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jackiesarch · 4 years

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Tagged by the lovely @amistrio to do this meme - it was long as hell but it was fun! Thank you!

Not tagging anyone because I know it’s done the rounds now, but if you see this and want to take a shot at this monster, please do!

Disagreements:

Who is more likely to raise their voice?

They both make a conscious effort not to yell when they’re angry, but when they do end up having a nasty, explosive argument, Tommy’s the one that gets loud.

Who threatens to leave but never actually does?

Neither of them. They don’t play with those kinds of threats just over disagreements. If they ever really wanted to leave one another, they’d talk about it endlessly.

Who actually keeps their word and leaves?

Same as above — they don’t make those threats or take those actions lightly.

Who trashes the house?

Neither of them. Tommy once punched the bathroom mirror after one of their more serious arguments, but Maura had left the house to clear her head, and the only thing he ended up with was a cut up hand and a lot of shame.

Do either of them get physical?

Never.

How often do they argue/disagree?

Not very often! They have the occasional disagreement or petty argument like any couple, but they’re not prone to fighting. Their relationship is very happy and very solid.

Who is the first to apologise?

Almost always, Tommy. Mostly because Tommy is more likely to get angry than Maura in the first place, but also because he hates how he feels after he’s said something mean or acted childishly. He hates feeling like he’s hurt the person he loves.

Sex:

Who is on top?

A good chunk of the time, it’s Maura. Tommy says it’s because he likes to watch her and that’s the best way to do it, but Maura secretly suspects he’s just a little lazy.

She doesn’t mind.

Who is on the bottom?

Evidently, mostly Tommy. They switch it up often enough, but it’s safe to say that Maura regularly has Tommy flat on his back.

Who has the strangest desires?

They’re both pretty normal, to be honest — if anything, Tommy might be a little more spicy in terms of desires. He’s the medium salsa, and Maura is the mild.

That doesn’t mean they won’t try anything new, though! As long as they talk about it first and don’t bring it into the bedroom with zero warning, they’re both up for spicing things up.

Any kinks?

Maura is really into being edged, whenever they actually have the time to draw things out that long. Tommy is more than happy to help her out.

Who’s dominant in bed?

Tommy, generally. Maura spends most of her professional life in a leadership role — she doesn’t need to bring it to bed, too. She likes letting him take control.

Is head ever in the equation?

It is! I wouldn’t say it’s an ‘every single time they have sex’ kind of thing, but it’s not rare by any means.

If so, who is better at performing it?

I’m not saying Maura is very gifted with her mouth, but—that’s exactly what I’m saying.

Ever had sex in public?

They never have — not fully publicly, at least. The thought of being caught is terrifying to Maura. Sex is their alone, intimate time. They don’t want to share it with anyone else.

Who moans the most?

Tommy is a surprisingly vocal guy, and that’s that on that.

Who leaves the most marks?

Tommy. He’s very cautious about it when they first start dating — he doesn’t want to hurt her, he doesn’t want to embarrass her — but honestly? Maura likes it. Something about waking up and seeing marks on her hips where his hands were the night before gets her.

Who’s the more experienced of the two?

Tommy. Maura hadn’t had many partners before the outbreak, and after? Well, putting it bluntly, she only ever had herself. Tommy is the first person she’s slept with in a very long time.

Do they ‘fuck’ or ‘make love’?

There’s a time and a place for both! It really depends on the circumstances.

Rough or soft?

Again, a time and a place for both — but more often than not, soft.

...still, a girl could stand to be a little manhandled every now and then.

How long do they usually last?

Honestly, this is another one where the circumstances are important. Sometimes when you’re desperate and tired of holding out, things don’t last as long as you’d like them to!

For the most part, they’re pretty average in that respect. They’re not superhuman, but it’s not over right away either.

Is protection used?

It is not easy to find suitable protection in a post-apocalyptic wasteland — so no. They make it work.

Does it ever get boring?

Not really! They change things up often enough that it doesn’t just become routine.

Where is the strangest place they’ve have sex?

God, if Maxine knew this, she would torment Maura about it until the end of time as payback for all the teasing about The Table Incident, but...

In the back room of the empty clinic after hours. One time!

Family:

Do they plan on having children/or have children?

Hoo boy. That’s a tough one — one of the very few things they have heated arguments over, actually.

Maura wants a baby. Tommy is adamantly opposed to it — not because he doesn’t want kids, but because Maura is forty-five and childbirth is dangerous and he saw what happened when Max had Emma. He will not lose Maura. It’s just not worth it to him, as much as he genuinely wishes that they could have kids.

He wishes that things were different. He really does. He loves her and it makes him physically ache to say no because he wants it — and that’s exactly what he tells her after their last big fight about it. It takes Maura a very long time to accept she’s not getting her white picket fence American dream, but she makes peace with it eventually. All the more reason for her to be the greatest aunt in all of Wyoming.

If so, how many children do they want/have?

Maura would have been happy with just the one. Tommy, despite saying no to having any, will admit to imagining a couple babies with Maura’s pretty green eyes running around Jackson.

No Outbreak AU is kind and gives them two little girls — Maggie and Zoe.

Affection:

Who likes to cuddle?

Both of them! They’re a very affectionate couple and like to be close, so they can always be found snuggling in one form or another when they’re in bed or on the couch.

Who gets naughty in the most inappropriate of places?

Tommy Miller has been found guilty of this on at least the first seven counts of the indictment against him. Seriously — he’s absolutely pulled the “getting up behind her and helping her with her stance” ruse when watching Maura practice her shooting, just so he can tease her. He’s incorrigible.

Who struggles to keep their hands to themselves?

Awful, awful Tommy. He’s tactile! He likes to touch! He can’t help it that he thinks his wife is the prettiest lady he’s ever seen!

How long can they cuddle until one becomes uncomfortable?

Depends! If they’re cuddling while they’re sleeping, could be all night, or at least until one of them wakes and rolls over or something. If they’re awake and on the couch, usually Maura makes it about an hour before some part of her goes numb and she has to get up or shift herself around.

Who gives the most kisses?

They are a pretty even split, to be honest. They like to give each other little smooches throughout the day. Lately, though, Tommy’s been shrugging off work to sneak down to the clinic for a kiss or two, so the rankings are in limbo.

What is their favourite non-sexual activity?

Cooking together! They don’t always get to do it, especially when Maura has to stay late at work to tend to the sick or the injured, but they both enjoy it. Dancing around each other in the kitchen, stealing bites of food and easy kisses—it’s their exact brand of casual intimacy.

Where is their favourite place to cuddle?

Bed is comfier and easier to navigate, but they’ll hole up on the couch, too. Basically anywhere at home where they can be alone and private.

How often do they get time to themselves?

Not as often as they’d like. They both have important work to do in Jackson and they don’t always get to be the nine-to-five kind of folks. They sometimes wish they could toss away their responsibilities and just spend a week together with no interruptions.

Sleeping:

Who snores?

Tommy. He does not believe this fact.

If both do, who snores the loudest?

Even if Maura did snore, she’s pretty sure Tommy could snore loud enough for the both of them. She’s worried he might attract clickers to town.

Do they share a bed or sleep separately?

Always share a bed. They’d rather sleep next to each other, even if it means both of them sleeping on the floor when there’s only a twin bed.

If they sleep together, do they cozy up together or lay far apart?

They tend to cozy up. They like to be close and it would feel strange to them to lay far enough apart that they aren’t at least touching a little.

What do they wear to bed? If they’re together?

If they’ve been up to some terrible, horrible, no good, very bad spicy acts, they both sleep naked. Otherwise, Tommy usually sleeps in sweats and Maura in one of his too-big shirts and her underwear.

Are either of them insomniacs?

They both have the odd night where they can’t sleep, but they’re by no means regular insomniacs. Usually it’s just a one-off thing, or a couple nights in a row max.

Can sleeping pills be found by the bedside?

Sleeping pills are hard to find in general — but you probably won’t ever find them on Maura and Tommy’s bedside table.

Do they wrap their limbs around each other or just lay side by side?

Maura likes to tangle her legs with Tommy’s and lay her head in the spot where his shoulder meets his torso. She’s not quite an octopus, but she likes to be curled around him, and he doesn’t mind.

Who wakes up with bed hair?

Both of them. Maura sleeps with her hair in a bun and always wakes up with it tangled and all over the place. Tommy just needs a haircut — he wakes up looking like every member of an 80s hair metal band rolled into one every single morning.

Who wakes up first?

Usually Maura. She likes to get to work early to get everything ready before people actually start showing up. Tommy’s up pretty early, too, but almost always wakes up to Maura halfway through her morning routine.

Who prepares breakfast in bed for the other?

Neither, because Maura hates crumbs in the sheets and she will not let either herself or Tommy eat in bed.

She doesn’t want tiny toast crumbs making her legs uncomfortable at night!

What’s their favourite sleeping position?

Maura’s a side sleeper — she prefers her right side but she’ll sleep on her left too! Tommy used to sleep only on his back, but once he and Maura started sharing a bed he got used to sleeping on his side, too, just so he could snuggle her better.

Do they set an alarm each night?

Never — their internal clocks are better alarms than any beat up bedside clock they could scrounge up.

Can a television be found in their bedroom?

A tiny one, but it’s not like there’s much on. Tommy managed to hook up an old DVD player and every time one of them is out they keep an eye open for movies to add to their little collection. It’s the perfect treatment for a collective bad day — losing their thoughts to some pre-outbreak piece of fluff while they lay together quietly.

Who has nightmares?

Tommy, more often than not. Maura has nightmares every now and then, but Tommy’s bad memories seem to plague him during the night more than hers do.

Who has ridiculous dreams?

Maura. She’s been a really vivid dreamer her whole life, and it’s only gotten more crazy with time. Everything tends to be a mishmash of her unconscious thoughts and elaborate colours.

Who sprawls out and takes up most of the bed?

Plot twist: it’s actually Lucky. Good luck finding space on your bed with a seventy pound golden retriever taking up all your leg room.

Who makes the bed?

Maura, typically. She likes when it’s neat and tidy, and it’s another thing to add to the routine she’s established to keep herself sane.

What time is bed time?

It really varies. As much as they try to be home from work/patrol/their various duties at a reasonable hour every night, there are times where Maura may not get home until late evening or times when Tommy might find his way up the porch well after midnight. If they can, they try to give themselves a deadline of midnight for being in bed and ready to sleep.

Any routines/rituals before bed?

The usual stuff – brushing teeth, getting into sleep clothes, maybe washing their faces if they have the energy. Almost always they lay with each other for a little bit and talk about their days or whatever else is on their mind. It’s a little break at the end of the day for them to decompress with each other before they try to get some shut-eye.

Who’s the grumpiest when they wake up?

Tommy. Maura’s always been a morning person and wake ups have never been hard for her. Tommy, on the other hand — just because he’s out of bed doesn’t mean he’s happy about it. He often takes an hour or two to warm up to the waking world.

Work:

Who is the busiest?

It varies. Maura has a lot of cuts and bruises and broken bones to patch up, but Tommy is in charge of more than he realizes at times, I think. A group of scavengers returning home with nasty injuries might keep Maura busy enough that she’s dead tired by the time she walks through the front door, but Tommy’s hands might be full for eight hours straight if there’s even a minor problem with the dam. It all depends on the day.

Who rakes in the highest income?

Economy is a construct and the only income they receive is payment in the form of the satisfaction they did a ~good job~.

Are any of them unemployed?

Both are very employed and very happy to both keep busy and be useful.

Who takes the most sick days?

No rest for the wicked. Maura doesn’t really have sick days — she only ever stays home when she physically can’t get into the clinic, and even then she complains about it. Tommy has more latitude in that respect, but he’s come to dislike being idle, so sick days are reserved for actual physical or mental sickness.

Who is more likely to turn up late to work?

Neither of them, really. Before the outbreak, it probably would have been Tommy, but the world is a very different place and he’s sort of fallen into Maura’s early morning routine. If either of them are late, it’s usually the fault of one of two culprits: 1) a crisis has emerged from the woodwork that must be dealt with immediately, or 2) their early morning shenanigans have gone on longer than they planned...

Who sucks up to their boss?

Jackson really doesn’t have that level of organization in terms of the workforce, if that makes sense? Everyone just kind of…mutually agrees to do the duties they’ve either been assigned or have decided to do. No one is really ever anyone’s boss.

What are their jobs?

Maura is Jackson’s de facto doctor. Before the outbreak, she was a paramedic, and those skills aren’t easy to come by. She takes care of everything medical (with lots of help, of course), from patching up cuts and scrapes to pulling babies out of people.

Tommy…doesn’t really have a title? @tommymillers is my resident canon expert and her take is that Tommy is a community leader of sorts – he takes care of overseeing the town. He’s the customer care specialist. He’s the Kelly Kapoor of Jackson.

Who stresses the most?

Maura worries a lot, but she does well under pressure. @tommymillers and I were discussion Mr. Miller yesterday, and I agree with her idea that Tommy probably doesn’t handle pressure or stress very well – so I think where Maura may worry every now and then but be calm and collected when the pressure at work ramps up, Tommy is chill until disaster strikes.

That didn’t really answer the question, but I think they both stress for different reasons and at different levels.

Do they enjoy or despise their careers/occupations?

Maura loves her job. She loved it before the outbreak, and while it’s slightly more stressful and lot more improvised afterwards, she still loves it. She just genuinely enjoys helping people and being useful and learning new things about the human body.

Tommy does like his job. It makes him feel like he’s doing something important and worthwhile with his life when historically he hasn’t always had that satisfaction. I think he probably has trouble actually settling down and making this his life, so to speak, but he does enjoy it. Even when it’s difficult.

Are they financially stable?

If money were a thing people still cared about, they’d be doing really well for themselves. Thankfully, it’s not, so they don’t really have to worry about making their next mortgage payment.

Home:

Who does the washing?

Maura washes, Tommy hangs everything to dry. They try to split the household chores as evenly as possible, just to be fair.

Who takes out the trash?

Tommy takes care of it, usually, if only because Maura has the garbage at the clinic to deal with.

Who does the ironing?

Who cares if your clothes have creases when there are real life zombies just outside the city limits?

Who does the cooking?

They are very good about sharing cooking, because they like to do it together. Maura never has more fun with a chore than she does when she’s cooking dinner with Tommy. They’re both decent cooks and they enjoy the time they get to spend together making something they get to eat together.

Who is more likely to burn the house down just trying?

Neither of them! They both know their way around a kitchen well enough to not kill anyone in the process of making dinner. Capable kids!

Who is messier?

Tommy’s not quite Maura’s level of clean freak. He often leaves things lying around and doesn’t really understand her need to make the bed every morning. He’s no slob, but sometimes his inner frat boy peeks through the curtains and tells him to leave his underwear in the kitchen.

Who leaves the toilet roll empty?

Is there toilet paper in the apocalypse? I’m sure there’d be an alternative. No Outbreak AU is not kind to Maura, in any event, because Tommy is the worst about refilling the roll. She almost always does it herself.

Who leaves their dirty clothes on the floor?

Mr. Underwear-In-The-Kitchen Miller. If it’s not boxers in the kitchen, it’s socks in the living room or shirts in the hallway. He just…disrobes and forgets. It’s kind of remarkable.

Who forgets to flush the toilet?

Sorry, Tommy. I’m ratting you out.

Who is the prankster around the house?

Tommy is, and he often pays dearly for it because a grumpy Maura is not a Maura to be trifled with. Just ask Max. It doesn’t happen often, but scaring her when she’s getting out of the shower is a good way to getting a one-way ticket to Sleeping On The Couch-Ville.

Who loses the car keys when it comes time to go somewhere?

Can’t lose what you don’t have!

In No Outbreak AU, it’s probably Maura’s fault. She’s neat and tidy, but she’s also a busy lady and sometimes things disappear on her!

Who mows the lawn?

Tommy’s your resident lawn mower. He doesn’t mind the exercise, and Maura doesn’t mind watching him work up a sweat.

Who answers the telephone?

Thankfully, there’s no phones to answer these days.

In No Outbreak AU, it’s Maura. Tommy gets into the habit of having full conversations with telemarketers. Maura’s afraid they’re going to call back looking to chat.

Who does the vacuuming?

Tommy is a very good vacuumer! He gets into it, dances a little, sings to himself. It’s a very good workout for him.

Who does the groceries?

No Outbreak AU Maura has to because Tommy will absolutely come home with cinnamon rolls and donuts and forego any kind of food with nutritional value. Thankfully, that’s not something she has to be worried about in canon.

Who takes the longest to shower?

Maura’s a shower hog in No Outbreak AU and she will absolutely suck the hot water dry just for the relaxation of it. There are shower time limits in canon, though, so she doesn’t have as much time as she normally would like.

Tommy lets her have an extra long shower the first time she comes to Jackson. I think he saw the inner shower demon in her the moment they locked eyes.

Who spends the most time in the bathroom?

As the above would suggest, AU Maura is awful for her bathroom hogging. In canon, it’s probably also Maura. She spends more time washing her face and brushing her hair in the mornings than Tommy does (although he does care very much about brushing out his ponytail).

Miscellaneous:

Is money a problem?

Not when it doesn’t exist!

How many cars do they own?

Do horses count as cars? Because they’ve got a few.

Do they own their home or do they rent?

Their home ownership is acknowledged by the highest law recognized in post-apocalyptic America: Finders Keepers.

Do they live in the city or in the country?

Jackson’s like…a town, right? It’s not New York, but the population is more than two. I’d say it’s closer to country than city.

Do they enjoy their surroundings?

Maura actually loves it. She grew up in Kansas and as much as she loved it there, she loves seeing what the rest of the country has to offer. It’s part of why she chose to do her schooling in Texas. Home is now a place that doesn’t resemble the place she grew up in, but it’s still pretty. Tommy doesn’t mind it either, but he wishes it was just a touch warmer. Especially in the winter.

What’s their song?

Song they’d dance to or sing to each other like the dorks they are? Breathless by William Prince. Song I listen to when I think about their hopeless asses? Blood Bank by Bon Iver.

What do they do when they’re away from each other?

Try to keep busy. Maura is the first to slip into longing and misery when Tommy’s away for an extended period of time. Tommy lasts a little longer, but he eventually misses her hard. They both find the best thing to do is to keep themselves busy, whether it’s work or hobbies or even just cleaning up around the house. Tommy often takes it a step further though: when he’s missing Maura, he tends to bolt and go for unnecessarily lengthy walks. Dangerous coping mechanism.

Where did they first meet?

A couple hours outside of Jackson in a place that Tommy and his crew thought was abandoned. She’d just escaped from the group of hunters that was keeping her captive and she was holed up in the house that Tommy and a couple others had just wandered into looking for supplies. It was a ‘guns drawn instantly’ type of situation for a second, before Tommy realized she was far too skinny and far to scared to be any kind of threat.

It took her a minute to explain what had happened and where she’d come from, but once she did? Once they found out she had medical training and was hungry and starving and entirely alone? It was pretty much a group consensus that she would be coming back to Jackson with them.

Who spends the most money when out shopping?

Not really applicable these days, but in No Outbreak AU, they’re probably pretty evenly matched. Maura is pretty frugal because she grew up without a lot, and Tommy hasn’t exactly been made of money as an adult. They both splurge from time to time, but they’re good about saving.

Who finds it amusing when the other trips over?

Maura’s more likely to snort, but she’s also the one that’s crouched down next to Tommy to see if he needs stitches for the nasty cut he’s probably managed to give himself.

Any mental issues?

Listen – they both have varying degrees of PTSD. I think most survivors have some level of it. Maura never struggled with anything other than maybe mild perfectionism pre-outbreak, and Tommy never had any mental health concerns before everything happened, but trauma has a way of burrowing into the deep and dark parts of your brain and smothering whatever good is left there. I think Maura and Tommy both suffer from their own personal brands of guilt, too – guilt about what happened to the people they loved and not being able to save them. They both struggle with keeping it at bay, but they have each other, and they each understand exactly how brutal it can be.

Who’s terrified of bugs?

Neither of them is really terrified of all bugs. Maura doesn’t like spiders, but she doesn’t have anything against butterflies or caterpillars or even centipedes and bees. Tommy doesn’t want bugs crawling all over him, but he’d rather take them outside and set them free than kill them. It’s safe to say they have a peaceful existence with bugs that aren’t spiders – but those eight legged bastards (Maura’s words, not mine) better be ready for war.

Who kills the spiders around the house?

Maura is terrified of spiders (and snakes), so Tommy is the resident spider killer.

“Sorry, little buddy,” Tommy says to the spider whenever his services are required. “Nothin’ personal, but my wife’s ordered a hit on you, and I can’t have her orderin’ a hit on me, now, can I?”

Their favourite place?

There’s this secluded corner in Jackson with a little clearing that’s perfect for campfires. Tommy took Maura there on their first real “date”. Snuck a half empty bottle of wine out there with some blankets and pillows and curled up next to her in front of a little campfire. They talked for hours about everything – stuff from before the outbreak, stuff from after, even day-to-day stuff.

Who pays the bills?

Ain’t no bills to pay, baby! The only kind of debt in this world is the kind you incur when someone does you a big favor!

Do they have any fears for their future?

Of course. Everyone did before the world collapsed, and they especially do afterwards. Maura and Tommy both carry the fear that one of them will get infected somehow, that one of them will die and the other will be left all alone. They’ve both lost people, and the thought of having to go through that kind of pain again is terrifying for them both to say the least.

Who’s more likely to surprise the other with a fancy dinner?

Maura may be the hopeless romantic, but Tommy’s the type to try to surprise her with something sweet. He’s a good man with a good heart and while he may not say it every single waking hour, he loves Maura more than he knows what to do with. She works so hard and endures so much and he’s the kind of guy who’d want to surprise her with candles and fancy food and a little romancing.

Who’s the tallest?

Tommy. Maura’s little compared to him. She’s the perfect size for resting her head comfortably on his shoulder – his little puzzle piece!

Who’s more likely to just randomly hop into the shower with the other?

Tommy, because he thinks he’s smooth and charming. Mostly he just gets water all over the bathroom floor, but Maura would be remiss if she said she didn’t like the way their skin slips together when he wraps his arms tight around her from behind.

Who wanders around in their underwear?

Maura! My number one culprit!

They’re both guilty of it, especially in No Outbreak AU, but Maura sleeps in her underwear in canon and Tommy in sweats, so she just barely beats him for the title. In No Outbreak AU, pants are honestly a rarity when they aren’t expecting company — and sometimes even if they are.

Who sings the loudest when singing along to the radio?

Tommy’s the local virtuoso, and he has an enthusiasm about him that is contagious — he’s the big mouth that starts the singalong, but most people can’t help but join in on the fun once he gets going.

What do they tease each other about?

Maura pokes fun at Tommy’s little ponytail constantly. It’s harmless – she thinks it’s cute, really – but she never misses a chance to tease him. He likes to joke about her being a beaver because every single one of her pen caps is full bite marks. She also can’t say ‘espresso’ properly. Never hears the end of that one.

Who is more likely to cringe at the other’s fashion sense at times?

They don’t have a lot of clothing to choose from, but...

Listen, Maura is very nice and very polite but sometimes even she cannot help but make a face at Tommy Miller and his Double Denim sense of style.

Do they have mutual friends?

They do! They both know pretty much everyone in town on at least a vaguely friendly level, so really almost all their friends are mutual friends.

Who crushed first?

Maura. I’ve mentioned it before, but Maura is an awful hopeless romantic, and she regularly says that she knew she would end up with Tommy pretty much from the moment she met him.

And honestly? Tommy wasn’t that far behind.

Any alcohol or substance related problems?

None.

Who is more likely to stumble home, drunk, at 3 am?

They both worry, so it’s very unlikely either of them would stay out that late drinking and then stumble home wasted, and honestly? If one of them is out having a good time, the other is usually right there with them.

In No Outbreak AU, probably Tommy — though I don’t get the impression he’d do it incredibly often.

Who swears the most?

Their swearing is typically situational, and really, the both of them swear just about as often as the average person. Maura tries her best to keep it PG while she’s working, but outside of that? She’s human — they both are — and they act like humans always have.

#tommy miller #maura foster #my ocs #my writing #this was so fucking long #holy shit #macy thank you for pushing me not to give up i love you #nsftumblr

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coolveraverto · 4 years

Text

Those Damn Marauders

Summary: *Mature Content*

Maude Bloomingdale knows there is something deeply unsettling about those damn Marauders. After her best friend is murdered in the Forbidden Forest, she just knows they had something to do with it. And she will stop at nothing until she gets to the bottom of it.

Sirius Black/OC

________________________________________________________________

Prologue

I see them strutting in the corridors, laughing between the four of them in a way that can make me jealous and annoyed at the same time. They were most loud when they were together, even if they weren’t even speaking - It was just something in the way they looked at one another. Proudly. Smirky.

They wore lion crested sweaters that gave them all this well-found entitlement. They did not deserve the extended deadlines on papers, the prettiest girls in school hanging on their every word, or students painting their quidditch numbers on their faces. No. They did not deserve it in the slightest.

Those damn Marauders. Those ignorant, vile, big-headed damn Marauders.

They knew it too. All four of those arrogant boys knew they ran Hogwarts. Girls in every year fancied them and stared at them whenever they walked by. It was a downright miracle if one actually gained the courage to speak to one of them without fainting.

Even the Professors.

Merlin’s beard, the Professors. They talked about them like they were famous for something actually important. They turned their heads when they hexed Slytherins in the corridors. Shaked their heads with a smile when one didn’t turn an essay in on time. It was ridiculous!

Maybe I was being unfair. Unreasonable, is what Callie would tell me. She disliked the fact that I always grumbled “damn Marauders” whenever they strutted by us. She was hopelessly in love with the one named Remus. His bag was always filled with books and he always looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks and Callie practically screamed when they were partnered in Potions last year. It took only a week for him to ask her to Hogsmeade. She was glowy and smiley. I wanted to vomit.

Oh, Callie. What I would give to have my best friend back.

Those damn Marauders are going to pay for what they did. I don’t care if everyone loves them or wants to be them. I don’t care that they were the most good-looking lads in Hogwarts.

They murdered my best friend, and they are going to pay for it.

Chapter One

It has been three months. Three months since that horrible night in May. The nightmares haven’t eased down in the slightest.

The last few weeks of sixth year went by in a total blur. Professors were always watching me, students I barely spoke to were always asking if I was okay and saying how amazing Callie was, and I’d plaster a fake smile, biting my tongue. I couldn’t believe how quick they were to be throwing around the word was. Callie is amazing.

The friendliness was overwhelming and living in Hufflepuff dorms was just the icing in a disgusting unwanted plate of cake.

Remus Lupin, whom I believe is the reason Callie is no longer alive, looked absolutely terrible. Good, I think to myself when I see how the circles under his eyes have gotten darker by each passing day. He should feel horrible. He should be in Azkaban. And I’ll make sure I see that with my own two eyes. All four of those damn Marauders.

I’m standing on platform 9 ¾, hugging my parents goodbye before I depart for my last and seventh year at Hogwarts. My parents are both muggles and are still incredibly clueless when it comes to anything I tell them about magic, but they are good and kind and try their best to understand, which is important.

“Is that Maude Bloomingdale?”

I turn around to find Cairo marching his way towards me. He’s wearing a big smile and his sandy hair is flopping all over. When he wraps me in a bear hug, I can’t help but breathe him all in. Oh, Cairo. Our friendship has gotten so. . . weird since Callie. They’re twins. I can only imagine how the summer was for him.

“Did you get shorter?” He teases me, his smile still in place. He’s a great actor.

I raise an eyebrow. “Did you get pudgy?” I ask him, but of course I am just joking. Cairo is not pudgy even in the slightest. He’s actually quite fit. Much more good-looking than any of those Marauders.

He turns to my parents and greets them with a warm smile. Dad is shooting him suspicious daggers like why are you hugging my daughter and Mum is staring at me with eyebrows raised like why is this handsome bloke hugging my daughter. Cairo doesn’t seem to notice - he’s such a gentleman.

“Mom, Dad, this is Cairo,” I tell them. “Callie’s brother.”

Their expressions soften. Suddenly Dad isn’t glaring. Instead he looks pitiful. Which is so much worse.

“We must go, before the train leaves without us.” I say, hoping to get Cairo away from my parents. I would just die if they said something so embarrassing to him about me or, Merlin’s beard, about Callie.

I hug them goodbye and then Cairo and I make our way onto the Hogwarts Express for the very last time. Everything about this feels strange - Callie should be here! Every year Callie and I did this together. Now she’s gone and I’m left with nothing but her flitting memory.

I follow behind Cairo on the train looking for an empty compartment. Though we don’t say it, we both know we want to be alone together. I think about the letters his owl sent me throughout the summer. How I ignored them all until the very last one when all I had written back was agreeing to talk once we got on the train.

I know it was terrible of me to ignore his desperate attempts to talk or see me all summer, but I just couldn’t. The guilt sitting inside me for what we had done was more than enough for me. Now I have no choice but to face it.

He pulls me into an empty compartment and slides the door shut in one swift movement.

“You’ve gotten better at that,” I say, thinking of all the times he pulled me ungracefully into broom closets last school year.

“We have to talk,” he says sternly.

I sigh in response and he gives me a look before crossing his arms over his chest. Merlin, his arms look so fit. I bet he was taking his grief out by lunging his beater bat at quaffles all summer. I try to avert my eyes from his arms and instead look at his face. His pretty blue eyes are piercing into mine. He’s hurt that I’ve ignored him.

“Cairo, I’m - I’m sorry for not writing back.”

“I kind of expected that from you, you’ve never been much of the writer,” he replies with a hint of a smile. I feel myself start to smile back but then I remember of all the times that Callie would tease me for barely writing two sentences in my letters to her. Cairo must think of it too, because he starts to frown as well.

“I miss her, Cairo,” I tell him in nothing more than a whisper. As if saying it any louder would mean it's really true. I don’t want to believe it still.

“I know. I do too. Mum and Dad were a complete wreck all summer. It would’ve been nice to at least have a friend who understood.”

“I’m sorry. I honestly just didn’t know what to say. And, bloody hell, after what happened, I just feel guilty Cairo.”

He stiffens and looks at me seriously. “Maude, none of it is your fault. I was - I am her brother, and I couldn’t keep her safe. I just wish I knew why she went to the Forbidden Forest like that. . .”

I think to myself, should I just tell him? Tell him how that night Callie told me she suspected Remus Lupin of seeing someone else because he was always sneaking into the Forbidden Forest at night. How she told me she was going to follow him and catch him. And how that night I promised Callie I wasn’t going to see her brother anymore, and then broke that promise.

I see the pain in his face. The confusion. The daunting look of never knowing what happened to his sister and realizing somethings are just better not knowing. I will bring justice to Callie, for the both of us.

“We need each other,” he says, suddenly pulling me from my thoughts, and wraps a warm hand around my small one. I smile a little at the touch of his hand. Oh, how I’ve missed his touch.

Cairo pulls me closer to his chest, and begins leaving light kisses along my neck. A familiar shiver runs through my entire body and I lean into him more, reveling in his scent. He smells of soap and mints.

His lips find mine and we snog ferociously. Hands all over each other, feet trembling as we move to lie on the empty bench of the compartment. Our legs entwined with each other, pushing into each other for more. His hands under my top and cups my breasts and then he’s doing that thing I fancy with his tongue, flicking at my nipple.

Suddenly I’m not thinking of anything else, just that I want to get us out of our clothes. And we’re getting to just that until -

The train starts moving. And it’s like reality hits us all over again. This is exactly what we were doing while Callie was being murdered. Instead of telling her that going to the Forbidden Forest was a terrible idea, I even encouraged it. Why? Because I wanted to sneak behind her back and meet Cairo for a shagging session in one of our secret spots around the castle. If I knew what was going to happen, I would have stopped her.

“We can’t do this anymore,” I tell him as he slips the t-shirt I flung off him just moments ago, back on. We sit side by side.

“I knew you were going to say that.”

“Then why did you want to talk to me?” I asked him.

“To tell you that’s an awful idea. She would want us to be happy.”

I look away from him. “You don’t know what she would want. . .”

He looks at me quizzically. His sandy hair is a lopsided mess and all I want is to run my fingers through it, but I refrain from doing so.

“I’ll always be your friend. But whatever ‘this’ is that we’ve been doing. . . It can’t happen anymore. I’m. . . working through stuff.”

He shakes his head. “You’re mad. Maude, I don’t want to be with anyone else, and I know you feel the same way!”

I can’t help but let the tears fall. “You’re wrong,” I lie to him and get up and leave the compartment before he can stop me. I walk a couple compartments down, thankful to have nobody in the way to see me crying. The last thing I need is someone to try and comfort and talk to me about Callie right now.

But then the compartment door beside me slides open and closes and none other than one of the damn Marauders themselves saunters out, laughing loudly. Probably about something stupid.

Sirius Black spots me instantly. He just stands there for the longest minute of both of our lives I think until he clears his throat.

“Maude?” He says my name so softly. Of course Sirius Black would recognize me. I was only the best friend of one of his stupid possee members girlfriend. I wipe the tears off my face with the sleeve of my sweater and I know I look like a hideous mess but it’s just Black. As if I cared what he thought of me.

“I wish I had a handkerchief to give to you,” he says with a hint of amusement.

Surprising myself, I actually let out a short laugh. “You mean to tell me Gryffindors don’t just carry around handkerchiefs to give to girls in distress?”

He runs a hand through his shoulder length black hair, something I’ve noticed he does a lot. Especially during Charms exams.

“You’re funny,” he tells me.

The door of the compartment I was in with Cairo slides open and he walks out, still fixing his hair. He sees us and we lock eyes for a moment, his questioning why on earth I’m having a conversation with notorious Sirius Black. I turn away from him and he walks in the opposite direction.

“Trouble in paradise?” Black asks me and I look to see him smirking at me.

“What? No. We’re just friends.”

Black scoffs and folds his arms around his chest, looking at me as if he caught me stealing cookies from the cookie tin. “You mean to tell me Hufflepuffs just go around lying out of their arses?”

Now I scoffed at him. “I don’t think it wise for you yourself to be calling one a liar, Black.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” I say quickly. Shit. I was so close to revealing to him that I know of their secret. I need to play this smart and dumb at the same time. “Fine. You’re right. He and I had a … thing, and he doesn’t seem to like that I’ve ended it.”

Black’s grey eyes turn cold and dark. “He’s giving you trouble?”

Shit. The last thing I want is for Sirius fucking Black to hex Cairo for something that’s barely the truth.

“No. He’s just upset. I’m sure he’ll be over it by the welcoming feast.”

His shoulders relax and I take a second to look at his face. He’s handsome, bloody hell. He has that “bad boy” vibe all the girls fancy about him. And he’s fit from playing Chaser for the Gryffindor team. And okay, his eyes are nice. They’re grey, and remind me of the morning fog in Autumn.

He’s still a murderer. Or at least an accomplice. I hope to see him and the rest of them in Azkaban by Christmas.

“I have to go. I have to find my friends before I’ve got nowhere to sit.” I say to him.

I think he looks almost disappointed but it disappears and he plasters on a handsome smile. “Right. Enjoy the feast, Bloomingdale.”

“You too.”

To call my roommates my ‘friends’ would be far-fetched. They’re more like acquaintances. And Callie was closer to them than I ever was. Well, close to two out of the three. She and Reyna never seemed to see eye-to-eye. Reyna always had a crush on Remus Lupin so when Callie began to date him, things got a little awkward in the dorm.

Still, she, Madelena, and Beth were more than welcoming when I knocked at their compartment door. Normally Callie and I would find one to sit just us two. But now . . . I don’t know, I’d rather sit with people I know than sit alone and be ‘that’ freak.

They talked about their summers and I quietly listened. Beth spent the summer visiting family in America and raved over New York City pizza. Madelena had a job at the magical camp called Camp Merlin. And I was slightly relieved to hear that Reyna had an equally as boring summer as I did.

Yet I was still not prepared when they all turned their eyes on me.

“What about you, Maude? Anything exciting happen during your summer?” Beth asks me, her green eyes full of excitement. I spot Madelena elbow her friend slightly, a weird look on her face.

“It was all right.” My answer seems to have disappointed her and the others try not to look at me, but I can feel the awkward tension in the room. “I mean, it was nothing compared to a summer in New York City! Tell me, I’m dying to know about American boys.”

Beth smiles wide and rambles on about the city and everything in it. We listen and giggle at Beth’s boy-crazy antics. I try to ignore Reyna’s watching eye as she keeps looking over at me, probably expecting me to break down and start crying at any second.

When the trolley lady appears asking us for anything on the trolley I get up quickly.

“Can I get a liquorice wand and a pumpkin pastry, please?”

The trolley lady nods her head and grabs my candy and pastry, “Yes, of course, sweetie,” she says and then looks up at me. Her eyes soften and the corners of her lips droop. “Oh, Miss. Bloomingdale.” She touches my shoulder warmly. “How are you, dear?”

“I’m fine,” I croak out and hand her the money I owe. She shakes her head. “That’s all right, dear. Don’t worry about it.” She tells me and then continues with her trolley to the next compartment, leaving me dazed.

#harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #marauders #marauders fic #marauders imagine #marauders fanfiction #sirius black #sirius black x oc #remus lupin #james potter #peter pettigrew #fanfiction #lily evans #oc #original character #writing #my writing #hpff

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iamnotbrianmay · 5 years

Text

hey ho (here he goes)

Hey boys! So i have this short fic i am currently working on and I wanted to share it with you! Hope you enjoy!

Brian has never in his life thought about murdering someone.

Not when Freddie had sold off half of his closet to buy himself a new pair of shoes. Not when Roger dumped a pot of coffee on his notebook, halfway through revision for his semester exam. Not when John had drunkenly thrown up in his room and then decided to let him perish from the smell.

But everyone is bound to break eventually, and it's no surprise that the first person Brian May wants to murder is an underaged child.

The gremlin in question is currently sat crying at the other end of the sofa, scissors in one hand and half of Brian's hair in the other. The guitarist has a hand hovering over his head. Close to the place his locks used to be. Space which is now empty.

He hasn't had the time to check at himself in the mirror, but he knows it's terrible by the sheer amount of hair, and the worrying amount of length, his little cousin is holding in her pudgy fists. He stares at her horrified, as she weeps her heart out, wailing about how she didn't know that snipping his hair with scissors would make it shorter.

His heart aches for the little runt. Yearning to hold her close and tell her that everything is going to be alright. It's just hair, nothing they can't fix. But his brain is going at a hundred miles per hour screaming about how his head feels wrong, wrong, wrong and it's only when he runs his fingers through his hair, and he feels how extremely short it is, that Brian's reality comes crashing down on him.

He bolts out of the living room and into the closest bathroom. His family members scream after him, worried about the fact that their boy just ran past them, shoving every person aside. He bursts into the bathroom and stares at himself in the mirror, doing his best not to cry. He is a twenty-eight-year-old man, in a rock band, with a best selling album which has been topping the charts for almost three weeks now. He can't start crying because of a hair cut.

But oh god, is short an understatement.

It's curling around his face in an unruly fashion, framing his face like a fucking cloud, and making him look ridiculous. One half of his hair is long a pretty, the other half looks like Brian's worst nightmare.

His mom bursts into the bathroom then, worried and with her hands covered in onion and mince. And as she sees her son, she lets out a soft gasp and covers her mouth, "Oh no, Brian, baby, what happened to you?"

Twenty-eight years of experience and hardships are not enough to keep him from bursting into tears the second after the words leave his mother's mouth. To Hell with it, he thinks, rockstars can also cry.

His appointment at the hair saloon went as incredible as anyone could have expected. Meaning it went like shit. Not only was his usual hairstylist, Gema, away for the holidays, but he also had to endure MTVs top fifty songs of the past ten years. List which contained an ungodly amount of Queen songs. Usually he would have been thrilled at the prospect, but at the moment it seemed like the world was laughing at his face as the video for Killer Queen (and his beautiful hair) was shown in the large television on the wall.

They tried to salvage as much of his hair as they could, which wasn't much, and sent him home with a bag of chemicals meant to help with the growth of his hair.

Everything felt so wrong now that he didn't have his hair. His neck had become so extremely sensitive to temperature, and he felt so naked with his ears out in the open. The one good thing about the whole ordeal was that absolutely nobody stopped Brian on his way home. Something that hadn't happened to him since before the release of A Night at the Opera.

The threw open the door to his house, glad to be happy for the first time that day, and rushed to the bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror, hand coming to tug at his now criminally short curls. God knows how long he stayed like that. Mouth agape, eyes wide, and hands running through his locks, tugging at them every so often.

Brian was so distracted by the turn of events he completely missed the sounds of his door unlocking and bickering. Everything seemed a thousand miles away, and he was only brought out by the sound of glass smashing. He turned around and stared at the offender, only to find his three best friends looking at him with wide eyes. Shards of the broken glass had flown everywhere, and by the position of Freddie's arm he could guess who had been holding it.

Brian thanked the gods for the fact that he had decided to wear a hoodie, and quickly scrambled to cover his hair, even if he knew it was of no use. They had seen it. They had seen what had happened and probably were thinking about how horrible he looked now. He looked like a little boy. Like one of those old pictures his father had of him scattered all over the living room. He must have looked like he had when Roger had first joined Smile, all afro and lack of confidence.

Oh god, he had returned to being a teenager, hadn't he?

The first one to snap out of it is Freddie, he takes a step forward, mindful of the glass, and reaches out to Brian, "Oh darling, it looks amazing."

Brian nearly punches Freddie, "Of course it doesn't look amazing! It looks like shit! I look like shit. I want my hair back."

Yeah, he definetly is throwing a tantrum. John's expression softens, and just like Freddie he takes a step forward, "What are you talking about? You look cute, Bri. I promise."

"It was really brave of you to change your hairstyle after all this time."

"Not brave," Brian mumbles, tugging his hoddie even lower. "I didn't want to change it."

"What was that, darling?" Freddie asks, "I couldn't hear you."

"I wasn't the one that cut my hair," Brian repeats himself, then launches into his story about how his cousin had been playing with his hair. How she had been braiding it and 'making him pretty' and then how she had cut a chunk of it out. Nothing he could do about it, not a choice he made. Freddie and John looked like they were seconds away from wrapping Brian in a gigantic blanket and helping him plan his cousin's murder. Roger on the other hand was still staring at him dumbfounded.

Was it really that bad? Had his cousin messed up so badly that now Roger, person who Brian had slowly but surely tried to woo, thought he looked hideous. He buried his head in his hands, no longer wanting to see the incredulous expressions on his friends' faces, or Roger's disgust. Because, of course, Brian May hardly ever did something half assed. If he was going to look ugly, he might as well look ugly enough for Roger to realise that Brian wasn't worth his time.

John and Freddie grabbed Brian and lead him out of the bathroom, making him sit down in the living room and bringing over a glass of water while the guitarist wallowed in hate and pity. He watched as they fussed around the house, bringing him blankets, food, his laptop and some crappy movies. Everything to make him feel alright. But nothing was working. Not really.

All he could see were Roger's eyes, and imagine as his best friend took him to a restaurant and very gently let him down. "I'm sorry Brian. I know we have been flirting for a few months, and I know that we had even considered becoming something but I don't think we can do this anymore."

That was his inevitable fate, wasn't it? He was going to lose everything he had worked so hard to get because of a fucking haircut, and dear lord he might actually go insane if that does happen. He is so lost in thought he doesn't notice the small fight John, Freddie, and Roger have, or when the brunettes leave, he only gets pulled out of his head when Brian feels a callused hand touching his cheek, and when he looks up, he is met with two beautiful baby blue eyes. They look large and bright eyelashes framing them. He trails his eyes over Roger's features, his button nose, his lovely lips, and finally his beautiful, long, blonde hair.

Roger is so unfairly pretty that it felt like someone had punched the air out of him every time he gets to look at the blonde.

"Hey," Roger pressed their foreheads together, "you got lost in your head again."

Brian swallowed, "Sorry."

"Don't be," the blond answered, "what happened to you must have felt horrible." Brian nodded, making his nose bump Roger's. The younger boy giggled, "Do you want to talk about it?"

"There is nothing to talk about," Brian shrugged, "I just guess I'll have to deal with looking like this until it grows back."

"I think it's cute."

"Roger."

"I mean it!"

"I look like—" he stopped himself, unsure of what he looked like exactly, "I look horrible."

"No you don't." The blonde insists, "You look like you did when we first met."

"That's why."

There is a second of silence in which Roger is looking at him like he can't quite understand what Brian is saying. Then he pulls away. He feels Roger shift until the younger boy is basically straddling him, then he feels Roger's hands on his cheeks again, "Brian May, are you telling me that you believe you are not the prettiest person alive?"

Brian made a face, "What kind of question is that? Of course I don't think I'm the prettiest person alive."

"Well, that has to change."

Brian can't help but feel like he is a teenager all over again with Roger in his lap. They are both pouting and being silly. Two internationally recognised rock stars, on the couch, acting like love struck teenagers. He feels Roger's finger slide from his cheeks to the nape of his neck and Brian has to suppress a shiver.

"Can I take this off?"

Brian stares at the drummer for a few seconds, trying to find the tiniest amount of mischief in his eyes. Trying to see if Roger would laugh as soon as the hood was out of the way. But the blonde was looking at Brian as if he had hung the moon and the stars. As if he is the prettiest creature on earth. The guitarist nods hesitantly.

He feels the soft fabric of his hood uncover his face. Feels the air of the room hit the back of his neck. And sees as Roger lets out a sigh at the sight of Brian's curly hair, "Beautiful."

Maybe Brian's disbelief shines in his eyes.

"You are beautiful, baby." He presses their foreheads together again, "Absolutely stunning."

The kiss is unexpected, but most certainly not unwelcome. Brian is frozen for a couple of seconds before he lets himself be kissed.

Okay I have a very important question for you all! Would you like the next chapter to be smut or fluff? Cause I got ideas for both.

tell me if you want to be added to the tag list!

Official Artwork for this fic is this lovely piece made by my girl rose ( @riveter-rose), go give her some love!

#Maylor #Brian May #roger taylor #freddie mercury #John Deacon #Queen #slash #fluff #fanfic #My writing

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averyonelovesjack · 7 years

Text

secret ~ daniel seavey

requested: yes

I love your writing so much!! I was wondering if you could write an imagine for Daniel based on the song secret love song by Little mix? Could it be like he wants to hide their relationship but after awhile she hates it? You can do whatever with it you’re writing is amazing!! Thank you ❤️❤️

summary: after hiding in a closet for what seems to be the millionth time, y/n gets easily annoyed about the secrecy of their relationship

warning(s): cursing

word count: 1921

author’s note: i’m freaking obsessed with daniel & lovey’s cover of this song so this was so much fun for me to write. y’all request some good songs omg

I sat down on my boyfriend’s bed, his phone lodged in my hands as i tried to hold it in the air and keep it away from him, but failed as my height was much shorter than his and he could easily reach it. He laughed, pulling it from my soft hands and rolling over so that he was sitting on top of me. Small giggles left my mouth as his hands pinned me down from my wrists.

With his phone in one hand, the other held me down carefully. Daniel leaned down, pecking my lips softly. Smiles reached my face as i attempted to lean up and kiss his lips again. He rolled over beside me, his back hitting hard against the bed and his fingers going back to tapping at his screen.

“dannyyy” i whined and he put his phone in his pocket, his fingers being brought to his lips as if to silence me.

“the guys are home, y/n,” he warned and i tried my hardest not to roll my eyes.

“get off your phone then,” i scold and then whine again, quieter this time, “pleaseee”

he sat up, showing me his phone and then setting it down on the dresser, going back to looking at me. i sit up as well, letting him pull my body close to his and hugging me tightly, “hey, i love you”

A small smile appears on my face as i looked down happily, “i love you too”

he looks at me and a giggle leaves his lips as we stare into each other’s eyes. we were never the serious couple, with the lovey-dovey moments. comedy was our specialty. our lips connect again as i sat criss-cross on his bed.

as i was about to say something to him, a knock came at the door and stress hit my body. Daniel sent me a pleading look as he quickly called out, “yeah what’s up?”

“hey, man. i just need to grab something,” It was Jack. Or supposedly Jack, since I never seemed to be able to meet the famous roommates. It was painful, sure, but we did it for the right reasons. It would hurt people too much if we came out with our relationship.

A frustrated look came upon my face as Daniel looked guilty, but i quickly scurried towards the closet, shoving my body inside, “sorry, coming”

once i was secure, i heard the door open and footsteps came close. it was a few moments before jack spoke up, “hey, who were you talking to in here earlier?”

“oh, facetime with anna,” he easily lied, which made me feel more guilty than frustrated, “sorry, were we loud?”

“no, not really,” Jack said, “heard when i was walking by. Tell her i say hello next time”

“will do,” Daniel replied and then i heard the door close. i waited until daniel came to open the closet, and then i popped out.

daniel gave me half a smile as i took another seat on his bed for the second time today. i wanted to smile back at him, but nothing inside of me could bring myself to feed him anything other than a frown.

as much as i wanted to give him the world, i just didn’t understand how to go on like this for the rest of my life. and we each said that eventually we’d come forward and have this relationship be part of not only our lives but others’ too, but three years went by so quickly and now i’m stuck being a secret love.

it started as a secret when we met because we were each in separate relationships. i had a boyfriend of several months, who i loved dearly, and daniel had been seeing someone for a little while too. it was cheating, we cheated. we both understand the complications of that and we understood that it was unfair to do that to our partners, and yet we couldn’t stay away. it wasn’t fair, especially when it took three months and several occasions until we’d told our partners. it wasn’t right, but it was us. we did it and now we seem to be living in this stupid lie we’d created to avoid scandals.

daniel was on idol when it happened and it was extremely important to him. it wasn’t the right time to come out and explain what was going on, especially when half of america was watching him every week. and when he got voted off, i couldn’t be there to comfort him. i had to be there through facetime, through texts. I had to be there in secret.

And when that was over, it seemed perfect. We could tell anyone, we could say something. But we never did. We stuck together through the silence, deciding that later would be better for us each. And then, Why Don’t We formed. He was in a new band that needed good publicity and the idea that he was in a relationship was strictly prohibited. Corbyn was an exception, but his rules were endless. Daniel didn’t want that for us. he wanted perfection in our enclosed relationship.

I was brought back to reality when the soft touch of Daniel’s fingertips traveled upon my face, “love?”

i looked up at him and saw the guilt in his face, “i should probably go”

he frowned, “wait til they leave, y/n. come on, stay with me”

“i should get home,” i shake my head, “i have things to do”

“like what?” he almost laughed and i glared, unsure entirely why i was being so hostile suddenly.

“school work, laundry. i don’t know, stuff that i don’t have to hide,” i spit and he looks taken aback by the new words that filled his ears.

“y/n,” he tried but i shook my head, grabbing my jacket and moving towards the window.

“you know what, it’s fine!” i tell him, “No one has to know anyways. I’ll sneak in and out of a window until I’m twenty-five. And god forbid you propose, i won’t wear the ring. And we’ll secretly fly out to Vegas and elope. Or is that too suspicious? I’ll fly out and you’ll facetime me from your bedroom and we’ll marry through the phone. And i’ll go into hiding when if i were ever to get pregnant. And our kid will be in secret too. I’ll home school them and they’ll be like Rapunzel, hidden in a tower their entire life-”

A small smile appeared on Daniel’s face, “you picture us getting married.”

i let out an aggravated groan, “that’s not the goddamn point!” i rubbed my head with my fingers and then looked up at him exhaustively, “i’m tired of this”

Daniel walked over to me, his hands being placed in mine, “y/n, i love you”

“and i love you too. we’re horrible people who cheated on amazing people and we shouldn’t have done that, but i met you and we fell in love and we were fifteen years old, danny. it’s not the smartest thing, but we did it and it happened and i’m so fucking tired of being shoved in a closet every time one of your roommates comes into the room”

he looked down, frowning. i waited for a response, but he didn’t have anything to say. everything inside of me had been bottled up for so long and i just needed to get it out. it was like with one single push, the entire fort fell and every piece of my thoughts came tumbling out.

“i’m tired of spending nights at home, trying to figure out if you’re in bed or not so i can text you without one of the roommates noticing that you were talking to someone. i’m tired of having to spend days at a time away from you. i’m tired of climbing through a window on the days we do get together. i’m tired of hearing amazing stories of your roommates and never being able to put a name or a story to a real face, just a picture on instagram. i’m tired of not being able to gloat to my friends about my amazing boyfriend when we’re in a club and they’re humping guys while i sit around sipping a glass of fucking water. so i need to go home daniel, yes. because while i hide every one of these things, it gets exhausting and i just need a break to not hide the biggest part of my life”

he stared up at me now, his lips connecting tightly with mine. Daniel steps away from me, walking past me, shoving the window closed and taking my jacket from my hands, throwing it onto the bed. he bends down, untying my sneakers and pulling them off of my feet while i balanced on him, confused as to what was happening. my fingers interlock with his when his other hand opens the door to his bedroom.

a little gasp escapes my lips as he chuckles, guiding me through what seemed to be a never ending hallway. we reached the end and there were two boys sitting on a couch. they both looked up at daniel and i recognized their faces as Corbyn and Jack. They sent him a congratulating look when they saw our intertwined hands.

“hey guys, i’d like to introduce you to my beautiful girlfriend, y/n,” He told me, “you know everytime you guys try to fix me up with a random girl and i completely fail? well just so you know, i do have game because i got the prettiest girl in the entire world”

“how’d you end up doing that?” Jack asked, “and how long have you been here?”

“a couple hours,” i inform him shyly.

“did i just completely miss you when i was in there?” he asks but i shake my head.

“i was in the closet,” i tell him, “but now i’m not gonna do that anymore”

“how long have you kept this a secret?” Corbyn questions.

Daniel looks to me and i return the look. I watch as my boyfriend sends him a funny face, shrugging, “a little over three years?”

the tv turned off and corbyn and jack both stared at us, “THREE YEARS?”

We nodded our heads, “god i always thought you were a terrible liar”

“you are welcome,” Daniel oddly replied, “alright. are the other two in their room?”

“should be,” Jack told him, “nice meeting you, y/n”

“you too! nice to be able to put a voice to a face,” i smile as we walk away.

daniel and i travel towards another room. we entered the room and saw the two boys on a live, “are you live?”

Jonah nodded, explaining to the video, “daniel just walked in”

“we can come back another time-” i start to tell Daniel, but he shakes his head.

instead, he brought me in front of the camera, sitting down on the bed. He pulled me down onto his lap, “alright guys. i’ve got an announcement”

“does it have anything to do with the pretty girl you’re cuddling?” Zach sarcastically replied and i giggle a little bit.

“actually, yes. i would like to introduce you--jonah, zach, and the audience, to my beautiful girlfriend of three years. This is y/n and i love her very much,” Daniel tells them, causing me to blush.

“excuse me? three years?” Zach’s eyes were wide.

i nodded my head as Daniel spoke, “surprise!”

#daniel seavey #jack avery #jonah marais #corbyn besson #zach herron #daniel seavey imagine #why don't we #wdw #imagines #imagine #secret love song #little mix #hiding

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jerardeusebio · 7 years

Text

Bullies in the Schoolyard Eventually Drive Shiny Cars

This morning I found myself in the bathroom, hands clenched on the rim of the sink, eyes looking in the mirror, tears running down my face.

But before I tell you why I was in this dramatic scene all by myself so early in the day, I have to first go back to a few minutes before that, when I was organizing the things I needed to bring to the city.

How I usually do my packing is I lay things on my bed first and then strategically place them one by one into my backpack. Already there on the bedspread were my clothes, money, chargers, and toiletries. That’s when I remembered to get the books.

I brought down from my bookshelf Harry Potter books 3 and 4—for Dylan. He has finally responded to my goading and has so far finished books 1 and 2. He’s been reading the series using the books I’ve owned since high school. This was so he could, you know, have as an “authentic” experience reading Harry Potter, since he skipped it growing up. He’s seen all the movies but hadn’t touched one of the seven books. So, anyway, there I was blowing the dust off the books when, like a bolt of lightning, the memory hit me.

All my Harry Potter books (save from the 5th and 6th) were from the United States, shipped from New York. They floated across several oceans for many months, until at last they reached Manila. The books were my special request, granted to me by my loving godmother, who lived across the world. I can’t describe, really, what sort of anticipation I had for these books.

I think at this point I have to stress: This was in 2001. I was a high school freshman then. Harry Potter was the hottest thing to have happened in literature that decade. And so, naturally, I brought the books, one at a time, and read them in school. This was all in keeping with custom: you bring your “non-educational” books to school and read them whenever you have the time—at lunch breaks and recesses, while you wait for your school service to come pick you up, and even when math lessons become so unbearably boring.

When the first batch of books (1 to 4) came to me that year, among the many things in the box was this beautiful butterfly bookmark. It wasn’t specifically for me. I remember I chose it from a pile of bookmarks of the same make. These bookmarks were made of flattened metal and then covered with a layer of glossy paint so that they kind of looked like greenish marble. The pile had different designs, but I singled out the butterfly because I thought it was the prettiest. And even though I hadn’t confronted my sexuality then, I was confident that nobody would care or notice. I mean, how can a bookmark disclose its owner’s sexual orientation? Right? I don’t know. Maybe I decided I didn’t really care if it did—everyone already knew I loved Mariah Carey. But going back to the bookmark: It was that beautiful and it was mine.

I was on book 4 when it happened. (It spoke a lot, that I was already on the fourth installation, which was published only months before the incident.) I don’t know if they were threatened, like how people usually sneer at other people who read books in public. Maybe they were pissed that I was really into Harry Potter. It could also be that they were just bored or annoyed at my softness and how I preferred to read during breaks rather than run around and sweat like they did. Or maybe—and this is what I’m leaning to the most—they didn’t really care about me at all; they were just out to ruin nice things, it was that sort of day for them, and the tragedy of it was that my butterfly bookmark was in their way.

As it happened, I wasn’t there. I went out of our classroom upon the invitation of my friends to check out the food at the canteen for our afternoon break. When I returned to continue reading my book, which I placed on the rack under my seat, I noticed that the butterfly bookmark was gone. Someone must have pulled it out of my book, I thought.

So I asked around about it. One of my classmates was quick to say that it was probably behind the door and that a group of boys, all of whom I won’t be naming here, had destroyed it. I went behind the door and looked at the space usually reserved for the broom and the dustpan. I picked up from the floor what was left of my bookmark. The butterfly had been dented and detached from its stem, which was then already just two pieces of bent and twisted metal. My classmate continued to explain that they were able to bend and eventually destroy my bookmark by holding it next to the doorframe as they banged the door repeatedly.

I sobbed out of anger and confusion. I cried because the bookmark had been valuable to me, because I know how long it took to reach me, because I could imagine my godmother picking it out from a store and then packing it in that box. I cried because the butterfly bookmark represented my age’s first taste at freedom—I could choose and be happy about it and not burden myself with what others would say. But I cried mostly because it was mine and it was taken from me, destroyed while I was not looking. And why? It was a helpless little thing, my little thing of beauty, and they kept banging the door on it as if it had done something horrible.

What those boys did hurt me.

I’m writing this now not because I want to show you how high school life sucked for boys like me. I’m not even here to get a proper apology from them. (One of them later on uttered the word “sorry” before laughing at me.) They’ve probably forgotten about it. And even if they did apologize today, it’d be really just to pacify their guilt. It’s close to being two decades since—an apology now wouldn’t amount to a thing. I’m also not here to tell you that those boys got what was coming to them, because they didn’t. Because after I cried and soaked in all the anger a teenager could churn, I didn’t fight. Didn’t confront any of them. How could I? I was too scared. They were bullies. I didn’t tell the teachers what crime was committed against me. No. In fact, I was thankful in a way because they hadn’t touched my book. So what I did after I cried was I went back to my seat and put my book back into my bag. And since then I never left anything that was mine out of my bag on purpose.

I decided to keep what was left of my butterfly bookmark. I was able to flatten it again at home. Years later, I made some use for it as a door dangle (hey, that’s what I call it). I placed it behind my bedroom door. (How ironic that it was ruined by a door only to be repurposed as a door dangle.) Even as a ruin, I found it so beautiful.

While it would be nice to prove that karma exists, that maybe those boys grew up to be meth heads or fatards, this wasn’t the case. Bullies can go on living nice lives, too. Bullies can grow up, earn their degrees, and be able to drive shiny cars before turning 25. Bullies can own businesses and have beautiful, long-haired girlfriends they can parade on social media. Bullies can get more than two-hundred likes on Facebook, too. There won’t always be some leveling off. In the end, as is the reality, some people simply get away with the evil they’ve done.

As for me, I’ve never stopped being careful with my things. And I’ve learned to respect other’s property simply because I know how it feels when other people fail at this. I still get upset when I look at what’s left of my butterfly bookmark, when I remember how it ended up that way. I get emotional when I hear similar stories about people who just can’t grasp the concept of respect, of being fair, and of kindness. And I still am always infuriated about life being so terribly unfair.

I can’t help it, though. Deep inside of me resides this frail hope, that tells me there is justice in the world, that people don’t get away with misdemeanour and crime, that life has a way of balancing things out in the end. Sometimes I find myself embracing this frail hope and what could possibly be its best offering of bullcrap. It’s important to delude ourselves sometimes. To survive mostly. If we don’t, if I think about the apparent reality too much, I know we’ll just be eaten up by all of it. And looking at myself in the mirror this morning, I realized that I’m just too young, too alive to be eaten up.

#literature #journal #bullying #harry potter #high school

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247krp · 7 years

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— Rejoice, little lambs! We have recovered our own Im Yoona, spotted prancing about in the Southwest Side. I remember seeing her with The Empire back in high school, but I’m not here to spill yesterday’s tea. So straight to the rundown: can you say rational and courageous? Apparently now she spends time as an actress at Bermuda Entertainment and a medical student, and keeps skeletons buried at Geumsang Apartment Complex, A303. But those won’t stay hidden for long, if you and I have any say on it. Welcome back, Femme Fatale; we missed you so.

TW: mentions of eating disorders

In case you don’t remember the devil’s name, here’s to refresh your memory:

im yoona is the idea of perfection, of being better, of being the girl every mother actually wanted, of being super in shape, and totally confident and witty and complete with stunning grades and eyeliner game so strong. her waist is the size of one of your thighs even though you’ve probably been eating healthy since you can ever remember, her grades are always few points higher and she always have like a million more friends to rely on and boys flock to her like she is their dream only to get their poor heart broken and she always make it all look just so goddamn easy.

it’s like her existences screams “anything you can do, i can do it better” and maybe some people in cheongnam not even surprised when she is naturally gifted in everything that people had to work for.

but you know, the truth is people who seem perfect are usually just faking it, they’re the ones who feel the most out of place, they’re the one who have to hide their darkness and beauty is such a terrible, terrible lie. and yoona is the biggest liar of them all. all she knows is that she always hiding who she is, and at home she closes the door and curl in bed and can’t stop herself from crying. she painstakingly perfecting her grades, cutting meals in half then half again then eating absolutely nothing to keep herself stay in shape her mother picture her to be. she keep on apologizing for not being perfect enough for her mother, she swear to god that she is trying. because the thing is she is not going to magically get better in everything she wanted just because she shoot her a few motivational words or plain complaining. her mother do not understand what it’s like to feel like she isn’t really one person, more like a thousand facets of shattered glass, like a mirror that just reflects what other people want to see.

you see, she is not the epitome of perfection, she is just kind of terribly, horribly broken inside.

Nevermind the memory lane though, the present is always the ripest fruit:

you see, what scares her the most is that she could eventually learn to like and agree on what her mother told her to, what her mother told her about the world. that something will go wrong eventually. it’s a scary world after all. in which turn out, she does like it, her mother really is know best for her. so there is not much or significant changed on her except that she is more matured, more independent – you could say that she is also a bit solid, rectangular and cold in a way it is hard to describe – like she knows that if she get attached to things, if she actually give a shit, there’s a chance that she might lose it and she doesn’t want to see everything she have burnt – and no, she is not apathetic, she is just trying to keep her composure, trying to keep everything in balance and in its place. the yoona right now is more into on what happened in reality, instead of thinking about the what if–she is sick and tired of hoping for things, because in the past it isn’t worked. the empire, they were once part of your life but since then they were nothing but a mere annoyance, a sore thumb that lingers in her memories. but thanks to them, yoona soar higher than she ever be, and they ever imagine.

and hey, mama is right. mama knows best. this is a big bad world, it is a scary world out there. who need them in your life when you have yourself and all the support you have.

But we are nothing if not open books – my job is to ensure you get to the best pages:

i. you were im yoona and they told you that you were one of the prettiest one back in high school, the one boys would stop and stare but you didn’t seem to notice; or more like you didn’t want to notice. you were the girl who always neatly seated in bench with your hands intertwined with your lap. and to many people, you had become a restless adventure and they couldn’t help themselves but venture it. nothing caught their attention more than the way your hair bounced in the sun, a mass of dark curls frame your “doll-like” face, the way your features are both exotic and surreal, the way your fair skins are so flawless not a single pimple in sight, the way your cheeks turned a faint pink when hewas around or when in class you were always left behind so you could teach some of your classmates to solve a simple equation.

ii. they told you that they loved how your teeth shown and a fit of giggles erupted from you when you saw them making a little mistake on the equation when they were too busy noticing you. they told you that while the teacher would always make the boys and girls pair up for a group project while everyone groaned but they would secretly grinned. they told you how they love the idea that they will ended up being a pair for the project and how the two of you fit so ‘perfectly’ together.

iii. they told you that even your name was perfect: “yoona”, they would sounded it out and they adored the way it rolled off their tongue, and how you were everything they aspired. you was everything they weren’t. you were perfect beyond point whole, you were brought out of love, not a mistake that your dad was a businessman, a successful one, and how he would buy you things you never asked for and showered you with love and how you yearned for that. and they told you on how your mom just as beautiful as you were. and no wonder you got your first role as an actress in high school – the thing you always wanted the most.

you were im yoona, and ever since then you’ve shine more brighter than you ever be. but you never really expected that all that love you’ve been received turned to hate. your close friends despised you, they told you that you were oh-so-perfect. almost too perfect it made their heart ache. you were everything they can never be. you had everything they would never have. beauty, brain, attitude, wealth, family, a boyfriend who also love her in every way possible. they told you that it was not fair. they have to work hard for it and she always got everything according to plan.

iv. ( but they did not know that you were on the edge of throwing yourself off the cliff, were on the edge to drown yourself on the deep blue sea, were on the edge to cut yourself off from the world for good because they DID NOT know that you were already died inside because of those expectation that came from her mother and now from literally everyone.

and no one will ever guess the unbearable pain in your chest because her mother was right. it was a big scary world out there. you had always pictured you and all your group of friends; the empire, including the love of your life, kwon jiyong, genuine smiles and heart healing laughter. however, weak smiles and heart breaking sobs shook you and were in your current chapter.

“see? i told you that they’re not people you should be hanging with.”

but still, they were her friends. one she always cherish and love. you wondered on how things goes wrong. what did she do wrong? )

v. you are im yoona. a doctor-to-be. south korea’s beloved actress and beauty standard. nothing can reach your position as for now. you are on the top of the throne just like your mother wanted you to be. but what’s with the sad face and tired sigh you’ve been doing?

#247: accepted

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ohdizzy · 7 years

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Orange You Sweet

Title: Orange You Sweet Pairing: Yoongi/Jimin Rating: PG-13 Genre: Witch AU, Fantasy, Romance, Crack, Dramedy, Fluff Wordcount: 2,700+ Chapter: 1/4

Summary:

Min Yoongi is a simple man. There are things he likes, and things he doesn’t.

For example: Purple silk? Hate. Oranges? Love with every fibre of his body. Accidental potion drinking? Horrible, terrible, 10/10 would not recommend.

Cute boys who try to steal your oranges, oh—and happen to be a fucking witch? Well, that’s a little more complicated.

Read at: ao3 or under the cut!

Time: Saturday, 11.47pm

Location: Somewhere approximately 328ft above Gangnam, Seoul

There aren’t many things Park Jimin is afraid of.

Maybe it boils down to the fact that despite being slender in stature and somewhat vertically disadvantaged, Jimin is a goddamn fucking powerful witch—powerful to the point where he’s confident he could take down a starved vampire, a horny werewolf, and maybe even a minor demon in one go. With his eyes closed. And his dominant hand tied behind his back.

(And he’s not boasting, no matter what Jeongguk says. It’s not fucking showing off, either. It’s something called telling the truth and maybe Jeongguk would be aware of that if he’d tried telling the truth for once in his goddamn life, thank you very much.)

Regardless of the reason why, Park Jimin isn’t afraid of many things. In fact, there’s only one thing he’s really scared of—heights.

It probably comes down to the fact that Jimin is in an environment where he isn’t in control and therefore completely out of his fucking element. The dizziness Jimin feels when he looks down from his broomstick whenever he’s forced to fly, coupled with a crippling sense of fear and impending doom, doesn’t really help, either.

So of course it makes sense that on the one day Jimin is forced to fucking fly, the wind also happens to be fucking blowing like it’s nobody’s goddamn business, as he treks across two fucking provinces to get to some client that lives in the goddamn middle of nowhere.

And of course the one day Jimin is forced to face his fear of flying is the day he steps on his stupid familiar’s tail—nevermind the fact that Jeongguk was the one who had been lurking around Jimin’s feet the entire time, hissing at his client in a sad, pathetic little attempt to assert his feline dominance. But as always, it’s Jimin’s fuckin’ fault and now he has to put up with Jeongguk’s continuous attempts to kill Jimin every time he wraps his fucking tail around Jimin’s eyes, obscuring his vision for several heart stopping moments.

Of-fucking-course.

“For the last fucking time,” Jimin growls, after he’s gathered enough courage to bring a shaking hand up in an attempt to rip Jeongguk’s tail off his face. “Fucking stop before I throw you back into the pits of hell where you belong. Literally.”

Jimin fucking hates riding broomsticks.

Not only does the handle of the broom give Jimin a wedgie so intense he’s forced to waddle around for the next couple of days, but there’s just so much more pazazz when he uses portals to arrive in front of his clients in a cloud of red smoke, so that he can actually fucking stand upright. Oh, and let’s not forget his fucking fear of heights, either.

Jeongguk doesn’t really seem to give a shit, snickering meanly at the poorly concealed panic in Jimin’s voice. Fucker.

“Yeah, well, that’s what you get for stepping on my tail,” Jeongguk sniffs from where he’s comfortably perched on Jimin’s shoulder. “You didn’t even say sorry to me. Rude.”

Most of the time, Jimin would indulge him, since he’s always been annoyingly soft on his familiar. It’s because the cat aspect of him is cute—jet black with huge, expressive blue eyes, it’s kind of hard not to fall in love with Jeongguk’s exterior, even if he’s a mean-spirited minor demon bound and chained to the cat’s body to serve Jimin for eternity. But, you know. Details.

“You fucking goddamn motherfuckin’ shit ass punk, listen here,” Jimin snarls over the wind. “When we get home, I am going to magick you into a fucking frog and I’m not gonna turn you back for an entire day. How’s that fucking sound, huh?”

Jimin is bringing out the big guns and fighting dirty because he’s tired and pissed (and fucking scared) and Jeongguk being an obnoxious little fucker is really messing with Jimin’s juju. Jimin scoffs at Jeongguk’s frightened hiss smugly.

Jimin silently sends up a prayer of thanks to Tupac or Jason Derulo or whichever god is listening in because seriously—if it weren’t for Jeongguk’s obscure and slightly questionable fear of frogs Jimin would probably have killed Jeongguk by now (or at least banished him into the deepest, darkest depths of hell where he fucking belongs).

That’s right, Jimin sneers meanly to Jeongguk through their telepathic link. Know your place, little froggy.

Jeongguk doesn’t reply, but Jimin can feel his thoughts—he’s imagining going home and ‘accidently’ knocking over a potion Jimin spent a month creating—and Jeongguk has another fucking thing coming if he thinks he’s gonna be getting away with that.

“I hope you like eating flies, you little punk-ass,” Jimin says spitefully, turning to look at Jeongguk in the eye, “because I’m going to turn you into a fucking frog and I’m not going to turn you back until—”

“Jimin!” Jeongguk suddenly hisses, claws digging into Jimin’s shoulder painfully.

Jimin whips his head around just in time to see a huge flock of birds flying straight for them. His eyes widen in fear and he can distantly hear Jeongguk spitting out curses in some demon language he never bothered studying.

Did he mention he was afraid of birds as well?

He has just enough time to whisper out an oh fucking shit, before he smashes into the birds. It’s disgusting, so fucking disgusting—he can feel their grease covered wings flapping in his face, the rank smell of their feathers filling his nose, a mix of their indignant squawking and Jeongguk’s frightened yowls rattling his eardrums—before he’s suddenly falling, falling, falling from the sky, plummeting straight for the houses below.

Park Jimin isn’t afraid of many things, but when he is afraid, he’s not afraid to tell the fucking world. Or rather, show the world –

By screaming at the goddamn top of his lungs, flailing wildly, grabbing fistfuls of the air whizzing past him in some sad attempt to stop himself from falling. There’s a tiny part of him—the tiny part that isn’t addled by a mixture of fear or disgust—that’s a little embarrassed for himself.

Like, he’s fucking thrashing about in the air hysterically, his open mouth drooling uncontrollably. On top of that, the air pressure makes it harder for him to open his eyes fully. He can feel his cheek fat literally vibrating from the force of the air. Yep. Definitely not a sexy look.

“Have you fucking lost your fucking mind,” Jeongguk screams. “Use your fucking magick you goddamn useless fucking witch, what the fuck—”

Oh. Right.

Magick.

He’s a witch.

“Fuck,” Jimin tries to yell. It’s really hard to form the consonants and vowels of words when his mouth is wrenched open by the pressure of the wind, so Jeongguk screaming profanities at the top of his tiny, feline lungs is rather impressive. “I forgot I was a witch for a second!”

He grabs Jeongguk by the scruff of the neck, pulling him close and curling up into a protective ball around Jeongguk. While Jimin is a witch and has protective runes inked onto his body and probably has a higher chance of surviving the fall, Jeongguk is still technically a cat. And while he’d love to test out the theory that cats always land on four feet, Jimin feels that this is neither the time nor the place to do so.

The ground is alarmingly close to Jimin now, the houses growing bigger and bigger by the second. It’s definitely too late for a levitating spell—not that Jimin remembers what that is, anyways. What he does remember (vaguely) is a cushioning spell. Same thing, right?

“Wanchungjae—”

Jimin is cut off as he smashes headfirst into something that scratches every surface of his body. It’s surprisingly not as painful as he imagined—he thought he would’ve broken every bone in his body since he wasn’t able to complete his spell. But turns out, he’s more powerful than even he himself gave credit for, so there’s one good thing that came out of this clusterfuck. Jimin has always been a bit of an optimist.

And turns out, from what he can feel, he’s only broken two rib bones, dislocated his shoulder bone, broken his wrist and pulled just about every fucking muscle and ligament in his body.

Just kidding, what the fuck, his entire fucking body is on fire.

Jimin lets out a loud, pained groan as his shoulder pops back into place with an audible crack—at least the healing runes seem to be working. Even Jeongguk is mewling pathetically, pain throbbing through their link loud and clear.

Jimin is thinking of forcing himself to get up and work on healing himself, and somehow contacting Taehyung to come pick him up when his head bumps against something. Jimin’s head jerks up and he finds himself staring at the ripest, prettiest orange he’s ever seen in his entire life. He looks around his surroundings, nearly laughing in disbelief when he realises where he is.

He’s stuck between branches. Like, tree branches.

This is some motherfuckin’ Harry Potter shit.

What the fuck.

If Jimin wasn’t in so much fucking pain right now, he’d probably be laughing himself sick with the goddamn irony of it all.

The manic laughter threatening to bubble from his chest dies from his lips when he sees his legs.

“Fuck,” Jimin moans, staring with wide eyes at the two mangled limbs before him. “Fuck.”

Jimin is about to turn his attention to Jeongguk—who seems to be alright, save for a nasty cut on his right ear—when someone runs out of the small, two-storey apartment screaming hysterically. Jimin (and Jeongguk) nearly jumps out of his fucking skin at the goddamn sheer dog-whistle pitch and level of hysteria the person is screaming at, and he’d be kind of impressed if he wasn’t so fucking terrified.

To Jimin’s disappointment, the guy is kind of cute. If you look past the hysterical screaming and arm waving, that is. It’s always the cute ones that are fuckin’ crazy, damnit.

It doesn’t help the cute guy’s case that he’s wearing Cony the Bunny pyjamas and is aggressively brandishing a stapler at him like a fucking weapon.

“—oranges,” Mr Cony is screaming. “I’ll fucking tear you into pieces if you even think about touching my fucking babies, my pride and joy, my—”

“Can you chill for one fucking second,” Jimin yells back, despite the throbbing pain in his left rib. “I’m not stealing your goddamn oranges, Jesus fuck.”

Without even missing a beat, Mr Cony continues to scream, “Then why the fuck are you in my orange tree, huh? Answer that you fucking thief scum!”

The distraught screaming is really doing a number on Jimin. He can feel himself turning an uncomfortably bright shade of red, his eyebrows coming together to form an unibrow of discomfort. He just wants to magick himself out of the fucking tree, goddamnit, but he can’t do that, especially in front of a human—a fucking human brandishing a stapler at him out of all things. That’s like, fucking asking to get thrown in jail. And while Jimin is all about illegal proclivities, he finds himself a little hesitant breaking the law so defiantly (he likes to think that he’s a little more on the lowkey side of things).

“I can’t fucking believe you had the nerve to come into my home, steal my oranges, and then try to tell me you’re not stealing them. What the fuck?!” Mr Cony continues to shriek at a distressingly loud pitch. “And—and why the fuck are you dressed like that? What the fuck? You’re not fucking subtle at all!”

Well fuck you too, Jimin thinks sourly to himself. He had gone out of his way to dress nicely today—as he always does when he has a client—and even Jeongguk, who always had something mean to say about Jimin’s outfits had nodded grudgingly in approval, so he’s not too sure what Mr Cony’s problem is (though, judging from the pyjamas he’s wearing, Jimin assumes that his problem is his horrifyingly tragic fashion taste).

He looks down at his velvet blazer and ass hugging tailor-made dress pants. Fuck that, Jimin is fucking cute as fuck today and if Mr Cony thinks Jimin is going to sit around (or more correctly, lie mangled in an orange tree) and let himself get dissed like he’s on Unpretty Rapstar by some goof wearing the goddamn ugliest pyjamas he’s ever seen, well, he’s got another thing coming.

“Why the fuck not?” Jimin yells right back. “Let me tell you one fucking thing, Mr Cony. What I’m wearing is probably more expensive than your entire fucking closet and looks a fuckton better than your stupid pyjamas!”

Jimin feels liberated the moment he’s done yelling but it lasts for a grand total of 0.2 seconds, as Mr Cony steps forward towards Jimin, his expression downright murderous, and suddenly Jimin wonders if he should’ve kept his big mouth shut. Jimin would probably be shaking in his (expensive Gucci, holla) boots if he weren’t the tiniest bit aroused by Mr Cony’s anger. Just the teensiest bit. Angry Mr Cony is a hot Mr Cony.

Jimin can feel Jeongguk’s disbelief filtering in through their telepathic link.

Are you for fucking real? You’re turned on by Mr Cony? Jeongguk scoffs through their link and Jimin pokes Jeongguk viciously.

“My vitamin babies,” Mr Cony starts, his voice low and seething with anger, “are my fucking pride and joy, and I won’t have anyone”—he jabs threateningly in Jimin’s direction—“steal or damage them, no matter how badly dressed they are.”

Vitamin babies? Jesus fuck, Jimin is dealing with a psychopath.

“Badly dressed?” Jimin starts, disbelief dripping from his voice. “First of all—”

Unfortunately for Jimin (and fortunately for Mr Cony), he never gets to shut down Mr Cony with the ultimate slam dunk of insults because Jeongguk decides that it’s a great moment to pop his head up and speak up.

“Wow,” Jeongguk says, clearly equal parts impressed and annoyed, “he sounds like a fucking villain from Scooby Doo.”

Jimin doesn’t even bother asking him how the fuck he knows Scooby Doo—Jimin figures he has more pressing issues to worry about—namely, Jimin’s argument (that will shut Mr Cony down). He has a few impressing insults lined up and he can’t afford to waste any time or else he’ll forget them. Jimin isn’t too worried about Jeongguk talking either, because Jeongguk always remembers to apply glamours to conceal himself from humans.

Well, Jimin isn’t worried until Mr Cony’s face goes as white as a sheet, eyes widening in terror and shock. Mr Cony stumbles back a few steps, raising a shaking finger towards Jeongguk.

“Your—your fucking cat just s-spoke,” He splutters in disbelief and Jimin is going to fucking kill Jeongguk when they go home.

“Uh—”

“Why the fuck am I the only one that’s fucking freaking out,” Mr Cony screeches so loudly it surpasses a dog whistle and just transcends onto another level of sound that hasn’t yet been discovered by man. “Your fucking. Cat. Just. Spoke.”

Jimin’s head throbs. All this because he had to ride a fucking broomstick today.

“You must be more traumatised at me not stealing your oranges that you thought,” Jimin laughs nervously, glaring at Jeongguk who looks far too amused for his own good. “My cat didn’t talk, that’s fucking crazy.”

Mr Cony laughs scathingly—and a little hysterically, too. “Don’t fucking patronize me, your cat just fucking spoke.”

But he sounds a little hesitant and Jimin knows if he can somehow cast a confusion spell on Mr Cony he can successfully convince him that he didn’t hear anything.

But at that moment, Jeongguk decides to pop his head up again, a shit-eating grin gracing his features.

“But cats don’t speak,” Jeongguk says gleefully. “What the fuck have you been smoking, Mr Cony?”

God fucking damnit.

Mr Cony stumbles back, pure, unadulterated terror flitting across his features. He opens his mouth and lets out the most chilling, blood-curdling, horror movie worthy scream that lasts for an even more impressive seven seconds, before his eyes roll to the back of his head. He teeters unstably for a second before collapsing like a fucking ragdoll, passing out in the most dramatic fashion right there and then.

Jeongguk bursts out into laughter, absolutely howling with mirth.

Great.

Just fucking great.

#Bangtan fic #bts fic #yoonmin #yoonmin fic #wewoeooeowoeieee i hope you guys like this!!! <3 #fic

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