maybe this could be her new start in life.

Title: Shikadai One-Shots Fandom(s): Naruto Ships: Shikamaru x Temari Rating: T Genre: Family Summary: The Uzumaki family were not the only ones dealing with the affect of having one of their primary family member being gone for long periods of time. Shikadai never verbalized how disappointed he would get when his father would be nowhere to be seen due to his obligations of being the right-hand man of the Hokage. The reason? He knows what is needed to be done for the village.

Title: Shikamaru’s Adventure: Sinnoh Fandom(s): Naruto & Pokemon Rating: T Genre: Humor Summary: After much debate, (and his mother nagging), Shikamaru Nara, the son of a famous frontier brain, starts his own journey. His main goal, challenge his father without it being such a huge drag.

Title: Shikamaru’s Fairy Tail Fandom(s): Naruto & Fairy Tail Rating: T Genre: Friendship Summary: Shikamaru just thought it was just any other day while babysitting three-year-old Mirai. Too bad for him, the past is coming back to bite him in the butt. An old form of unknown magic that may have helped him but it is far too much of a drag to figure out what got him and Mirai out of one problem into another one.

Title: Silent Moments of the Past Fandom(s): Naruto Rating: T Genre: Humor/Drama Summary: We are back! Back to this hell hole, we call a Tea Party that is run by Death's himself. Several people woke up after meeting their end, they work up to be invited to a tea party and a chance to change their past for the better or for worse. (Grammar. It's an old fic that was over 70 chapters long. Give me a break.)

Title: Then, There, and Where? Fandom(s): Dragon Age Rating: T Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Friendship Summary: He messed up. Solas severely messed up. He and the world are suffering for his mess up. Despite how horrid the world became, there is still some hope left. Hopefully, they can fix his past mistakes. Or better yet... prevent it from ever happening. Time Travel Fic. Original Characters.

Title: Uncle ‘Itch Fandom(s): ROTBTD Ships: Many. Rating: T Genre: Humor/Friendship Summary: Pitch Black, The King of Nightmares, everyone's favorite enemy, friend, uncle, and confidante. Multi-Crossover. ROTBTD AU.

Title: I’m a Scholar, Not A Knight! Fandom: My Hero Academia Ships: Izuku x Ochaco, Katsuki x Eijiro, Shoto x Momo Rate: T Genre: Humor/Adventure/Fantasy Summary: Izuku knew he wanted to become more than a simple peasant. He plans on becoming a scholar. A simple scholar that is repeatedly being told otherwise. Somehow, he found himself in the company of a retired knight, a squire, a witch-in-training, a runaway prince, a barbarian king, a human/dragon hybrid and a frog shifter… All of whom start to assume he’s the Lost Hero of Legend. Yeah… there goes his goal of becoming a scholar. Fantasy Au.

Title: Unknown Realty Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug & DC & PJO & Greek Myths Ships: Jason x Marinette, Dick & Kori, Rate: T Genre: Hurt/Comfort Summary: Jason, or as many know him as… Hades.He lost his luster for the living and nonliving, just a constant repeat. That was until he met someone that tug on his heartstrings just the right way. He takes her. Without a second thought.

Title: Futuristic Miraculous Fandom: Miraculous Ladybug & Batman Beyond Ships: Terry x Marinette Rate: T Genre: Drama Summary: With her childhood friends close by, Marinette knew she could take on the world, even when dealing with a certain lair. It all first started with taking a job for being Jagged Stone’s personal designer and that resulted with her being in Neo-Gotham. All the while Terry is facing the fact he is the new Batman and dealing with all the past Robins wondering what Bruce was thinking in taking in a new kid into the cruel world that is of Superheroes.

I’ll post the AU’s I have written here on Tumblr on a seperate post.

Permanent Tags: @mewwitch @runestarchild @souleateralicestein @multishipper1needshalp @mochinek0 @princesskitomi @someone-ev @crazylittlemunchkin @darkshadowguardian @emeraldpuffguide @vixen-uchiha

Unknown Permanent tag: (Those that wanted to be tagged, but hasn’t specified to which one... You are going to be on the permanent tag until further notice.): @unmaskedagain @vivilakitty @poshplumcot @slytherinqueen2432 @actual-disaster-human

MLC: @northernbluetongue @its-stevonnie-bitch @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @thequestionablyhuman @hypnosharkrebeldreamer @mystery-5-5 @bamagirl513 @dawnwave16 @call-me-paxton @shizukiryuu @naclychilli @virgil-is-a-cutie @saltier-than-the-dead-sea @persephonebutkore @krispydefendorpolice

ML Alone: @northernbluetongue @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @thequestionablyhuman @hypnosharkrebeldreamer @mystery-5-5 @shizukiryuu @bloody-no-kissu @nobodyfamousposts @kelelamentia @shaismall @caffeinetheory @falling-electricxangel @miraculousl4dybug @dawnwave16 @a-kpoet @legendaryneckjudgestudent

ML/DC: @northernbluetongue @its-stevonnie-bitch @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @thequestionablyhuman @hypnosharkrebeldreamer @bamagirl513 @mystery-5-5 @dawnwave16 @call-me-paxton @shizukiryuu @virgil-is-a-cutie @zalladane

Fairy Tail: @bamagirl513

Harry Potter: @dawnwave16

#Master Story List

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littledreamybeth · 6 years ago

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Leaving you- the aftermath

A/N: Some of you have wished a second part and here it is. I haven’t mentioned a few things in the story but all I want to say that Y/N has beat her mental health issues and Harry has let go of the past :)

permanently reuploaded bcs Tumblr is a bitch

I knew he was happy. I could clearly feel it. The way he spun her around with nothing but happiness and tenderness displayed on his handsome face was proof enough that his heart had healed a long time ago, ready to be in love again.

I didn’t know what really had brought me here and what I was expecting to see. Maybe I just wanted to search for some confirmation that he was truly going to marry someone else. Niall, with whom I was still in good contact despite my breakup with Harry, had spoiled about my ex boyfriend’s upcoming engagement celebration and it had been the first time in two years that I had heard any news regarding him. It would be a complete lie if I told you that I didn’t felt a deep sting in my heart and that I was disappointed. A little part of me had still clung onto the hope that, one day, Harry would miraculously take me back. It had been foolish to think like this.

It took me a lot of persuasion to get Niall to tell me where this celebration would be taking place. I just wanted to see Harry for the very last time, I had no intention to talk to anyone. I would be hiding somewhere in the room where no one could see me and just observe the event.

That’s what I was doing now.

Watching how Harry danced lovingly with his soon-to-be wife.

I fiddled my necklace.

The ring he wanted to propose to me with hung around my neck as a painful reminder of what I could’ve had but unfortunately had given up. It hurt every time I spared a glance at it, knowing that if I hadn’t been too determined to leave him, it could’ve been me, and not his new partner, dancing around with him happily right at this moment. I fucked up big time, but still, I was sort of relieved that Harry had found someone else to be his instead of grieving for his former relationship. Two years had passed already. Enough time to let go.

Despite having tears in my eyes while watching the scenery, I still smiled at the sight in front of me. Harry bent down to give his new love a soft kiss on her cheek whereupon the young woman blushed and buried her face in the crook of his neck. He whispered something into her ear, which made both of them laugh. That gentle act of love reminded me of the many times that Harry would kiss me out of nowhere or at moments when I least expected it, causing me to react exactly the same way his fiancée did. I would’ve been a blushing mess, especially when he had shown signs of affection while his family had been around. Then I would’ve been so red that you could’ve compared me to a tomato.

Sometimes I wondered how my life would’ve looked like if I still had Harry by my side. Would our love have overshadowed all the negativity that I had seen so far? Would our love have been enough to overcome every hurdle that was on our way? The answer was simple- yes. But it was too late now and Harry’s heart, that I had once broken, was taken again. There was no possibility to rewind time.

As I was about to turn around, I felt someone’s hand on my shoulder, gently squeezing it.

“Hi Y/N.” A familiar voice spoke to me. Panic rose in every cell of my body as I turned around to face the woman I hadn’t seen for a while. She was smiling at me.

“Good evening Anne. How do you know it was me?” I said, tilting my head down in embarrassment.

“I would recognize you everywhere, even from the back,” she laughed. “How are you love?” Why was she so nice to me? Shouldn’t she hate me because I had broken her son’s heart?

“I’m fine. How are you?”

“I couldn’t be better,” she responded, bringing her attention to her son and her daughter-in-law who stood in the middle of the dance floor. Her eyes were gleaming, full of joy for the young couple in love.

My gaze followed hers.

“I’m not going to ask you what you’re doing here, Y/N, since it is quite obvious why you came.” Her eyes bore into my soul, but she was still smiling. It wasn’t her intention to intimidate me, I could tell. If I wasn’t mistaken, I could detect a little bit of sympathy in her green orbs.

“I just wanted to know how he’s doing, that’s all. And apparently he’s doing awesome. That’s everything I need to know.” I urged a smile, despite my insides were shrinking one by one.

“Y/N, honestly, it wasn’t easy for him to get over you, no matter how much he claimed he did. I could see that he missed you and that he hoped you would take him back somehow, but when he received nor call or a message that he was desperately waiting for, he finally gave up,” she sighed. “Harry is normally a stubborn person, fighting for something until he gets it, so he surprised me when he told me that he was letting you go. I really wished it didn’t end up like this. You know how much I actually liked you.”

“I’m sorry…” It was the only thing that came into my mind.

“Are you doing well at least?” she inquired. “Mentally, I mean? Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes, I’m good,” I nodded my head assuringly. I really did feel a whole lot better than I did two years ago and my therapy sessions helped a hell lot to strengthen my confidence and to find peace. I was living the private life that I had strived for, however, there would be always something missing in my life.Harry.

“That’s lovely to hear, darling.” She laid both of her hands on my shoulder, gently massaging them as if she intended to motivate me. “I hope that one day, you’ll find your soulmate just as my son did.”

I reciprocated her smile. My head turned back to him and his fiancée.

“She’s a wonderful young woman, Y/N,” Anne told me. “I bet you would’ve liked her. You both have so many things in common.”

I could see it.

“I’m happy he’s found someone else worthy of his love,” I said, looking away when Harry kissed her on her mouth, ignoring the deep ache in between my ribs.

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thatgoddamnwizard · 5 years ago

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@lxvingdeadgxrl from here.

Now, Wynter wasn’t usually the sort to believe in coincidences, but even she had to admit that things had gone rather bat-shit since Harry Dresden came into her life. One minute, she was living her life and running her book shop, and the next? Chaos.

Complete and utter chaos.

She’d assumed, foolishly perhaps, that after dealing with that damned book and its followers, that he’d be out of her life and things would get back to normal. That hadn’t been the case, sadly. In helping him, she’d exposed herself to those who might have otherwise never even realized that she existed, would have glossed over her and left her to fall between the cracks in a magically saturated city.

But now? Now, her name was out there. Who she was, what she did, what she had…

Not that she regretted helping him. Sure, it’d been a bit dodgy and things had very nearly gone to shit, but they had been able to sort it out in the end. He’ll, she might even go so far as to say she had come out of all of it with a friend.

It’d only been a matter of time before someone decided to do something with that knowledge and pay her a little visit in an effort to take a few bits and baubles off of her hands.

Not that they’d get them. Wynter was nothing if not stubborn, not to mention fiercely protective of the things she had locked away. If it was in her vault, it was there for a reason, and it was absolutely going to stay there if she had anything to say about it. Which meant that the ones who’d come for said items, would have to resort to more interesting means of persuasion to try to get her to cooperate.

By the time Harry had found her, and it was a miracle that he had and managed to do so whilst she was still breathing, she was quite the mess. She was painted in blood and bruises, and unless she was mistaken, several things were broken. It’d explain the consistent agony she’d been dealing with for the last…god, she didn’t even know how long she’d been there. The days of the week had just run together, and trying to keep them all straight had proven to be impossible for the young woman…

None of that mattered any more, though. Help had come, and she was getting out of there.

It had been a few months since the business with the Ati Me Peta Babka, and all the harrowing ordeals that had gone along with it. Harry had returned to Chicago, more or less settling down to his usual routine, whatever the hell that meant.

And then Mortimer Lindquist, former con man and current active ectomancer, had called Harry, begging him to get “his poltergeist” off his ass. It had taken a minute or two of extreme confusion before Harry had wrung enough detail out of old Mort to ascertain that the poltergeist in question was Wynter Davenport’s deceased Irish friend, Tobias Branagan, also known as Toby.

Harry had grimaced; Toby had never quite forgiven him for that Lucky Charm crack he had made on first meeting him. But one thing they did have in common was their regard for Wynter.

And she, according to Toby, had been missing for a solid week.

He had gone to the nearest Amtrak station and bought a ticket for a New Orleans-bound train as soon as he heard the news. A simple tracking spell using a single strand of dark hair, found in her bedsheets after much searching, yielded no results, which meant that either the hair was too old, or she was being shielded from magical detection somehow.

Lacking any direct leads, he had turned to the magical underworld, and then the spirit world. It was Baron Samedi, one of the loa, the skeletal being in a top hat and coattails who ruled over death and resurrection and had apparently long had his eye fixated on Wynter, who finally traded information useful enough to give him something to go on.

Not that it was good news. No, it couldn’t ever be that easy, could it?

Denarians. In New Orleans. Hell’s freaking bells.

Just the thought of Wynter in the hands of these sadistic bastards was enough to make him want to drop everything and run straight to the tunnels that they were apparently holed up in. But he was alone here, with no backup, and running off with some cockamamie plan wouldn’t help Wynter. He needed to use his head.

The tunnel, and the basement it was attached to, was an abandoned relic of an attempted infrastructure expansion back in the seventies. The old convention center that had been constructed alongside it had been torn down in the nineties, replaced with a glitzy casino. He had needed a distraction, and a way in, and it had simply been a matter of walking into the casino, with all its dazzling electric lights and sounds, and letting his Murphyonic field run rampage. Then he had veiled himself and waited, thanking his lucky stars that all his work with Molly had paid off in strengthening his grasp of the more subtle form of magic.

He had the acolytes pegged immediately, though they were dressed as civilians. The way they signed to each other tipped him off; having your tongues removed as a part of some sort of fucked-up initiation ritual tended to put a damper on vocal communication. He waited while they poked around, then, straining to hold his veil in place as he moved, followed them back to the entrance of their lair.

Of course it was a lair. Villains always have a lair. In this case, it was a huge sub-basement, scattered with the remnants of old, rusting, probably non-functional equipment. And he got lucky. In fact, it was so lucky, he had to wonder if it was a trap, because not a single Denarian was to be seen, and the short work he made of the wards was nothing less than miraculous.

It had been a cakewalk to quietly disable the acolytes, and he spent a few minutes searching for Wynter.

When he finally found her, the world seemed to freeze around him, and the edges of his vision began to go red. He stood there, trembling, the knuckles of his fists going white, his breath seething through his teeth.

He would make them pay for this. He would tear down their world. He would burn it to the ground and dance in its ashes.

He closed his eyes and forced his mind to calm, to center. She didn’t need his rage right now. She needed him to get her the hell out of here.

Moving quickly to her side, he reached up with a shaking hand and, very gently, touched her face. “Stars and stones...” he whispered. “I’m here, Wynter. I’m getting you out of here. You’re going to be okay, I promise. You’ll be okay.”

Flexing his hand on his staff while putting his other arm around her to support her weight, he channeled a small amount of power through it to break the chain that held her arms over her head. The manacles themselves would require a bit more finesse than he had to offer, magically speaking, so they would have to wait until he got her to safety.

#lxvingdeadgxrl #hello this is long #role play #Death Becomes Her #tw: torture

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perpetually-jungshook · 6 years ago

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RED || 02

Genre: humor, jimin x jungkook for now, angst, fluff, humor

Summary: Life is weird. Jungkook works as Jimin’s niche porn photographer and finds it difficult to remember that the he’s only flirting with the camera. Namjoon despises the world of big business but works as a manager for an international corporate company and hates it (cruel irony, he says). Yoongi is just a typical IT guy who has a secret he’s never told anyone, which is totally typical. Hoseok and Seokjin work at a retirement home, from which they one day bring back some random volunteer with fiery red hair who may or may not change everything.

Warnings: language, crude humor, pining

Word Count: 7.4k

Links: Storyboard || 01 || Next Part

As it turns out, hot-Taehyung who volunteers at the retirement home isn’t terrible. At least, not more terrible than any of Jungkook’s other friends, who are pretty much only mildly awful. But that’s a whole different conversation. Taehyung seems nice and rather interesting. He laughs at Jungkook’s lame jokes, watches anime, still collects Beanie Babies, and has somehow (for whatever goddamn reason) made it through reading the entirety of both Ulysses and Moby Dick— twice. As if once or not at all wasn’t enough.

Jungkook learns all of these things over the course of their impromptu three hour hang out, which ends abruptly and disappointingly (though he’d never admit it out loud) when Hoseok comes home on his lunch break to unlock the apartment door, apparently having been informed about the situation. Taehyung says goodbye so he can get ready for his volunteer shift and leaves Jungkook to wallow in a Jimin induced sorrow by himself again.

To keep busy, Jungkook attempts to read Ulysses because it’s free online, now in the public domain, but gets about three pages in before closing the tab on his phone and returning to his Harry Potter TV marathon.

Jungkook tries not to acknowledge the fact that he’s glad Jimin isn’t the one who came to let Taehyung in first.

An hour or so later, the jingling of keys is Jungkook’s only warning that someone is home. Yoongi yawns as he walks through the door and gracelessly kicks off his shoes. His tired gaze is practically blind to Jungkook, sweeping over him with nothing more than a nod of acknowledgement.

“Poor Yoongi, so sleepy from turning off and on computers all day,” Jungkook coos, getting up and walking over to put his hands on the older boy’s shoulders to bodily steer him sideways toward the kitchen.

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you too,” Jungkook coos, laughing fondly and sitting him down at the small island. “What would you like to eat?”

“What do we have?”

“Instant noodles.”

“And?”

“Instant noodles.”

Yoongi narrows his eyes, lips caught between a sleepy pout and a suspicious frown, “I just bought stuff for stir fry.”

“Yeah,” Jungkook smiles innocently. “But that actually requires effort?”

“You little shit.”

“Your little shit,” Jungkook corrects and walks over to the cabinet to grab one of the styrofoam containers. “I’m your best friend and you love me, even if you won’t say it. Oh, we actually don’t have any more instant noodles.”

“So we’re out of the one thing on your menu?”

“Yes, but you’re in luck. We have a sudden new addition. How does a frozen burrito sound?”

Yoongi snorts.

“How are you even alive? With all the crap you eat.”

“That’s a good question,” Jungkook says as he opens the freezer and looks inside. “I can make a pizza instead? That’s like a whole meal. Carbs, dairy, meat— this one has olives on it. That’s like a vegetable.”

“It’s a fruit.”

“An olive… is a fruit?”

“Yes.”

Jungkook stares at the little black circles on the pizza. Weird. He’ll need to have a soft existential crisis about that later.

“Okay so pizza it is.”

Yoongi sighs heavily as he gets up and walks over to the fridge, bumping Jungkook out of the way with his hip. The younger boy laughs and moves away without complaint. He’ll take a free meal any day.

“You are literally useless…” Yoongi grumbles as he stirs the frying stir fry, but Jungkook knows he doesn’t mean it. Yoongi is all bark and no bite. Except when he actually bites, like that time when Hoseok tried to get him to hold the rental parrot at the karaoke bar. “… can’t even make a goddamn— fuck.”

Yeah, he’d been tuning Yoongi out, but the loud curse gets Jungkook’s attention, yanking him away from the vivid memory. His gaze cuts to Yoongi’s finger where he’s sucking at it, a burn from a slip of the hand no doubt. Jungkook reacts without question, without having to be told. He doesn’t joke around when it comes to injuries, no matter how small.

He pushes away from the countertop where he’d been leaning, going over to the stove where he flicks off the heat and tugs Yoongi away by his free wrist, leading him over to the sink. It requires a little prompting, like trying to get an angry, terrified opossum out of a corner, but it only takes a few seconds to coax Yoongi’s finger out of his mouth and into the stream of cool water. It’s not a bad burn, thankfully, but that doesn’t mean he’ll just stand by idly.

If Jungkook has learned anything about his friend in the years they’ve known each other, it’s that Yoongi hates being reminded that he’s human. He dislikes pain, sleep, hunger, really anything that draws him away from his job, his phone, or his computer (which is ironic because he’s actually a decent cook). He has always been like this, at least to Jungkook’s knowledge. What he does all day on these devices (besides sending anonymous memes to his supervisors and telling people to turn off and on their computers) is still a mystery. Jungkook figures that if Yoongi wanted to share, he would. He respects people’s privacy like that, though Seokjin just calls Jungkook lazy.

But when something like this happens, when Yoongi has to take time out of his schedule to take care of his body, he’s usually kind of bad at caring or remembering or not panicking. And that’s where Jungkook comes in.

“I’m going to go get a bandaid, just keep that— Yoongi— keep that under the water,” Jungkook pries the older boy’s finger away from his mouth and puts it back in the sink. “Stay.”

“I’m not a dog.”

“Stay, please?”

Yoongi only grumpily huffs in acknowledgement, but when Jungkook comes back with some ointment and a store brand bandage, he’s still obediently got his hand under the faucet. A pat dry, dab of antibacterial medication, and patch up later, Jungkook steps back to examine at his handiwork.

“Looks good to me.”

“Thanks, Kook,” Yoongi mumbles, lip twitching in displeasure, probably from the pain.

Jungkook waits a beat for comedic effect, “So I’m not literally useless, right?”

“Fuck you.”

“Boo, you already used that.”

Jungkook helps Yoongi finish making dinner, much to the older boy’s unexpressed surprise. It’s not that I’m switching points of view here, it’s that Jungkook doesn’t usually do the whole “cooking” thing. It’s his fear of Yoongi accidentally injuring himself again that has him stepping up, plus his desire to be a good friend and decent human being.

They end up eating the stir fry with Namjoon, who comes home suspiciously close to the completion of the cooking process. They make smalltalk around the table, discussing work, personal lives, and Namjoon’s most recent tarot card reading. As he starts explaining, Yoongi miraculously refrains from giving him a hard time.

Jungkook doesn’t understand most of what’s being said, but the word “Death” definitely catches his attention. A queasy, heavy feeling naturally settles in his stomach though it’s quickly dissipated upon hearing the explanation, “Death is about endings and beginnings, change and transformation.” He’s never been sure if he believes in tarot cards and that kind of stuff, but Namjoon believes it, so it’s hard not to be at least somewhat convinced. After a few more cards he loses interest again, not seeing how this is going to affect him considering it’s Namjoon’s reading.

He idly wonders if Jimin is home yet.

Jimin walks into an empty house, but he’s expecting it. Hoseok and Seokjin are out getting drinks, which isn’t half as wild as it sounds. They occasionally go to this restaurant downtown to have non alcoholic beverages and talk about work, primarily about how scary Ms. Piper is. Jimin doesn’t understand how an old lady can be so terrifying to someone like Hoseok, who everyone loves (even when he’s trying to kill them over stolen food), but he can understand needing to vent after a long shift. He wishes he had that luxury right now, but he’d be talking to the walls which, in this case, aren’t too great at listening. They only seem to be interested in him, proverbially speaking, when he’s got a… companion over.

Tossing his keys onto the side table near the door and deftly kicking off his shoes, Jimin rubs his stiff neck muscles as he makes his way past the kitchen to his room. When they moved in, Hoseok and Seokjin had been kind enough to offer him the master suite because of his occupation, leaving enough space for the couch and any lights or other equipment needed for adequate filming. This led to his door being right off the living room, which means it’s so easy to pause and glance at the couch before going inside.

He doesn’t know when Taehyung is supposed to come back, but Jimin won’t lie. He’s (trying not to be) excited. Of course, there’s always the possibility that nothing will happen. Maybe Taehyung wouldn’t be into a hookup when he’s staying on their couch. Maybe he isn’t into Jimin. Maybe he isn’t even into guys.

But that’s the fun part, the possibility that he would be willing to try.

Jimin resists the temptation to just flop onto his bed and scroll through Twitter. He can at least take off his work clothes. He deserves that much. One pair of sweatpants and a threadbare T-shirt later, Jimin rolls onto his bed with a quiet groan. Numbers flit around behind his eyelids as he closes them, a side effect of being an anonymous accountant in a large company. It takes some effort to dispel the figures and formulas, effort that’s ultimately wasted as they crowd back into his mind moments later. Deep breath. His stomach growls, but he can’t be bothered to get up. Seokjin might make him food later if he asks very, very nicely. Or what if he called Jungkook?

No. That’s cruel. That’s abusing his friend and Jimin knows it, so he banishes the thought as soon as he has the self control and clarity of mind to refute it.

His phone pings from where he set it on the nightstand before he changed clothes. Rolling onto his side, curling into the fetal position, he winces when he sees the contact name. It’s a private message, not part of the group chat.

Jungkook: [8:20 pm]

Hey

Jimin: [8:20 pm]

Sup?

Jungkook: [8:21 pm]

Just sent you an email with the pics

Let me know if any need to be touched up

Jimin: [8:21 pm]

K thanks~

Jimin opens his email and looks through the pictures. It’s amazing, what Jungkook can do with some good lighting and heavy editing. Granted, Jimin has close to no idea what goes on after he stops posing. He’s never asked and Jungkook doesn’t tell him. All he knows is one day, they’re working on a shoot, less than a week later there are photos in his inbox, and they are always breathtaking. It’s not an ego thing, namely because Jimin knows he doesn’t actually look that good in person.

It’s just easy to get distracted by the fairy prince in some far away forest lounging on a couch, eyes heavily lidded in a perpetual “come hither” stare. He might’ve found it objectively pretty, maybe even seductive if he wasn’t so busy being disgusted.

Jimin: [8:24 pm]

They look good Kookie

Thank you

Jungkook: [8:26 pm]

Anytime. Hungry?

Jimin’s throat pinches a bit and he’s not sure whether it’s due to guilt or excitement, but he reigns his emotions in, just in case it’s the latter.

Jimin: [8:26 pm]

Why?

Jungkook: [8:27 pm]

Yoongi made stir fry

A small smile tugs gently at the corners of his lips, tugging equally at his heartstrings. Jungkook is the sweetest boy. He always has been. Kind, considerate, respectful. Even when Jimin teases him, he endures it like a good sport, often times just blushing or laughing along. Jungkook always takes care of him. Always. So he hesitates, caught between doing the right thing and what his body wants him to do. Both choices feel egregiously wrong.

Jimin: [8:28 pm]

Thanks Kookie but I think I’ll pass :)

I’m just so sleepy from work

Jungkook: [8:28 pm]

Okay no worries haha

Rest well and don’t forget to eat

Jimin takes a deep breath and sets his phone aside. Maybe he should’ve said yes. Hanging out with his friends might’ve helped, but now that he’s in bed, he doesn’t want to get up. Not even an explicit offer of rough couch sex with hot-Taehyung would do it. Well, Seokjin’s homemade soup might coax him, but Seokjin isn’t here right now. No one is. It’s just Jimin.

Always just Jimin.

It’s around midnight that there’s a knock on Jungkook’s door. Thankfully, he’s neither sleeping nor masturbating. He’s putting together a backdrop for Jimin’s next shoot, which will take place when Jimin’s boss gives them the go ahead, but he likes to be prepared.

Jungkook grunts in response, figuring it’s Namjoon wanting to tell him to pick up a stray dirty sock from the bathroom because he does that at odd hours of the morning sometimes and “I’ll be damned if I have to pick up your random sketchy socks all around the house” to quote him directly. The door opens.

“Hey, you up?” A deep voice, but definitely not Namjoon’s.

“Yeah,” Jungkook swivels around in his office chair to face Taehyung, surprised and a little nervous. He bites back the first two questions on his tongue: What’s he doing here? And: Is everything okay?

“Oh good I was afraid you were sleeping,” Taehyung sighs in obviously relief, leaning his shoulder lightly against the door frame. He’s still wearing his uniform from the retirement home, volunteer tag and all. He looks ridiculously good in navy blue scrubs and it’s obvious why Seokjin added on the “hot” qualifier when first talking about him. He continues, “You look like you’re almost ready for bed but do you maybe want to go get a doughnut with me?”

“A doughnut?” One of Jungkook’s eyebrows shoots up in curiosity.

Taehyung laughs lightly, quietly, “I know it’s a bit late for that so if you don’t wanna go, no hard feelings. I just got back from my shift and I wanted something sugary to eat but everyone else was asleep upstairs and Yoongi said you might be awake—”

“Yoongi answered the door?”

This question serves two purposes. One, confirming Taehyung didn’t just break in through his bathroom window or something. Two, it’s a self-diversion for the question he really wants to ask: why me? Taehyung probably has other friends aside from Seokjin and Hoseok, why choose someone he practically just met?

“Yeah. He was up watching a movie.”

“Oh, cool. Sure we can get doughnuts. Let me just…” Jungkook gestures down at his boxers. “Get dressed and stuff.”

“No rush. I’ll be in the kitchen,” Taehyung nods, seeming completely unbothered by any of it.

As soon as he’s out of sight, Jungkook closes his door again, slipping into some sweatpants and a hoodie. It isn’t too cold out yet, but one can never be too sure. He’d rather be warm and take off layers than be freezing and have nothing. Though, being hot and having no more layers to take off is pretty miserable too— concentrate.

He grabs his wallet and stuffs it, his phone, and his keys in the hoodie pocket, then goes to find Taehyung. He’s right where he said he’d be, in the kitchen, trying to balance a spatula on his index finger. Granted, he hadn’t said he’d be doing that, but anyone who’s read Ulysses and Moby Dick twice for fun is capable of anything. They’re obviously chaotic evil, or at the very least chaotic neutral.

Taehyung catches the spatula in his free hand as it falls, the action calculatedly effortless.

“Ready to go?”

Jungkook nods, watching him put the spatula back in the chipped ceramic pot that holds all four of the still functioning cooking utensils in the house. He hopes Taehyung didn’t drop it at any point. With a wave to Yoongi, who might be dozing on the couch or completely alert (it’s always hard to tell with him), the two boys head out.

“My car’s that way,” Jungkook points, but does a double take as Taehyung turns in the opposite direction.

The boy with the fiery red hair laughs brightly, pausing and gesturing for Jungkook to follow. His voice is soft and still surprisingly deep for his smile, “It’s just down the street. We can walk.”

“Okay but didn’t you just finish working a six hour volunteer shift?”

“Yeah, so I’m the one who should be complaining,” Taehyung says this teasingly.

“I’m not complaining,” Jungkook grumbles, but he doesn’t even try to suppress his smile. They walk in silence for a minute or two before he realizes he’s just been following without question or comment. Time for those good conversation skills he definitely has. “You know where we’re going right?”

Taehyung pauses and turns to look at Jungkook, who had been a few steps behind him, “What? I was following you. Just kidding don’t look at me like that. I totally know where we’re going.”

Jungkook joins in with Taehyung’s laughter, though the former’s is notably quieter.

“I just wanted to make sure so we didn’t get lost or anything.”

“Lost? But you live right back there.”

Jungkook shrugs, “Doesn’t mean I know where I am all the time.”

“Dude. How do you-?”

“I know,” Jungkook scrunches his nose, cutting off Taehyung’s inquiry, but allowing him to giggle instead. “I just kind of drive to wherever I need to be and then go home. I don’t usually explore much.”

Taehyung continues walking, an easy, amused smile having slid onto his lips, “Aren’t you a photographer?”

“Yeah.”

Jungkook can tell he’s about to get lectured, but he doesn’t mind. Something about Taehyung just reads as “old soul.” Despite his awful choices regarding tea and literature.

“Don’t you kind of need to be… out and about exploring for that?” He turns to Jungkook and arches an eyebrow. “Like, I’ve heard people say photos sometimes take the whole day to set up and find the perfect moment or whatever.”

Jungkook had heard that a lot too, and considering how much time he spends setting up Jimin’s photos, he can almost say he adheres to that philosophy.

Taehyung continues, “But I think good photography can also happen in an instant, like some random moment in a random place, yknow? Spontaneously.”

Almost as quick a camera shutter, an image flashes behind Jungkook’s eyelids. A smirk. A smile. A laugh. All caught spontaneously.

Those pictures are indisputably his favorite.

He doesn’t know what to think, so instead of admitting anything, he lets out a quiet, amused huff and says, “Seems like you know a lot about photography.”

“Oh I actually know close to nothing about it.”

At least he admits it.

Taehyung presses the button for the crosswalk, despite there being close to no cars on the street. Maybe he’s stereotyping hard, but Jungkook pegged him as the type of guy to just cross. Maybe without looking. Taehyung seems like that kind of ballsy, doesn’t give a shit person, but maybe that’s simply because of his dyed hair, and maybe he’s not like that at all.

They wait for the crossing light to come on before the conversation continues.

“So what’s your favorite thing to take pictures of?”

Jimin. Not that… he’s a “thing.”

Jungkook hums, stalling for time to come up with a decent answer, “Since it’s kind of my job, whatever’s popular at the time—”

“That’s an awful answer.”

Welp.

“What are you passionate about? I mean c’mon,” Taehyung pauses as he opens the door to the 24/7 doughnut store and gestures for Jungkook to enter first. “You literally have someone’s dream job.”

Jungkook fidgets a bit as he steps inside, fingers folding over the sleeves of his hoodie to press it into his palms. The weight of his wallet, phone, and keys hanging low against his stomach, almost at his crotch is awkward and makes a lump that looks too malformed to actually be a boner.

“I guess—”

“Don’t guess.”

The store smells like stale doughnuts, the ones in the cases likely made this morning. It’s underscored by a layer of too-sugary frosting or glaze or whichever the machines last ran, but what’s a doughnut without that? Besides, the stale sugary smell is typical of a place like this, a slightly dingy, nondescript Coffee & Donut (yes spelled like that and singular) shop that’s known more for its Donuts than Coffee despite the order of the words on the sign.

“People. I like taking pictures of people. Candid shots.”

“But isn’t there like a whole thing about consent?”

Jungkook’s cheeks suddenly feel very warm, “Yeah, which is why I don’t do it.”

Taehyung leads the way to the counter, much to the obvious displeasure of the (approximately) nineteen year old (maybe) college girl working behind the register. As is standard of all night shift employees, she clearly doesn’t want to be here, is probably on her fifth cup of cheap break room watered down coffee, and is likely running on a granola bar she ate six hours ago.

There’s a sign on the tip jar that reads: Just the tip.

Inappropriate enough to be appropriate for the night shift, Jungkook thinks.

They order their doughnuts, two for Jungkook, two for Taehyung, and a chocolate milk for each because why the heck not? They’re feeling wild. Once they’re settled at a table in the far corner of the shop and the female employee has disappeared into the stockroom to text or play games on her phone, Taehyung washes down a rather huge bite (even for Jungkook’s standards) with a swig of said milk and asks, “So is that why you do porn? Because you like taking pictures of people?”

Jungkook chokes, unsure if he’s surprised at the question itself or Taehyung’s casualness about asking, “I— I mean, I don’t know?”

Someone must have told him about the shoots. Probably Jimin. But when would that have happened?

“You don’t? How can you not know something like that?” he inquires with a straight face.

If there’s any judgment in his voice, it has nothing to do with the porn aspect of it.

Taehyung continues after a moment, a smirk slowly curling up the corners of his lips, “Or do you do it because you have a thing for Jimin?”

“I don’t… have a thing for him,” the hesitance is damning, even to his own ears.

Taehyung takes another bite of his doughnut, which consists of him stuffing the entire rest of the second half into his mouth. Naturally, he needs to chew this, which means the prolonged silence sits heavier over them than Jungkook’s overstuffed wallet, phone, and keychain with too many keys and charms sitting uncomfortably against his crotch. So like, really uncomfortable with zero boners.

The boy with the fiery red hair currently not held up by the faded navy blue bandana abruptly starts laughing. It’s not at Jungkook’s expense, he thinks. At least it doesn’t sound like it is. His reaction is lighter, quieter, and more “I’ve just confirmed your crush on the dude who wanted me to boink him or for him to boink me, I’m not quite sure,” which is very specific but highly accurate.

“You don’t have a thing for him. Right. Uh-huh. And I didn’t just inhale a glazed doughnut.”

Jungkook tries to find something to defend himself and settles on like, The Worst thing, throwing a crumpled napkin at Taehyung as if to say: I have resorted to the absolute minimal amount of physical violence to distract you.

He tries to save the retaliation by saying, “Technically, you didn’t inhale it. You took two bites.”

Taehyung laughs harder, dodging the napkin easily, but to Jungkook’s relief it seems he’s stopped the teasing for now.

“Touché. But really, I’m curious. Why shoot porn with one of your friends?”

Jungkook shrugs, “I needed to work on my portfolio.”

“Could you say you needed to make it… thicker?”

Jungkook has to swallow his bite quickly before he chokes from laughing.

“You can’t make a dick joke while I’m eating a maple bar.”

“Says who?” Taehyung ask, seeming very satisfied with himself.

“Fuck, just…” Jungkook takes a sip of his chocolate milk and playfully kicks his companion under the table. “Sure, I wanted to make my portfolio thicker and Jimin needed a new photographer.”

“That’s fair.” His companion nods, adjusting his scrubs before shoving the entire second doughnut into his mouth.

“What about you? Besides volunteering at the—”

“Can I ask you a question real quick? Sorry to cut you off.”

He chewed and swallowed impossibly fast, it was vaguely impressive.

“Shoot.”

Taehyung’s lips purse slightly as his eyebrows draw together. “Do you guys really refer to me as ‘hot-Taehyung’ or was that just Jimin?”

With the few seconds he’d had to go over the list of possible questions, Jungkook can say with surety that this had not been one of them. Thus he doesn’t have a good answer prepared and resorts to terrible and complete honesty.

“Yes we do, kind of. All of us.”

Smooth.

“Are there other Taehyungs that have qualifiers?” he seems amused by the possibility.

“Nope just you.”

“Cool.”

Jungkook can’t tell if Taehyung’s smile reads as pleased, intrigued, humored, or a mix of the three. He takes another bite of his maple bar, trying to get the pesky blush off of his face that just doesn’t want to go away. It wasn’t even him that came up with that prefix. Maybe he should say that.

“So what were you saying? Before?”

“Right, ah,” Jungkook takes a moment to swallow before he continues. “What do you do besides volunteer?”

“I do lots of random things. I paint murals, design websites, write an advice article for an online newspaper that really shouldn’t be called a newspaper. Oh, I also do a podcast about cloud watching and story telling.”

“A… podcast?”

“Yeah, like an audiobook but it keeps updating? And it’s free,” Taehyung explains before polishing off his chocolate milk in one swig. “Do you like riddles?”

They stay at this dingy Coffee & Donut shop for a few hours and Jungkook only prompts that they leave so the girl behind the register doesn’t have to pretend to look busy anymore. He says this as under-his-breath as he can, just in case she’s actually busy. It’s partially a lie though, a lie of omission.

The overly sweet smell of the store was starting to make him feel sick, considering the mush of carbs and sugar churning around in his stomach. He doesn’t want Taehyung to think he’s having a bad time though, because he isn’t. He’s having a great time, so he keeps this information to himself. The fresh (slightly less smoggy) night air does wonders for his mood and digestive system. The walking helps too.

As it turns out, Jungkook is not good at riddles, but it seems Taehyung likes watching him struggle for a few minutes before getting comically shocked by the answer, not that Jungkook minds. It’s interesting to hear the solution, to see all the pieces fit together, and Taehyung appears to have an endless supply of them.

“Okay, okay. You’ll love this one. You are my brother but I am not your brother. Who am I?”

Jungkook deadpans at the question, pretending not to notice as they take another wrong turn, the third one since they left the shop, considering they aren’t supposed to be making any turns at all.

“Wait, you’re my brother? But I’m not yours?”

“Yeah.”

“But…?”

“That’s the point.”

Jungkook can feel himself frown in concentration. The night air feels cool against his nose and cheeks, just on the cusp of feeling nippy. What? Note to self, never use the word “nippy” again. His heels drag against the concrete of the sidewalk, a habit he should probably kick before he needs to buy new shoes.

“Do you give up?” Taehyung giggles, giving Jungkook a big, boxy smile.

“No, I’m thinking.”

“Your face is so cute when you’re thinking.”

Jungkook flushes, voice cracking, “What?”

Taehyung laughs harder, “I’m serious! It gets all pouty— sorry, right, I’ll let you think.”

“You’re my brother, but I’m not your brother…”

Jungkook can feel the answer on the tip of his tongue, frustrating, like being edged because the phone started ringing.

“I’m your sister!” Taehyung declares way too comfortably for the sentence he’s saying.

Jungkook shoves him, not too hard, but hard enough. The boy with the fiery red hair cackles.

“Are you fucking kidding me? I almost had it.”

“Did you really?”

Pause.

“No.”

They both laugh.

Much to Jungkook’s surprise, the apartment building appears in front of them as they turn one last corner. Yeah, part of him was worried Taehyung was going to lead him into a back alley to be murdered brutally with a rusty pocket knife, but that’s normal right? To have that fear. Jungkook is learning to trust Taehyung though, not that that’s difficult with his bright smile and unconventionally interesting personality (which might sound like an insult but is really a compliment).

Taehyung opens the door to the building and once again gestures for Jungkook to go first. So he leads the way, grumbling in good humor, still pretending to be miffed about the riddle. When the elevator opens, Taehyung gets in first and presses the buttons for the second and third floor. The quiet that has settled over them is pleasant, not awkward, which is new for Jungkook considering how painfully awkward he normally is.

The doors slide open and yeah, he feels a little pathetic for taking the elevator up one floor, but that’s a personal thing. Since they’d just done all that walking and it’s now about three o’clock in the morning after what must have been a long volunteer shift, he’s assuming Taehyung is exhausted. Next time maybe Jungkook should suggest eating Pocky and watching bad late night TV instead.

“Alright this is my stop,” Jungkook announces like he’s in some romcom and he expects Taehyung to kiss him.

“Yes it is,” Taehyung leans against the back of the elevator, looking right at home with his soft smile and messy hair and wrinkled scrubs. There’s a baby pink sprinkle stuck to the left corner of his lips. “Thanks for coming out with me.”

“No problem,” Jungkook steps out, walking backwards to continue to face the boy with the fiery red hair. “See you around?”

“Yeah, see you soon— oh wait. I almost forgot.”

Taehyung steps forward and fits his foot against the closing door, causing it to open again.

“You have my permission.”

His what?

“Your what?”

“My permission. To take candid pictures of me. So now you don’t have to ask.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen in momentary shock, “Ah, thank you. I— wow. I mean, I really appreciate that.”

“No worries. Now get home safe.”

Taehyung winks— yes winks— and smiles, stepping back as the metal doors slide closed, simultaneously sealing their interaction and stamping the moment into Jungkook’s memory with the gentlest thump of the two panels meeting.

He stares at his own blurred reflection for a beat before turning and walking down the hall. There is a one hundred percent chance he’ll question whether or not this actually happened later.

The front door squeaks quietly as it opens, Jungkook’s hoodie pocket feeling a bit lighter without the clump of unnecessarily jingly metal attached to the end of a shabby Iron Man lanyard. He can hear the TV before he can see the living room. The volume is low, most of the voices only an indecipherable muttering. A soft blue glow illuminates room and Yoongi, who has curled up on the couch. He’s got a light blanket thrown over him, probably the result of a last ditch effort before dozing off or a sleepy Namjoon walking around to get water.

It’s weird, being awake at night when Yoongi isn’t. The older boy is notorious for staying up late even when he has to get up at the ass crack of dawn for work. Hoseok once asked Yoongi how he stayed alive with so little sleep to which the older boy replied: power naps and willpower fueled by my hatred for most people and things. He probably got the second part from one of Namjoon’s open mic poetry rants, then changed the context to fit his own cutely grumpy agenda.

Without much thought, almost as if on instinct, Jungkook maneuvers around the coffee table and slips one arm under Yoongi’s knees, the other bracing his back. So blanket and all, Jungkook lifts the older boy bridal style and gingerly sneaks his way out of the living room, only hitting one shin in the process.

Unfortunately, opening Yoongi’s door is a bit of a challenge, and it jostles the sleeping boy awake. He lets out a disgruntled huff, one eyelid cracking open.

“The fuck…?”

“You fell asleep on the couch. I didn’t want you to get a kink in your neck.”

The door swings open slowly as if to accentuate the awkwardness of the situation.

“Well I think you can put me down now.”

“Right.”

Jungkook sets Yoongi on his feet and backs away politely.

“How’s your finger?”

Yoongi pulls the blanket around him like a cape. He look smalls and angry with his bedraggled hair and the dark circles under his eyes, which makes Jungkook want to pat him gently on the head.

“It’s fine,” Yoongi says, then yawns. “I’m going to bed.”

“Okay, goodnight.”

If Jungkook had a tsundere translator, he likes to think there would’ve been a “thank you” somewhere in that conversation, which ends with a door in his face after a grumbled “yeah, g’night.” But with that, Jungkook goes back to the living room to turn off the TV, hits his other shin, and finally returns to his own room to flop onto his bed. It would’ve been ideal to be asleep before his head hit the pillow, but it naturally takes a couple tosses and turns before Jungkook finally manages to drift off.

Technically, that completes day two since Taehyung’s arrival, but it definitely feels like it’s been a week.

Day six PT (Post Taehyung) is a lot less bizarre than it might originally sound.

Jungkook can hear the elevator close behind him as he stops walking, then raises his hand and knocks with a small sigh. The door opens, just a crack.

“Password please?”

“Seriously? Let me in.”

“I’m sorry sir, I can’t do that without a password.”

“Hobi.”

The one eye peaking out behind the door narrows at Jungkook, sizes him up, then squints as the older boy laughs.

“Alright get in here, but the entry fee is—”

Jungkook cuts him off by ruffling his hair affectionately (roughly) and walking past Hoseok into the third floor apartment. It’s crowded, but not in the usual “we tried to shove six boys into a small living room” kind of way.

Upon the first step past the door, the murmur from out in the hallway becomes a louder, distinctive conversation, a conversation with about five voices all trying to shout over each other.

“NOW YOU LISTEN HERE. YOU DID NOT HAVE A FOUR.”

“I HAD A FOUR AND YOU CAN’T PROVE OTHERWISE.”

“SHE DEALT THE CARDS SO SHE SHOULD KNOW.”

“SO SHE’S COUNTING CARDS NOW IS SHE?”

“YOU CAN’T COUNT CARDS WITH THIS IT’S IMPOSSIBLE.”

“THEN HOW DO YOU KNOW I DIDN’T HAVE A FOUR, WOMAN?”

“FRANCIS, YOU CAN EAT MY FRESH BAKED ASS—”

“Language, Ms. Lee,” Seokjin coos from his place mixing drinks and cleaning glasses in the kitchen. Jungkook can tell by his tone of voice that he’s thoroughly amused.

Ms. Lee, a woman who is probably in her late seventies, wrapped in a baby pink crocheted shawl in her wheelchair, turns to give Seokjin a sweet smile, “Sorry dear.”

She then turns back to their game, all huddled around one of the three flimsy collapsable card tables. Jungkook’s never sure what they’re actually playing, only hearing words like “sets” and “runs” being tossed around in various numbers that always sound different. At the other two tables, it appears a few guests are either quietly playing poker with Namjoon as their dealer, or blackjack with Yoongi.

The room smells of moth balls, nature friendly cleaning supplies, and light perfume. It’s an odd mixture, but Jungkook definitely prefers this to Taehyung’s death tea. Speaking of, there’s a small woman maybe in her nineties sitting on the couch next to the boy with the fiery red hair. They seem to be having a calm, quiet conversation. Tasteful jazz plays in the background.

“What can I get you?” Seokjin asks, still amused, as Jungkook takes a seat at the island countertop.

“Do you have any cranberry juice?”

“Sorry buddy, fresh out.”

“Banana milk?”

Seokjin turns around and opens the fridge, placing a carton in front of the younger boy, “On the house.”

They share a quiet laugh.

To the uninformed person, this— being everything going on in the room— might seem like something strange, worth at least one eyebrow raise, but it’s actually pretty normal.

Once a month, typically on the first Friday, Seokjin and Hoseok host a “senior ‘underground’ gambling night.” Hoseok has still not managed to get the acronym SUGN to catch on despite this being the fifth or sixth event. According to Seokjin, the retirement home knows that they bring the residents here (considering they use the facility’s bus). The term “underground” just makes it seem more exciting. No smoking, no alcohol, just a bunch of cute elderly people getting “out of the house” as it were. All of the money they decide to bet simply circulates between them. The House keeps none of it except the small entry fee to cover the drinks and snacks. It wasn’t difficult for the rest of the boys to hop on board from the beginning, considering how much effort Seokjin and Hoseok are putting into it. Besides, free juice.

“Look who finally stopped by!”

The familiar voice makes Jungkook blush up to his ears, especially as Jimin’s hand brushes his lower back. It’s just a greeting, Jungkook tells himself, and is a little relieved when Jimin reaches forward to grab a glass of orange juice. He’d just been making sure Jungkook didn’t move and bump into him. That’s all.

“Sorry I’m late. I lost track of time finishing a project.”

“Was it my next background?” Jimin says quietly, his smile slowly turning into a smirk as he turns his head, making eye contact. He hasn’t moved his hand.

“Y-yeah,” Jungkook nods, then takes a long sip of his banana milk.

Jimin giggles, a pleasant sound amidst the loud talking, arguing, and card shuffling.

“I know it’ll turn out great, Kookie.”

He pats Jungkook’s lower back before leaving with the glass of orange juice, likely delivering it to one of the guests. The retirement home residents always think Jimin is adorable. Probably because he is. Jungkook watches him walk away, then slumps forward.

“He’s not helping, is he,” Seokjin says knowingly, leaning against the small island countertop. It’s less a question than a statement.

Jungkook pouts. Seokjin is the only one of his friends that Knows, unless Jungkook counts Taehyung. Are they friends though? Sure they’ve hung out a couple times and talked, but… Maybe Jungkook should find out the name of his podcast— concentrate.

“No.”

“Why don’t you talk to him about it?”

“Says you,” Jungkook laughs humorlessly. It’s a series of sounds that conveys sadness and, most importantly, empathy.

“Look,” Seokjin starts, placing both hands on the countertop. “Jimin is bi. At least you have a chance.”

“Do you even know what Namjoon’s sexual orientation is?”

Seokjin’s cheeks dust pink. “I mean, he’s never said anything about it. But look at him. How can he not be straight?”

Jungkook glances over his shoulder at Namjoon manning the poker table. All broad shoulders with neatly combed hair and a dimpled smile. He’s still wearing his business suit from work.

“I dunno. You might be surprised,” Jungkook says, shrugging.

The older boy’s reply is underscored by a quiet sigh, “I could say the same thing about you and Jimin.”

Needing to get to his primary SUGN duty, being floating around the room, picking up trash or refilling the little plastic bowls with snacks (because he’s not very good at the whole socializing thing, as previously established) Jungkook concludes the brief conversation with another laugh. But this time it’s genuine, even if a little quiet and doubtful and masked behind a shouted “FRANCIS, YOU’RE A LYING BASTARD.”

Jimin places the glass of orange juice on the coffee table, well within Ms. Piper’s reach. He hadn’t known who she was until Hoseok abruptly decided to switch with Yoongi, choosing to man the door (the furthest away he can get from the elderly woman) instead of dealing for blackjack. He was usually at one of the card tables, utilizing his naturally charismatic charms. If Hoseok made any profit from this, Jimin would think he might be cheating at the game, the way he makes the elderly ladies blush and giggle. But he doesn’t. And how can Jimin blame him for being charming? He does the exact same thing. It’s nice to be the cause of someone’s smile, no matter what gender or age.

Ms. Piper doesn’t acknowledge the glass, but she also seems to be in a deep, quiet conversation with Taehyung. It’s odd, how the two of them get along when someone like Hoseok, who gets along with everyone, is scared to death of her.

Taehyung looks up briefly and gives Jimin an acknowledging smile. He returns it with a nod.

After one last glance around the room to confirm he’s not needed at the moment, Jimin heads down the short hallway to the bathroom. Once he’s closed inside, he takes a deep, shaky breath and sits down on the lid of the toilet. Everything’s okay.

Jimin’s never had a good sense of smell, but he can immediately identify Hoseok’s fruity body wash. Someone left their toothpaste sitting out next to the sink. There’s the quiet drip of the leaky shower head, now audible above the voices in the other room. Beside the shower is the window screen still yet to be replaced since last Sunday.

He pulls his knees up to his chest, the heels of his feet resting on the edge of his improvised seat with a feeble squeak.

It’s been a long week at the office and all Jimin wants is to be able to relax, blow off some steam, maybe get dicked down. Yeah it feels good to fuck someone, but to be on the receiving end? That’s pretty nice too. Lets him focus on his own pleasure a little more, plus there are usually some really good cuddles afterward. What he wouldn’t do to have Taehyung bend him over any flat surface in this apartment and fuck him senseless. Jimin lets out a soft sigh against his thighs as his forehead comes to rest against his knees. The self loathing gnaws at his stomach, unwanted, dismissed.

Taehyung still hasn’t said anything about that rain check, but both of them have been extremely busy, never home at the same time unless sleeping. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck though.

Over the years, Jimin has learned not to expect too much of boys, taking into consideration that he is also male. Foolish, oblivious, proud. He closes his eyes, his mind conjuring up the flash of a camera. Jimin smiles. Him too.

[Next Part]

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