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blackbloodteeth · 1 year

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"SoMa no kissing in The Backroom challenge (Hard Mode)"

Well this was intended for April Fools Day but sometimes things get a little out of hand don’t they haha

I wrote this with the premise of “no plans, no backspaces” (except for fixing typos otherwise this would be unreadable) because of a joke I made in chat, which is where the exact words of the title comes from, typo included. Hopefully the nonstop work I did on this for over a week is at least worth the read.

[Also on AO3]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Fandom: Soul Eater (Anime & Manga)

Relationship: Maka Albarn/Soul Eater Evans

Characters: Soul Eater Evans, Maka Albarn

Additional Tags: Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Violence, Blood, Body Horror, Trauma

Language: English

Words: 9920

The story starts with Soul and Maka having left the hallway into an unidentified room, holding hands as one of them claims to tell them something (I'm not sure who we'll see if this becomes relevant later).

"Hey, I need to tell you something..." It's probably Maka.

As it turns out the room has other plans when the lights flicker and the surrounding area fades into a change of scene. The walls become a yellowish office hue, with those bright monotone white lights overhead, and an incessant buzz droning into your skull from the trademark origins of said previously mentioned standard faculty lighting.

"Oh shiot the backrooms?!" That was probably Soul.

Why yes I am keeping that typo, but also while he and her also were looking around they noticed that it may not be The Backrooms but instead The Backroom, since there was only a singular room instead of the endless horizon of identical labyrinthian empty spaces. Go figure.

"Well this is a problem."

It was indeed a problem. They continued looking and saw that it was a room and that this came with the consequence of just being a room, no doorways, no windoways, and no ways that it appeared to have an exit.

In case that sentence was too butchered to make sense, they’re locked in here now. Looks like they’ll have to survive not kissing in here The narrator insists that thought came from one of them, probably the one who had to tell the other something wink wink.

Souls eyes dart between the empty space and Maka’s squinting, wondering what the actual heck is going on and probably if he’s crazy I guess since that seems like a reasonable assumption.

“Okay...” He reigns himself in, facing her directly. “I guess we should probably figure out how to escape, and probably pray we actually can all things considered.”

She fidgets. “Solid plan.”

So the two try to assess the current state of the backish room – Which unsurprisingly still did not contain anything text worthy – Until one of them sighs, probably both, and there is another hand holding, with sincerity.

“Look no matter what happens I’ll try to stay with you, we can figure this out.”

Queue title card of area.

Part 1 – Limbo

As you may have guessed, there’s nothing much here.

This part is probably not going to be long.

The two decide to take different routes of examining the room – For Maka she focuses on her Soul Perception, while Soul physically runs his hands along every inch of the walls to see if there’s a secret hidden in them that he somehow wouldn’t have known with only his previous experience with this concept to be theoretical.

“Yeah, still not really getting anything, aside from you and me anyway.”

He sighs, as it seems his luck is similar. “Well this sucks.”

She wanders up to him, maybe to give him both an extra set of eyes and some optimism that usually one does not remain trapped in solitary room states forever (in better or worse implications), and sends him another smile that the will of some unforeseen force says he should enjoy seeing.

His glance flicks out with a sense of unease for a moment.

“Well, guess this isn’t the worst situation we could have ended up having.“ He reluctantly agrees. “Guess I could...”

She motions to him indiscriminately.

“Sit down with you and talk I guess.”

Soul shuffles a bit in place while pondering the implications of having to communicate, and the possibility that it could involve feelings and personal stuffs, and he’s not sure if he wants to do that since he is in fact the world’s most cagey bastard even if said world is currently just a box.

“What.. do you wanna talk about.” They lean against the wall, mostly that he did it with his shoulder to mirror her propping against it with her back, and she snickers slightly.

“You said you had something you wanted to tell me?”

He blinks.

“Did.. I?”

Her brows furrow with a sense of playfulness if not also a slight confusion. “Yeah? That why we ended up here in the first place, since you pulled me aside in the hall.”

He continues his stupefied blinking before she corrects herself with her hands motioning. “Okay not first place first place, but like before the room changed for whatever reason.”

The air is quiet a moment as he genuinely replays the events that have occurred just now, sifting through them to remember right before then and if he was in fact the one who was asking her to ask her something, and it dawns on him that maybe he was even if he has no idea what it was he wanted to ask in the first place.

“I’m not sure...”

But he looks her in the eyes, certain that whatever it was it was probably important.

“Guess we have enough time for me to figure out that out, though.”

Part 2 – Indecision

They pull away from the wall when suddenly it starts to shift.

The air feels almost like it’s vibrating, fidgeting like an innumerable swarm of busybody insects as the room tints to a passive shade of grey. Along each four cardinal walls soon stood four differing objects, still as if always having been there.

The closest: A couch. Black and white, plush, but strange as that soft feature appeared to stem entirely from being made of stuffed toy rats.

Across from that: A chessboard. Similarly colored while retaining a sense of normalcy being made of wood and carved plainly, albeit lacking any sort of seating to go along with it.

To the right: A bookshelf. Topped up and down with loads of books, all of different colors and most likely of different subject matter. Still they sat but quietly they beckoned with how densely populated the whole shelf was kept.

And finally: A piano. It remained silent and patient.

“...The hell is this?”

Unfortunately no answer was returned as the gleam in Maka’s eye had already taken her to personally inspecting the bookshelf of its contents, much to Soul’s eyerolling. She seemed excited though even if she still wouldn’t admit she’s absolutely a nerd.

“Wow, they’ve even got Dante’s Inferno on here...” He simply saunters away from the unsettling rodent affair, glare suspicious and unyielding toward the more concerning addition to their imprisonment.

“This feels like some sort of trap, if I’m to be honest.”

Her hair whips as she shoots a look to both him and the obvious transgressor.

“What?”

A chuckle turns her away from the book she was readying to dive right into (just a closer examination of its sudden appearance, of course), arms now crossed with that sass she never lets up even in stranger times. “A piano isn’t suddenly going kill you.”

His squint narrows further.

“Factually incorrect, actually.”

He continues before her stance has a chance to go anywhere. “Look, Black Room yadda yadda, but also people have been killed by pianos before. Usually dropped from great heights but there was that one guy who got ran over once.”

His hands motion away her imminent questioning. “Look, all I’m saying is I don’t trust a damn thing about any of this” – Each point is further emphasized with gesturing – “At least two of these relates to our personal interests, this one’s just freakin’ weird, and this… I dunno actually, looks like filler I guess.”

Maka’s analytical gaze does another brief sweep before falling back onto the rat couch with a growing smile, which he immediately also did not trust.

“...You really freaked out by the couch?”

He fidgets subtly. “...It’s weird.”

That smile overtakes her face and sends him into further restlessness, especially with how she’s flipping between him and it. “I think it’s cute.”

“You...” His blinks flutter more rapidly. “Maka it’s made of rats.”

“Soul those are clearly stuffed animals.”

“On an entire couch??”

“Oh come on, I bet it’s soft.”

He scrunches up. “God, please tell me you wouldn’t actually sit on that thing.”

Regret immediately seizes him when she gave him that look that told him oh I definitely would sit on that thing before she drops her arms, reveling in his increasing discomfort as she prods one of the vermin making up the arm.

“Yep. Feels soft.”

“Maka, please don’t...” Genuine distress starts to raise his tone when the head of the rat registered as movement when she pulled away, his fists clenched while trying to remain level headed. “We don’t actually know if that’s safe.”

A sense of playful desire to continue teasing him dissipates at his sighing, her arms now idle as she steps away, softened. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.”

His fingers scratch at the back of his hair, a murmur still keeping his focus on the potential dubiousness of him having just imagined that.

“`s fine. Just… bit on edge right now…...”

He lifts his eyes up again when she reaches her hand out to him, a huff breaking out his smirk while he meets her palm again, and a sense of comfort washes through him with seeing that despite it all her reassurance thankfully hasn’t changed.

“Like I said: No matter what happens, I’ll be with you the whole way.”

“So...” His eyes gloss over the different array of covers as he continues halfhearted moving each of them around. “What’s Dante’s Inferno actually about?”

Maka glances at him briefly, a smirk raised to his brows furrowing. “What?”

“I’m surprised you asked.”

“I mean I’ve heard of it before, just never read it… Probably nerd stuff…….” She snorts at his grumbled pouting. The books keep shuffling with her attention to them as she remains smiling, more enticed by the opening to inform than to seize the chance for further teasing.

“Well it’s a story about an Italian poet who journeys through each layer and learns something about what it really means and the significance of each punishment. Genuinely really fascinating, especially for the time period.”

Soul’s finger hovers over a volume of something seemingly animal related until he slowly resumes his prodding. “...Layers of what?”

She stops and blinks. “...The Inferno.”

He squints, their staredown lasting approximately 30 seconds before he takes a gander at connecting the vague dots.

“...Like Hell?”

At this moment he now wondered if she was trying to Morse code his stupidity through eyelids alone, lips raised in a patient but very noticeably befuddled shade of amusement. “Yes…? Did I not already say that?”

“No, actually.” He deadpans. “Just that there were layers and that could have meant literally anything without context.”

Her eyes visibly replay her words through her head, quickly dropping into bit of chuckles once registering that she did in fact miss that part of her explanation, much to the chagrin of one’s initial intentions.

“Sorry, I thought I mentioned that.” The book she left parted away from its brethren was then returned after having been held for long enough, a lighthearted hum resuming as she returned to inspecting the remainder of that particular shelf.

“Yeah, it’s about Hell. Each layer is divided by the different sins people who don’t want to make up for them have committed, starting from the outer edge and getting progressively more intense the deeper it goes. Pretty interesting this actually does reflect the layers of the Earth’s core while still going through all this different symbolism.”

“Yep that sounds like nerd stuff.”

He snickers as her knee retaliates into his shoulder, hands soon dusting themselves off when he finally reaches another shelf’s end with a sigh. “Well doesn’t look like there’s actually any secret switches behind any of these...”

The thud of a hardcover resounds as she frowns. “Yeah… At least it was worth a shot…...”

Blood flow restores to his legs as he levers himself back up into standing, fingers stretching as he shakes them off and rolls his shoulders.

“So, what now?”

Consideration immediately turns around to the other side of the room where – “Aside from that.” – and then moves over to the right, mentally interrogating the chess board already set up even without anything to sit up to it with. As it stood the potential hazard level of it simply being there was estimated to be fairly low, so she lets her eyebrows raise at the prospect of something entertaining for them to do. “Care for a game?”

“...Do you know how to play?”

They then plummet at the sheer audacity of the assumption that she would have said not. “Yes?”

Soul’s eyes roll almost fast enough to take his head along with the force. “Do you know how to explain the rules.”

“Oh.”

She clears her throat before walking over to the table, briefly examining it and then lifting up one of the pieces slowly, setting it back down to where it had just been after nothing strange had decided to finally descend upon them and Soul had done a thorough amount of anxious fidgeting. “Here.”

His hands tuck into the pockets of his steady gait toward the opposite end of the board – the white pieces – while she takes position across from him. The awaiting game was indeed carved in a similar manner to the table, but in the curiosity of his touch he began to wonder if it had been done in bone instead of wood…

“This front row? Those are your Pawns.” Her instruction gestures out to the relevant parts of the board. “This piece here is your King – Your goal is to make sure I don’t capture him while you try to take mine. This one is the Queen; Unlike the King who can only move one space at a time, she can go pretty much anywhere so think carefully about how you want to move her so you don’t end up wasting her abilities.”

He nods to confirm that so far things made sense.

“The Pawns also can only move one square at a time but only directly in front of them and if that space is empty. They can’t capture another piece directly in front of them, only when another piece is standing diagonally to it like this – “ A spare pawn is used to demonstrate the attack pattern. “ – If you can get a Pawn to my end of the board you can then turn it into any other piece you want.” He nods again, pieces returned to their proper spots.

“The rest of these are the Rooks, Bishops, and Knights. Rooks can move as far as they want but can only move in these directions, but you can capture whoever’s closest in any of the directions. Bishops work the same way but they move diagonally instead. And Knights move differently than any of the other pieces, kind of in an L shape like this – “ The ivory slides over multiple center squares. “ – both forwards and backwards. These ones can actually jump over other pieces so you can only capture with a Knight if another piece is on the last square they land on.”

The pieces are once again set back, this time tidied up and straightened forward, an excitement shimmering in her eyes that he knows is going to give him hell later.

“Other than that, the Pawns can move two spaces only when they’re first allowed to move and there’s a special move you can use once per game that lets you move Rook and King together, but other than that I think you’ll be able to pick it up as you go.”

Soul lets out a slow exhale while taking a moment to let that all sink in, eventually raising his shark-toothy smile up in accepting her challenge. “So, who starts first?”

“White does.”

Oh that grin definitely tells him she isn’t planning to go easy on him.

“Got it...” His hand hesitates out briefly, then extending a pawn from the middle, two spaces forward like he already knows to do so.

Let the game begin.

The makeshift door opened swiftly with her brisk entrance, eyes still bound to the journalings while she hurried over to him.

“Found something?”

A sharp sigh indicated that that may indeed be a yes, the papers soon sat in front of him as she did, that sternness worn unyielding even if her tone held no affront. “I think we just might finally have found the thing we’ve been searching for.”

Intrigue brings his fingers over his chin as she unfolds the relevant notes for him, scrawlings and sketches somehow still as concise as ever. His eyes tread lightly yet with care, soaking up every drop of information until eventually his gaze lifts, heavy with a newly added weight of dread even aside from the pervasive fear looming through the very air itself.

“A power greater than anything ever imagined...”

Her mutter sicks into him, thickening the tension. “Do you really believe this to be a wise decision?”

“Do you trust me?”

His thumb strokes in restless thought for a moment. “You and you alone, yes.”

“Then allow me to pursue this chance to finally end all bloodshed.”

That ideal did ring deep with him – It was no hidden fact that their very home had quickly descended into a battlefield, one that now only reeked of war and chaos in mere days, and ever the strategist he considered both scales accordingly before finally reaching his verdict, solemn yet proud.

“If it is your will, than so it shall be done – I’ll continue to follow it until the very end.”

Part 3 – Hesitation

“Checkmate.”

An air of victory resounds in the final tap of ebony across the board, Maka’s triumph lasting for only a few second before suddenly the lights start to flicker, both of them instinctively distancing themselves from the table while the room already began to shift again.

At first, nervousness at the unexpected change of scene, but soon a bewildered uncertainty with their surroundings now being cozily lit, décor more fit for a small party.

Beside them, as they looked back, was now a wider table hosting an array of tantalizing food and drink. To Soul’s left stood a grandfather clock where the bookshelf once was, ticking quietly to itself yet unassuming. To Maka’s right came a soft tune of inviting music, spun from a record that played of its own accord. And at the remaining wall there sat a simple recliner.

“Well if didn’t look like a trap before, it definitely does now,” he mutters, tension keeping his movements stiff despite his attempt to seem calm.

Maka at least appears to take this in better than he is. “Hey at least it’s friendly.”

“That’s the part I don’t trust the most.”

Her laugh turns away as she continues surveying the room, though inevitably pulled back in when his frowning murmurs at the sound that didn’t strike him as necessarily grating. “Do you think there’s some sort of… symbolism in any of this…...”

The reflection of their earlier idle talk resurfaces with a thoughtful hum.

“Hmmm… That’s a good question actually.”

Truthfully the room did seem to actually know them to some degree even if so far fairly surface level, but it having struck more than coincidences threw her into full intrigue, a finger tapping out of sync against her chin as she wandered to the middle of the stage.

“Well this is clearly some sort of party scene… Maybe it has to do with being outside our comfort zone; Like there’s stuff we’re familiar with, like you’ve got the music and food, but then there’s this sort of sense that… That sort of feeling that you just want to go home, you know? Since there’s a clock that constantly tells you the time and a chair maybe someone would want to sit on instead of moving around.” Her arms then drop to the side with a humored aside. “Or this actually is some kind of Hell and we’re not supposed to fall for temptation or something like that, either one.”

His brows furrow as he sinks a little more. Well he could definitely believe that latter just from the piano alone, though that only raised more questions as to what they’d done to end up in that kind of place to begin with, or when they were going to be able to leave for that matter.

“The last version of the room ended up changing after we did something; Maybe we have to keep choosing the correct options until we can find our way out.”

“Oh, good idea.” Her owl eyes take to immediately assessing their next course of action. “Okay, that will probably get us killed. Don’t really know what the chair would do but kind of don’t want to see how that could go wrong. Hmmm… I wonder if...” She moves her examination along the clock’s height, souring when nothing out of the ordinary revealed itself before swiveling away again. “Guess that leaves the record player. Maybe we’re supposed to shut it off?”

Soul ponders this as he also has to consciously pull his hand out of him having started chewing his nails. “Last time changed when we played along with it, I’m not sure if trying to shut it down is a good idea.”

He then tenses up at how much her eyes immediately light up.

“Oh we should dance!”

His entire being immediately scrunches into itself.

“Oh come on; I showed you how to play Chess, you can show me how to dance! I know you’re way better at it than I am, anyway.”

One long drawn out sigh later, he reluctantly admits that so far that logic is safest and most promising thing they have to work on, a timid arm extended her way once he’d slowly trudged to the center of the floor. “Here...”

Not even his pout could remain sure of itself as she bounded up and eagerly accepted his invitation, fitting right into place in a way that drew his grin out helplessly.

“Okay so I assume you know how legs work, but uh… First basic step goes somethin’ like this…...” The gears in his head gnash wildly over trying to figure out how one condenses a lifetime ago of formality into a single comprehendible list until they’re suddenly knocked out of alignment, his balance startling back when her attempt to match his movement puts her too close too fast. He brushes it off with a laugh while straightening them out to try again.

“Okay, uhhh...” And then clears his throat to reset his posture. “Yeah I don’t think I can explain it the same way you can. I’ll try to make sure you can follow along, but uh...” He can’t resist loosening up a chuckle at how serious her face said she wanted to take this.

“Just think of it like how we partner – Let me um… be your Meister right now.”

“Got it.”

With a deep breath, he takes a basic step, then another to feel for the general movement. Slowly he pulls her along, letting her familiarize with the pattern, before he eases into bringing them closer to the beat of the current song, falling into the rhythm that he made sure not to get swept away in as long as she was there to keep up with him.

The water swayed along with his feet, soon slowing to an end when he reached the chamber where she stood ahead of him. His eyes fell affixed to objects she revealed in hand as she turned:

One constantly shifted into itself while the other pulsed outward, both glowing mysteriously and mesmerizing enough to hold him at bay, still even while she promptly addressed him.

“These are it – We finally have both keys to unlock an end to this madness.”

And him the third…

He finally breaks away back to her sober gaze, resuming his trek toward the stone platform with a sullen breath. “You’re truly certain this will end in our good favour?”

“You have my faith. I’ve studied extensively enough to understand the process and as long as we remain together we should be able to control the outcome how we desire it.” His footsteps pause right in front of the steps up. “Are you truly prepared to walk this path with me?”

The stone answers quietly beneath his climb, gentle fingertips meeting her knuckles as their eyes locked, tender and understanding yet firm in resolve.

“My oath is sworn unbroken.”

Part 4 – Stagnation

Click.

Their steps cease when the song comes to an end, the needle’s aimless wandering soon fading into silence while the room shifts away again.

This time it appeared much simpler yet more abstract: The scene laid barren except for two standing chairs, facing both opposite ends of each other and up against the walls, the floor of which contrasted both sides – red and green – in a spiral pattern that twirled directly into the center until neither were distinguishable. This color also ran up the surface of all sides but faded halfway into a muddled shadowy ceiling, which consequently revealed the lighting to now originate from an ornate crystal chandelier that was notably hanging somewhat precariously.

Enough to fall and hurt someone if it was swayed too much, Soul reckoned.

Maka pulls away, gears visibly turning in her eyes quick to contemplate their new puzzle, frowning as she eventually hazards at its reasoning.

“Duality.”

“Hm?” It was a hum less about it making sense and more for prodding her train of thought.

“Conflicting viewpoints – There’s two opposite sides facing away from each other, but eventually they work around each other until they meet in the middle.”

That definitely seemed clear enough to be true, but there was still a clue lacking enough to bring his thumb over the corner of his mouth in pondering. “So what does that mean for us?”

Her frown continues twofold as she continues working through it before bringing him along.

“The first room we went ‘against each other’ while the second room we ‘worked together’, so for this room...” She perks up when a dot connects. “We come together as equals, like Resonance!”

He hums his agreement to that conclusion. “You showed me something, I showed you something, so now we have to show each other something?”

“Yep!”

A smile twitches up at her triumph before it lowers again, thoughtful as his glance flicks around briefly. “...So what exactly do we have to show each other?”

That was actually a very good question, one that quieted her again while it became mutually obvious that unlike the previous two iterations there wasn’t nearly as much to do here (aside from sitting and staring straight at a wall, but Soul wasn’t too keen on that even if his legs started to want to convince him otherwise), and as she moved along reassessing either side her face eventually lit up with her hands clapped.

“Oh, I know – Here, you stand over by the green side!” He hesitates a moment until her persistence in the matter slowly shuffles him over to the other chair, Maka then standing proudly opposite and eager to give instruction.

“It’s like you said when we were dancing: you took the perspective of being a Meister, and now I’ll take the viewpoint of being a Weapon before we meet in the middle as partners!”

His brows furrow, staring up at the chandelier with unease over having to be anywhere beneath it, but he complies for lacking any other possible solutions. “So we both just kinda pretend to be each other’s roles?”

“Yeah – Maybe we can take steps forward when we feel like we get the hang of it so that we’re both ready at our own pace.” Soul nods as her face then slips into full concentration, a sigh quietly puffed out while he closes his eyes to focus too.

A Meister… Not too different from being a Weapon in that they were two halves working towards the same goal, but the way both went at it from separate angles as a default.

He had to eat souls, she did the legwork to fight for those souls, and now… he has to picture what it’d feel like if it were the other way around.

Soul’s spine straightens at the sound of her foot shuffling.

He doesn’t have perception or a special wavelength, but most people don’t. He also doesn’t move as quickly as she does, but that’s something that he could probably work on if he wanted… Besides, he works better thinking quickly and figuring things out on the fly, more of a backseat “observe and adapt” kinda guy than he prefers to admit.

Though that does make him wonder what would make him decide to pursue being a Meister to begin with……

Soul meanders forward a little when her steps continue.

Would it be for the same reason he left as a Weapon? Would he have even considered that as a possibility, taken his life in another direction even if it wasn’t sparked from an existing passion?

...Would he still be willing to defend her life even if he had nothing to do it with?

Soul peeks out at her steady approach toward the spiral’s center.

Of course he would, she’s his partner, he’d do everything he could to keep her safe even if it meant risking himself, Weapon or not. The scar embedded across his chest was a reminder of that, one that would remain for the rest of his life… But would he do it again?

Soul watches her progress.

Would he still take the hit for her if he was on the other end? Would he have even gone into that fight if he’d known the danger that they were in?

Would they have even been there to begin with if it’d been a different night?

Soul stares directly at the crystals hanging directly above her head.

Could he have done something to prevent it in the first place?

“That doesn’t look safe.”

Maka looks at him confused, but all he can see is the light dropping and shattering her. “The chandelier, it looks like it’s going to fall any minute.”

“Oh.” Threat swayed in his gut as she simply gazed upward, and especially when her returned smile defied all risk. “I think it looks sturdy enough – Here, you should see it with me. I can jump out of the way if it starts moving.”

He wanted to shout, rebel against the impending dread and get her away from the looming danger as quickly as possible, yet timidly he walked to take her hand, trust peering up at a newfound view unfolding above him.

The light reflected through all the individual crystals, bringing each one to life against the dark horizon, like stars shining through a midnight sky. In the middle of course was the moon, so radiant it formed a complete circle with its luminescent shards now its crowning petals.

It was… rather pretty, actually.

Her fingers felt warm in between his, her eyes illuminated brilliantly even if it was lit with a bit of I told you so, though genuinely he could sense it was more for getting to share the experience than anything.

He sighs out an awkward show of teeth, smile inevitably mirroring hers while a glint of curiosity eventually rekindled. “So, do you remember what you were wanting to ask me?”

A stammer drops his jaw and flusters it helplessly as his mind proceeds to replay through everything again.

Maybe in truth he always did have that question in the back of his head, but maybe it isn’t one he ever needed to ask. She was always there for him, ready to take his hand whenever the moment needed it, and him… Maybe he just worries too much.

Despite everything she really was strong. Maybe that’s what really made them partners.

“Oh, uh...” Soul loosens out a goofy little chuckle before lifting it away back to the ceiling, deciding it was probably better to just enjoy what good did manage to come from all this nothing nonsense.

“Ah, not really…...”

But the questions still remained.

His face finally emerges out of the red hot liquid, lungs gasping desperately as if the engulfing heat crushing his body was soaking right into his chest.

This… This isn’t……

Metallic sting blurs his vision, but even before he fights to free his eyes open he already sinks in the weight of the surrounding sea, a seemingly bottomless chasm of blood. The worst part is it wasn’t his. The best part is it’s everyone else’s.

His face contorts through several wild emotions until it collapses into laughter at how comforting it actually is.

He slips back into submersion while laughing and laughs at how great it would be if they all joined him.

Part 5 – Regret

Their fingers tense together when the light flickers yet again, fading into a fixture much more dim and plain. The dark ceiling mellows into a dull grey, which fell over the rest of the walls except for the rust spread along the floor slightly over them, the odd monotony only noticeably broken by the frequent smears and splotches of pitch black ink seemingly coated by someone’s haphazard wandering.

Soul didn’t like this room.

The two remain in hand even while this shift leaves both unsettled before an interrupting echo of bare footsteps break them apart, his arm naturally extended in front of her to prepare guarding her from their unexpected visitor.

It was Soul. It also wasn’t: He wore casually untidy clothes different from him, but the main thing that set them apart was his stare, hollow yet wide as if he didn’t have lids while a smile wore halfheartedly on his open lips.

It wasn’t necessarily with hostility but it was… off, in every way imaginable.

This was especially true as he then followed up with digging his fingertips into the edges of his teeth, running the dark ooze along the end of his tongue until it all fell to the side, Soul’s entire body recoiling into disgust while more ink dripped onto the unclean floor.

And then it spoke.

“Look who just showed up.”

His voice coming out of that face was low and raspy, his tone accusatory and straight to the point as he stood his ground. “Who the hell are you?”

It only laughed.

“Do you think you’re the main character or somethin’? That you can’t feel pain? That I couldn’t just beat the shit out of you and let you watch her die? Do you really think you’re fuckin’ invincible or some shit?”

The stammer caught in his throat was quickly interrupted by Maka shouting beside him. “What do you want with us?!”

“Could you actually kill him if you needed to? Would you watch him die if you had to?” They both shuffled back as it began approaching.

“Did you really believe your actions don’t have consequences?”

Soul watches as the pitch black rushes toward him.

Soul watches as his chest tears wide open.

Soul watches as molten flesh rains from his skin.

Soul watches as his body melts into the floor.

Soul hears a scream as he can no longer gasp out from his crushed lungs.

Soul’s back slams into something, air unable to pass in or out as his sneer continues toward him.

“Do you really want to die for her? Do you actually want to keep feeling that pain?” He locks up when a hand rams right next to his head, trapping laughter nearly broken into screaming. “You want to be ripped open again?! You want another scar matching the other way, or fuck it you can just tear all of it off and start all the fuck over again!! Maybe if you keep getting hurt enough you can finally get it through your thick fucking skull just how mu– ”

Force blurs by too fast for him to understand what it was, but eventually he registers it as Maka pinning him to the ground before her fist collides with his face, a confusing calm numbing into passive silence when she just… keeps going.

Every hit was struck with her full weight, repetition until black kept splattering out and yelling, wailing even, rang indecipherably through the stiff air, continuously reverberating against the cracking mush even when it’d long stopped moving. Eventually, her chest only heaved, quieted except for a choke he then identified as sobbing, shaking as she soon lifted herself and slowly turned with a whine leaking out from underneath the mess of ink and tears.

“I’m sorry...”

He remained motionless while her posture tightened and started curling into itself.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry…...”

He should do something. Say something, walk to her, move her away from the body.

But he did nothing.

Felt nothing, didn’t know what to feel or do or say, just watched her face drip and sounds shaking her downward before a fit of chuckling snaps them both back.

The body began lifting up, head pulleying from some invisible string while darkness spilled out where his face had been onto its clothes, painting all of it black as his voice hollered out undeterred.

“Damn girl, you really just shot past Wrath and dropped straight into Violence!”

Boisterous cackling spasms from the spew of ebony as it then erupts into dozens of pale wings, all writhing and coveting the front of its head while its back burst and sprayed out into four greater wings, two black, two red. Eyes of dark rings and crimson split open upon their feathers, staring and dripping more ink onto the pool now consuming the flooring.

Fear, dread coiled around his chest, steps quickly unsteady when the wall scoops him up and slams a cage door over him, silver bars to match the golden cage now also surrounding her.

“Maka!”

There was no time for even a response, the body hopping up on top of his imprisonment for its weight to swiftly plunge him into the abyss with a howl.

“Going dooooown!!”

He barely catches the chain lifting her up as fast as he descended, his stomach churning with nothing to grab onto while he plummeted, faster and faster through the darkness, until suddenly the stop jars him, leaving his side crashed into the now swaying cage.

It didn’t take him long to realize he was currently being suspended right over a sea of red, the heat and stench no doubt being blood, pooled in a horizonless dark chasm that made him recoil before his voice resumes its tune.

“So, did you really want to die for her?”

His head whips up to his body still crouching over him, rage now finally reaching its boiling point. “Is there really something so wrong with wanting to protect her?!”

“No, you still don’t get it. Let me spell it out for you then:”

Part 6 – Isolation

“You’re all alone now.”

Fingers grip over the bars as it crawls halfway down, looming over him upside-down with innumerable white feathers squirming through the gaps.

“You swore to dying for her. Kept carrying all the weight of the pain so she wouldn’t feel hurt.” Its large wings outstretch, eyes crying crimson that dripped meaninglessly into the rest of it. “This is your consequence.”

His laugh then echoed against the metal as it climbed back up to the cage’s chain.

“I’m going to leave you now and let you wallow in it, all to yourself just like you wanted.”

The cage sways a little more while its hands and feet pull it along the chain’s length, Soul’s palms slamming into the sides while shooting upright. “He- Hey!”

It continued making its way up until eventually it faded into the obscurity of the shadow above, the silence soon deafening even when his back landed into the bars again, sliding and curling his chest against his knees with his arms limping around them. Despite the heat steaming from below, he only felt cold, empty, and… alone.

A sniffle trembles his shoulders, breath unsteady while his arms coil in tighter to hold it in place. His eyes wander through the abyss and are offered nothing in return, nothing left for him but the memories and his words.

Upon reflecting, the blood directly in front of his view begins to bubble, raising into a mirror image who’s head just barely left the surface.

His wild hair floated and dragged onto his pale face, draping around his dark round eyes in a way that gave more resemblance to a fish, especially when the surrounding pool streamed out of its mouth, freeing out a soft murmuring hoarseness.

“Hey, you seem lost.”

Soul’s lungs stuttered before finally cracking his voice out. “Yeah…...”

“Yeah, me too.”

He blinks at him for awhile before chiming in again.

“What’re you thinkin’ about?”

Soul swallows the pressure still sitting in his throat, a sigh tumbling out while meekly looking away. “I dunno, I guess… I just wanted to keep Maka safe because that’s what I’m supposed to do, but now it’s like I wasn’t supposed to, or I’m doing it wrong or something……...”

“You care about her a lot though, right?”

Soul nods. “...Yeah, but… I think I hurt her…...” One long breath shudders out from his sniff. “...Not, not physically but, I think I hurt her from… not talking about it…… Like how much it still hurts even though I ignore it and just keep saying I’ll keep getting hurt for her………...”

“Not all acts of good are wise, and not all acts of evil are foolish, but still we should strive to be the best that we can be.”

Soul peers up at his light smile.

“I don’t think it was really your fault. You just did what you thought was best and sometimes there’s no real clear answer, especially when it’s something you’ve never really dealt with before.”

He watches him for another moment, smile continuing.

“It’s never too late, by the way. You can ask her about it yourself if you still want to.”

Soul slowly perks up, even if unsteady. “...How? I’m still locked down here...”

“You care a lot about Maka’s pain, but are you willing to try caring for your pain too?”

Soul pauses, until eventually, he nods again.

“Then let me help open the door for you. You just have to get up top and start climbing.”

Out of the blood then emerges arms upon arms of pale hands, countless fingers reaching and grabbing the cage steady before a few stray limbs pull the side bars away.

Soul swallows, cautious, but soon lifting himself up and crouching through the doorway to hang against the other side, feet balancing onto a couple palms that carefully bring him level enough to the roof for him to now stand on top of it. His grip clings tightly to the chain’s links, tense as he looks back at his unmoving reflection one last time.

“Just keep climbing and don’t let go!”

And with a deep breath, he begins his ascent, steadily working his way up, one step at a time.

Part 7 – Perseverance

His hands interchanged their grip around the chain as he persisted his journey upward, his feet dutifully following each motion while passing onto each stair step. It was a long hall, dull in a truly neutral grey, inclined so extensively that the horizon remained consistently vague.

The weight of the climb already dragged on him. Exhaustion ached his body, weakened his stride under the uncertainty of any visible end. Made his arms plead this was good enough, his legs beg that it wasn’t worth it, but he knew that she would have tried to her fullest and that she’d want him to succeed too, so he carried on.

Beside his climbing this hall appeared just spacious enough to be able to host another person next to him, bringing along its reminder that he was traveling solo. A twinge of burning sparked from it, twisting over how he was left enduring this, but he smothered it in knowing she would gladly extend her hand for him if she was here and settled into gratitude, simply hoping she is safe.

Yet that spark reinvigorated itself much more furiously, a loathing now falling directly upon himself. Maybe this fate truly was deserved, a punishment for his consequences being truly just deserts. Though it soon tempers when memories wash back in, both of her lament despite best intentions and the newfound promise he’d sworn, mellowing him into holding for the chance to make things right again.

...But does it even matter? Would anything actually change in the end, if there even is an end to this? Scars heal on their own, don’t they? What difference does it make between just getting over it and throwing the pain at someone else…… But… The pain wasn’t just physical. He was terrified, still scared it could happen again, happen to her, and the darkness that came with it never left his head. That stuff doesn’t just go away, even if you bury it. And seeing how she still reached for him and wanted to be at his side despite the hurt inflicted on her, maybe she… Maybe it’ll be okay, if she helps him unearth it, even just at his own pace.

His footsteps lightened and fueled his hastening, determination empowering as a feeling then squirmed in his chest. It murmurs to him that they’d been happier when he kept the question to himself, yet he reminded it of how she was the one who asked him again first. When it pointed toward his controlling worry, stubbornly fighting her meeting in the middle, he counters that even with their different views she still believed in him trusting her, and the weight of his body lifted at the experiences they can still share together.

The feeling began gnawing on him, told him that he was just using her for his own gain. Yet he stood his ground, firm in their efforts being mutual while assured that neither of them will leave each other behind, and his legs raised him higher than ever at the goals they can still both work for.

And finally it seethed, demanded that she’s already rejected his selfishness. And he contented, knowing that she’ll be waiting for him the same way he would for her. Because they’re partners, and that’s what partners do, so his arms kept reaching with greater fervor at the connection they can still call theirs.

Calm eased through him, the feeling quieted as it simply asked what it was he truly wanted.

He just wanted to be with her again.

Suddenly the hallway begins to shimmer, that monotony reflecting brilliantly, almost blinding, as pure light engulfed everything surrounding him. Hope hurried his ascent, hands outstretched until they latch onto a much sturdier link, turning that light red as he pushes past it and through the heavy curtains where his eyes soon adjusted to a familiar shade of reds and shadows.

The Black Room.

To his relief, the first thing he notices is Maka – black dress swishing around her as she shot up from the lone chair sitting aways from the curtain.

“Soul!”

Waves of emotion float a smile on up until it quickly sinks when he also registers the noise, head turning beyond the fabric to watch another version of himself – a black suit with a face obscured by long bangs, swaying as it played that dark piano in a tune he immediately recognized. Soul looks back at her pouting.

“He’s been playing Für Elise nonstop for several times in a row now.”

The way she huffed that sentence out made him want to laugh, instead only blinking while deciding to ask the more important question in any case. “Are you doing okay though?”

“Aside from having this song engrained into my soul, yeah.”

He snickers at her wryness before it softens up considerably.

“What about you – Are you okay?”

His breath tenses up, gut reaction stuttering it until it jolts when a harsh stray note drops the room into stiff silence, that other self now looming his direction like a weeping willow with roots of midnight judgement. Soul swallows, then shutting the door behind him as he finally takes a step forward, voice meek.

“...No.”

Maka stills, tone unchanged but remaining gentle. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Not really...” He’s quick to follow up his mutter with a sharp sigh. “...but I need to ask you.”

She moves forward a few paces slowly, patiently awaiting as he spends a moment composing himself, and eventually he forces the words out.

“Do you…...” One breath at a time.

“Do you hate me?”

Her brows furrow, confused. “Hate you?”

“Are you mad at me. For getting hurt… and… not talking about it…… acting like it never happened, and just… saying I’ll keep getting hurt, even though……...” His chest shudders, constricted. “...it still hurts…...”

She takes a deep steady inhale, thinking, his eyes vulnerable while she answers calmly.

“No, I’m not mad. I’m frustrated, but I’m frustrated about a lot of things; I’m frustrated that you got hurt, and I’m frustrated because I feel like I could have done better, but I’m not mad at you. It’s not your fault.”

The constriction winds up his throat and her sigh lifts, not quite into a smile, just something positive.

“I genuinely appreciate that you’re still here, and that you’re being open with me. It means a lot and...” Her body audibly tenses. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that you’re hurting.”

Maka watches his breath sway uneven, teetering until he timidly walks toward her. He can’t say for certain when those old Black Room clothes slipped onto him but that was never surprising, fingers gripping along the seams of his slacks like a child shaming away from its parent’s imminent disappointment as he closed their distance, Soul now standing only a few feet away.

His stance wobbles, aches at her heavy exhale, and finally the weight truly collapses him, slumping onto her shoulder as the air all chokes out.

“I’m so scared. I’m so afraid of you getting hurt and I can’t do anything about it. I’m fucking terrified I’m going to lose control and one day you’re going to end up dead because of me.” Heat sputters from his chest even under the warmth of their arms embracing closer. “I hate that I’m not as strong as you are. I hate that I keep making you feel like shit because I can’t deal with being weak. I hate this stupid fucking curse and having a demon in my head all the time that keeps telling me it’s my fault you’re going to get hurt next.”

Moisture leaks down from his face but he doesn’t care, just holds onto her more, never wants to let go while sobs continue pouring out.

“It hurts so much. My scar never stops aching and I try to forget about it and hope it just goes away. I keep having nightmares over and over again about when it happened and it happening to you and me hurting you, and it… it fucking sucks. I wish it would stop but I don’t tell you about it because I know you blame yourself, I know you think you’re the reason I got hurt, but you’re not. You didn’t do this to me, life just fucked us over and...”

His voice was loud, ugly, and a mess, but it was his. It was both of theirs.

“...It’s not fair. It’s not fair Maka.”

All he could do was cry, both of them. Just finally let out all the pain he’d been carrying for far too long now, let go of the burden he tried to keep shouldered on his own, and let her help lift the weight that had sunken his chest away from hers.

In that moment their grief was deeply shared, and his shadow, now moving back to whence it came, finally brought that fallboard to its close.

Part 8 – Resolve

Soul scoots the piano bench out a little before taking a seat away from the instrument behind him.

It was a wonder they even managed to clean the mess from their faces, but he was feeling tons better now, and judging by how she comfortably sat next to him it seemed she felt the same way. He wasn’t sure where that other version of him went, hadn’t seen when it’d even left, but that too was a welcome change as they simply got to have the room to themselves for the time being. And with a nice, calm breath of relief, quietly his voice lifts up to her again with a timid glance.

“Thank you, for um… listening to me.”

Maka welcomes it with her own lighthearted smile. “Hey, you know I’m here for you when you need it – I really am glad you came to talk to me about it.” She then laughs aside a little. “I think we definitely both needed this, anyway.”

He follows, albeit weakly. “Yeah, sorry, I just…… It’s not easy, um… talking about this kinda stuff...” And smirks awkwardly. “Sorry for being kind’ve a jackass about it.”

“Hey, it’s okay, I get it. It’s been hard to deal with, but you know… I’m proud of you, for reaching out. I know it takes a lot of strength to do that.”

Their eyes remain locked, stammer caught in his throat all over again until he gives it up, gaze averted down to his fingers aimlessly fidgeting with themselves even when his voice eventually squirms its way out, quiet but genuine. “Thank you.”

The two then simply wallow in each other’s company, thoughts just drifting through his hands before deciding it’d be okay to keep freeing them up.

“So, um… How did you end up here?” He gestures vaguely around the room to clarify. “Like nothing bad happened before I got here?”

“Oh, no I just...” She thinks briefly, answer facing the chair she’d first been waiting in.

“He said I was free to go, but I didn’t want to leave you here so I just waited for you to come back since I knew you would.”

A laugh returns over to him, shining through all uncertainties. “Pretty sure he was trying to get me to leave though.”

Soul chuckles lightly, soaking in both the warmth of her mirth and lighting curiosity, then willingly indulging it to lean more into its comfort.

“Yeah, it was pretty weird down there, but uh… Basically I promised I’d try to care about myself more, and I climbed up for awhile to get here. It definitely kinda sucked but um...”

He looks up to her with full sincerity.

“...It was a question I needed to ask you.”

And Maka extends her full appreciation in return.

“That’s good, I’m glad you made it out.”

Though his face does become a bit restless when a gentle humour makes her start to shy away. “...I do feel a little embarrassed though now that I know what the question was actually about.”

He scrunches. “...What did you think it was about?”

More laughter shoots out while she flutters about nervously.

“Well y’know… You suddenly pulling me aside into an empty room after you looked like you really wanted something all day, and I just… I don’t know.” The emphasis of her hands flopping down mesmerizes him, leaving the gears in his head slowly turning until they begin speeding up and contorting his expression through several unexplainable emotions before she cuts it off, huffing.

“Look: Just because I can see your soul doesn’t mean I know what you’re actually thinking half the time.” Huff then muttering into a pout. “Boys are weird, okay?”

This finally breaks him, uproarious cackling shaking haphazardly before he whips back enthusiastically. “Girls are also weird!”

“They’re all weird: People are weird.”

The deadpan quickly descends him further and drags her along with him, taking him a solid good minute to catch his breath for when he eventually meets her again, voice softened despite his sharp grin.

“You really are my best friend, though.”

He soon hesitates, fingers back to fidgeting with the seam. “...No offense to everyone else, obviously, you’re just um… You’re the coolest person I know and I genuinely appreciate you being there for me.” And he then faces her in complete earnest. “I want to care about both of us.”

So she truly meets him in the middle. “We both can.”

Their shared admiration beams while he extends his hand, her gladly taking it even before he asks.

“Partners?”

“Partners.”

Newly kindled hope and determination sparks up from within the bond of their resolve, igniting Soul’s sharkiest grin and Maka’s telltale smirk, which soon slips into something unexpectedly casual. “Hey do you wanna go get ice cream?”

He snorts. “Yeah, y’know what I’ve had enough of this room – We can keep moving forward together but who says we can’t also live life how we want too you know?”

“Live life and fuck Medusa.”

The two begin to stand up as he nods in full agreement. “Fuck Medusa.”

And as he shambles up onto his own two feet, hand firmly in hand, they both walk together side by side across those old checker tiles and eagerly chatter all through the exit, finally finding peace in closing that door shut.

Gently he picked the teacup up, letting the aroma drift in before taking a nice sip proper.

Ah, what a pleasant blend.

Quite well done if he says so himself, pairs excellently with the early morning view upon this balcony. A crisp delicate flavour to match a cool yet refreshing sunrise, to which the sun itself greets the day already hard at work.

Yes, this shall be a good day indeed.

He takes another fine sip, most certainly pleased with himself on its taste. Two creams, two sugars.

A good blend always needs a good balance in sweetness, though it was no lie he tended to be a bit more indulgent than most. Perhaps he’ll dare to make a visit today, but who would he be fooling to say he doesn’t make this consideration every day…

He sets the teacup onto its platter, soft clatter then reaching the table he seats at before his eloquent voice finally comes to life.

“I bet you’re wondering where the probable ruse lies, if perhaps it were all a dream or such events holds no bearing beyond the imagination.”

He lifts his cane resting faithfully by his side to give it a graceful twirl, suddenly halting to face its head up for a grand emphasis.

“Fool! The story was but in twain; It happened long ago, you see.”

The end is then swiftly brought upon the floor, like a gavel signifying its supreme judgement.

“Well done, the two you so followed did not meet lips. I’m sure such a challenge was quite trialing, but the reward of your efforts must be well worthwhile. Perhaps you’ve gained greater wisdom for further endeavors, even.”

With a flick of his wrist his magnificent hat tips, parting with a gentleman’s last word.

“And so it would appear our time together now comes to a close, but fret not – We may meet again if you so wish. Always more stories to tell, more secrets to unveil… Some possibly even already upon the horizon, hm.

Until then: fare thee well!”

#2023 art #writing #soul eater #Soul x Maka

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ficsilike-reblogged · 3 years

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Precious Inexperience II

A/N: Welp. You guys voted and here I am...trying to deliver my second attempt at a dark fic. Please let me know what you think. I never expected this little fic to take off like it did. I love you all. If you want a refresher--here’s the first part!

Pairing: King!Robb Stark x F!Reader

Rating: M for DARK THEMES including dub-con, death, death of children, Robb being a dick, a bit of smut, and canon-typical sexism

Warnings: Again, dub-con/dubious consent, talk of pregnancy and childbirth, men being terrible-PLEASE DO NOT READ IF THIS TRIGGERS YOU

Word Count: 3.1k

Summary: The King in the North was now King of the Seven Kingdoms. Peace reigned. Kings need heirs. But queens need love.

King’s Landing had over a half a million people calling it home and she had never felt more alone. Her ladies in waiting were kind but aloof, more preoccupied with making sure the child she was carrying was healthy than if she was happy. Court was filled with lords and ladies and foreign dignitaries who were all but throwing themselves at Robb’s feet in hopes to gain his favor—she was barely more than another tapestry on the cold stone walls of the Red Keep.

A pretty thing to be looked at and then ignored.

Whenever someone had deemed it a worthy venture to speak to her, Robb quickly put an end to it.

“You are here to speak to me, my lord, are you not? Do not let your eyes linger on my queen.”

But she was lonely. The only time she felt the smallest bit seen was when Robb came into her chambers. His hands still left her tender and hurting, even after the maesters confirmed she was with child a month after their wedding night. But he was all…he was all she had.

Writing to her mother, asking if she could come to the city to spend a season at her side, was quickly rebuffed as well. My darling girl, you are the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. I will not distract you from your duties. Your husband and child will come first, always.

That did nothing to bring her comfort.

And she learned quickly that Robb did not like her tears.

“Have I not given you enough? A crown? Jewels? Dresses from Essos? What more do you want?” His face was bright red with anger so she quickly wiped at her cheeks and nodded, murmuring an apology. He let out a strained sigh and she watched him walk toward her through watery eyes. His warm hands grasped her face and rough thumbs brushed away her tears. “You are my queen. You are bringing my heir into the world. You have made me happy, Y/N.” His hand settled over her stomach, now showing the advanced stage of her pregnancy. “That should be all that matters. You are emotional because you are with child. This will pass.”

It will pass.

It didn’t.

She winced as she felt her child move and kick as she laid atop her featherbed, listening to the city start to wake before the sun. Thankfully, the morning sickness had subsided only a few months into her pregnancy but the need to rise early had not left her.

Her door opened and she felt herself smiling as Robb entered. She knew he would stay, at least for a few moments. She would have someone who wanted her all to herself, even if just for a little bit.

Without a word, she held out her hands to him and welcomed him into her bed.

His hands were still rough as they tore at her thin nightdress. They were rough as they spread her legs. They were rough as grasped at her shoulders as he rutted against her.

“This is the first of many. You’re so beautiful like this.”

“I want…” The words were strangled in her throat when she felt that all-too familiar coil start to tighten and fray. He always made it feel good. “I want to be beautiful for you. Always.”

A visiting Pentoshi magistrate was the reason almost all of the court had gathered in the Great Hall. He had a band of exuberant contortionists and firebreathers to entertain the lords and ladies of Westerosi court while he spoke with Robb. His entourage were quick favorites of the upper echelons of society in King’s Landing and it was all so… strange. All this pomp and circumstance around a man who was essentially begging for help against the Dragon Queen who seemed hellbent on rebuilding the Valyrian Empire, including Pentos.

Robb would not help. She knew this. The Court knew this. But they wanted a bit of entertainment. This Pentoshi politician was not the first to come to beg for the Wolf King’s help and would not be the last.

But it did give her a little more to distract herself with, as the days dragged on.

She watched a young man contort himself into a strange shape while another contortionist balanced her entire weight on his foot. Robb was seated atop a raised dais with a grey stretch of fabric to keep the sun off his skin.

Beside him sat the Magister who had come and a handful of his advisors—Naavio was his name.

He had silver hair with piercing green eyes, a little thin compared to the King, but handsome in a strange way. He spoke the Common Tongue with the lilting accent of the Pentoshi people which made Y/N smile for some reason. Perhaps it was just the abnormality of his and his entourage’s presence that made it exciting but she felt a little like she had friends whenever one of them would stop and speak to her.

“How are you feeling this morn?”

“Have you decided on names for the young prince or princess?”

“You look as if you are glowing, your grace.” It was all so lovely. And it seemed so genuine, so unlike the empty-eyed smiles she would receive from her ladies-in-waiting and the rest of court. But her favorite was Naavio.

The magistrate made it a point to seek her out whenever he could.

“These two are my favorites,” he whispered to her.

Y/N nearly leapt from her skin, having not noticed him sneak up behind her. “Oh, Seven Heavens, Lord Naavio, you must not frighten me so!”

He chuckled. “I am sorry, Your Grace. You know I would never try to scare you. You are in a delicate state.”

Y/N pressed a hand to her stomach with a smile. “Yes, the maester said only a few more weeks until I can welcome them into the world.”

Naavio’s hand was suddenly pressing against her stomach too and she laughed when she felt her little one’s foot kick right where he had placed his palm. “They enjoy my presence just as much as their mother does, it seems.”

A sudden shadow loomed over them and Y/N pivoted to see Robb standing behind them. His silver and iron crown glinted in the sunlight, a sharp contrast to the near feral light in his blue eyes as he looked at her.

“Take your hand off my wife.”

Naavio’s hand quickly pulled back but he chuckled—again. “Your heir has a strong kick, Your Grace.”

“Yes. My heir.” Robb reached out and snatched Y/N’s wrist. His grip hurt but she knew better than to let out the hiss of pain she felt bubbling at the back of her throat. He tugged, just once, and Y/N knew to walk to his side.

There would be no spectacle.

“You must know how precious a child is,” Robb’s voice was steady but she knew better. The grip he had on her wrist dropped and he pressed his hand against the small of her back. “For a man who seems so desperate to save his kingdom, you are playing a dangerous game.”

Naavio blanched but he still smiled at the wolf-king. “I was only congratulating your wife on the health of her babe. It was a compliment-”

“My wife, the queen of my kingdom, knows how beautiful and lucky she is to be carrying my heir. She does not need your input.” Robb turned to her, eyes piercing. “Am I correct, wife?”

Y/N could only nod.

Y/N knew that Robb would never hurt her. His grip while in the throes of passion left her sore, but he never raised a hand to her. Seven Hells, he barely raised his voice. But Y/N knew of the violence that simmered just below the surface of his skin.

He was a wolf.

He was King.

He was the husband the gods had given her.

And she was scared of him. Something innate and quiet in the back of her mind told her she could not truly trust him. She was not safe.

But he had always kissed her when he was finished with her womanly duties.

And he still found pleasure in her even after he knew she was with child. His eye never wandered to the other many, beautiful highborn ladies who were readily available and arguably eager to be a young king’s mistress. But no.

He had his queen.

And he was his father’s son—that was what Robb had said, anyway.

“You are my queen. I will not dishonor you. And I know you will not dishonor me.” The words were cold as he slammed the door shut to his solar.

Y/N nearly lost her footing as she stumbled in but caught herself on the table, accidentally sending a stack of missives across the floor. “I thought it was a queen’s duty to make allies with her social graces and-”

“A queen’s duty is to provide for her husband.” Robb’s lips were pulled tight against his teeth. But he took a deep breath and then reached for her, hands grasping at her face. “I love you. You hear me? I love you.”

And she wanted to believe it. She had wanted to believe he could love her. “I love you too.”

He leaned forward to press a kiss against her forehead and then righted the spiked crown on the top of her head. “I will not have you near him again.”

Y/N nodded, resigning herself to the loss of another possible friend. Her one solace would be Robb, it seemed. As it had been since she came to King’s Landing. As it always would be.

But Naavio was persistent.

And she was lonely.

When the first letter was smuggled to her, she had not answered. But when the fourth came again and asked her to meet him in the gardens at midnight, her need for some sort of friendship won out and she slipped away from her maids and met the magistrate in a familiar stretch of the garden maze as the moon looked on from above in a starless sky.

“You’ve come!” Naavio said, reaching out to grasp her hands. “I was beginning to think I have offended you in some way, Your Grace.”

Y/N shook her head with a smile, ignoring the sudden sharp pain she felt in her stomach. “I am hard to offend, my lord. But it is good to have an ally in a city such as this.”

Naavio chuckled. “Yes, it seems King’s Landing is as fearsome as its king.” He was quiet for a moment, simply looking at her as his thumbs idly swept across the soft skin at the back of her hands. “Pentos is much more amiable.” His grip tightened. “I shall like to take you there, show you my home.”

Y/N’s smile widened just a fraction. “I would like that. I have heard such wondrous things about your home.”

“I could take you there. Spirit you away from this wretched city.”

She gasped and tried to tug her hands from his but his grip did not relent. “My lord, I-”

“You are not happy here. I can see it in your eyes. Do you want to raise your child here? Do you want to spend the rest of your days hoping your king does not lose his supposed love for you? You should be surrounded by people who worship you, adore you—and the babe you will bring into this world.”

Y/N stood and ripped her hands from his with a grimace as the pain she felt started to bloom and grow. “You misunderstand my intentions. I have only wanted friendship.”

Naavio stood with a sneer. “Then you are a fool. Only a child would misconstrue my attentions for mere friendship.”

Y/N opened her mouth to say something, to argue, to do anything—when she doubled over, clutching her stomach with a whimper as something trickled down her legs. “I…” Her legs shook and she threw out a hand to tangle in the branches of the greenery at her side, the only thing keeping her upright. “The baby. They’re coming.”

“What have you done?”

Another contraction had her almost falling to her knees but she looked over her shoulder to see Robb and a handful of his kingsguard at his back.

Naavio stood straight. “Your Grace-”

“Seize him.”

And the kingsguard did, almost gleefully taking the foreign magistrate to his knees and, by the sound of it, dislocating his shoulder as well. Naavio shrieked but Y/N could scarcely hear it over the roaring of the blood in her ears.

Familiar hands grasped at her face, tilting her chin up so she could look into the dark, hard eyes of her husband.

“The…baby…the baby is coming…”

“I know.” Robb pulled her close and she could feel the next words rumble in his chest. “Magistrate Naavio, you have tried to take my heir and seduce my wife.”

“I have done no such thing!”

Y/N crumpled in her husband’s hold with a choked scream.

“Take him to the Black Cells. I will deal with him later.”

It took two days to bring little Prince Eddard into the world. But he was beautiful—the most beautiful little one she had ever beheld. Her body was tired, her mind was buzzing, but all she could see was the little bundle in her arms.

Robb did not care about the blood and water and sweat coating the featherbed as he sat beside her and pressed a hard kiss to her temple. His finger traced down his son’s nose. “You have made me happy, Y/N.”

She smiled, eyes finally drooping.

“But it is time the magistrate is dealt with.” He stood and waved his hand, having one of her fine dresses laid out across the bed. In a blur, she was cleaned and dressed and a cup of Milk of the Poppy was all but shoved down her throat by an impassive Maester.

The Great Hall was filled with lords and ladies and knights from across the Realm. All of them had been waiting the birth of the heir of the wolf king but were now going to be witnesses to the king’s judgment, too.

“Naavio. You have come here to beg for reprieve against the Dragon Queen, to ask for help against her campaign.”

Naavio said nothing as he glared up at Robb on the throne, thick chains around his wrists and ankles. His Pentoshi ginery was dirty and ripped. The two days he had spent in the Black Cells had not been kind.

“Instead, you have tried to usurp my own power.”

“I did no-”

“I have sent a raven to Daenerys Targaryen, giving her the information you have given me. Your city will fall. It will burn with dragonfire.”

“Your Grace!” The words broke in Naavio’s throat.

The sudden noise made Eddard fuss in her arms and she gently rocked him, mind still hazy from the Poppy. But the cold green glint of Naavio’s eyes cut through the mess. He was a caged animal.

“This was you! You played your part so well. The innocent queen in need of rescue-”

“Silence!” Robb said, standing from the jagged throne. In the strange quiet of the Great Hall, he descended from his perch and took the reformed Ice from its sheath. “For your crimes against your host, against the good queen Y/N, I sentence you to die.”

Before Naavio could even plead for his life, Robb lifted the greatsword and took the magistrate’s head.

Robb was rutting against her, hard hands grasping at her breasts, pulling at the flesh of her hips, wrapping around her throat.

It hurt.

But she loved how he wrapped himself around her, loved how he would press his lips to her sweat-slick skin, loved him. Even if the maester had said it was too soon for the king to visit her chambers for such an act.

“You’ll give me another. You’ll give me ten more.”

“I will!” She cried.

“You’ll give me all of you because you are mine.” His hand tightened around her neck as his hips moved faster and faster. “Only mine.”

“Yours,” Y/N said as her throat burned.

His hips stuttered and a familiar warmth bloomed but he did not stop, could not stop until she was sobbing against his mouth with her own release. It hurt even more.

Sweat cooled on their skin as the high slowly died. Robb turned and pressed a biting kiss to her throat, still tender from his grip. His beard scratched her slick skin. “Mine. And you will always be mine.”

As she caught her breath, Robb rose from the mussed blankets of her featherbed and pulled his trousers on just as the door opened and a nursemaid brought in Eddard, snoozing in her arms. She readily handed the babe over to the king and then left, not even acknowledging the queen’s presence aside from a small curtsey.

Robb smiled down at his son and he looked genuinely happy—the smile he had reserved only for her.

She had made him happy. That was all she wanted.

“I will not have another man thinking to steal you away, wife.”

“O-of course not. You know I would never-”

“I must keep you to myself. And I will.” He looked at Y/N for a moment before leaning down to kiss his son’s forehead. The babe reached up and cooed, pressing his little hand against his father’s cheek. “You are mine. Only mine.”

He walked to the side of the bed and let her hold him as he dressed again and she lathed happy little kisses over her son’s face, listening to him giggle—but then Robb took him away. “What are you doing?”

“I am keeping you.” Robb kissed her cheek and then stood straight and walked to the door. When it opened, she saw three kingsguard standing outside, bedecked in their battle armor and swords at their hips.

“Robb?” His name was soft, strangled in her throat. “Your Grace?”

“She does not leave this room unless I am at her side.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Robb nodded and then smiled down at his son as the door swung closed. A heavy lock twisted.

Y/N stared at the door. She was not sure if she expected it to open again, or to at least hear another word from Robb on the other side, telling her what she must to do. But there was nothing.

She was alone.

A/N: All right! There we go! Please let me know what you think! Thank you for reading!

#robb stark x reader #robb stark imagine #robb stark #darkfic #game of thrones #dubious consent #toxic relationship #tw: dub-cob #tw: dubious consent #dub con #game of thrones imagine

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batsandbugs · 4 years

Text

The Great IKEA Game

Chapter 5: Vent Shenanigans and Keurig Conversations

AN: Okay, this is the last that anyone is going to hear of me for two weeks. Then I’m out of school and will be ready to crank out some more chaos. Until then, I hope you guys enjoy!

Television shows made navigating through vents appear much easier than it was in real life. Then again, they also made being a superhero look easy too, and Marinette was painfully aware how that was false.

Her knees and back ached from crawling through the low ceiling vents, and though she wasn’t claustrophobic, she was decidedly cramped. And if that’s how she felt, Damian, at more than half a foot taller, had to be doubly suffering. She asked how he was doing.

“I've crawled through far more pleasant vents before,” he replied seriously. “If we could continue quickly, we’ll come out near another vent gate in about ten or so minutes.”

They continued in silence until they came to a fork in the vent.

“Which way?” asked Marinette.

Damian hesitated. “I didn’t see this on the plans.”

“So, you don’t know.”

“I did not say that.”

“So which way do we go?”

Silence.

Marinette sighed and closed her eyes, poking for the pooled energy inside herself. Being the Guardian of the Miraculous had helped her innate magic to grow in leaps and bounds, but it was her Ladybug powers she ultimately searched for. After being bonded with Tikki for so long, certain… qualities tended to bleed over. One such ability was making decisions infused with good luck. It wasn’t easy, but it was one she had been working hard to master.

A glimmer of magic burned in her chest, and a fleeting whispered voice told her to turn left. She smiled in the dark of the vent.

“Left,” she said confidently, “we go left.”

“Why?”

Marinette’s smile turned into a smirk, even though Damian couldn’t see her. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

“You wouldn’t be the first to try.” The quickness made the reply appear casual, but Marinette could tell by the steel in his tone it told more truth than intended.

‘Who the hell did I team up with?’ her brain once again asked.

“Let’s leave me off the list,” she said, bypassing the dangerous remark with a gymnast's grace. “Come on.”

She crawled around the corner and, after only a moment’s hesitation, heard Damian follow after her.

Silence reigned for another minute or so before far in the distance they spotted light.

“Oh, thank the Kwamis, an exit,” Marinette muttered.

Damian grumbled behind her. “None of this appeared on the plans.”

“Learn to roll with the flow.” The light grew stronger, so she flicked off her phone flashlight. “Chances are it didn’t take your brothers too long to track me back to our hiding spot. They probably know we’re in the vents. If they found the same plan you did…”

“They won’t have any clue about this.” She could hear the pleased smirk in his voice.

“Exactly.”

The light flooded upwards from the vent floor. The slats in between large enough to view the room below. Marinette crawled over it and maneuvered herself around to face Damian.

“Nice to see your face again.”

The dim light from the vent illuminated his face. “N-Nice to see yours too,” he said. It was at that point, it dawned on Marinette that Damian's view the whole way through the vent was an up close look at her butt. From the heat radiating off her cheeks, it was likely her face was as red as his. She was torn between laughing hysterically and curling into mortified ball and never emerging.

Instead of either of those rational actions though, her mouth, her stupid, stupid mouth, decided to betray her.

“Enjoy the view?” she asked with a grin. ''What are you doing?' She yelled at herself, that was the last thing she wanted to utter.

Damian, if it was even possible, turned redder, and coughed lightly. “You have, uh, your bottom is quite shapely.” By the end of his confession, his voice was a high-pitched squeak, more appropriate for a preteen, then an adult. It took every bit of self-control for Marinette to keep from falling apart laughing.

“Thanks, I exercise,” she responded cheekily. A familiar magical hum settled in her breastbone. Her connection to the Kwamis magic. Marinette held back from rolling her eyes, even as her inner panic grew. One of the Kwamis was helping her to flirt. Probably Plagg judging by her cheesy replies.

‘They are the physical embodiments of the powers of the universe, and they choose to help me flirt. What even is my life?’

“It's working well,” replied Damian, with more of a teasing tone than an embarrassed one, although his cheeks still appeared redder than normal.

“Yeah, well…” Marinette sat there struggling for a reply, when noise from below cut off their impromptu flir- teasing session.

“I swear to God, if I find out who caused the mess in the Market Hall, I'll strangle them with my bare hands,” complained a voice from below.

Marinette winced when she saw Damian looking at her with a raised eyebrow. She hadn’t meant to cause that much damage.

“Oh, come on, Ian, it’s not like it was unscrewed on purpose. A bolt probably loosened and the shelf got bumped into. Blame it on bad luck.”

“Well, can I strangle bad luck then?”

Marinette held back an undainty snort. Plagg's constant whining and complaining coming to mind. ‘There I certain days I definitely want to.’

“I don’t think so. I’m more worried about the giant cart pile up.” At that, Damian raised a second eyebrow, and Marinette shrugged, she didn't controlled what the Bad Luck Balls did. “We’re gonna need to test all the carts to check for any more loose wheels, that’s gonna take forever. Anyway, are you headed home?”

“Yeah, I’m half an hour over the end of my shift,” responded Ian. Marinette could see two people moving around in the room below. “Ooh look, someone brought in doughnuts! You want one Casey?”

“No thanks, still trying to stay on that diet. I just came in here for a drink and then I’m back out on the floor.” The sound of a fridge door opened. “See you next week.”

“Yeah, you too Casey.”

The sound of another door opened leaving the room below silent once more.

“Shopping carts?” Damian asked, half-amused, and half bewildered. “I didn’t hear about that.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Escape was the highest priority, okay?”

“When would you find the time to accomplish that?”

Marinette hesitated, there was no good explanation to give that would satisfy him. She wouldn’t tell him about the Miraculous or the Kwamis. It was her job, no her duty, to maintain their safety, and after everything she had fought for, bled for, nearly died for... no matter how comfortable he made her, there was no way he'd learn about what she could do. Especially when she had the feeling he was far more than meets the eye. Which didn’t leave much in the way of a good excuse for what she did and how.

Then, as if understanding Marinette’s great need for a distraction, their stomachs rumbled in unison. They looked at each other for a moment before laughing.

Marinette huffed, wiping away a tear of joy from her eye. “Okay, we need to find food to eat.”

Damian nodded. “The food court is a no go now; Drake will monitor it even more closely than before. We could find a vending machine?”

An idea popped into Marinette’s mind. “Or… how about the doughnuts?”

“Huh?”

She pointed down. “This is the breakroom. Ian mentioned doughnuts.”

“That would be stealing.”

“As opposed to the twenty other things we’ve stolen over the course of the past two hours?”

Damian rolled his eyes. “I can back pay those.”

“So, we’ll send them a box of doughnuts once we’ve won. I’m sure the IKEA employees will understand the doughnut's sacrifice to a worthy cause. Besides, breakrooms have coffee machines.”

Damian sneered. “Coffee from a machine will taste will taste like swill.”

“Didn't you say your brother dragged you out of bed at eight this morning? Coffee means caffeine, which means energy.”

He tilted his head and contemplated it for a moment. “Fair point.” He looked at the grate. “It’s probably a ten-foot drop. Can you handle that?”

Marinette had to refrain from rolling her eyes. She had free fallen off the Eiffel Tower before, she could handle a measly ten-foot drop. But Damian wasn't aware of any of that of course. “Yeah, I can do that.”

He dug into his pocket and pulled out the laser pen. “Back up, it’s going to get hot in here.”

Marinette averted her eyes while Damian cut the grate away with the laser, the heat making the metal vent shaft turn into a furnace. She wiped away at a bead of sweat forming at her brow. The grate gave way and clattered against the floor below. Damian put away the laser and gave her a quick smirk. He slipped his legs into the hole where the grate had been and jumped to the floor, landing with a soft thud.

Breathing a sigh of relief at finally leaving the cramped vent, Marinette maneuvered her legs to dangle over the vent opening and slid out, bracing herself for the landing.

But instead of meeting the floor, she found herself caught in mid-air. Damian had her in his grasp, holding her off the floor by a few inches with his strong arms snug around her waist. Their eyes caught and the air between them grew thick with tension. His bare hands brushed against a sliver of her exposed back, the contact sent shivers up her spine.

Neither of them breathed for a brief moment.

“I told you I could handle the drop,” Marinette said, her words barely above a whisper.

“I know.” Damian’s voice matched hers. The look in his eyes impossible to decipher. His arms tightened for a moment, before letting her slip-free.

Marinette smiled, resting her hands against his arms. “Thanks.”

Damian opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it. He stepped back, effectively breaking the bubble around them. Marinette pushed the rapid flutter in her chest away. She could deal with it later when she was far removed from crazy games of hide-and-seek, and dark-skinned boys who made her too comfortable to be safe.

She turned and looked around the room they had dropped into, finding it, thankfully, empty. The last thing they needed was security getting called on them. Spotting the counter with the box of doughnuts on it, Marinette smiled.

She walked over to the box. “Well, it’s no Parisian artisan pastries, but I suppose the chain-restaurant swill will suffice,” she teased, looking back over her shoulder at Damian.

“Ha, ha, very funny,” he deadpanned. Heading over to the coffee machine to start a new pot. She turned her attention back to the box, the words Krispy Kreme printed on the front in large green letters, several doughnuts still inside.

“Which one do you want?” she asked.

“Anything with chocolate.”

“You have excellent taste.”

“I strive too.” That made Marinette smile. It was such a Chole-like response. She had to make sure never to introduce the two of them.

Marinette pulled out a few doughnuts and put them in the microwave. They would taste much better warm. After a few seconds, she brought the plate over to Damian staring at the ancient coffee machine with distaste.

“Here, you take this.” She pushed the plate of warm doughnuts into his hands. “And I’ll deal with this.” Grabbing a filter to place the pre-crushed coffee grounds into.

“Tt, why don’t they use a Keurig?” he asked with a sneer.

“Uh… because it’s a breakroom in an IKEA?” Marinette was shocked to find a breakroom at all. She’d figured employees would have to lean against the wall if they wanted a break, before being prodded into moving again by their superior. At least, she thought that was what Americans did.

Damian scoffed. “Everyone uses Keurig.”

“Even you, Mr. Machine coffee tastes like swill?”

“No, Alfred makes our coffee in the morning French press style. I do occasionally steal Drake’s Keurig out of his room when he hasn’t slept in four days to watch him cry though.”

“Damian!” she exclaimed.

“What? It’s for his own good. At that point he’s more likely to make a mistake, he needs sleep, not more caffeine.”

Marinette's thoughts flickered to her own Keurig she bought before she left Paris and the number of times she had played out the exact scenario Damian described. “Coffee is a lifestyle.” She grabbed two paper cups and placed one underneath the machine as the coffee dripped.

“It’s a crutch. Drake is a grown man, and he should, mlph-” Marinette cut him off by shoving a chocolate doughnut into his mouth. He glared at her.

“Getting between a determined person and their coffee is a criminal offense and should be punished.” She grabbed a doughnut for herself taking a bite of the sugary pastry. It tasted nothing like her parents’, but her empty stomach didn't care, so it would do. “Who’s Alfred by the way? Another brother?”

Damian took half the doughnut out of his mouth, swallowing the rest. “Most people wouldn’t dare to take the liberties you do with me.”

“Good thing I’m not most people,” Marinette responded with a smile. “You’re avoiding the question.” She took the cup out, now full to the brim of steaming hot coffee, and replaced it with the second.

“No, fortunately, I have no more brothers. Although my father likes to pick up strays so who knows if we’ll obtain another. Alfred is our butler.”

Thankfully, Marinette hadn’t taken a sip of coffee otherwise she might have done a spit-take. “You have a butler?” She had gotten the impression his family was pretty rich, and she was used to her friends having personal staff, but never failed to shock her when this level of luxury was mentioned so casually.

Damian shrugged. “Tt, butler, pseudo-grandfather, the only reason our family functions even semi-normally; same difference.”

Marinette shook her head in exasperation. “If you say so.” She pulled out the second cup, handing it to Damian. He took a sip.

“If mediocre had a taste…”

“Oh, shut up and drink it.”

They devoured their meager rations in silence, going back for seconds on both doughnuts and coffee. Marinette was by no means full when she finished, but at least her stomach wasn’t threatening to eat itself anymore.

“So, where do we go from here?” she asked.

Damian pulled out his phone. “The store closes at nine, which means we either have to avoid my brothers for eight more hours, or…”

“We have to knock them out of the game completely.”

“Exactly.”

“So, are we gonna actually knock them out, or should we just get them kicked out of the store?” She would normally try to avoid the use of excessive force on civilians, but from the few hints Damian had dropped, Marinette figured his family was used to a higher level of insanity. Living in Gotham must have that effect.

“Effective and vicious,” commented Damian, “I like the way you think. As much fun as it would be to knock them out, getting them kicked out is probably the better method. We have… family plans for this evening that potential concussions would make difficult.”

“Who’s our first target?”

“Drake,” said Damian without a moment’s hesitation. “He’s their eyes and ears. The other two are still good at hacking, but he’s the best. Get rid of him, and Grayson and Todd will be scrambling to recover. Plus, he’s the least likely to put up a fight.”

With a plan made, they erased their presence from the breakroom, hiding the lasered off vent grate and discarding their trash. Once confident the coast was clear they snuck out of the breakroom, and into the bowels of the back hallways, leaving nothing but doughnut crumbs and the smell of coffee in their wake.

It was time for the hunters to become the prey.

Tag List (closed, sorry)

@multplelifes @bluesimani @justhugefangirl @nik-nak-3@redscarlet95 @purplesundaze @incredulous-reader @k-poplunardreams @our-preciousss @blackmagicforever @vgirl-10123 @lozzybowe @wannajointhecrabcult @dast218 @chaotic-mess-of-a-life @fidget-eep @kawaiigiantjudgefish @queenmj10@tumbling-down-hills-and-stuff @crazylittlemunchkin @fandom-writer642 @nach0ava @ladybug-182 @sam-i-am-0222@spyofthenightcourt @how-to-fuction-properly@emotionalsupportginger @dreamykitty25 @tomanyfandomsonmy-mind @mystery-5-5 @theatreandcomicfreak @weird-pale-blonde-person @whatthechickenfriedfuck @myazael@pawsitivelymiraculous @urbanpineapplefarmer @karategirl119@consumeconstantly @hauntedstudent99 @ertyzeta @thornalchemist23 @iloveitwhen @animegirlweeb@byronsacademics @i-wanna-be-a-ninja @moonlitjiminie@iglowinggemma28 @constancetruggle @catgirlkittypryde @waffelyunsure @maskedpainter @lilkymilky @unhappyraspberry @avengerthewarrior @quotesandanime @tbehartoo @clumsy-owl-4178 @g-arya @chocolateherringtacofan @jalaluvsu @crazyrandomrebel @fatimaabbasrizvi @thenillabean @goblinwhoships @bluefyoto94 @nerinalith @loopingtangent @demonicbusiness @hecate-hallow @themcclan @tropestropestropes @paintedhope7 @whitetiger1249 @glitchon @vulpixmina @kitkat81804 @kissa-chan @beautiful-disasters-sunshine @sh31bin0 @ichigorose @octobitch @loveswifi @theunquiet-dead @dood-space @kitkat81804 @queencommonsense @vgirl-10123 @ihavehomeworkbutistillhere

#damimari #maribat #maridami #daminette #damientte #damian x marinette #marinette dupain-cheng x damian wayne #mlb crossover #mlb x dc #the great IKEA game #hide and seek

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ask-the-clergy-bc · 3 years

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Hello friend! How would the Emeritus boys (I, II, and III) react to having a baby sister? She's an Emeritus, white eye and everything, and definitely in line to become Papa. Would you mind explaining how the different stages of her life would be with the brothers? First word, first day of Ghoul School (lol), first partner, etc. Thank you!

Oooooh, this is a cool one! I hope you enjoy!!

Also, since there was no age given in the prompt I went ahead and made her around the same age or a couple years younger than Copia.

Also also, I feel like it's important to restate, Copia is NOT related to the Emeritus bloodline at all in my works. So he is an outsider who has gained Papacy.

(Edit: This was written before Chapter 9 was out, so the lore has since changed. But everything in the post remains the same, except only Papa I knows Copia is Nihil’s estranged son. So the Mama here still thinks Copia is an outsider. Thanks!)

The Emeritus Life with a Baby Sister who is a Future Mama

~The Future Mama was born when the brothers were already older children, so she was immediately doted on by her brothers. Nihil was quite proud of himself for being able to produce another worthy heir. Everyone was surprised there was no immediate sibling rivalry within the family. If anything the boys grew to be protective of their youngest sibling the older they grew. This is typically because the eldest child of an era has the most pressure and the youngest the least. So the brothers wanted to keep their youngest as safe from the cruel expectations of their bloodline as possible.

~Has the same type of relationship with Nihil as her brothers do. Being the baby has not awarded her any extra of her father's time. So like her brothers, she is polite and courteous to the Grandpapa. Honoring him publicly and tolerating him for any amount of 'family time'. Much prefers the company of her brothers.

~Because she was the baby of the family she was definitely spoiled, but had to work harder than all of her siblings to prove herself. Because there were already three heirs before her, there was very little chance of her becoming Mama. If she had WANTED to, she could have contributed little to the clergy in terms of leadership and have gotten away with it. But because she wanted to earn her title she had to prove herself that she CAN work hard and isn't just a pampered show dog.

~Like any member of the family, Mama does have attendant ghouls. Ranging through the years from ghoul nannies, to tutors, and even a body guard. Usually the higher the rank of someone the more ghouls that are personally tied to them. When she first graduated from seminary, one of the bloodline rituals for each heir is to summon their own personal ghoul. Mama summoned the ghoulette we now know as 'Mist'. They are very close. It was Mama who encouraged Mist to take part in touring with her older brother, the third.

~Mama has definitely been more restless than her brothers. The older she has gotten the more she wanted to explore the world. Not being the next in line for the throne OR the band has given her more room to explore her options. Currently Mama goes around the world to oversee abbeys and their expansions. She has found a love of meeting those outside of the faith and has taken many a lover who weren't converted. Mama has written many letters and papers on the cultures outside of their own and their importance. Academically and emotionally this had made her feel more fulfilled.

~Gender doesn't apply to any raising of heirs for the most part. As a child and teen Mama was expected to go through schooling, private tutoring, rituals, and seminary like every other heir. Though, like with her brothers, she does has a choice of HOW she chooses to study for Papacy. This includes picking a demonic patron, a leadership position in running a sect or abbey, and core values unique to one's personal preaching style.

~That being said, there does exist SOME gender standards that many Mamas have had to fight against in the past centuries. Being a future Mama always gives her more pressure to commune with Lilith on TOP of being able to commune with Lucifer. Lilith is the patrons of both Matriarchs and mothers alike, so being able to commune with both shows a powerful ruler. This Mama has decided to be empowered by Lilith while fighting these standards. Especially with the modern age of Feminism, she is very popular among younger ladies who wish to do more in the clergy outside of the Sisterhood. Mama does a wonderful job of reinforcing that Lucifer does NOT tolerate any forms of binary gendered expectations, no matter how "well intentioned."

~Because of this bond with Lilith, Mama and her youngest older brother, the Third, have a very close bond. If anything, Papa III has been a "bad" influence in helping his sister be mischievous and rebellious in their own ways. He helps shape her unconventional style of worship. Mama was the one to convince Papa to TAKE his papacy by the horns and do things HIS way. He attributes a lot of his success to the undying support of all of his siblings. Papa wants to make his baby sister proud and confident when it is HER turn to succeed him.

~In recent years there is a very subtle rivalry with the former Cardinal Copia. Mama and Copia had something in common in which they both had to prove themselves more than the previous Papas. The only reason Papa Emeritus IV prevailed was that he was a few years older and had more "experience". Mama hasn't let this usurper stop her from working hard on earning her place among the Emeritus. Copia doesn't have a bloodline YET, and has infinite chances to fuck up. She's still working hard to take back the throne and linage from the man. One day she will reign proudly as Mama Emerita Zero.

#the band ghost #ghost bc #papa emeritus i #papa emeritus ii #papa emeritus iii #papa emeritus iv #cardinal copia #ghost oc #ghost lore #mama emerita #mama #emeritus sister

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hello-nichya-here · 3 years

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Could you go more in-depth about the Zucest Arranged Marriage after they return from Ba Sing Se? Or at least that's what I think it was you mentioned.

I've mentioned the possibility a few times because I do love that scenario, so HELL YEAH, I can go into some more detail

The basics of this idea is that Ozai was very impressed by his kids’ accomplishments (conquering Ba Sing Se, killing the Avatar, essentially ending the war, capturing Iroh, finding out about the invasion that will happen during the eclipse) and comes to the conclusion that it is in his best interest for Zuko and Azula to always work as a team. He decides that marriage will be the best way for this since it practically forces them to work together, assures there’ll be no treason after an heir is chosen since this will have then both as his heirs in a way, and guarantees that no overly ambitious noble-men or woman will be able to marry into royalty and kill the actual royals after having an heir or two.

He starts considering that possibility as soon as he hears about Ba Sing Se, and by the time they’re home it won’t be long before the wedding takes place, whether they agree to it or not. That leads to a few possibilities:

If they’re already in love and their family has a history of incest

This is, ironically, the one that is gonna end up pissing Ozai off the most, despite being the one that allows his plan to play out as smoothly as possible (at first). With no drama that could stop or delay their marriage, they’d just enjoy finally being happy and loved for once, and they’d be very protective of/loyal to each other - to the point that when Zuko decides to leave the Fire Nation, he doesn’t hesitate to tell his sister-wife, who will go with him, leaving Ozai humiliated, without heirs, and knowing that his prodigy daughter will be helping the Avatar with firebending.

The Gaang doesn’t really know how to feel about the whole incest thing, but these two weird royals are their only real chance of winning the war, so they’ll put up with it, and be surprised to find that they actually like the two walking fire hazards. They help Aang as much as possible, and once he defeats their father, they’ll rule their nation side by side, their reign being suported by pretty much everyone both in and out of the Fire Nation because they’re just they know to create that ballance between “Scary, powerful rulers of a scary, powerful nation” and “The honorable, merciful King and Queen that are key to keeping the peace”

If they’re not in love yet, but their family has a history of incest

They're gonna be a little surprised by their father's decision... but not that much, and mostly just because they didn't expect Zuko to be on his good graces so fast. Despite not having feelings for each other yet, I don't see either of them objecting - Zuko proved himself worthy Azula, she is the reason he is home, and due to their family's history they grew up knowing that was a possibility. They're still gonna bicker and have second thoughts every now and again, but mostly they'll be getting along just fine, and it won't take long for them to start falling for each other.

Once Zuko leaves the Fire Nation, either Azula is going with him like in the first scenario, or The Last Agni Kai will be him trying to convince her to give up on Ozai and be his queen. Even if she refuses and he has to defeat her, he will not want to end their marriage, and it will be only a matter of time for her to go back home with him.

If they’re already in love, but their family has no history of incest

This is pure CHAOS. For them, for Ozai, for the Fire Nation, for the Gaang - everyone. Their father basically gave them the green light to go “Fuck tradition, fuck morality, fuck compromise, fuck anything that is trying to get on the way of our love.” They’re incredibly commited to that idea of “We’re the only two people that matter” and everyone in the Fire Nation is scared - scared enough that they know not to openly oppose their union. Ozai only didn’t give up on the plan because, well, you kind of can’t do that after you just randomly decided to force everyone to accept an incestuous marriage and threatened to kill anyone who tried to ruin your plans. You especially cannot let it show that your two children low-key terrify you. He’s actually relieved when they both change sides, and once he is in prison he can at least rest assured that those dumbasses are the Avatar’s problem now, not his.

Speaking of the Avatar, the Gaang sees the fire siblings less like friends (despite liking them) and more like the almost completely unhinged incestuous couple that just happens to be on their side and whose help they accepted out of sheer desperation. They help end the war, but they’re a fucking manace the second anyone so much as gives them a minimally disgusted look. They’ll “find out” about Azula’s pregnancy on the day of Sozin’s comet, and say it was a blessing and a sign that they ARE meant to rule the Fire Nation (either Azula found out about it a little before that day, or they started trying to concieve around that time, be it before of after the actual day, so no one can prove anything anyway). The whole world is SOOOOO glad Aang managed to teach them some pacifist ideals because otherwise they would have likely started a new war against anyone who they so much as imagined could be against their love.

If they’re not in love yet and their family has no history of incest

By far the one that has things playing out a bit more simmilar to canon. They're both gonna be furious and miserable, but there's nothing they can do. Disobeying their father is not an option, and nobody is going to say no to the Fire Lord, no matter how obviously out of his mind he is. Life at the palace is going to be hell until the wedding night. After that they're gonna be having hate sex every night, so they'll be more chill.

Zuko is going to leave by himself on the day of the eclipse, and they'll have a battle "to the death" like in the show, but Zuko will try to help her recuperate after her breakdown, and eventually they'll end up realizing that there's just no one for them but each other.

#asks #zucest #arranged marriage #shipcest #azuko

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digitaltariq · 6 months

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Caleb Landry Jones Shines in Offbeat Thriller

Abstract - Caleb Landry Jones shines as Douglas on this offbeat revenge thriller, delivering an electrifying and memorable efficiency. - The movie requires some suspension of disbelief because of its absurdist high quality, nevertheless it affords a contemporary tackle the revenge thriller style. - Luc Besson's DogMan explores themes of struggling and love by the distinctive connection between Douglas and a neighborhood of canines. There’s a sure option to expertise DogMan, visionary Luc Besson’s new thriller. For starters, finest to know Besson. He’s the person who gave us The Fifth Factor and Lucy, and people two movies exist exterior typical cinematic norms. They're as edgy as they're dreamy. DogMan affords one thing comparable. The very best factor to know going into the movie is that it's a bit bonkers from the get-go. With that in thoughts, it shouldn’t section you (a lot) to observe this trippy story of reclamation and the way far one man decides to go to take justice into his personal palms. DogMan wouldn’t be the movie it's, nonetheless, with out Caleb Landry Jones (X-Males: First Class, Get Out, Three Billboards Outdoors Ebbing, Missouri), enjoying the troubled but calculating Douglas, a person who survived an abusive previous and went on to remodel himself into one other form of creature completely. Jones delivers probably the most electrifying performances of the yr. It’s an award-worthy flip, though we doubt most business insiders will see it that manner. Maybe it doesn’t meet typical Oscar requirements. Nevertheless, Emma Stone grabbed the gold for taking part in a much more over-the-top particular person, so Landry deserves some credit score right here. Watch the movie for Landry. Then, savor the nuances. Using flashbacks, the movie tracks Douglas—from the jail interrogation room to childhood and past—revealing his traumatic early years, how the abused boy finally discovered salvation and got here into his personal, and the ballsy manner he sought justice by his reference to canines. Many canines, in reality. In case you recognize avant-garde and edgy movies with quirky protagonists on the middle of the story—and when you've got some endurance to permit this movie to win you over—DogMan is tail-wagging enjoyable. Let’s unpack it.

He Will Survive

DogMan 4/5 Launch DateApril 5, 2024 Runtime114 Minutes Professionals Caleb Landry Jones is implausible, portraying a genuinely memorable character in Douglas Munrow. The distinctive and offbeat story retains the revenge thriller feeling contemporary. Cons The absurdist high quality of the movie requires some suspension of disbelief, which can not land with audiences. The inspiration for DogMan got here partly from an article Luc Besson examine a French household who threw their very own youngster in a cage when he was simply 5. Interested in how that might have an effect on an individual mentally, Besson got down to write and direct DogMan, hoping to expound upon the common themes of struggling and love. Within the case of Douglas Munrow, the love comes from the unusual connection he develops with a neighborhood of canines.

Associated Finest Arthouse, Avant-Garde Horror Films of All Time In Hollywood, horror tends to be predictable and denigrated. However issues get fascinating when creative freedom and full creativity take the reigns. We first meet Douglas driving a truck with what seems to be a pack of untamed canines within the again. Douglas is in drag—blond wig, tres Marilyn—and we marvel if this movie is a couple of tormented drag performer. Sure and no. (Extra on that later.) Having been stopped by the police, Douglas stays calm, smiling knowingly. When Evelyn (JoJo T. Gibbs), a court-appointed psychologist, begins interrogating Douglas, we be taught extra about him by these classes and the way his robust connections to canines are shaped. Beneath the brutal rule of an abusive father (Clemens Schick), Douglas was locked in a cage of canines and compelled to exist there for years, we assume. His brown-nosing bully of an older brother (Lincoln Powell) isn’t a lot assist, however divine windfall inserts itself into Douglas’s state of affairs, providing an opportunity at freedom. But it surely comes with a worth—mobility. Instantly, in a wheelchair with restricted strolling skills, Douglas realizes who his true family members—and most loyal technique of help—are. Canine. There’s a pleasant absurdist high quality to this movie, and it requires some suspension of perception—or not—when Douglas’ canines reveal simply how fine-tuned they're to their human companion. We “received” it. Whether or not audiences will stays to be seen, nevertheless it’s onerous to disclaim simply how shut our connections to our four-legged buddies can truly be.

A Revenge Thriller With a Twist

DogMan additionally inserts a becoming B story—fortunately not cloying—involving Evelyn, a single mom, who herself has been beneath the watchful eye of an opinionated guardian—albeit far much less harsh than Caleb’s brutal "caregiver." That plot affords the film a way of groundedness and a option to peek into Caleb’s story as Evelyn items collectively how Douglas wound up sitting earlier than her. JoJo T. Gibbs, who shined within the comedy Twenties, is extra critical right here, and her empathy for Douglas additionally permits us to spend money on the character and this story's end result.

Associated 10 Film Protagonists With Uncommon Backstories These distinctive backstories is probably not relatable to everybody, however they've nonetheless gone on to turn out to be among the most beloved characters ever created. Let’s discuss Douglas, we could? In watching Caleb Landry Jones, one remembers Heath Ledger’s fever-dreamy portrayal of The Joker in The Darkish Knight. The whimsy, the figuring out smile, the calm but mysterious eyes—you by no means know what’s about to occur subsequent. Luc Besson presents us with a uncommon, memorable character. As destiny would have it, we be taught that grownup Douglas, in search of work, stumbles right into a gig singing in drag. Music, like canines, was a consolation, in spite of everything, and it’s right here that the movie shifts tonally for a bit as Douglas croons to make a dwelling. Edith Piaf’s La Vie en Rose has by no means been so richly captured or carried out. In the meantime, there are some gritty felony antics occurring on the streets, and Douglas, like Batman maybe, has positioned himself within the “protector” function. Conditions come to a boil, in fact. Criminals reveal themselves. Douglas, nonetheless nursing daddy-issue wounds and thirsty for revenge, takes enjoyment of orchestrating a sequence of outlandish but efficient measures to maintain justice in test. Break-ins, machine weapons, trick doorways, uber-sentient doggies figuring out simply what to do—oh my! It’s like a warped 101 Dalmatians by means of a fallen DC hero. And depraved enjoyable. If… you permit your self to simply float alongside and see the place this surreal story needs to take you. It additionally illuminates how a tragic aftermath in a single's life can play out in absurd twists. Ingenious, offbeat, and buoyed by Caleb Landry Jones’s tour de power efficiency. We must also give these canines credit score, too. They know simply patrol—typically with their jaws locked in your crotch. One can think about the lengths Luc Besson went to with canine trainers and practically 150 canines prancing round. By the appears to be like of it, these canines received down their cues. Backside line: DogMan is devilishly enjoyable, and Caleb Landry Jones instructions the display. DogMan opens in choose theaters on Mar. 29. Read the full article

#Caleb #Jones #Landry #Offbeat #Shines #Thriller

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frevandrest · 4 years

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Everything Wrong with Saint-Just's Introductory Scene in La Révolution française (1989)

As promised, here is an analysis of Saint-Just’s first scene from La Révolution française (1989). You can watch the scene (with English subtitles) here. It sadly misses the dramatic entrance part, but everything else is there. SPOILER: This analysis will not, in fact, cover everything wrong because there’s so much trash you can’t adequately address it in only 1000 words.

In the scene, we see a young man with that hair rushing down the steps of the Convention (in what will be his signature dramatic! style). He pushes people way without even looking at them. There is someone at the rostrum, and many people wait to address the Convention. Saint-Just doesn’t give a fuck. “I demand to speak.” Some deputies murmur a weak protest, but they are shit out of luck because it’s time to introduce a new character, and we need to know what a jerk he is. So of course he’s granted the word.

At first, nobody pays attention, but “just like you, I would die for this Republic”, seems to work. He delivers the speech (which contains maybe two lines from the actual one), and by the end, Marat claps, the Convention claps, Danton and Girondins are suspicious; Robespierre is in love. Camille, oh Camille, does he know he’s just been replaced? Saint-Just pouts slightly (my interpretation) but doesn’t show much emotion. Next scene: Louis receives news that he’s being put on trial. Good job, new boy.

As first scenes go, this is a good introduction to Saint-Just as depicted in the film. But it’s also very wrong for SJ as a historical personality (what we know of him). Which sucks, because it’s not like it’s impossible to make an unsympathetic yet historically accurate SJ, if one wants to go that route. See, Saint-Just in La Révolution française is a prop; he’s not a character with his own complexities, goals or motivations. He is just there to be pretty and evil, and to take Robespierre away from Camille.

So, why is this introduction wrong?

Let us remember that this was Saint-Just’s very first speech at the Convention. He got elected days after his 25th birthday; he was the youngest out there. Also, even with Robespierre’s support (that some claim he already enjoyed), he was an unknown; a peasant provincial from Picardie barely out of his adolescence. He wanted to prove himself and demonstrate that he was a worthy representative. Being rude and pushing people away is not really a good way to achieve that.

Here’s the thing about Saint-Just: despite all stereotypes of the contrary, he respected authority. However, he only respected authority that he felt deserved to be respected. In 1792, “monarchy” was not it. But National Convention? Revolutionary government? Of course he respected it. He fought so much to get there, and he respected the place he was given.

Throwing his weight around, pushing people away, demanding to speak when someone else is at the rostrum, disobeying order... It was really not Saint-Just. He hated commotion and fights that happened so often at the Jacobin club. Even on 9 Thermidor, when Tallien interrupted him and shit hit the fan, he continued to attempt to deliver the speech. They pushed him, and he kept trying to speak, without, I don’t know, punching someone in the face (La Révolution française Saint-Just totally would, which is, admittedly, one of the many, many many reasons why it sucks that they shortened and condensed Thermidor).

The film uses “blame Saint-Just for Robespierre’s turn to darkness” approach. SJ is there to encourage Robespierre into cruelty and cold violence, and, if Robespierre starts to doubt even for a moment, to reassure him that yes, this is how things should be done, you are right Max, let’s kill them all, but particularly Camille; I can’t stand that guy for having you first ridiculing my poetry (wait... SJ’s poetry wasn’t in the film. Why does he hate Camille, again?) Who knows. The only explanation the film provides is that Camille is Good and Saint-Just is Evil, so of course he’d want to get rid of him.

Now, let us see about the speech itself.

The Speech

The speech Saint-Just delivers in the film contains maybe a few lines from the actual speech (notably: “this man should reign, or die”). I don’t have a problem with them not replicating the speech word for word because it followed on what other deputies talked about (which we didn’t hear)*, and because nobody has time for Antoine’s ramblings about antiquity. (And it would take around 10 minutes to act, which would probably provide us with more glorious shots of Robespierre falling in love being impressed, but it would take too much of the running time. I get that.)

So, in theory, I am fine with shortening the speech and paraphrasing, as long as the meaning and content is there. Which... it did on a surface level while also missing the point substantially.

*Not showing SJ addressing what others said before him was understandable (condensing runtime), but it’s another thing that made it seem like he didn’t listen nor paid attention what others were doing. Also, it’s a missed opportunity to characterize him as a jerk full of himself, since his real speech basically opened with: “all that the previous guy said is bullshit, and here’s why”.

Speech in the film: I would die for the Republic and I would fight the enemies of the Republic. We all know the name of the enemy, and I, like none here, am ready to fight against this enemy. Louis is a symbol of traitors among us. We should not hesitate; the king is an usurper.

In short, speech in the film is, kind of, less about Louis and more about what SJ will be important later: his own sense of revolutionary righteousness and for weeding out “traitors” from the Convention.

Another issue with the speech is that it wasn’t just about the speech - it was part of Saint-Just’s introductory scene, so we had to learn about his character through the speech. In the film, SJ is rude, cruel and cares only about... well, we are not sure, because there are no motivations whatsoever, but he is there to push Max when something bad needs to be done. I feel that his rudeness during the introductory scene and the way the speech was delivered fulfil this purpose nicely. However, I am not sure that we actually understand what Saint-Just’s speech was about, except vague “we must kill the king” vibe.

The Aftermath

The scene following Saint-Just’s speech is that of Louis, a doting father, reading a book to his son. Men come and rudely tell him to send the child away. He is to be put on trial. The implication? Saint-Just’s speech won the crowd over and they decided to kill Louis, or at least put him on trial.

In reality, while Saint-Just’s speech was highly noticed (his real-life dramatic entrance into Convention), the deputies did NOT listen to him. The whole point of the speech was that Louis should not be put on trial - trials are for the citizens, which he is not. Louis’ crime is not treason - the monarchy is a crime in itself. Saint-Just argued against the trial. Yes, his speech was highly influential but presenting it in this way puts way too much weight on this newcomer’s words and implies he was the key factor behind the trial.

Other Observations

- There is a long debate among historians whether Robespierre was present for Saint-Just’s first speech on 13 November 1792. (I think the conclusion is “probably not”.) But I don’t mind this change, if nothing else, for those glorious shots of Robespierre’s heart eyes and Camille’s “wtf did this guy come from and why is Max looking at him like that?”

- Marat. It is true that he generally praised Saint-Just as an orator, but he disagreed with this speech (Marat was for trial).

- The reason why this post is dedicated to SJ’s first scene is because I was asked/challenged to write about it. It doesn’t mean that his other scenes were any better (I’d say they were worse). In fact, the entire SJ’s character was a Thermidorized mess.

- That being said, I don’t hate this SJ. I cannot; LRF was my introduction to the whole Frev thing and will always have a special place. Christopher Thompson was ok, particularly in some aspects of SJ. However, the whole thing was a mess and it should be criticized.

- Hair. I promised to dedicate one full paragraph to SJ’s hair, but I... can’t. I simply cannot. I am sorry. I tried, but the words failed me.

- This was more fun that it should have been and there are so many things I didn’t get to say (the entire performance and what this scene means for SJ as a character in the film, a more detailed analysis of the speech and comparison with the real one, etc.) But it did show that I can still vomit write 1000+ words about anything that I have any interest in, which is... good to know, I guess? (Let’s just say that I won’t be winning any SJ contest prizes for laconicism).

#la revolution francaise #saint-just #french revolution #frev #saint just #movies

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solastia · 3 years

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Say You Won’t Let Go | 5

Pairing: Namjoon x Jimin x Seokjin

Word Count: 6,721

Warnings: Violence, referenced omega abuse, minor character death

Author Note: My lack of battle knowledge shows, I'm afraid. I kinda rushed through it because I couldn't figure out how to make it sound interesting lmao. Anyway, please enjoy this chapter of a story that is taking way too long to write! I'll try to get the next one out faster, especially since I know y'all just want to see what goes down during Jimin's heat.

PLEASE don't fill up my comments with nothing but, "OH MY GOD YOU UPDATED!" Y'all guilt trip me worse than my mama

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

A light mist showered over the training grounds, making the ground beneath them soggy. He knew if anyone would slip in the mud it would be him, so he watched the ground with careful eyes as he walked around assessing his troop’s progress.

Namjoon cracked his neck as he silently watched his villagers learning to defend themselves. He knew that if this really turned into a war they would be at a disadvantage, as they’d admittedly gone a bit soft. It had been nearly a hundred years since the last big tribe war, and they’d focused on advancing their village rather than fighting for more land.

He turned towards the direction that would take him home, sniffing in vain for some hint of his mate. He knew he wouldn’t be able to smell him this far away, but it didn’t stop him from wishing.

When his thoughts weren’t taken over by worries, they were occupied by thoughts of his sweet little mate. His Jimin, who was no doubt at home going crazy with worry and stress. He had no doubt that Jimin would do his best to protect their people, he just hoped someone was looking out for him. He’d try to do everything himself if someone didn’t force him to delegate.

He probably should have made some sort of arrangements for Seokjin as well, he thought sheepishly. He hoped the man would be doing alright in a village where he knew literally no one. He was also relieved when he realized his thoughts of the man no longer felt influenced by alpha instincts or needs of any kind. His claim was settled and he was free to consider the man with a rational frame of mind.

Truthfully, there was nothing much for him to consider. The omega seemed nice enough, and sure he was attractive, but Namjoon felt nothing when he tried to picture the man naked to assess his reaction. Well, nothing beyond the guilt that he felt knowing what another omega looked like underneath him. He’d always been a one-person man and it just wasn’t in him to consider even trying to force himself to think of Seokjin romantically. Friends, maybe. Sure.

Besides, his Jiminie was a needy little thing and wrung every drop of affection that was in Namjoon to give.

He smiled again, his thoughts once more on his mate. How he adored the man. He had been perfectly content to live out his days without pups and pass on his title to one of his nephews. Sadly, it appeared as though his mate had been correct in thinking that their childless state posed a challenge that others couldn’t pass up.

Theirs was a fertile land that they’d been cultivating for several generations now. It was almost unheard of for packs to truly settle in one spot, but they had been lucky enough to find such a lush land to call their own. Good soil, healthy and plentiful game, clean rivers and lakes - even their huge mountain was worthy of envy, as it provided so much protection and resources. The friendly human village that was always happy to trade with them was something to go to war for all by itself.

He sighed and turned his attention back to his men, observing their progress. Yoongi was a brutal trainer - merciless and always seeking perfection. Normally, he wouldn’t have given him such free reign but he’d decided that his right hand’s brand of tough love was what they needed the most at the moment. They didn’t have the luxury of time.

He’d sent a messenger to the Kim’s tribe, figuring him marrying into them should provide reason enough for them to send him more warriors. He had no faith that a message to get there and forces sent in enough time to help them with a battle if it came to that - it was rather a backup plan. In case they should fall, perhaps the sent warriors could at the very least save the pack they’d left behind.

The sound of feet running through puddles reached his ear and he swirled around to catch one of his scouts rushing towards him. The man was running so fast he couldn’t stop in time to prevent him from slipping into the damp ground. Namjoon reached out a hand and hauled the man up, narrowing his eyes as they met the frantic ones of his best scout.

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“They’re here!” The man panted. “They didn’t go through the western forest as we thought. We suspect they went downriver instead. They’re already here, Alpha.”

Namjoons’ heart dropped right to his stomach. They weren’t ready. They weren’t…

Gentle hands pried his fingers from his hair and Yoongi’s sharp eyes bored into him. “Joon?”

“They’re already here. They’re…” He turned to his scout. “Where exactly are they, Yuen?”

“I spotted them setting up camp next to the cliffs.”

“Shit,” Yoongi hissed. “That’s only a twenty-minute walk from here.”

Namjoon hung his head, reaching up to rub his suddenly aching eyes.

“We have no choice but to be ready. Yoongi, Round up the men. Collect three of your best to be added to our personal party. We move out the moment you’re ready.”

Yoongi nods briskly and turns to roar orders. Namjoon spots Jungkook and waves him over. The younger alpha jogs to him and Namjoon grabs his shoulders.

“You are not going to like this, but…”

Jungkook interrupts him, “I’m not staying behind.”

“You are ,” he nods firmly, Jungkook’s mouth opening again to argue. He shakes his head, effectively shutting him up.

“I’m not going to make you stay right here, just in the back of the men. If things go south, I need you to be ready to run back to the village immediately. I’m not saying this because you’re weak - in fact, if I could I would have you up there with me and Yoongi because you’re better than both of us. It’s because I trust that you would be able to reach the village before any of our enemies could get there and save our people. Save our mates.”

Jungkook bows his head and softly asks, “You really think it’s going to go that way?”

Namjoon shrugs. “Dunno, Gukkie. I’ve certainly never dealt with this any more than the rest of us have. I just figured our best chance of survival is to expect the worst and hope for the best.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? You’ll stay back there?”

Jungkook nods then shakes his overly long hair with a grin. “Besides, your other option is probably Yoongi and it would take him two years to power walk back to the village.”

“Brat,” Namjoon chuckles fondly, pushing the man away from him. “Help him get everyone going.”

Jungkook nods and runs off, plowing into Yoongi’s back instead of stopping properly. Namjoon shakes his head and turns to sniff the air again in vain. He missed Jimin fiercely.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

Once assembled, their party made good time reaching the cliffs. Namjoon decided their best course of action was to simply walk up to the outsider’s camp and demand answers. In fact, their leader most likely expected that since Namjoon would be well within his rights to do so. They were “visitors” on his land, after all.

Once their camp came into view, Namjoon paled, momentarily stunned. They had brought so many warriors, all of them painted and well-armed. This was definitely no negotiation party.

He forced himself to calm and pulled his shoulders back, bringing himself to full height and allowing his scent to permeate the air around him until even his own men were gritting their teeth against the blatant demand for submission. He gathered Yoongi and several of the warriors that he’d picked to surround him and strode forward.

He noticed several scouts and lookouts stand to attention but they made no move to stop him, nor to run back to their camp to inform their leader. Either they were in too much shock or…

“Ah, there you are, pup.”

A man stood in the center of their camp surrounded by several burly warriors with axes strapped to their backs. The man himself was armed with a massive club strapped to his hip and a bow on his back. He was stocky, not in very good shape, and was probably around the same age as his father. His scent indicated he was Pack Alpha, but it was sour, tinged with age and some sickness underneath.

“You are the Yang Alpha, I presume,” he inquired with as much politeness as he could manage.

“Indeed, my boy. Come join me by the fire. I’ve come for a little…chat.”

“You will speak to him with respect,” Yoongi growled, his hand tightening on a dagger strapped to his thigh.

The Yang Alpha chuckled, waving them forward. “What a loyal little beta you have there.”

Namjoon simply nodded and waved Yoongi down. He could tell what sort of man this was already. Nothing he said was going to have much of a difference. He already thought he was superior to them simply because of his age - and perhaps his warriors who have no doubt seen many battles.

He followed behind the Yang guards as they led them to their central fire and sat on the offered log. Yoongi stayed standing at his right and his other guards gathered behind him.

The Alpha proceeds to act like they weren’t even there, picking up his meal that he must have set aside earlier and tearing into a chicken leg. Namjoon startles at that for a moment, trying not to let his worry show. Unless this man’s war party traveled with a bunch of chickens, they had been in Namjoon’s village. Someone had snuck in and spied on them, and now he was eating the stolen chicken right in front of him like a taunt.

Namjoon clears his throat, willing his body to appear unbothered.

“I’m sure you are aware of why I’m here. State your business on my lands.”

The Alpha belches and licks his fingers clean, smacking his lips with satisfaction. He tosses the bone into the fire and only then does he see fit to look at Namjoon in the eyes.

He raises an eyebrow, his lips curling in a mocking smile.

“Ah, pup. No need for aggression. I’m simply here to look out for my neighbors,” the man shrugs nonchalantly. “I’d heard of your… troubles even across in my land so I thought I should come and lend a hand.”

“And what kind of hand do you think we need?” Namjoon asked, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in his tone.

“Ah, well. At first, I thought I’d give you one of my daughters. I have far too many of them anyway and their mothers were all certainly fertile as rabbits,” he smacks his tongue against his teeth and sighs. “Then I got a real good look at this land. Fertile soil, steady water supply, a village full of hard little workers.”

Namjoon’s jaw clenches as he waits for the inevitable. “Uh-huh…”

The alpha shrugs again and drawls, “And then I thought the best hand I could lend is my own. You’re a young pup and I’m sure you’re trying your best, but with a land like this to protect and your line unsecured, well…” he waves around. “Half of these warriors are my own sons. My line will be secure for hundreds of years. Figured I’d do your people a favor.”

Namjoon grits his teeth, wiling his alpha down. He desperately wanted to just lunge and tear the man’s throat out, but he knew he needed to be smarter than that.

The other Alpha snaps his fingers and bellows for wine. A moment later the scent of omega hit Namjoon’s unsuspecting nose. Why would the man have omegas in his war party?

The omega was male and jogged towards the Alpha with a full cup of sour-scented wine, and somehow doesn’t trip despite his eyes never leaving the ground beneath him. Namjoon felt his anger somehow grow further when he took in the state of the omega - the way his ribs poked out as though it had been far too long since he’d seen a good meal, the bruises that mottled his skin from head to toe, the state of his wrapping that barely covered him and was hardly in good enough shape to be considered a cleaning rag. The omegas scent was muted, as though the body was trying its best to protect itself. However, it was still enough for Namjoon to catch the hint of bright citrus hiding behind the muted emotions. He’s never seen an omega treated in such a way. They were to be protected and cherished, not treated as though they were even lower than the chubby dogs sitting on either side of the Alpha leader.

Suddenly, he noticed that Yoongi had gone deathly still at his side and he glanced up, noting the stricken expression on his second’s face. He knew full well that Yoongi hid a bleeding heart underneath all his gruffness, but he didn’t think this was what that was. Yoongi began to growl and he watched in disbelief as the omega’s nose twitched and he slowly glanced up to stare at Yoongi in wonder.

“I see your beta has his eye on my bitch. Reaching a bit far there, eh? Even a male omega is too high above a beta ,” he laughed cruelly, spitting out the designation like a slur.

Namjoon observed the pair curiously then turned back to the alpha. He figured his best bet for getting out of here safely was to distract the man from what he thought was happening.

“What are your terms for leaving without a fight?”

The man guffawed, a bit of spittle flying in the air. “No fight? Impossible, my boy. Unless you were willing to sit there and let me end you here and now, of course.”

Yoongi managed to tear his gaze from the omega long enough to growl at the man. The alpha simply sneers and grabs the omega by his hair and tugs him down to his knees in front of him. He runs his hands through the tangled auburn locks, silently mocking Yoongi.

“What, have you imprinted on him? Is he your precious little mate? Too bad. He’s mine. In fact, I’ve been thinking about breeding him since my last bitch is about to burst. Gotta give the new pup a friend, eh?”

Yoongi’s hand tightened around his dagger and pulled it halfway out of its sheath before Namjoon was able to place a restraining hand on his arm. He shakes his head and Yoongi lowers his hand, near-silent growls vibrating his whole body.

“I can see that there is no peaceful solution to be had with you, therefore I’m issuing you an official challenge. I will give you this evening to pack up and leave. If not, we will meet you at dawn and it will be a fight.”

Namjoon stood and placed a comforting hand on Yoongi’s shoulder, squeezing gently to urge him to fight his instincts. The man may have been a beta, but he was more alpha than many born to it.

He observed helplessly as the omega watched them leave, first soft whimpers then omega keening the further they got. The sound broke even his heart - he could only imagine how Yoongi felt.

They left the camp with Yoongi ahead of him and guards surrounding them both. He stared at his best friends overly straight back as he marched forward - no sign of the normal casual slouch that he was practically known for.

“Hyung, I doubt they are going to leave. There’s going to be a battle and I promise you that we’ll get him out. Do you trust me?”

Yoongi’s shoulders release the tiniest bit of tension, though not enough. “I hear you, Joon. I just…I can’t believe I finally found them. I found my mate and they…Joon. Did you fucking see him? He’s so beautiful but they…they hurt him. And he’s so scared. I’m a fucking beta and I could smell how terrified he was, that’s how bad it was. Who does that to an omega? A fucking monster, that’s who. You shoulda let me gut him, Joon. I coulda fixed it all right there.”

“And then his entire war party would have descended on us immediately and we would have been wiped out.”

Yoongi grunts and hangs his head.

“Hey, Joon?”

“Yeah?”

“Could you scent him?”

“Yeah.”

“Tell me.”

“Well, it was a bit muted cuz he’s been traumatized I think. Can happen when a body is trying to protect it…but underneath it all, he kinda smelled like those oranges you always carry in your pockets.”

Yoongi snapped his head up to stare at him in wonder. “Really?”

“Yeah. If I can smell it that well even though his body is trying to mute it, it’s probably going to be strong enough for even you to scent when we get him well again.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi was smiling like a dope, and Namjoon chuckled silently. It was a new look for his friend but it suited him. Yoongi finally finding his mate was at least one good thing to come out of all this madness. The man had long ago resigned himself to living without one despite everyone assuring him that it would happen eventually.

Namjoon sighed and watched the sun lower itself on the horizon. The symphony of oranges, reds and blues usually brought a smile to his lips, but this night it merely made him anxious.

“Yoongi, make sure every man we have is alert tonight. Lookouts especially, but I don’t think anyone should sleep tonight.”

“You think they are bastards enough to attack in the middle of the night…” he pauses and curses, answering his own question. “Of course they are. I’ll let everyone know.”

Namjoon nods and faces the horizon again.

They’d make it through this - they had to.

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

They’d put out the fires hours ago and simply waited. Many of the men that weren’t as proficient with weapons had shifted already, preferring to rely on their wolves in battle instead. Namjoon had chosen not to. He wanted to be standing tall and meet the old bastard face to face when he cut him down for threatening his people and upsetting his mate. Because of pathetic Alphas like this one, his mate had felt worthless enough to demand they add another to their home - to his bed - just to protect their village. He was furious that Jimin had been proven right.

Yoongi silently stalked towards the large rock that Namjoon perched on, his black form blending into the dark of the night perfectly. He jumped up and settled next to him, his ears standing tall and following every sound. He slightly bumped against Namjoon, a familiar motion that made him sigh.

“I’m good, just...angry. We haven’t bothered anyone in at least a hundred years. We have no desire to go around stealing land and killing people. Yet, just because we haven’t been able to have a pup we are suddenly deemed weak and unworthy? It’s so old-fashioned and just...barbaric. Because of this way of thinking I had to hurt three people - myself fucking included - by adding another person to my marriage just for his potential ability to breed. What happens if he can’t have pups either? What the hell am I expected to do then?”

His breathing is growing more erratic the more upset he gets and he clenches his fists tightening, whispering all of his hurts into the night.

“I...Yoongi...this has been so hard for me too. I know that everyone feels bad for Jimin and like, he’s been trying to keep it together in front of me, but I’m hurting too. I’ve never wanted anyone besides him. I’ve known since I was a kid that he was the love of my life. And like, every time we got pregnant I was both elated and terrified because it hurt me to lose the pups....but I was always afraid of losing him more. It just got worse and worse every time he lost them. That last time when I got home...he was laying on the ground surrounded by blood...I thought that was it. And if he died, I would follow him, Yoongi. Pack or not.”

The beta whines quietly and rubs his nose against Namjoon’s shoulder.

“Having Seokjin around is hard now, too. I’d forgotten about how strong the alpha instinct is to mark when you complete the ceremony. I had this idea that I’d...I don’t know. Hand him a cup full of jizz or something and let him take it from there,” he laughs self-deprecatingly. “I don’t feel anything for him besides curiosity and I hope that we’ll be able to be friends at least. I just...I feel so bad and guilty. And I just…” Namjoon sniffled and wiped at his dampening eyes. “I don’t even know if I’m making sense right now, hyung. Everything is so scrambled up there and now I have this...fucking war shit. I’m tired and I just want to go home and nest with Jimin.”

A tiny lick on Namjoon’s cheek was his only answer, but it was enough for now. He laughs softly, wiping another stray tear.

“Thanks, Yoon. Love you too.”

He sighs and leans back, staring up at the stars above him. He really was emotionally exhausted. When all of this was over - if he even survived it - he was making his father take over for a while while he took a nice vacation. He decided the least his village could do for him after everything he’d sacrificed recently was not bother him while he got his life with his mate back on track.

Yoongi suddenly stiffened next to him, bringing him to attention. He heard it next - a rustle of leaves and the occasional crunch of someone stepping on an acorn or some other debris.

They were here.

He could see them now, the red and gold eyes of the shifted warriors stalking through the trees. He sniffed the air, waiting for the leader to make himself known. Even as his own men threw themselves in front of him, effectively blocking any foolish enough to attack him directly, he waited…and waited.

He wasn’t showing up.

Namjoon lowly growled at the cowardice of the man. He was brave enough to trek across the land and try to steal from his pack, but fighting his own battles was asking far too much, apparently.

At his signal, his men leap forward and attacked the foreign warriors. There was no need for frills and banners - he simply wanted them gone. Yoongi was still sticking close to him, but his nose too was searching the air for the absent leader.

Namjoon bellowed his rage as he watched some of his people fall, the enemy ruthless with their kills. Hundreds of warriors fought in the makeshift battlefield, the ferocious growls and pained cries imprinting themselves into Namjoon’s nightmares for years to come. Jungkook was thankfully following instructions and staying as far from the front line as possible, but still managed to make a few kills. Trusting that the boy was safe for now, he throws himself further into the fray, his skills with a sword untried and rusty but enough to fight off shifted warriors for now.

Suddenly, Yoongi howls and leaps away from him, running forward at a speed that Namjoon didn’t even know he had in him. He cursed and shifted to follow behind, fearing that Yoongi had seen Jungkook in trouble or something equally horrifying. His confusion grew as Yoongi sailed right past the battlefield and kept going towards the enemy camp. He tried to bark orders to stop so he could get an explanation, but Yoongi either didn’t hear him or refused to obey because he only went impossibly faster, his sleeker form streaking through the trees and making it difficult for Namjoon’s wolf to keep up. While he was the biggest wolf the village had seen in years, he lacked any sort of agileness or grace. Usually, it wasn’t that much of a problem, but Yoongi charging into an enemy camp without backup would be.

When the cliffside camp finally came into view, Yoongi went charging past the guards and Namjoon was still a few leagues behind, having already tripped three times and leaving dirt and twigs clinging to his platinum-hued fur.

Nearly panting with effort, he too ignored the threats of the guards and trotted to where Yoongi stood growling at the Yang Alpha. The man had the omega they’d seen earlier held to the dirt-packed ground with a foot on his back, the rotting wrap that had been his only piece of clothing nowhere to be seen. There was a group of leering men standing around in a circle around the scene like it was simply entertainment. The rest of the pack continued with their duties all around the camp like this was a usual occurrence. Namjoon averted his eyes to give the omega some respect, keeping them glued to the offending alpha instead as he and Yoongi slowly shifted forms.

He unfurled and looked down his nose at the flabby alpha, towering over the now raging man. His fetid breath swirled in the air as he cursed Namjoon and Yoongi for their interruption.

Namjoon rumbled and stalked closer, uncaring of his nakedness as he postured. He had nothing to be ashamed of after all - especially next to this failure of a man. This man who bullied and abused omegas, who attacked peaceful packs unprovoked, who didn’t even have the balls to join the fight he had started.

“I was waiting for you, Yang. You were nowhere to be found. You aren’t backing out, are you?” Namjoon asked in a mocking tone, drawing the alpha’s attention to him and away from the beta who was now guarding the omega from view.

“Hardly,” the old man guffawed, vile spittle flying. “I thought instead it would be amusing to breed my bitch while his mate was being gutted. Poetic.”

Namjoon felt his growl rise to the surface like molten lava. “Instead, you are going to die.”

“Sorry, pup. Not this day.”

The old alpha waved at the group of warriors that had been standing around like spectators and they quickly shoved the man behind them and faced Namjoon.

There was nothing pretty about the way he fought his way through them. He simply forced his way through to the alpha with a brutal viciousness he didn’t even know he possessed. Two of the men were bashed together with so much force he was almost certain he broke them. Several others were shredded with half-extended claws and his canines. Before he knew it the ground around him was littered with bodies and only one remained between him and his prey.

“Please,” the man - no, he was practically a boy. No more than fifteen he thought. “He told me to watch. I didn’t want to. I didn’t even want to come here. He’s…”

“Shut up, you sniveling whelp,” the alpha grunted and shoved a dagger into the boy’s heart from behind.

Namjoon reached forward and caught the boy as he fell, staring into the bewildered eyes of the youth as he died in his arms. He lay him gently on the ground next to the other men and stared at the alpha with disgust.

“He was your own son , you monster!”

Namjoon’s eyes whirled to meet the hate-filled ones of the omega, who was now free of his bindings and glaring at the Yang alpha like he was a maggot he’d just found in his meal.

“He was weak,” the Yang alpha grunted derisively. “Was always telling me he didn’t want to fight or breed. Useless whelp wanted to be a healer like his bitch of a mother.”

The man seemed to suddenly realize he was out of shields when he peeked over at Namjoon then ran straight for the omega. Yoongi had begun to leap forward to block him, instead, the omega pushed him away and let the alpha grab him.

“What are you doing?” Yoongi’s voice was filled with hurt and confusion, and Namjoon didn’t blame him one bit. They were trying to save him - save everyone. Why would he let the crazed alpha have him?

“It’s alright. I belong to him. Don’t I, alpha?” the omega crooned, his voice like liquid honey.

“That’s right. You and everything we see are mine. It’s all mine,” the alpha nearly whispers as he pulls the omega’s back to his chest, wrapping an arm around his waist.

Namjoon could see it now. The madness lurking behind the alpha’s near-crazed frantic eyes. There was something wrong with the man, and he suddenly remembers the sour scent when he’d first met him.

The omega releases a loud purr and allows the alpha to bury his face into the crook of his neck, his scent suddenly pouring out as if he’d just popped off the cap. Namjoon observes with trepidation as the omega seems to be slowly making the Yang alpha walk backward, his eyes locked with Yoongi’s as he allows his scent to fill the air for the first time in what must have been years.

“Omega, what are you doing?” Yoongi asks pleadingly, his hands out towards the man even as tears begin to fall from his eyes. Namjoon knows his friend must be overwhelmed right now - he was just able to fully scent his mate for the first time, as well as any alpha or omega would have.

“It’s okay. It’s all going to be okay,” he croons soothingly, petting the alpha still buried against his neck. “I’m going to make it all better.”

Namjoon has a horrible feeling in his gut as he finally notices how close they are getting to the edge of the cliff. There was nothing on the other side but a rocky ravine and if they should fall…

“Omega, come to me now,” he growled, trying to infuse as much alpha voice as he could into the command.

The man’s eyes glazed over slightly, but he squared his shoulders and shook his head. Namjoon was amazed at the man’s strength.

“I’m going to end this now.”

The omega suddenly turned in the alpha’s grip and placed both of his hands on the man’s chest.

“This is for my mother, for me, and for every other life you’ve terrorized.”

With a firm push, he sends the alpha tumbling off the cliff edge. The garbled yell as the scent-drunk man finally realizes what is happening to him reaches their ears, but neither Namjoon nor Yoongi go to watch the scene. Namjoon certainly didn’t want to have that image in his mind. The omega, however, stands there staring in silence, until a final thud signals the alpha’s fate.

He turns and faces the remaining members of the Yang pack as they all stare with expressions varying between horror and satisfaction.

“According to your own rules that state anyone who defeats pack alpha takes control, I am now leader of the pack. My first and only orders will be that anyone who wishes to leave the pack may do so now without fear of retribution. Everyone else will go back to the main village and stay there, never to come this way again. And finally, I am stepping down as leader immediately and leaving it to Kwon Jiyong.”

A quiet mild-smelling alpha that Namjoon had hardly noticed before glanced up sharply at the claim.

“Me?”

“Yes,” the omega nodded decisively. “You are one of the few that actually treats everyone well and has been strong against the corruption of this pack. You did what you could to help even when you were one man against hundreds. I don’t know how many times you’ve tended my wounds when alpha said to let them fester or snuck us food when we were being punished yet again. No one else here is more worthy of the title than you.”

“I…” the alpha gulped, staring nervously at all the gazes now on him. “I’ll do my best.”

The omega nodded and strode through the crowd with as much grace as a king of old, and seemingly uncaring of his nudeness or the battered state of his body. He walks right up to Yoongi and places his hands on his hips, cocking his head as he studies the beta.

“I’m Jung Hoseok,” he finally says with a tiny smile.

“I’m Min Yoongi,” he murmurs back, unable to tear his eyes from the omega.

The omega’s smile grows and his scent is once again swirling around them so strongly Namjoon is almost embarrassed. At least the man smelled good - mostly like the little oranges that Yoongi always ate, but with a few deeper notes that brought to mind a bright summer’s day. It was so strong that it was a good thing the man seemed to have a handle on muting it when he needed to, but he knew that it was a blessing for Yoongi. He could actually scent his mate - something he’d never believed he could do. He would be able to scent his mate’s emotions and health, bond properly...Namjoon nearly wanted to cry he was so happy for his friend.

Yoongi snaps his eyes away from the omega and suddenly starts to look around, frantically searching for something.

A tall beta quietly walks up to them and tears off his long crimson tunic, standing in nothing but worn leather wrappings. He offers it to the omega with a shy quirk of his lips.

“It’s clean and has no scent, so it should last you until you find something better.”

The omega seems to gladly accept it and throws it on immediately, the fabric nearly reaching his shins.

“Thank you, Seunghyun,” Hoseok grins and the beta slinks back away as quiet as before.

“He’s not one of the ones that hurt you?” Yoongi grunted.

“No,” Hoseok shakes his head, sighing. “He’s a craftsman - makes and repairs our weapons. Jiyong will probably make him his right-hand man.”

The three of them stand there awkwardly for a moment as the remaining members of the war party seem to ignore them for the most part and begin preparations to leave.

“So,” Namjoon clears his throat. “Are you coming with us or staying with them?”

“Oh,” the omega blushes, glancing at Yoongi. “I was waiting to see what he wanted. Do you...want me to come with you?”

“YES!” Yoongi blurted, then cleared his throat and jammed his hands into his pockets. “I mean, sure. If you want. Whatever.”

“Great! Let’s go!” Hoseok laced his arm with Yoongi’s and tugged him along, leaving Namjoon - their pack alpha, mind you - trailing behind. Namjoon snorts to himself, thinking that his friend was about to have his life turned around more than he’d ever thought possible.

“Wow, you smell so good,” Hoseok suddenly purred, making Namjoon wish he could be anywhere else.

“Uh, that’s nice of you to say, but I’m beta. I don’t…”

“I can smell you, and I’m pretty sure you’re aware we’re mates so it’s probably because of that,” Hoseok chuckles, leaning down to take an exaggerated sniff of Yoongi’s neck.

The beta glanced up at him warily. “Yeah? What does it smell like?”

“Mmm, like fall.”

“What?” Yoongi scrunched his nose and even Namjoon leaned closer curiously to hear the explanation. He’d certainly never been able to scent Yoongi, and he’d known him all his life.

“Yeah, like...cinnamon and pine and maybe a hint of something else. It’s nice. Comforting.”

Yoongi’s shoulders went rigid and he fell silent. Years of studying his best friend gave him that the knowledge that the man was trying not to cry. He wanted to stop and hug him, but he also really wanted to hurry back to their own camp and put on some clothes.

Jungkook came running through the trees to meet them, thankfully bearing a bag full of clothing they always kept around for after a shift.

“Hyungs! Someone from the Yang side came through and stopped all the fighting. Said their alpha was dead and pulled everyone out. What happened?”

“Jung Hoseok here saved us all,” Namjoon reached up and grasped the omega’s shoulder, squeezing gently. Hoseok dropped his head shyly and blushed at the claim.

“Really? How?”

“Pushed the fucker right off a cliff,” Yoongi grunted with amusement. Hoseok squawks in dismay.

“Shit, that’s so cool. Are you coming back with us? My mate is a badass omega too - he’ll love you.”

“Yes,” Namjoon answered for the pair as they remained silent. “Hoseok and Yoongi are true mates. We need to get them back to the camp before their instincts take over. I’d also like to have a nice big meal for the evening to celebrate our victory and get some meat on his bones. Have a few of the men head out to hunt, please Gukkie?”

“On it, alpha!” Without another word he ran back the way he’d come, leaving Yoongi and Namjoon to quickly dress and continue their trek at a slower pace.

After a few more minutes of walking, Namjoon glanced over at Hoseok, studying him curiously.

“You know,” he finally says after a while. “You seem to be taking everything pretty well right now…” Namjoon was genuinely amazed at how strong this omega seemed to be. He’d just killed someone, left who knows how many years of abuse behind, has to be starving and cold - and yet he’s just grinning as he walks with Yoongi, swinging their linked arms like he hadn’t a care in the world.

“Oh, believe me,” Hoseok chuckles. “I will be having a panic attack later, I can promise you that. There will be tears and crying and I probably will keep myself behind doors for a while,” he shrugs and glances over at Yoong with a fond smile. “I think I’m mostly alright at the moment because my omega is thrilled our mate is here. Kinda running high on pheromones and hormones right now.”

“Gotcha,” Namjoon shakes his head. “We’ll plan on the two of you...bonding...tonight, but we’ll have to pack up and head home tomorrow. It’s going to take a lot of work to get the village running smoothly again.”

The moment the camp is in sight Namjoon breathes a sigh of relief. If he was being brutally honest, he hadn’t thought he’d see it again. Hadn’t thought he’d get to go home. But here he was and he was just so ready to get to his mate again.

“Alpha.”

“Ah, Jackson. Good to see you’re alright,” Namjoon smiled brightly at a favored member of his inner circle.

“Thank you, alpha. Good to see you lot make it out alright too. Just wanted to update you before you found your bed.”

“Great. You two go on ahead,” Namjoon gives Yoongi a friendly tap on the back. “Get your mate fed and seen to by our healers before you do anything.”

“Shut up,” Yoongi mumbles, his cheeks nearly scarlet. Still, he grabs the omega’s hand and tugs him towards the central fire where the men are already prepping food for the evening meal.

He turns back to Jackson. “Report.”

“We have twenty-three men wounded, ten were killed. Arrangements have already been made to send the bodies home and we are doing what we can with the wounded. Most of their injuries can wait to be dealt with until we can take them home to healer Lily. A warrior came from the enemy encampment and informed everyone that the Yang alpha was dead and called the men back before we lost too many of our own.”

Namjoon sighs and thanks whoever would listen. He nods, “Thank you, Jackson. Go find your own rest. We pack up and head home tomorrow.”

Jackson grins and spins around, running back towards his personal group of friends. Namjoon sighs wearily and makes his way towards the tantalizing scent of roasting meat. He’d barely sat on a log before someone is shoving a bowl of food into his hands and he begins to eat automatically, just wanting the chore to be done so he could go to sleep. He stares at his friend Yoongi talking softly with his new mate while they fed each other bits of food like the disgusting saps he’d always suspected his friend would be.

One more night and he could start the journey home.

I’m almost there, Jiminie. I’m actually coming home to you, love.

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #abo #omegaverse #solastia #say you wont let go #bts abo #alpha namjoon #omega jimin #omega seokjin #polyamory au #poly!bts

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opaljm · 4 years

Text

blood runs pure (m) – pjm

➻ written in collaboration with @fitaelity

➻ female reader x jimin

➻ harry potter!au + death eater/pureblood/slytherin!jimin + half-blood/gryffindor!reader + enemies to lovers

➻ genres: minor fluff, tons of angst, minor smut, romance

➻ length & status: 28k words ; complete

➻ rating & warnings: 18+; brief mentions of death, violence (there’s dueling/fighting/killing scenes), torture (Cruciatus Curse; in one scene: chains/starvation/captivity/etc.), smut (steamy kisses, cunnilingus/light nipple play/fingering/multiple orgasms/penetrative sex)

➻ summary: The 2nd Wizarding War was underfoot, with you and Jimin falling on opposite sides. This however, was not enough to stop the two of you from falling in love with each other over the course of your final year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry. AKA this is a story of Jimin’s transition from the Death Eater’s perfect Pureblood poster child to the more redeemable man that you fell in love with.

➻ disclaimer: Also, I’m pretty sure we never made Jimin use the word “mudblood” but I’m sorry in advance for any of you who might get offended by the toxic and discriminatory behavior that Jimin sometimes exudes, but please keep in mind that this is a redemption story that is meant to follow and explore the growth of Jimin’s character and that he ultimately does realize the wrongs of that kind of behavior. um this was too long to edit rip, so we didn’t yolo.

⋆ my masterlist ⋆ interview ⋆

It was only to be expected that Park Jimin would have been the unlucky person to get that unfortunate letter, which essentially cursed him, delivered to him on that stormy August day by a completely drenched and sad looking gray owl. He had shown his worth, he supposed, shown that he could be trusted and put in that position of power. Perhaps the Lees, a pair of brother and sister Death Eaters who had been given positions on the Hogwarts’ staff by the Dark Lord, had whispered in Headmaster Snape’s ear that Jimin had spent the entire summer finishing an internship at the Ministry of Magic, a job which had been painstaking acquired by his father through transferring huge sums of money and exchanging many favors, under the tutelage of Jimin’s Fifth year’s Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, Choi Jonghoon.

Perhaps the Lees, knowing how Jimin had reacted emotionlessly to the Muggleborns stripped of their Wizarding status in the courtrooms while he transcribed the trials during his wretched summer internship, had thought that Jimin would be an excellent choice to keep the students in line during the school year.

Or perhaps, the decision had been made by the Dark Lord himself, after he had met with Jimin and declared him worthy of championing the Cause. That meeting had ended with Jimin facing the long and painful ordeal that had ended with him getting branded with the gruesome serpent, that was the infamous mark of the Death Eaters, on his left arm. It appeared that that event and his new title had awarded him yet another one, the position of Head Boy at Hogwarts under the Snape administration.

In any matter the deed was long done; Jimin was now tugging his trunks across a train station which was much emptier than it had been the past few years that he had been studying at Hogwarts, fully aware that he had to play an important role in how the school year unfolded. His trunks were half filled with things Jimin was sure would have been contraband had this been any other year: books on the Dark Arts (and on torture), vials filled with disgusting potions with torturous and sometimes painful effects, and the Hand of Glory which allowed Jimin to spy and get around without being detected.

After Jimin heaved his trunks onto the Hogwarts’ Express and pulled himself up as well, he was pushed unceremoniously by a girl who was not looking where she was going. She was pressed against his chest, in the narrow hallway of the train, and looked up to gaze into Jimin’s dark brown eyes with her sparkling ones. He recognized her to be you; your name was Y/N and you were a Gryffindor in his year. He had never bothered interacting with you or acknowledging your presence before, but he knew that you had a Muggle father and a witch for a mother. His lips curled into a snarl, “Get off me you disgusting Half-Blood, before I transform you into the vermin that you share your blood with.”

“I am— I am sorry, Park. It was an accident,” you whispered, removing yourself from Jimin as quickly as bodily possible. You turned around to head back in the direction you had come from, deciding that it was better to hold your bladder until you finally arrived at Hogwarts than to risk running into more terrifying Purebloods who could scare you into wetting yourself, and no doubt thought they had free reign to do as they pleased now that the Dark side had taken over.

Once back into your train compartment, which was empty since the people who used to be your only true friends at Hogwarts were Muggleborns who had both had gone into hiding, you sank down into your seat to and dropped your face into your hands as you sobbed. The only reason you were attending school was because you and all of Hogwarts’ students were being forced. Under a new law, a Hogwarts education was now mandatory for all witches and wizards between the ages of eleven and seventeen in Great Britain. This was a poorly constructed scheme, by the Dark side, that would allow them to grab the Muggleborn students as soon as they arrived at the station to strip them of their wands and throw them into prison. For this reason, many of your Muggleborn classmates had chosen to ignore the law outright and elected to go into hiding. Your own father, whom you had not seen since you were five and whom had remarried another Muggle, had been forced by your mother to go into hiding with his new family. You hated being here since you doubted that you would learn anything at all to help you pass your NEWTs, which you thought were going to be rigged and ripe with cheating now that you were living in He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s playground, or anything that would help you become a better witch who was more adapt at performing magic and living in the Wizarding world as an adult. You wondered if the two new professors at school, the Lees, who were in charge of teaching the new Dark Arts class, that was replacing Defense Against the Dark Arts, and, the now forced graduation requisite: Muggle Studies, would be throwing you into detention at every possible opportunity, not only because of your so called ‘tainted’ blood but because you were a Gryffindor like most of the insurgents who supported the Chosen One’s cause.

At that very moment you made a promise to yourself. It was not a promise to succeed nor was it a promise to enjoy your last year of Hogwarts; it was a promise to survive and get the hell out of there as soon as possible and to escape to America where the Dark Lord’s reign had not yet quite reached.

…

The next time you interact with Park Jimin, it was because of what had happened in a Dark Arts lesson. You had honestly promised yourself to slip under the radar as much as possible, but there were just some things that you were not willing to compromise on: your morals, for one. The professor, Lee Seunghyun, had brought into the classroom a group of ten First Years on whom, he declared, you all would be practicing the Cruciatus Curse. You, knowing the ill effects that mispronounced and improperly casted spells could have, refused to utter the curse at all and stared at your First Year sullenly for the entire duration of the lesson, with your wand hanging from your right hand, as the child burst into uncontrollable and unstoppable tears in front of you. Professor Lee, being outraged by your act of defiance, said, with a dark scowl, that you would have a month of detention where the Unforgivable Curses would be practiced on you instead. He gave you the options of a month of detentions where he would use the Imperius Curse on you or a month with the Head Boy who would practice the Cruciatus Curse on you, which you had so valiantly refused to cast in class. Given the lecherous stares that Lee was sending your way, you knew you did not want to be placed under the Imperius Curse by him as that would allow him to control you like a puppet so you decided to take your chances instead with Jimin and the promise of torture.

On the unblessed Saturday that you had detention with Jimin, he stalked into the, otherwise, empty classroom at seven in the morning instantly throwing a venomous glare at you for ruining what would have otherwise been the first morning he could have slept in instead of having to run around the castle punishing students and being forced to keep them in line. “Y/L/N,” he barked, “I see that you have refused to use the Cruciatus Curse in class. What exactly did you think we would be learning in that class?”

“I didn’t know that we would be practicing on people,” you muttered. Jimin gave you a look that suggested that he thought you were an idiot of the highest order. You were inclined to agree, after all it was the Lees who were teaching, was it not. “I thought it might have all just been us studying the theory and not practicing anything.”

“Did you think, perhaps, that we were still getting taught by Choi Jonghoon?” Jimin laughed hollowly, “At best you could have hoped that you would be practicing on rodents or spiders and not humans. But as you can see, that is not the case.”

You stared at Jimin in surprise, “I thought you were a fan of Choi. You were in the Inquisitorial Squad and I know what you did this summer.” You wondered how Jimin could sleep at night after enduring trial after trial where Muggleborns were treated like vermin and stripped of their wands and Magical status as he stood by emotionlessly and was, all the while, transcribing the details of the cases in meticulous detail.

Jimin scoffed, “No one is a fan of that ugly toad. He pretends to be a Pureblood, related to the Kangs, and makes up lies about his father being a former member of the Wizengamot, as though my family has not worked at the Ministry for centuries. We know he has a Muggle mother and a Squib brother; her father used to scrub the floors at my grandfather’s office. I got that internship because she cannot afford to make enemies of the Parks. There is no lost love between us.”

“Are— are you going to be practicing the curse on me now?” you asked, kicking yourself in your head for sounding terrified.

Jimin stared at you; his dark brown eyes felt like they were piercing through your soul, “You are terrified of me.”

“N— No, I am not,” you protested half-heartedly.

He ignored you, “You are afraid of me and yet you chose to have detention with me. Why is that Y/L/N?” His eyes bore into yours as a thought about Lee Seunghyun being a disgusting piece of scum flitted across your mind. Jimin’s face contorted with disgust as he said, “Never mind. I’ll practice the Cruciatus Curse on you now.”

You moved to the center of the room, standing there uncertainly as you shifted your weight from one foot to the next. Meanwhile, Jimin enchanted the desks and chairs to be pressed against the walls. Though you did not expect him to, he spelled a dozen cushions to appear out of thin air and pad the floor. “Y/L/N do you remember our fourth year Defense Against the Dark Arts class?” he mused.

You had forgotten that you had shared classes with the Slytherins that year, which had also been the year when the Triwizard Tournament had taken place. “What about it?”

“You will see,” Jimin muttered before he pulled his wand out of his pocket and raised it in front of him, “Crucio!”

Immediately, the most excruciating pain you had ever experienced filled your body. You felt as though every single one of your bones was being splintered into a million shards. Your blood felt like it was on fire and like it was going to burn through your body and drip down to the floor before engulfing your seemingly melting body. You vaguely wondered if this must be what being in hell would feel like, if you were a Muggle who believed in a single superior deity, as you just wanted to die so that you no longer could feel the pain.

When you came back to your senses, you saw that Jimin was staring at you from where he was sitting cross-legged on top of a desk, his hand was on his cheek and he muttered, “You have a very low pain tolerance, Y/L/N, that will have to change.”

You croaked; your vocal cords were abused from you screaming your lungs out when you had been under the spell, “Why will that have to change?”

He gave you another look to suggest that you were an idiot, “How will you survive Y/L/N if you cannot withstand the pain? You need to build your tolerance up. And then perhaps one day, you can make your mind strong enough to resist and convince yourself to throw off the spell.”

“Why are you helping me?” you whispered.

He stared at you, “Am I helping you or am I telling you what you should have realized already? It is common sense, Y/L/N. There are a lot of times that you will be forced to endure things you do not wish to, but it is up to you to use those experiences to shape who you are. In any case, I highly doubt you will succeed since you were only under the spell for ten seconds, yet you screamed like the world was lit on fire. I find no harm in telling you anything; I highly doubt that you will be able to use the instruction I give you to your benefit.”

…

A few days after your first detention lesson with Jimin, you were reminded of the lesson you had in your fourth year with Professor Jung Jihoon. Well, he turned out to be a Death Eater named Baek Yoonchun according to The Boy Who Lived, but you digressed. There had been a lesson where he had covered the Unforgivable Curses. In the first lesson, Jung/Baek. had brought out three spiders on which he had used an enlarging spell so that you would all be able to see the effects of the Unforgivable Curses on the doomed creatures as he performed them. In the following classes, he would use the Imperius Curse on classmates until they could throw it off. Only two people had been successful, and it had only been for a few seconds; one of them had been the Chosen One, and the other, although it had been for a split second in contrast to the long interminable minutes the Chosen One had held it off,— the other had been none other than Park Jimin. Something told you though, that if anyone tried to place the Imperius Curse on Jimin now, they would not be very successful unless they were a very powerful individual or one who had used the Dark Arts to increase their magical prowess.

For the second detention, you showed up early with extra padding on your body because last time, even with Jimin’s precautions, you had ended up with bruises. This time, Jimin was even later than before, skidding into the room with an incorrectly buttoned shirt and hair that was drenched from his shower. “I am surprised you came back for more pain,” Jimin gasped, out of breath from his sprint, smirking sardonically to reassert his dominance. “Are you a masochist Y/L/N?” he asked as he magicked the blinds to open so that the morning’s light could be let in.

“No,” you answered. “But I hardly have the choice of not showing up, Park. This is detention. And there will be far worse penalties than this if I were to not show up.”

“I suppose,” muttered Jimin as he took a step into your personal space, “Have you prepared?”

“How am I supposed to prepare for the pain?” you asked, tilting your head upward to look Jimin in his dark stormy eyes.

“Strengthen your mind Y/L/N,” Jimin replied, “Your control over yourself has to be stronger than the person’s ability to perform the curse. You see, they have to really mean it when they utter it. Perhaps you will get lucky and they will utter it carelessly, in which case it will be easier for you to throw off the curse. But perhaps, they are a formidable witch or wizard who is extremely good at performing the Unforgivables; your mind and control over yourself has to be stronger than their ability to execute magic.”

“I don’t understand,” you murmured.

Jimin stepped even closer which caused you to take a step back; his eyes scanned your face, stopping on your lips for a brief moment before returning to your eyes. He finally responded; “Are you able to cast a corporeal Patronus?”

“I did. Once,” you answered.

Jimin looked momentarily stunned before he was able to collect himself, “In theory, if you have a memory that is so inexplicably happy and bound to your mind that you would never forget it, you could even scare off an army of Dementors with your Patronus.”

You felt like you were beginning to understand Jimin; you needed to be so attuned to yourself, have such strength and control over your mind that you could shake off even the strongest mental spells on yourself. “I see.” You said, “I am ready to be Cruciatized.”

Jimin scoffed, “One is not ‘ready’ to get Cruciatized but, fine, I will perform the curse on you now.”

…

On your last detention with Jimin, he was distracted; it had to be rescheduled to a Sunday, and he had arrived past ten. Jimin looked worse for wear with the bags under his eyes looking more prominent than ever, his cheeks appearing to have been hollowed out to the point of no return, and his collarbone sticking out sharply from underneath his sweater. And perhaps it was because Jimin’s mind was not entirely on making you endure the Cruciatus Curse, that you were finally able to throw off the spell for twenty seconds, screaming out, “Jimin! Jimin! I did it!”

Jimin’s control on the spell was snapped as his wand hand jerked at your unexpected outburst. He glanced down to where you were sprawled inelegantly on top of the cushions, your legs were still twitching slighting from the onslaught of torture, “And so you did,” he said monotonously, before his eyes shifted to the windows where he appeared to be looking for some type of disturbance in the skies.

You sat up. Your sides were screaming at the movement. You, then, braced your hand on the ground as you moved to go on your knees before you were slowly able to contort your body until it was able to stand upright. Your entire form was aching in response to the constant shifting. “For some reason,” you gasped breathlessly, “I presumed that you would be more excited about my success.”

Jimin’s eyes cut back to your shape, “Well you presumed incorrectly,” he answered coldly, “We are not friends; nothing you do excites me. However, it does not surprise me that you thought our relationship was changing to anything more than executioner and victim, given your background,” the last part was said scathingly, “but at least something was able to get into your thick skull before you went back to living your meaningless existence.”

There was a sudden rush of hot unwanted tears flooding your eyes; they were probably a delayed effect from the Cruciatus Curse you had been forced to endure, you tried to convince yourself. “I see,” you mumbled thickly, trying to hide the fact that you were now in tears from your voice, “Well, I will be going now. Goodbye, Park. If we are fortunate, we will not be crossing paths anymore now that the detentions are over.”

As you left the classroom, the door shutting after you with a loud click, Jimin finally looked behind himself and let out a heavy sign before unceremoniously grabbing his left arm and pushing up the sleeve roughly to look at the snake emblem that was throbbing and pulsating across the stretch of skin that covered his forearm, the sight of it making him want to upend his breakfast. The Dark Lord was angry and Jimin feared that a summoning was near in his future.

…

You did not see Jimin again for a very long time. When it happened, however, you were grateful for it. You had turned to spending all of your weekends at Hogwarts wandering around the place. Visits to Hogsmeade village had been banned while all clubs and sports teams had been coerced into disbanding after Headmaster Snape had reinstated Educational Decree no. Twenty-Four: “No student organizations, societies, teams, groups and clubs may exist without the knowledge and approval of the Headmaster.” He even went so far as to forbidding students from residing in each other’s companies in groups of three or more. It was like Choi had taken over Hogwarts, once again. And after dealing with the mess that Choi had left behind on your OWL examination year, you were less than enthused to deal with it while studying for your NEWT examinations

With so much being forbidden to the students, you took to spending your time looking for hiding places in the castle; the less you were seen by the new Professors, and the new wave of students running around with badges from the reinstated Inquisitorial Squad pinned to their chest, hell-bent on punishing students and making their lives miserable, the better.

It was on one such weekend that you were wandering around the sixth floor of the castle when you came across a space that looked like it used to be a medieval torture room. However, it looked as though it been recently been put to service again since, when you scanned your eyes around the room for a second time, you noticed that there were three students tied to stakes with cursed chains that were covered in black ichor that was turning their skins greenish and diseased. Bile started to rise up in your mouth as you watched the unconscious forms writhing and twitching intermittently. An overwhelming sense of horror and disgust overtook you as you immediately began to wrack your brain trying to figure out how to release the poor students from their bindings.

You decided against pulling at the knots that held them captive; you knew better than to let your bare hands come into contact with the chains since you had grown up around magic your entire life and had been taught better. You decided to, instead, test out all the spells you knew that would normally work in situations like this: concentrated unlocking spells, targeted explosive spells, and advanced transfiguration spells that would hopefully transform the harsh metal cuffs into something softer and more harmless, like putty, that you could easily break them out of.

The students did not notice your growing despair as you began to wonder if they were dying, after all, you had no idea how long they had been in that state or how many days they had gone without food or water, or even access to the facilities. After close to half an hour of struggling, wracking your brain for everything you could possibly think of, you sank down onto the dirty and dusty floor of the formerly unused room. You wondered if perhaps, you could come back here with food to simply keep them company until they woke up, if they woke up, and then you could offer them the food to see if they could keep anything down.

As you hastily got up to hurry along to the Kitchens and then return to the Sixth floor with a cornucopia of food, you belatedly realized that you never thought to ask the other Professors for help: not the head of your house, Professor Kim Taeyeon, or even the Headmaster, Snape. It was probably for the best, you decided; you did not know how much authority or sway they had over the Lees, even the Headmaster, and you did not want to get them into hot water with the Dark regime. A visit from the Dark Lord, or any of his followers, was the last thing that the students at Hogwarts needed.

The school’s kitchens were located on the basement floor of the castle, near the Hufflepuff common area although you did not know where the exact location of the Hufflepuff’s dormitories was. However, you did know where the Kitchens were; in your Fourth year, you had had to sneak down to the Kitchens with your best friend Im Nayeon to get food for the party the Gryffindors were having after the Chosen One had saved his best friend from potential drowning during the second Triwizard tournament. You had used it in your Sixth year, too, when you were always too busy completing the assigned coursework from your NEWT classes to go to the Great Hall during the assigned mealtimes.

You had not visited them once, however, since the current school year had started, and you did not know if there were now watchdogs watching the entrance to the Kitchen to stop students from sneaking extra meals. Thus, you decided to play it on the safe side and be a little more cautious as you used the castle’s most deserted hallways and secreted shortcuts to get down to the basement level. The password to enter the Kitchens had not changed as you quickly found yourself watching the painting of the bowl of fruits swing forward to reveal the portrait hole for you to climb through after you had tickled the plethora of fruits in a specific order to gain access inside.

Inside, however, the house elves were more subdued than you had ever seen them. They worked quickly, and efficiently, without conversation and did not pay any heed to your intrusion. In fact, they ignored you so blatantly outright that you began to wonder if they had been forbidden from communicating with the students. You still needed food, despite the setback, so you approached one of the elves and asked for a basket of food: fruits, bread, cheese, slices of meat loaf, chicken strips, roasted potatoes, and flasks of orange and pumpkin juice. The elves went to work hastily preparing your basket, piling up food in the hamper so high that you did not see how it would be possible for you to drag it up seven floors. You asked one of the elves, the one who looked slightly nicer than the others, and had been the first to spring into action, fixing up the food for you, if he could transfigure the basket for you so that it would be small enough for you to slip into the pocket of your black school robes. You figured that a simple enlargement charm later would be enough to return the food to its normal size later.

As you passed the head of the hallway that had led you to the Kitchens, you did not notice that there had indeed been a watchdog that was guarding the entrance. Fortunately for you, that person had been Jimin. And as he watched you traipse up the stairs, with a suspecting scowl gracing his face, he decided he had nothing better to do than to follow you to your destination.

Jimin burst into the room where you were watching over the three unfortunate students just after you had transformed the basket of food back to its normal size. “What are you doing, Y/L/N,” he panted breathlessly at your back; he had not known that following you would mean he would have to trek across half the castle. You jumped in surprise at the intrusion.

“Oh, hello Park,” you said glumly. “I don’t know how to free them,” you sighed as you gestured towards the captive students whose names you did not know. All you could see were the badges pinned to their school robes and their ties that dangled limply from their throats. They were two Gryffindors and a Hufflepuff, so you did not expect Jimin to care like you did. “I don’t understand what they could have possibly done to merit this punishment.”

Jimin strode towards you, his gaze flitting between the students who were chained to the crosses like some sort of pagan sacrifice to the gods. “You should not be here, Y/L/N, you will only get into trouble if you are caught. You cannot afford to be on the Lees’ radar.”

“I know that,” you muttered bitterly, “But I can’t just leave them here. I don’t expect you to understand. You probably don’t even have a fully functioning conscience. But I can’t, in good faith, leave them here like this. I have to try to help.”

“Leave the food here,” Jimin said abruptly. “Leave it here. I will ensure that they receive it. But you simply cannot be here Y/L/N. You are making it worse for everyone. If you get caught trying to free them, which I doubt you know how to do successfully, it will have disastrous consequences, not only for you but for them. And what of me? The castle is alive, Y/L/N. There is not a thing that happens within these walls that can be kept a secret. Once it is revealed that I found you here and did absolutely nothing about it, I will be in a heap of trouble as well. So, I am begging you, Y/L/N, use your brain for once. Don’t think with your goddamn heart, which is all you thickheaded Gryffindors know to do, and leave the situation to me. I will deal with it. And I know how to cover up my own tracks.”

“Why can’t I stay and help you?” you asked, feeling suspicious of Jimin and not trusting him to actually deal with the situation adequately.

“You cannot be my accessory, Y/L/N,” Jimin sighed exasperatedly, “Especially since you cannot cover your own tracks. How else do you think it is that I was able to follow you up here without your knowledge?”

“Fine,” you relented, “Get the job done Park, I am– trusting you,” you muttered, uttering four words you never thought you would use in relation to Park Jimin.

Jimin waited five minutes after you left to summon his house elf, Chimmy, into the room. “Master Park,” the house elf, in the pale-yellow pinstriped pillowcase, greeted, bowing deeply, “How may I assist you?”

“Go to my dormitory and bring the spell book with the purple leather cover and the silver gilded pages. Bring two of the potions in my potions case too. The pale blue one with the aluminum stopper and the lavender one with the rose quartz screw,” Jimin said, furrowing his brows deep in thought.

Once Chimmy was back with the potions and the spell book, Jimin grabbed them from the house elf swiftly. He slipped the potion vials into his pocket and flipped through the spell book rapidly; he was looking for the section on magical entrapments and bindings. He soon found the spell he had been looking for, four pages into the section, and marched towards the first unconscious student. The spell was a nonverbal one, so Jimin pointed his wand at the cuffs that were entrapping her, stiffly and recited the spell in his mind. The spell miraculously worked and freed her left hand from the chains. He then went to perform the spell at the bindings at her feet and other hand, moving to catch her when she fell forward after being freed completely. He sat her down, propped against the wall, before he went to do the same thing to the two boys.

It was then that he brought out the lavender potion from the folds of his robe. It was a healing potion, one that he had brewed in Professor Kim Heechul’s class last month. Most days Professor Heechul did not give them any real instruction anymore and instead told them to feel free to make whatever they desired; Jimin used the opportunity to brew potions that would be useful in a variety of situations, especially since Professor Heechul had made the all of the supplies in the Potions’ cupboards available to them. With a few drops of his potion on the surfaces of skin that had been affected by the black ichor, they began to rapidly heal before his eyes.

The pale blue potion was a rejuvenating one that would hopefully wake the three from their stupor. But before that, Jimin had to figure out what to do with the students; he could not just free them to send them back to the masses that roamed the castle when they were wanted personnel. They would only be brought back here or transferred to even worse holding quarters. Not only that, but with the Headmaster’s potion-making prowess, they could be force-fed Veritaserum and reveal that it had been he, Jimin, who had freed them.

He was thinking about how to get the three of them out of the school grounds without being undetected when he remembered the story that Kim Hanbin had told him of being trapped in the Vanishing Cabinets in the Room of Requirement in their Fifth year. He was pretty certain that that had been the way that Min Yoongi had gotten the Death Eaters to storm the castle the previous June, although he had not exactly been privy to his plans. He wondered if there were other methods of escape that could be sought in the Room of Requirement.

With his mind made, he took out the final potion from his pocket and dropped it underneath each of the three’s tongues. When they all awoke to see their Head Boy glaring at them for being put in this situation, they were all understandably a little scared. Jimin shoved the basket of food in one of their arms and told them to follow him through one of Hogwarts’ abandoned passages to the Room of Requirement that was located one floor above them.

In front of the Room of Requirement, Jimin strutted across it three times thinking, “I need a way to get out of the castle,” resolutely. The door that appeared, was one that Jimin was unfamiliar with, a small one made completely of brass with engravings of fairies and other woodland creatures covering it that seemed to be moving across the planes of the door as though it were enchanted. He unceremoniously pulled the door open and shoved the three of them into the Room of Requirement before sealing it and falling to the floor in exhaustion, his back pressed against the now empty stretch of beige wall behind him.

…

It would be too much to hope that no one had noticed what Jimin had done. Two days after he had led the insurgents to freedom, he was called into a meeting with the Lees and the Headmaster.

They asked him what he had been doing on that Sunday, more specifically, why had he left his post in front of the entrance to the Kitchens. They did not believe him when he said that he, feeling that he was going to collapse from exhaustion had felt that the best course of action for him would be return to his rooms to get some, what he felt was very deserved, rest.

They asked him if he had been anywhere near the sixth floor on Sunday. Jimin determined that the Lees were bad at interrogations as he skillfully waded through their questions. Even worse, they were far too impulsive, making rash decisions as they got exceedingly angry from their poor control of their tempers and their inability to get Jimin to revealed what they desired. They wanted to perform the Cruciatus curse on him to torture him into giving up what they thought was the ‘truth.’ When they were told that they could not perform such a spell on Jimin by the Headmaster, who reminded the Lees who Jimin’s family was and their power, they wanted, instead, to shove Veritaserum down his throat. This was also ruled against by the Headmaster who refused to supply the Lees the potion to use on any of his students.

The Headmaster instead suggested that he should apply Legilimency on Jimin and navigate through his mind. With a smirk at the Lees, Jimin readily agreed to have the Headmaster search through his mind. He insisted that he had nothing to hide and that he felt more than comfortable with the Headmaster probing his mind for the truth.

As he stared into Headmaster Snape’s eyes steadfastly, Jimin attempted to clear his mind and paint the scene of him walking from the kitchen straight to the opposite side where the dungeons were and where the Slytherin rooms were located under the Great Lake. He began to add in details: the temperature getting lower, the air feeling increasingly muggy, the gray of the stone walls as he passed through them, his black leather shoes with wooden soles making an echoing sound every time they hit the cobbled floor. He painted the picture of him stepping in front of the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room, of him uttering “Ophiuchus,” under his breath so that the stone wall in front of him was split in half, revealing a gigantic room.

The Common Room had seaweed colored walls; it was decked out with heavy leather furniture with iron arms, large side tables and ornate chairs. There was a truly massive silver chandelier hanging from the ceiling that looked as though it was made of nothing, but ropes of silver wrought snakes tangled with each other. Jimin stopped to stare at a tapestry in the vision that he was painting. He gazed at the woven masterpiece that has Salazar Slytherin, himself, directing a monstrous Basilisk into battle, before swiftly cutting across the room to climb up the stairs on the boys’ side to go to the uppermost landing, letting himself into the special dormitory reserved only for the school’s Head Boy. Jimin smirked as he imagined himself undressing and slipping in between his bed sheets while he was completely nude. For a moment his brow was furrowed, in the present; his gaze stopped on his bedside dresser, in his mind, where there was a piece of paper. It was a schedule of his Head Boy duties; Saturdays are clearly marked to oversee Y/N’s detentions in the morning.

He felt the Headmaster’s foreign presence retreating from his mind, and then heard Snape say snidely, “Mr. Park is telling the truth. Now if you two are done wasting my time, please excuse yourselves from my office.”

The Lees, chastised, rushed towards the doors, no doubt in a hurry to complain to the Chos or the Mins, someone higher up than they were, to report on their behalf to the Dark Lord a complaint about Severus Snape. Jimin moved towards the exit himself, his legs woodenly shifting towards the Lees when the Headmaster’s voice interrupted his thoughts silkily, “Mr. Park I would like to talk to you about your Head Boy duties.”

Jimin stopped in his tracks, and turned back to Snape, “Of course, Headmaster.”

“Take a seat Mr. Park,” Snape drawled, as he swept through the room, his hands tinkering with small magical artifacts. Jimin sat sullenly in front of the large desk Snape had left. His eyes traveled the space in front of him which was decorated with portraits of Hogwart’s previous Headmasters and Headmistresses. Majority of the paintings were empty, with only a murky backdrop remaining in the portraits that their owners had vacated. He saw that the previous Headmasters, including Lee Sooman and Park Jinyoung as well as Albus Dumbledore, were still in their portraits. The last wizard in question was smiling kindly at Jimin while he waited for the current Headmaster to lecture Jimin about how he had known Jimin was lying.

When Snape opened his mouth however, Jimin was surprised: “You need to become more proficient at Occlumency, Mr. Park. A Squib could have waded through your mind and discovered the truth with ease,” he snarled.

“I am sorry Headmaster,” muttered Jimin inclining his head in shame.

“You are entirely unprepared to ever go against the Dark Lord, should he ever seek to look in your mind Park. It is fortunate that you are not against the regime I suppose. But you still do have secrets you want to keep in under the wraps,” Snape drawled, tapping a long forefinger against his jaw.

“Severus, stop being so harsh,” Dumbledore’s voice rang out from the portrait, “I am certain that Jimin has an aptitude for Occlumency.”

“If he does, I have yet to see it,” sniffed Snape. “Park, you are now required to come to my office every Friday at 8pm, unless otherwise specified, for Occlumency lessons. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes Headmaster,” Jimin replied quickly, as he inclined his body into a fast, respectful 90 degrees bow.

“You may now leave,” Snape said, waving his hand in a careless gesture of dismissal, prompting Jimin to stand up and swiftly exit the room without a backwards glance.

…

It was November when you and Jimin crossed paths again. You had been, once again, on the hunt for the perfect location on the school grounds where you could seek solace and hide from the horrid conditions that had befallen on the inhabitants of the castle. You knew that Quidditch had been banned and thought that this would mean that the Quidditch pitch would be deserted and unkempt since it was no longer being maintained regularly.

The weather on that November day was a little chilly and you decided to seek refuge in the commentator box from the harsh and biting winds. When you had finally reached the top of the steps and swung open the worn-down wooden door to the little office, you found that it was already occupied. The Slytherin Head Boy that you were becoming too well acquainted with, despite your best efforts, was crouched on the messily nailed wooden beams that made up the floor to the office. His nose, red from the cold, was almost pressed against the glass wall he was looking into, out at the Quidditch pitch. His silvery gray hair was a windswept mess on top of his head, and he was bundled into a thick winter coat in Slytherin green, his Head Boy badge was pinned to his chest, and a well-used and well-loved Firebolt laid next to his booted feet.

“Sorry,” you muttered when he looked up at your intrusion, a sharp blast of wind entering the room notifying him of your entry. “I did not think that anyone would be here right now.”

Jimin straightened up and brushed off the dirt and dust from his charcoal gray pant legs. “Were you, too, looking for some place to seek solace?” he asked, not unkindly.

“These days I don’t feel welcome anywhere in the castle,” you admitted, “I had hoped to find some place that I could be alone for a bit and seek respite.”

“It has been hard,” Jimin agreed, “And you feel so entirely alone in the world. You don’t see a point of continuing to move forward.”

At that you turned your head sharply to face Jimin and gaze into his eyes, searching for you don’t know what, in his expression. You had not thought that Jimin could have also been having a hard time. He was a Pureblooded Slytherin was he not? His parents were even rumored to have Pureblood fanatical inclinations although they had never been tried for being Death Eaters themselves. The people who shared the same beliefs and principles with him were the ones that were in power.

But then you thought of the Jimin who had taught you, though unwillingly, how to throw off the Cruciatus Curse and to make the most of your punishment instead of treating you like you were less than human and just torturing you mercilessly for the hell of it. You thought of the Jimin who had helped you free those students. Perhaps there was more to Park Jimin after all: more to the Head Boy than the mask that he had chosen to don for all of the castle to see.

“It would be a shame if we had to give this place up,” you replied looking around the tiny mostly wooden and glass room, “I am content with sharing this place with you Park, for us to escape to when we have nowhere else to go.”

…

The winter holiday meant that on the first week of December, Jimin found himself packing up his school trunk with a large stack of textbooks in order to stay on top of his winter coursework over the holidays. He also put in his trunk a bundle of clothing and an odd amalgamation of things he was no longer regularly making use of to drop off at home in exchange for the new crap his parents had likely bought him to replace them.

Dragging his trunk with him to the front of the school, he boarded a Thestral drawn carriage. After the events of the spring and summer, he could unfortunately see the ghostly skeletal winged horses that pulled the school carriages.

The carriages could fit four but when Kim Taehyung, Jeon Jungkook, and Choi Yeonjun tried to enter the one Jimin was cozied in, he kicked the door shut in their faces and rapped his knuckles against the roof of the carriage to urge the Thestrals to a trot in the direction of Hogsmeade Village.

Jimin was not looking forward to patrolling the halls of the Hogwarts Express or conducting a meeting in the Prefects’ compartment with his co-Head Jennie Kim. He was exhausted and in no mood to talk to anyone. All he wanted to do was to get a little shut eye on the train ride before his parents picked him up to take him to the Mins’, where they had been invited for dinner, no doubt with countless other Death Eaters, and left his luggage to be dealt with by their house elves.

Dinner had been nothing special. The Dark Lord had not been there but his devoted servants Cho Sanghee and her husband, Cho Haseul, had been. Jimin knew them to be related to the Mins through Yoongi’s mother but as he watched the Chos strut around the Min Manor with satisfied expressions, that hinted at their cruel manner, on their decidedly ugly and inbred faces, that were a result of marriages amongst the 28 Pureblood families of England for the past 1500 years, Jimin thought he caught glimmers of contempt on the facades of Yoongi’s parents. Their son Yoongi sat blank faced throughout the dinner, much like Jimin, not joining any of the Death Eaters in conversation, and spent the entirety of the meal mindlessly prodding his dinner with his silverware.

Fortunately for Jimin, this was the most contact that he had to make with the Dark Lord’s most fanatical supporters for the duration of his winter holiday. His parents had apparently convinced the Dark Lord that Jimin was too busy with his NEWT studies, Head Boy duties, and post-graduation preparations to be of any use to him in the hunting down and capturing the outlawed protestors and vigilantes. But the Dark Lord took that to mean that Jimin was ready for even more grooming for a position in the Ministry of Magic after his culmination from Hogwarts. He wanted Jimin to follow Yang Hyunsuk, the Imperiused former Head of Magical Law Enforcement that had replaced Seo Taiji as the current Minister of Magic, around and keep watch to make sure he was not acting out of order.

It was two days after Christmas Day, that Jimin, who had flopped down in his bed at two o’clock in the morning after a long day of observing the Minister at the Ministry, had received your Christmas present. The owl that came to his window and rapped not five minutes after Jimin had finally been able to rest his eyes, reminded him of the owl that had intruded into his life that rainy summer night a few months ago and had changed his live irrevocably. This owl like that one had plumage that was a mixture of dark gray and black feathers, and unlike its long-lost cousin who had been drenched from the rain, had only the barest coating of snow covering its coat. Tied under its talon-ed feet, was a beautifully wrapped gift in black paper with silver stars that was tied together with a thick ribbon of Slytherin emerald green. The ribbon had a card attached to it. There was no name of the sender, but on one side the return address in Ilkley was visible. On the other side of the card, all that was written was, “I hope this gift finds you well. Happy Christmas, Jimin.”

Somehow, Jimin had instantly known that the gift had been from you. He supposed that you had omitted your name and entire address because you had been wary of the gift falling into his parents’ hands. Carefully pulling apart the wrapping paper, Jimin found a thin golden box within, the kind of box that typically used to hold jewelry inside. His guess had been correct: within the box had been a thin silver chain with a tiny circular disc that was maybe a tenth of the size of a Knut and had a J engraved in the middle and one emerald stone next to it.

He immediately took the necklace out of the box and unclasped it to adorn his neck. It fell to the top of his sternum and was low enough that it could be hidden by the collars of most of Jimin’s shirts. He wanted to Apparate to you immediately and ask you why you had given him a Christmas gift when he had given you nothing but the pain from more placements of Cruciatus Curses than either of you could be bothered to count.

His gaze dropped to the golden watch adorning his left wrist. It had stars instead of clock hands and had been given to him by his parents on his seventeenth birthday. Time had gone by swiftly as Jimin had examined your gift and it was now three in the morning. There was no way that you would be awake at this time if he had gone to bother you. Jimin could not find it in himself to rouse you out of bed to answer his questions though they were pressing him. He simply gave your pet owl some treats before ushering it out the window and going to bed himself. He would go visit you after he had arranged someone to take his place to trail the Minister and had secured a few days off for himself. Hopefully, if Jimin was successful, he would be able to have a real vacation until school started up again after the New Year began.

…

Apparating to the Ilkley parish in West Yorkshire, Jimin appeared out of thin air to stand on a meadow in the Northern English countryside. A thin coating of snow covered the field that Jimin was standing on and across from him, he could see a wooden fence caging in sheep to keep them from wandering over his way. It was likely that your mother was the Secret Keeper of your home so Jimin would be out of luck in trying to find you unless you went outside your home. He was confident in his belief that you would; after all, instead of staying cooped up in the Gryffindor dormitory, where you were undoubtedly the safest in the castle, you always chose to wander around.

After walking around the village for a bit, where it appeared that both wizards and Muggles lived together, Jimin noticed that everyone was rather subdued and stuck to themselves. The wizards were wary of interacting with the Muggles they shared their community with, fearful of being looked upon as Muggle sympathizers. And the Muggles stuck to themselves, suspicious about strangers after the increase in missing persons and inexplicable rise in deaths and murders all over Britain. Walking into a small but tidy ice cream shop, Jimin was reminded of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour’s in Diagon Alley. The ice cream parlor had been boarded up and remained closed since the Dark Lord had gotten his followers to drag off the owner, but in Jimin’s youth it had always been his favorite place to grab a cold treat with its extensive collection of eccentric and tasty ice cream flavors before he rushed over to Quality Quidditch Supplies to stare at the window displays of the newest professional broomsticks.

This shop did not have the multitude of flavors that Fortescue's did, so Jimin asked for a two-scoop cup of basic vanilla and plain chocolate. With his purchase made, he walked out of place to go find a seat at the park he had passed by earlier. Sitting on the slightly damp black iron bench, Jimin realized that getting ice cream on such a cold day was probably counterintuitive. However, as the creamy vanilla dessert dissolved on his tongue, and he tasted its rich and sweet flavor, he realized that sometimes good things have to hurt for you to understand and appreciate their value.

The park was not entirely deserted and as Jimin sat there watching families of Muggles build snowmen with their children and create snow figures on the ground with their bodies, he saw a lone female figure wearing a fluffy white Sherpa coat with a scarlet and gold scarf wrapped around her neck.

For someone who had Muggle blood, you certainly did not know how to blend in with them. You stuck out to him so obviously, with the crimson and gold of your Gryffindor scarf acting like a beacon amidst the white of all the fallen snow that was surrounding the village. He doubted that you knew he was here now, in West Yorkshire, looking for you. He stopped twenty paces away from you, indistinguishable from the other patrons of the park with his dark long overcoat and his black hair that was tucked under a dark gray newsboy’s cap. You looked so peaceful, sitting on the icy metal bench as you took in the view of the frozen lake before the two of you. Unfortunately, Jimin could not let you remain in your serene state of tranquility. He had pressing matters to tend to that concerned you.

Hearing the loud crunch of snow beneath boots coming towards you, you looked up curiously and let out a quiet gasp when you saw Park Jimin standing before you. He stood wordlessly before you, glaring at you intensely as he took you in from head to toe. Clearing your throat nervously, you stammered, “What are you doing in West Yorkshire Park? Somehow, I imagined you living somewhere more refined and stylish like Surrey or Buckinghamshire.”

“Oh,” murmured Jimin letting out a low throaty chuckle, that made your face pinch with anxiety, “I’m visiting.”

“I wasn’t aware you really had living family outside your parents,” you muttered almost inaudibly.

Jimin raised an eyebrow at that, “Oh I am not visiting family, Y/L/N.” The same low snarky chuckle came again, “I am visiting the girl who thought it would be appropriate to give me the Christmas gift of an engraved locket.”

Your face burned so hot that not even the biting cold of the winter day could soothe your flushed cheeks. “My apologies Park. I did not mean to make a big deal out of it. I just wished to thank you. That is all.”

Jimin’s face hardened, his facial muscles tightening until there was a severe and harsh look on his face that had nothing to do with the weather, “You wished to thank me Y/N? For performing the Cruciatus Curse on you more than a hundred times? How unusual.”

Looking down, focusing your gaze on Jimin’s waterproof expensive Chelsea boots, which were undoubtedly steel-toed given Jimin’s personality, you forced yourself to reply to his needlessly cruel words, “N-Not for that Jimin. For what happened after.”

Jimin frowned, “Everything I do, is to save my own hide, Y/N. You can’t.”

“I can’t what?” you asked, your eyes watering from the sting of the cold weather, and something more, “I know what I can’t do Jimin.”

“Then why did you send me the gift?” he asked rudely.

“So, what if I did, Jimin?” you bit out, “Why did you come for me afterwards?”

“You know why,” he grated out, “I had to find out why.”

“Are you sure?” you asked looking defiantly at him, you gaze locked to the hollow of his neck, “Is that why you are wearing it?”

“You are a masochist,” Jimin whispered coming towards you, answering the question he had asked you at the beginning of that first detention. As you moved to stand up, he grabbed you behind the neck pulling your face close to his. As you moved towards him, your eyelids flickering shut and your lips moving towards his expectantly, you felt the most unpleasant sensation of everything pressing at you from all directions all at once. The pair of you were enveloped in darkness as your body felt like it was being compressed into a narrow tube with your limbs contorting to fit inside. Within seconds it was over, and you found yourself with Jimin standing outside of some place that was definitely not West Yorkshire, as you were standing on the cobblestones in a rather untidy alley.

“You,” your voice was filled with rage, “Where did you Apparate us to?” You could not believe his audacity. Immediately, you were reminded of how he was a Slytherin and in the back pockets of the Death Eaters that ruled over Hogwarts presently. Giving him the gift had been a mistake. Had he Apparated you to your doom? Was he going to turn you over to the Ministry and claim that you were an Undesirable? You had tried your hardest to slip under the radar and hide your sympathy for the Chosen One and his cause.

Jimin appeared unaffected by the caustic bite in your tone, “Paris. You wanted to be romanced by a man who is clearly not right for you. You’re obviously a glutton for punishment,” his voice rang out as he started walking.

You could not control your feet to keep from following him. You could have just as easily Apparated home, but for some reason you did not. “I’m not a MASOCHIST!” you protested as you chased after Jimin.

When you caught up to Jimin, the Slytherin looked more at ease and more carefree than you had ever seen him. He had tucked his dark gray cap into his coat’s pocket and had let his usually severe hair, that was normally stiffened by gel, get ruffled by the wind. His hair looked so soft, and there was a rosy flush on his cheeks that made you notice for the first time, the light scattering of pale freckles across the plump planes of his face. His thick plaid scarf dangled loosely around his neck instead of being meticulously wrapped around his neck and tucked into his coat. He raised an eyebrow at you roguishly when he noticed you staring at him with your mouth open in amazement. “What?” he asked lightly, “Close your mouth Y/N. You don’t want a Doxy to fly in it.”

“You look–” you paused, stopping before you had almost blurted out beautiful. “Different. When did you dye your hair back to black?” you said instead.

You tried to convince yourself that you were imagining that slight look of disappointment that appeared on his face before he opened his mouth to reply to you, “Apparently silver is an unprofessional hair color.”

“Is it?” you murmured, sneaking your hand around his right one and grabbing a hold of it.

Jimin stopped so abruptly in the middle of the sidewalk that the other passersby had to step around the two of you. He looked down at the joined hands, seeming to wrestle with something within the confines of his mind. After a moment, he seemed to have come to a decision. His hand tightened around yours and he picked up his pace, pulling you gently along with him. You thought he had forgotten that you had asked him a question until he answered five minutes later, “My parents want me to work as a Junior Assistant for Minister Yang when I graduate from Hogwarts.”

You frowned, realizing the harsh reality of the world the two of you were currently living in. Jimin was expected to go to work in the Ministry of the Magic after Seventh year was over. You did not think that he was a Death Eater, but as a Pureblood he would have to undoubtedly keep up certain appearances. Would Jimin be helping the Ministry pass even more laws that ensured the disenfranchisement of Muggleborns and other magical beings? As for you and what you would be doing in the spring after graduation? Your father had gone into hiding in North America, although your mother would not tell you where exactly, fearing that you would break down under one of the Lees’ extreme punishments and reveal it. You thought your mother would want the two of you to join him and his family; to create a new life for all of you there, where the effect of Europe’s warfare was still minimal.

“Do you want to go to the Louvre?” Jimin asked.

“I didn’t know that you were interested in Muggle art, Park,” you replied.

Jimin rolled his eyes, “I’m hardly going to take you to the Museum of the History of European Wizardry, Y/N. The point of this trip was to feel free to be ourselves without having to constantly look over our shoulders. Unfortunately, that means that we have to surround ourselves with Muggles. But I didn’t think that you’d mind.”

Your face tightened, a fraction, in displeasure. Park Jimin was such an asshole. He probably was not even aware of it half the time. You tried to convince yourself that this part of his character could be worked on and fixed. He had been raised to be an annoying bigoted asshole. You knew there was more to him, or else he would have never ‘debased’ himself to spend time with you and to see you as a romantic interest.

As you two walked closer to the Musée du Louvre, its glass pyramid structures came into view. You sighed wistfully, when would you have another chance to be in Paris again? If Voldemort’s plans moved on to France after he was done razing England to the ground, there was no saying that the impressive and centuries old structures of France would remain standing afterwards. You were just wishing that you could take a picture of yourself in front of the museum as a permanent record of this day when Jimin pulled his hand off of yours to reach into his front coat pocket to take out a small black pouch. You looked at him curiously. What was Park up to now?

He pulled his entire arm into the tiny pouch which made you gasp in mild horror before you realized that he most likely had bespelled it with an Undetectable Extension Charm. One would think that by now you would be used to sights of magic in front of you, but it still managed to surprise you every single day. From within the cavernous confines of his bag, Jimin pulled out a clunky Polaroid camera that made you stifle a small giggle when you thought of your father and his impressive Canon cameras. “Do you want a polaroid of you in front of the Louvre?” he asked.

Reaching for his hand and dragging him to a place where you were sure you would be able to capture both the massive building and the impressive pyramids behind you, you replied, “Only if we are both in the picture.”

Hours later when you were lying in bed at your mother’s cottage, able to hear her tea kettle making a loud whistling noise that carried its way into your room, you recounted the events of the day. You thought of the wine Jimin had stolen, since the two of you were still not adults in the Muggle world (you had left a 20 euro note at the register without him noticing) and the warm cheesy corniottes wrapped in newspaper you two had shared as you stared at the self-facing Polaroid he had managed to get the two of you in front of the Lourve. The tiny Y/N in the image was smiling brighter than you had in the past two years and the tiny Jimin’s smirk in the image could almost be mistaken for a smile if you squinted. Jimin had written in his spiky tiny handwriting on the white border of the Polaroid, “12/28/97 – I long to feel this calm for the rest of my life.”

Sighing, you sat up in bed and turned to tuck the photograph inside your pillowcase. You did not see how you and Jimin could ever have more than that one magical day in Paris, without magic, between the two of you. When the term started up again and the two of you returned to classes, you would have to pretend that the other did not exist for either of you, once again.

…

You were a fool in love. That was the only thing that could explain why you had helped Jeon Jungkook graffiti the castle walls with red paint. The rebellious Gryffindors and you had taken to seeking out in the middle of the night to inscribe Dumbledore’s Army, Still Recruiting and other incendiary remarks that had irritated Headmaster Snape to no end. Sometimes you felt a little guilty. The others were putting their lives on the line because they truly believed in the cause and were fighting for all magical beings, no matter their background. And while you did believe the same, you were not as passionate or outspoken as your House mates. You were doing it to get the attention of the antisocial Head Boy who had gone back to pretending that you did not exist the moment the two of you had stepped back on to the Hogwarts’ grounds after the New Year’s holiday.

It was like Jimin no longer cared about you; that one miraculous day in Paris was so buried in the deepest fissures of his subconscious that he could not call it up to the surface. You had half the mind to Stupefy him and drag him to the Headmaster’s office where you had heard that Snape kept a Pensieve. Perhaps when he was forced to watch your memories with you, he would finally be forced to admit that what the two of you had shared on one of the last days of 1997 had been something special.

When it was finally time for the Easter holiday, you were forced to admit that perhaps you had to give up on Park Jimin. The war still waged on and the Light side was losing badly. You tried to keep up to date with the current events by listening to Goldenwatch radio broadcasts but the punishments for conspiring against Voldemort kept escalating. Kim Yerim had never come back after the Christmas holiday, taken because her mother, Irene, was a journalist who had become too outspoken on her publication, Red Velvet. With radio frequencies being controlled, the magazine Red Velvet being out of print, and every way of communication being watched, it was hard for anyone to keep up with the war in real-time. News of the Light side was hard to come by; the Dark Lord and his followers were doing everything they could to have their opponents scared, ignorant, and divided.

Every time you took a stand against the Headmaster or his minions, you were afraid for your mother’s life. What if the army of Snatchers, the wizards and witches that were not given the distinction of being worthy enough to be Death Eaters, which included the likes of the werewolf Kang Jihwan, came for your mother? You would never forgive yourself if your mother was attacked by werewolves, giants, or other dark creatures because of you. Furthermore, when the Lees started to chain students again, like the ones you and Jimin had saved, a Ravenclaw had gotten caught trying to release them. The torture they had put the male through had terrified you, even more so because his fate had been so close to being yours.

You had lost weight due to all the duress you had been under. All the students at Hogwarts were looking worse for wear. Easter could not come soon enough. And when it did, you were careful to leave the things that you could live without behind in your dormitory so that the Lees did not get suspicious of you leaving Hogwarts forever. The moment a student left, they were hunted down like a criminal. The crime? Not complying with the compulsory school attendance that the Ministry had decreed. When the time came for you to lug your trunk onto the Hogwarts Express, you found yourself reminded of the first day of the school year, when you had run into Jimin and almost pissed your robes. How things had changed so drastically in only a few months, you thought wistfully. Now you would do almost anything to run into him, to grab his attention.

Jimin was right, you thought bitterly, you were a glutton for punishment and absolutely a masochist. He was a pureblood enthusiast though he appeared to be mellowing and not so steadfast with retaining the Death Eater’s fascist ideas anymore. But it was embarrassing the way that you had fallen for a male who had literally compared you to vermin not so recently. To be fair, it was not like you used to have a good impression of Park or had held him to a high standard either. But sometimes you hated yourself for falling for someone who was literally associated with people who murdered people like your father for fun. It was a game for them. They got off on Muggle-baiting.

With your thoughts spinning around your mind like a turbulent tornado, and upsetting your stomach, you thought that maybe it was for the best that you had not caught a last glimpse of Park before you left him forever.

…

While you sat in a train compartment towards the end of the scarlet Hogwarts’ Express trying your best not to remain calm and nonchalant, so as not to raise suspicions about your intentions to drop out of school, fearful of getting hunted by the armed wizards that would be guarding Platform Nine and Three Quarters, Jimin sat alone in the Prefect compartment behind the teachers’ cabins. He had long kicked out the other Prefects and the Head Girl, removing them at the beginning of the trip, with them knowing better than to argue with Jimin and against his actions. Although it was rare for the Head Boy to lose his temper, it had been known to happen a few rare times in the past, and everyone at school was aware of how dangerous and volatile an enraged Park could be.

Jimin had spent the last two months going over to the Headmaster’s office late at night to practice Occlumency. Although he had thought he was improving, every lesson had ended with the headmaster snarling at him and calling him incompetent while throwing jabs at Jimin’s family tree. And if Professor Snape truly was right and Jimin was no better off than he was when he had started, then it had all been for nothing. Even more so for naught, because Jimin had been having a growing sense of unease and unsettlement, as the Lees whiffed around him every single day with increasingly harsh attitudes that were revealing of their suspicion surrounding Jimin.

He had no idea what was making them watch over him so carefully. He had no way of knowing if he had done anything to cause them to be wary over his motives, but it was exhausting trying to keep up the façade. The Dark Arts and Muggle Studies bored him, and although he could have gotten away with skipping half of the lessons earlier in the school year, citing boredom as his excuse, that was no longer the case as the Lees expected him to show up promptly to each lesson and put a hundred percent of his concentration into their teachings. The siblings also did not believe that he had prior knowledge of necromancy or curses like Fiendfyre, and thus felt that they were teaching him things that were truly worth knowing. That part was debatable; no one needed such an extensive overview of the Dark Arts. Every lesson left him feeling worse for wear mentally, physically, and emotionally. He would often find himself ducking into the girl’s bathroom on the second floor, where only the Moaning Myrtle could be found, to throw up the contents of his breakfast or lunch hunched over one of the many porcelain bowls. The Dark Arts were disturbing and criminal. No wonder they were outlawed, thought Jimin bitterly as he remembered the ordeal that was the winter term. Even more so than that, he remembered the portrait of Albus Dumbledore telling him, after one of his many Occlumency lessons, that every time Dark magic was used, it left an irremovable stain on a person’s soul. The previous Headmaster had cautioned Jimin’s usage of Dark Magic, telling him to only use it in the situations where he saw no other options. Jimin had scoffed at his providence at the time, but with every lesson with the Lees, he grew further apprehensive about the state of his soul and its uncontrollable deterioration. It was a little reminiscent of Dorian Gray who Y/N had told him about during their momentary bit of solitude away from the War a few days before the New Year.

Speaking of the two irritating nuisances in his life, before he had boarded the Express, Lee Seunghyun, the Dark Arts professor, had slipped a sealed, presumably cursed, envelope into Jimin’s hand. The note apparently contained directives from the Dark Lord on how Jimin was to spend his Easter holiday. If anyone other than Jimin broke the seal, they would be inflicted with whatever curse or hex the Dark Lord had bespelled it with. And with the Dark Lord being such a formidable and powerful wizard, even the Lees had not risked it and tried to see what was within the confines of the envelope. Now, Jimin bitterly took it out of the folds of his black school robes, slipping one of his fingers underneath the triangular flap to break open the dark green seal with the Dark mark imprinted on it. Within it, Jimin found a curt missive detailing his duties for the spring vacation which included rushing off to the Min Manor the second that he set foot on Platform Nine and Three Quarters. Apparently, the Dark Lord would not be there, but Mins would give Jimin further instruction.

Because Jimin was loathsome to ever fall asleep in a public space and leave himself vulnerable to threats, he decided instead to rest his forehead against the cool glass of the train and watch as the trees and hills went by in a heavenly green blur and slowly turned into the gray and polluted landscape of London. Once at the platform, after he had transfigured his luggage to be a size that he could easily slip within the deep pockets of his coat, he Apparated a tenth of a mile away from the Min Manor. The narrow lane that lead to the entrance of the Min Manor had on one side of it, the formerly neatly manicured hedges that made up the perimeter of the Min property and on the other, wild low hanging brambles. As he approached the wide driveway at the end of the lane, thick high iron wrought gates suddenly became visible. With hardly a sidestep, Jimin confidently rose his left arm, the one disfigured with the emblem of the Death Eaters and went straight through the metal as though it were as thin and vaporous as smoke. The spell that the Dark Lord had casted over the entrance was similar to the magic which made up the protective barrier at the King’s Cross station.

The air within the manor was stiff with an almost grim and hostile silence surrounding it. When it was broken by the shrill cry of what Jimin thought was a screaming infant, he almost jumped in the air at the unpleasant intrusion. As he walked towards the magnificent dining room that the Mins had used to hold extravagant gatherings in the past, where Purebloods used to dance and rejoice in their wealth and magical abilities, he was once again struck by the change to the formerly grand home. The centuries old stunning furniture that furnished the room were pushed against the walls, harshly stabbing into the soft gilded silk wallpaper. The giant fireplace was unlit, and the room was filled with an uncomfortable chill. At the head of the table sat Min Yeonsoo, cradling a baby bundled in a clean swath of fabric with a spiteful look on her face. Jimin’s classmate Yoongi was nowhere to be seen. He had had a higher position with the Dark Lord than Jimin had and had stopped attending classes after Christmas. Jimin had to wonder however, if the reason Yoongi was not at Hogwarts was because the Mins had let the Golden Trio escape, and the Dark Lord had wanted to exact his wrath and displeasure on them.

Before Jimin could clear his throat to reveal his presence, Cho Sanghee entered the room in a furious flurry of billowing dark robes. She looked gaunter and more maniacal than ever, causing Jimin to take a step back. He quickly uttered a prayer begging the heavens that Sanghee was not the one who would be telling him why he was at the manor, but luck was not on his side.

With a crazed screeching laugh that raised the hairs on Jimin’s neck and instantly put him on guard, Sanghee crooked a long filthy fingernail at Jimin, gesturing at him to come closer. Stifling a shudder, he obliged her, stopping well over five feet away. “The Dark Lord wants you to take of a delivery for him little Park.”

Jimin clenched his teeth in response to the address but did not retaliate, knowing better than to antagonize the Dark Lord’s most devoted servant when he himself held such a low position in the Dark Lord’s eyes. “Of course, Mrs. Cho,” he murmured, “And where is this package I am to deliver?”

“I’m so glad you asked little Park,” cackled Sanghee flicking her unruly black curls away with an indolent sweep of her wand, presumably this was a wand that Sanghee had repurposed, or rather stolen, away from one of the Snatchers after the Golden Trio had absconded with hers. “The Dark Lord wishes for you to look over this package and deliver it to Snape at Hogwarts at the end of the week. It is right behind you, little boy.”

With sinking feelings of apprehension and doom, Jimin turned around and swallowed the scream that was struggling to escape from the confines of his throat. Nagini, the Dark Lord’s massive serpent, was slinking towards him through the air, trapped in a giant magical orb of her owner’s creation, no doubt. Jimin was not terrified of snakes. How could he be, as a Slytherin? That being said, there was something unnatural about Nagini that held Jimin back from ever relaxing in her company. The snake had an unignorable intelligence that seemed to be far greater than all the other snakes that Jimin had ever seen. And with the Dark Lord’s ability to converse with his pet in Parseltongue, Jimin had no doubt that Nagini often acted as a spy for him.

He felt trapped within his own skin; this was no ordinary task that was being asked of him. The Dark Lord wished to spy on Jimin and then to spy on the Headmaster. “How is it that the Dark Lord wishes for me to transport Nagini to Headmaster Snape,” Jimin murmured, “I can already imagine the panic on the train platform if I tried to board the Hogwarts’ Express with her in tow.”

A sharp voice cut across the room, “You will not have to deliver Nagini to Severus at Hogwarts,” Yeonsoo bit out acidly, “you merely have to deliver Nagini to his home.” She looked down at the child in her arm with contempt before maneuvering the babe around so that she could use her right hand to write down the Headmaster’s address on a scrap of loose parchment. The question clung to the back of Jimin’s throat, but he bit it down. Whose child was that? Did Yoongi get into even more trouble than Jimin had previously thought?

Jimin walked towards Yeonsoo so that she could easily slip the note into his open palm. After he retrieved it, both sisters walked away from him, leaving him alone in the formal dining room with Nagini. Furrowing his eyebrows as he thought of how to transport her to his home, he decided to just walk out of the manor for now. Nagini had been able to glide through the air of her own volition before, so he hoped that the snake would choose to follow him as he left the room. In times like this, it would have been convenient to have been a Parseltongue, he supposed, but as that was a mark of the noble house of Slytherins, and the Dark Lord was all that remained of the ancient house, he highly doubted that there would ever be more Parseltongues. The thought of someone procreating with the 72-year-old dark wizard made bile rise up in Jimin’s mouth.

Once he had made his way back to the outskirts of the Min property, he finally had the chance to look at the address that was on the now tightly crumpled ball of parchment due to his clenched fist. The Headmaster lived in Spinner’s End, which was unusual as Jimin had never come across the name once in his studies of the magical geography of Great Britain. Deciding to worry about that later, Jimin stood in place with his right arm wrapped tightly around his wand as Nagini slowly glided to a stop right beside him.

“I hope this works,” Jimin muttered to himself, before raising one arm to place his hand flush against the wall of Nagini’s cage before attempting to Apparate the two of them to the edges of his family property in Surrey. Fortunately he was successful in his endeavors, and as he slowly walked up to the front of the mansion, he was trapped within his swirling thoughts as he worried over not only Nagini watching over him, but owling the Headmaster to arrange for a time that he could drop by with Nagini, and most importantly, how to warn you to stay away from Jimin and maybe to escape from England and not come back. He could convince you that he would follow you after graduation, but you had to get away. Now, more than ever, Jimin knew with a sense of deepening doom, that the Dark Lord’s takeover of Britain was almost complete. It would not be long before he attempted to off The Boy Who Lived to end their wretched tango and moved on to extend his control and reach over the entire European continent.

He delegated Nagini to the empty bedroom at the end of the hall from his. The two rooms were both on the west wing of the house but far enough apart that he had a little privacy. But even that was not enough to shake away Jimin’s fears. Sometimes at night while he laid in bed, he thought that he heard the serpent’s heavy slinking body moving down the hall past his bedroom. His fear grew that one day he would happen upon his owl’s carcass or that of Chimmy’s.

…

The one weeklong break from school felt both unendurably long and ephemerally fleeting both at once. He had penned two short missives to both you and the professor but thus far had received no reply from either of you. The unbearable monotony of his days, as Jimin was fearful of Nagini reporting to the Dark Lord about his whereabouts if he ever left the Park mansion, were only punctuated by the meals that Chimmy served to his room (his parents were both off gallivanting across the countryside torturing Muggles or something of that sort so he rarely met them in the formal dining room for meals together), him taking out Nagini to the manor’s extensive gardens to hunt for her meals, and the unending revisions and studying for the NEWTs Jimin was currently preparing for. It seemed catastrophically ridiculous that the NEWT and OWL examinations were still taking place while the entire country as a literal warzone.

Unfortunately for Jimin, you responded to his letter before Jimin could drop off Nagini at the Headmaster’s. With your letter, where you had told him you would meet him near where he had eaten ice cream last time, you had included three chocolate eggs that, were closer to the size of dragon eggs than chicken’s eggs and, had on them messily scribbled icing depicting Firebolts, Bludgers, and Beater’s bats. You were always surprising Jimin with your gifts and generosity. For someone who had never received anything without stipulations, it was a welcome change for Jimin to receive your presents which did not have any strings or conditions attached to them.

Thus, midway through the holiday, Jimin found himself taking his neglected Firebolt out of its case and electing to fly out of the windows framing his bedroom’s walls rather than to come across Nagini or his parents (who would occasionally show up as mysteriously and unexpectedly as ghosts) in the hallways, if he had chosen to leave through the front door.

The brisk breeze was a welcome presence to Jimin, after being stuck indoors for a majority of the week. He swept through the air on his Firebolt, taking sharp dives and turns, whooping spiritedly as he flew by miles above the buildings in the uncongested sky that was wide open and free, aside from a couple of birds that flew by doing their own thing.

He once again stopped at the long open meadow he had Apparated to last time. As this was a Muggle neighborhood, he decided to transfigure his broomstick to the size of a matchstick he could slip into the breast pocket of his light linen shirt before he took off on his walk. He found the ice cream shop much more easily this time around and decided to get a cup with a single spoon of vanilla ice cream for himself. For you, he got a two-scoop cup of peanut butter and berries n creme ice cream. Once he reached the park, he sat again on the same iron wrought bench from last time, placing your cup besides his thigh as he splayed his legs out and took a bite of the rich vanilla ice cream. He was not going to focus on how he was recreating the last time the two of you had spent time together and how he was making slight changes so that this time would be better.

Like clockwork, you once again appeared in front of him. Stifling a wince, he noticed how you looked at least a stone lighter than you had been last time. Your face was sharp with harsh angles and your cheekbones were jutting out making your face lose the soft round planes that it had had previously. The chocolate eggs you had included with your letter had made Jimin hopeful, but now, looking at you and the hard glare you cut across his figure, he realized that he had to make up for more of his mistakes than he had realized.

“Why are you here Jimin?” you bit out caustically, “What was so important for you to say that you could not say it with a letter.” You were surprised with how easily his owl had found you in Austria. Returning to an empty cottage and a letter from your mother that she was running off to Asia to hide, you had been country hopping to places your mother had not been to confuse the Snatchers that were no doubt tracking your every move and attempting them to prevent them from figuring out your final destination, or capturing both you and your mother. You were mad at yourself for being swayed by Jimin’s letter and coming back to England. But in the end, you had decided to meet up with him if only to convince Jimin that you were still living in West Yorkshire and to throw off the Death Eaters from your trail. Casting a casual look around the park, you attempted to quiet the furious beating of your heart, although no one had realized it yet and raised any alarms, you were technically on the run and you felt very unsafe being back within the borders of England.

Jimin stood and placed the now slightly melted ice cream in your hand, the creamy brown, purple, and white colors were already running into each other and muddling the appearance of the dessert. With a bemused furrow of your eyebrows, you curled your hand around the cup and stabbed the plastic spoon through one of the scoops, dipping a spoonful of sweet, warm, ice cream into your mouth. “Perhaps we should have this conversation somewhere that is not as crowded,” Jimin murmured, walking away without pausing to see if you would follow.

He led the two of you to one of the communal fields that the sheep were grazing on before he turned sharply to gaze deeply into your eyes and say without so much as a preamble, “You need to leave England now.”

You stopped dead, choking as the melted ice cream went down the wrong pipe. That was certainly not what you thought he was going to say. You had thought, after the chocolates and notes were long gone and all you had was your regret to accompany you, that Jimin was going to lay into it today and detail all the reasons the two of you could not be together. After all, he had ignored you pretty thoroughly for all of 1998 thus far. You had thought that had meant he had changed his mind. “I beg your pardon Park?”

Jimin frowned when he noticed you using his last name, distancing yourself even further from him. “I am worried about the future Y/N,” he mumbled.

“You want me to leave? Right now?” you asked, seeking for more clarity.

“As soon as possible Y/N. I don’t want you to get hurt. You have to stay safe,” Jimin bit out vehemently.

“And why is that?” you asked, not giving into him so easily. You wanted Jimin to grovel. You were tired of always being the one who felt out of sorts when the two of you were together.

Jimin sighed. His dark brown eyes fluttered shut as he whispered, “I think I am falling in love with you. I don’t even know that I know what love is, and yet, I am convinced that it is the emotion I feel for you. I know we cannot be together, but all the while, I still long for a possibility that would allow for us to be together.”

Your cheeks felt like they were burning as your blood surged into them, making them a mottled red. You had thought you were infatuated with Jimin. Or perhaps, suffering from some type of Stockholm’s syndrome because like it or not, all of you were forced to attend Hogwarts and Jimin, outside of the few Gryffindors you talked to, was the only person who had noticed you and was kind to you, at times. But never had you considered that it might be love, anytime you got close to feeling anything of the sort, you had thought you were getting brainwashed. Not by Jimin per se, but you had thought that Jimin had had an unreasonable power over you when you contrasted him with all the other Purebloods and Slytherins that inhabited Hogwarts. But now that you knew how he felt about you, you were inclined to believe that you had also fallen in love with him. After all, it was being reciprocated, was it not.

Perhaps the reason why you took that step towards Jimin and tiptoed to meet his lips had a lot to do with you being a Gryffindor. After all, a move like that required a lot of courage, it was perhaps misplaced, but all the same it was courage. The male inclined his neck to make the kiss easier for you to lose yourself in, and you felt yourself getting swept away in his full pink lips. Jimin was a marvelous kisser, he met every swipe of your lips with his own thoroughly, even if he was moving at a patient pace. Slowly though, you felt him get bolder, wrapping his muscle corded arms, bulky from playing the Beater position, around your waist and pulling you deeper into his hold. When he bit your bottom lip to trick you into opening it so that he could slip his tongue into the kiss, you got daring as well. You tiptoed even further, pressing into the warm glorious heat emitting from his body, and reached up into his hair to do what you had always longed to do: to slip your hands into the long straight strands of his dark hair and luxuriate in its softness. You fisted his hair in your grip, your nails raking against his scalp, causing a pleased sound of contentment to escape from Jimin, as you tried to kiss him more soundly. When the two of you finally broke apart minutes later, Jimin was running his tongue over his swollen reddened lips as he looked down at you with want and you were leaning against his solid, reassuring frame, pressing your forehead against his chest as you attempted to catch your breath.

“Do you want to go for a ride on my Firebolt?” he asked abruptly.

You raised an eyebrow as you bit back a laugh, “Very forward Mr. Park.”

Jimin flushed crimson, “I actually flew my broom here instead of Apparating. I wanted to experience the freeing feeling of being in the air rather than getting suctioned into nothingness as I reappeared in a different location.” He patted along the front of his pale linen shirt, feeling around for something before he took out a tiny matchstick from the breast pocket triumphantly. Laying it flat on his left hand, he poked at it with his wand, uttering an enlargement spell as the stick grew to be the full-sized Firebolt you had seen only once before.

Quirking an eyebrow at you daringly, Jimin smirked as if to say, “So? What are you waiting for?” Unfortunately, Gryffindors had never been ones to ignore the ribbing of Slytherins and so you found yourself easily sliding behind Jimin as he sat on his broomstick, waiting for you to get comfortable before he kicked off into the afternoon sky.

You sat on the Firebolt with your arms wrapped tightly along Jimin’s waist and your chin resting on his shoulder as he expertly flew the two of you across the long expanse of cloudless British skies. Striving to impress you, Jimin would often take swift turns and break into complicated moves, maneuvering the two of you into various types of dives and even asking you if you thought you could hold onto him tightly enough for him to attempt a Wronski Feint. You had thumped him soundly on his back and told him you would immediately Apparate off the broomstick if he attempted any more dangerous Quidditch formations.

Subdued into submission, Jimin took you two on a relatively peaceful ride as you were left to wonder why he played the position of the Beater on the Slytherin Quidditch team when he was obviously qualified to play one of the positions that required more dexterity like Chaser or Seeker. When you asked Jimin why he had not played as Seeker he laughed and said that the Mins had paid for Yoongi to be given that position and it would never have been so easily relinquished to him. He also had bitterly added, that by the time Sixth year had rolled around, and Yoongi had left the team to work on his plan to have Death Eaters invade Hogwarts, the team had become accustomed to having Jimin be their star Beater who would always give the Gryffindors hell and did not wish for him to change positions.

You clung to him even more tightly after his admission, feeling sorry for Jimin as he was always surrounded by people who would not allow him to truly be himself. You also were a bit surprised at how readily Jimin had admitted Yoongi’s hand in the events that had led to Headmaster Dumbledore’s death. As Jimin felt your tightening grip around his middle, a soft smile graced his face and he slowly declined the Firebolt as he prepared for the descent to your destination. He stopped in an alley besides a row of townhouses that went down the entire length of the street.

Raising an eyebrow as you attempted to fix your windswept hair, you asked, “Jimin where are we?”

With a smile Jimin responded, “Give me a second,” as he searched his pockets for a scrap of parchment and a self-refilling quill. After biting at the nib of the quill to free the ink, Jimin quickly scrawled down an address in his thin spiky handwriting. “Memorize it,” he muttered, “I’m the Secret Keeper.”

You quickly memorized the lines: Park Jimin’s residence is 0613 Amaranthine Street, London. As soon as Jimin had seen you wordlessly mouth the sentence twice over, he set it on fire with a small incendiary spell. As the two of you made your way out of the alley, Jimin took your hand in his and gently pulled you along to the front of the houses. In front of the two of you, you could see 0612 Amaranthine with its beige exterior and 0614 Amaranthine with its gray walls, however, as you visualized the words on the paper that Jimin had written, 0613 began to materialize between the two homes, pushing them out of the way until it stood before you in its shining white and navy glory.

“So, this is where you live,” you muttered, following Jimin up the walk to the front door. As soon as Jimin’s hand touched the door handle, he was able to push it open with ease since the door was opening as though Jimin himself was the key.

“Not yet,” he uttered, looking back at you as he toed off his shoes at the entrance. Apparently Jimin liked to have a no shoes allowed household, which surprised you. You had always thought of him as the severe type of person who was meticulous about everything right down to the clothes that he worn. “It’s the bachelor lodgings my parents got for me for after graduation. But since I’m still splitting my time between my parents and Hogwarts, it’s been empty for months. Apologies in advance if it’s a little dusty.”

“No this is fine,” you answered him, stepping out of your own shoes and walking deeper into the foyer. You liked the welcoming airy style the house was made up in. The pale colors and expansive windows everywhere provided the home with tons of light that made it appear spacious and inviting.

Jimin let you go through the rooms of the house without interruption. He knew you were touring it trying to gain further insight about him but unfortunately, the home did not have a lot to offer. When his mother had asked him for his opinion on the furniture and décor, Jimin had delegated Chimmy to furnishing the place. You seemed to come to the same realization as Jimin after you finally paused your tour in the master bedroom, turning to face him with a wry expression.

“Are you hungry?” Jimin asked, not knowing how to make things move smoothly for the two of you.

While that day in Paris had been amazing, Jimin could not recreate it by being in public with you now. He was certain he was getting watched by the Dark Lord, although he did not know to which extent besides that of Nagini, but he knew he would be safe here at Amaranthine Street. The home had the same level of protection and security that the Park mansion did; it had been historically used as the first-born Park’s bachelor pad until they got married and moved back to the family mansion. Perhaps the two of you could play Wizarding board games or something, Jimin did not fucking know. He had never really dated anyone, choosing to spend most of his time with the opposite sex cozied in broom cupboards or deserted classrooms for heated make out sessions.

With a mocking laugh, you pulled Jimin into you, “I hardly think you brought me to your home when there’s no adults to sit around and eat together Jimin,” you murmured, threading your fingers through his thick black hair and pulling him down for a kiss.

With slight groan, Jimin deepened the kiss, his teeth nipping at your warm plush lower lip as he strove for the dominance that you, as a Gryffindor would not give him so easily. You fought against Jimin’s warring strokes of tongue and lips against your mouth, not wanting to relinquish your control, as he roughly held you up to elongate the length of the kisses. You were sure that without Jimin gripping you, you would have sunk to the floor as you felt strangely boneless.

Deciding to give you a respite and a chance to catch your breath, Jimin moved his lips to trail heated open mouthed kisses along your jaw and throat with firm pressure from his plush lips as he maneuvered the two of you so that you were pressed up against a wall. Your eyes closed at the pleasurable nips and pecks, the warmth from Jimin’s form taking over you as your senses his scent washed over you. The slightly bitter and sharp scent of orange blossoms that was so quintessentially evocative of Jimin filled your lungs as you ran your hands over his muscle corded back. Playing as the Beater had bulked Jimin up; he had enticingly broad shoulders and thick veiny arms that were holding you up while he did not even break a sweat. As your fingers slipped under his linen shirt and fluttered against his back, Jimin stilled. Shaking his head slightly, he accidentally scrunched his nose at you when he attempted to wink, rather, both of his eyes shut close for a second. Fixing his grip on your thighs, he pushed you even higher and tighter against his body as he maneuvered the two of you towards his bed, which fortunately had clean sheets due to Chimmy coming back and maintaining the house weekly.

As you toppled onto the bed with Jimin falling over you, you gasped, your breath getting knocked out of you although Jimin tried his best to keep from crushing your frame with his body. You had been wearing a pair of white jeans shorts and a pale blue baby-doll T-shirt to battle the early heat of the English spring, and Jimin was now taking advantage of your easy to slip off clothes to unbutton your shorts and slip them down your thighs as he caged you underneath him. The shorts hit the hardwood floors with a resounding thud when Jimin tossed them behind the two of you.

You started to blush when you realized that you only had your daisy printed cotton panties and T-shirt, that had already been sliding up your stomach, to shield you from Jimin’s gaze. With a light laugh, Jimin murmured, “Come on Y/L/N, don’t get shy with me now. You wouldn’t want me to tie your hands up so that you wouldn’t cover yourself now, would you?”

You glared at him, his palm was lying comfortably on top of your clothed mound, hardly realizing the overpowering effect he had on you. If Jimin crooked his finger into the juncture between your thighs, he would find the crotch of your panties soaked from your want. “Aren’t you going to take off your clothes Park?” you bit back.

Jimin scoffed, “That’s a little too easy isn’t it?”

Instead, he hooked his forefinger to the ribboned edge of your panties, pulling it almost entirely off your body. At the last moment, he had gotten distracted by your glistening rose petaled folds and had left it dangling from your left foot. He took out his wand to summon a large selection of cushions and pillows for you to prop your ass on. It was weird having your head resting against the bed’s mattress while your ass was elevated to be level with Park Jimin’s mouth. In fact, just now, he was propping your thighs on his shoulders as he moved closer to your heated core, wanting the sopping wetness of your femininity to be flush against his eager mouth.

As his tongue stabbed through your highly responsive cunt, brushing against the nerves that lined the walls of your hypersensitive core, your nipples stiffened against the cups of the built-in bra of your shirt. In frustration, you found yourself pulling off the material entirely to let the cool air in the bedroom wash over your hardened nipples. Jimin paused in his overzealous adoration of your cunt as he stared at you writhing against his cream-colored bedsheets. “Touch yourself, Y/L/N,” he murmured silkily, “Do it Gryffindor, or I won’t let you come.”

Hesitantly, you moved both of your hands up to cup your breasts. They were heavy and swollen from desire, spilling out of your palms. But staring Jimin down, you rolled your nipples in between your thumbs and forefingers, letting out a loud moan when you pinched them both simultaneously. Deciding to reward you, Jimin added a finger into the mix as he continued to eat out your pussy enthusiastically. You had never had anyone pay such fervent attention to your own pleasure before. The Gryffindor boys that you had usually hooked up with were all focused on the main course. And not only that, but they were all the “one and done” type, never checking to make sure that you had come, much less bothering to give you multiple bouts of pleasure.

After Jimin had brought you to your first screaming orgasm, he knocked the pillows out of the way so that you were in a more comfortable position. He made his way up your body with deep punishing kisses that were full of teasing love bites that you knew would leave your body dotted with bruised purplish hickeys and marks afterwards. Having finally reached your face, he threaded his fingers through your messy unbound hair, pulling your mouth tight against his for a kiss with a deep growl. His body pressed against yours, his heavy cock finding your hidden softness easily, pleasurably unyielding against the juncture of your thighs. He rocked his hips as he deepened the kiss, your lips meeting his feverishly as the two of you battled for domination, your tongues intertwining frantically as moans and pants slipped out both of your lips. His hard, persistent erection had your pussy aching for it, and you found yourself rolling your hips and grinding your enlarged and overly sensitive clit against the hard metal zipper of his pants, eager to have the thick throbbing length trapped against the zipper within you.

Deciding to ignore Jimin’s snarky comment about it being too easy from earlier, you found yourself unbuckling and unlooping his leather belt from his pants so that you could free his cock. You could feel Jimin frowning into your kiss, so you distracted him by sucking his tongue in between his lips as you clenched your fingers around his pants and underwear to push it down past his hard ass cheeks so that you could finally free his monstrous cock. You immediately put your hand on it, wrapping your fingers around it, eager to finally feel the warm heat of his long smooth length. His balls felt huge in your palm as you gently tugged on them causing Jimin to let out a loud moan that had him instantly grabbing your hands and quickly pulling them over your head as he held them tightly in the grip of his left hand. With his dominant hand, he pushed off his pants completely, kicking them off the bed. “Don’t test me Y/N. Or I’ll take my pleasure and not even think about giving you yours.”

You protested loudly at that, causing him to let out a husky laugh, “Okay, okay, vixen, I’ll let you have your pleasure and take it too.”

Still holding your arms above your head, he sank to his knees in between your widespread thighs. His dark brown eyes sought yours as he fought to hold your gaze, staring into your eyes resolutely while he gripped his reddened cock in his hand and maneuvered it to the entrance to your pussy. The head of his cock was glistening with precum as it sought the slit that led to your empty womanhood. After a moment, he succeeded, his thick unyielding cock forcing you to surrender as he easily slipped in between your folds. He started slow, with shallow pumps, testing your limit before he increased the force, jackhammering you with hard, vehement thrusts.

Your lovemaking had been a zealous and passionate affair that had left the two of you breathless in rapture besides each other after the tingling aftershocks of your orgasms had subsided. You played absentminded with the cuff of the left arm of Jimin’s long sleeved shirt as he rested beside you with his other arm thrown over his eyes. Unlike him, you were not exhausted after the sex. If anything, you felt even more energized. Your mind was running a mile a minute as thoughts flitted across your head with incredible swiftness. For one, you kept coming across a number of questions that you wanted to ask Jimin now that you two had irrevocably changed the nature of your relationship. Your eyebrows furrowed as you grew stuck on what Jimin’s middle name was. Your eyes flitted across his form, getting caught on the bit of his forearm that had become exposed after you had been fiddling with his shirt’s cuffs. The pale skin was marred by a dark inky tattoo that you could not fully see since the majority of it was still covered by his sleeve.

Growing curious, with a sinking feeling of premonition that you did not understand fully, you reached once more for his left arm. You paused with your hand wrapped around his wrist before you decided to bite the bullet and shove up the arm of his shirt all the way up to his elbow. The tattoo that was revealed had you gasping in horror and backing away from Jimin in a rush. Jimin’s eyes snapped open at the sound and he stared at you in confusion when he saw you backing up against a wall with your shirt clutched to your chest as you attempted to find the rest of your clothes and wand so that you could get out of there.

“Y/N, what’s wrong?” he asked getting up and trying to approach you. Your eyes inadvertently flickered to his left forearm, where his sleeve was still pushed back, as you moved away even more, your eyes sweeping across the room desperately seeking your wand.

“What are you looking at?” Jimin asked, his gaze following yours until he caught sight of his revealed Dark Mark. “Y/N,” he whispered, pleadingly.

“No!” You shouted, when he once again tried to get closer to you. “Stay away from me, you Death Eater! I can’t believe I trusted you,” you cried hysterically, as you finally found your shorts and quickly stuck your legs through them, slipping them on over you, sans underwear.

“Y/N, I can explain,” Jimin begged, holding up his palms in surrender.

“No, you fucking cannot!” You grated, slipping your hand into your shorts’ pocket, finding your wand in the back right pocket. Before Jimin could blink, you let out a roaring scream, belting out “Stupefy!” to stop and Stun him in his tracks. As Jimin quickly went down with a thud, you could not find it within you to be remorseful.

You hurriedly slipped your T-shirt over your head as you ran down the hallway and down the stairs to jam your feet into your shoes. You opened the front door with a resounding bang and thought that Jimin should have just been thankful that you did not have an evil or vindictive bone in your body. It was a good thing that you were not a pyromaniac like Choi Soobin, because in all honesty you had been two seconds away from setting the entire house on fire with the FiendFyre spell, the Lees had taught, with him still in it.

You ran down the street until you made it back to the alley that Jimin had landed his Firebolt in earlier and quickly uttered the Apparition spell once you were fully enmeshed in the shadows of the buildings making up the alley. This time you would be running away to somewhere that no one could find you, not the Snatchers, nor the Death Eaters, and especially not one Park Jimin, whom you now considered to be dead to you.

…

It took Jimin four hours to wake up from the powerful Stunning spell you had hit him with. He had found himself lying on his back on the hardwood floors of the master bedroom to 0613 Amaranthine Street with a pounding headache and a large bump on the back of his head. Although he was disoriented, the memories from before slowly came back to him and his heart sunk with devastation when he recalled your reaction to the Dark Mark that was marring the length of his left forearm.

He stayed on the floor, with his knees up and tucked under his chin, resentfully suffering through his splitting headache until Chimmy came to him long after night had fallen with a bowl of kimchi fried rice and eggs for dinner. Sullenly, he asked Chimmy to Apparate them back home, not in the mood to fly the massive distance when he still felt so queasy. Once at home, he bitterly walked past the room that housed Nagini behind its door, and rushed towards his own bedroom, in no mood to make conversation. For a second, he was tempted to take his wand to his arm and use it to cut through the mark and destroy it, but something told him that the Dark Mark was more than just a tattoo, that the Dark Lord had somehow bound all his servants to himself, and that his control over them would linger even after the Dark Mark was cleaved. The only thing that brightened Jimin’s mood was the folded letter waiting on the top of his bedsheets. Written in the Headmaster’s spidery script was a missive that told Jimin to bring the giant serpent, that was currently slithering around the Park Mansion, to Spinner’s End tomorrow at noon.

As Jimin got ready for bed later that night, his chest ached with a resigned sense of emptiness. Although he had not exactly come to terms with losing you, he did get the feeling that the end was near. There were no seers or oracles in Jimin’s family; the gift of foresight was not one that was passed down in Jimin’s family, yet he could feel with clarity and conviction that the culmination of the war was coming rapidly. He knew that Kim Namjoon would not be content to remain in hiding for much longer, and that when he was ready (and Jimin sensed that that might be soon if the events that had taken place at the Min Manor were anything to go by), he would come for the Dark— no for Voldemort, and end the wretched limbo that the entire country was stuck in, waiting for the two to finally kill each other.

After breakfast the next day, Jimin found himself Apparating to the address that Yoongi’s mother had written down. As Jimin found himself walking through the riverside town, that was slightly modernized from the time that the city had attempted to gentrify it and then left abandoned, when no one new moved in, and was now broken down and depilated, he found himself wracking his head around the oddities of Apparation. Nagini floated besides him covered by a Disillusionment Charm cutting through the air easily while Jimin had to watch his step on the loosened and upturned pieces of gravel and stone on the cobblestoned street. It had been plaguing his mind all night as he drifted in and out of a fitful sleep, it was strange that wizards could Apparate to locations they had never been in as long as they could imagine the destination with excessively detailed clarity, and Jimin was wondering if the laws of Apparation would still hold true if he attempted to Apparate with a person in mind as his ultimate destination and not a physical location. His musings eventually brought him to the row of houses where the Headmaster lived. The bricks were old and worn down, the iron fences rusty and bent, the board of governors that set the salary for Hogwarts’ instructors were obviously not paying Snape a livable wage.

As Jimin walked up the steps that led him to the front doors of the Headmaster’s home, the disgusting stench from the filthy river went under his nose as a gust of wind carried the smell with it. At his knock, the door opened up a crack, so that Jimin could see a sliver of Professor Snape’s face and soulless black eyes looking back at him. Hidden behind the door, Jimin knew the man was armed with his wand in his hand. With furrowed brows, Snape threw open his front door wide enough so that Jimin and Nagini could pass through.

Expecting this to be a simple drop off, Jimin did not step too deep into the house, lingering at the entry way. As Nagini freely floated through the air in her bulbous entrapment moving deeper into the home, now visible as the professor had removed Jimin’s Disillusionment Charm with a simple sweep of his wand, Snape turned back to Jimin.

“Thank you for the delivery, Park, but your job is now complete,” he murmured. “You should focus on your studies. The NEWTs are coming up. Stop running after the Death Eaters’ coattails, hungry for approval and admiration. Leave the tough jobs for the adults, boy. Enjoy your youth while you can.”

Jimin glared at him, “Focus on my studies? I don’t think good grades will serve us well now Professor, not while the Ministry is under his control. He already had me keeping watch over Yang Hyunsuk. I think my future has already been decided and is far from under my control.”

Snape’s eyes sought Jimin’s, hard inky black ones seeking his warm chocolate brown eyes. Jimin could feel the Headmaster prodding through his mind, invading it. He tried to put up a wall to keep Snape from learning too much, but he was still weak from being Stunned the previous day. Snape’s presence in his mind felt overpowering and unwelcoming but the Headmaster did not linger in it for long, only sharing a thought that could be heard with a booming resonance within the walls of Jimin’s consciousness. You are a fool if you think that the Dark Lord will win, Park. Stop now before you ruin your future irreversibly. He left Jimin’s mind as quickly as he had entered, cutting their shared gaze and walking deeper into his home, following in the path Nagini’s aimless drifting. “Do you wish to stay for lunch?” his voice rang out to Jimin as he walked into another room.

“No thanks, I’m good,” Jimin grunted, still clutching his abused head. Suddenly, why Voldemort had chosen to watch over Snape with Nagini made sense to Jimin. There were larger things that were afoot than Jimin had the privilege of being privy to. It was better, like Snape had said, for him to back off while he still could. He would just ask his parents to plead his case so that he was no longer deeply enmeshed with the goings, comings, and doings of the Death Eaters. “I’ll just be going now,” he called out, exiting the home speedily.

Perhaps he could move to South Korea and find work in the Department of Mysteries in their Ministry of Magic. If he became an Unspeakable, he would never be allowed to leave the country as well and he would be guarded at all times both by the spells that bound Unspeakables from ever revealing confidential information and by the country’s Department of Magical Law Enforcement from ever leaving the country. Although Jimin would never be getting his happy ending with you, he would be damned if he was going to let Voldemort or the Death Eaters rule his life anymore. He would study the Asian magical archives until he found the way to get rid of Voldemort for good, if Namjoon failed to be up to the task.

…

For all its glitz and glamour, America was boring. You came to that realization by your second week in Brownville, Nebraska, a small town that was home to about 500 muggles. Your mother and you had settled in the same large farmhouse that your father had rented out for his new wife and your half-siblings. But even the tension between the two great loves of your father’s life, past and present, did not provide enough diversion from the boring mundaneness that encompassed life at Brownville.

There had been several rules that your parents had both implemented once you had joined them. Amongst them were absolutely no speaking of magic or life in England, no performing of magic, and no use of magical objects. Your pet owl had been moved to live in the barn that took up the back of the property your father had rented, and you were only allowed to visit her with treats in the dark of the night. As it was, you thought your pet was already diverting back to her more undomesticated side as she was preferring the small rodents, she could hunt on the property, to the owl treats you placed out for her.

You were grateful that the adults had given you the large open structure of the attic to be your room, where you would often stay up for most of the day, only coming down for meals, avoiding everyone else in the house. Your half-siblings, who were much younger than you were confused and resentful of the move to Nebraska and blamed you for it although they did not know the details as to why. Your father had never felt the need to tell his Muggle family that once upon a time he had fallen in love with a witch and, with her, had had a daughter who was also a witch. After all, being a Muggle himself, the chances of one of his newer children being able to perform magic were minimal to zero.

As April came to an end and May began, you had resigned yourself to fully living a life as a Muggle and had even considered the benefits of such a lifestyle. For one, the Muggles had increasingly advanced as a society and had come up with inventions that were, in your opinion, just as magical as the things that witches, and wizards could come up with. In fact, you were highly impressed by televisions and telephones. One evening, in between looking through catalogs for different tutoring services you could pay for to acquire a GED, you were trying to set up the black box television set your parents had surprised you with in your attic bedroom. You were struggling with the antenna when you felt a burning sensation the size of a Galleon against your chest. The DA coin you had attached to a chain, to dangle from your neck, was warm to the touch, lightly heating your skin with its summons. Jeon Jungkook, the de facto leader of the group since Kim Namjoon, Jung Hoseok, and Kim Seokjin, the three members of the Golden Trio, had gone on the run, was using it to summon members of Dumbledore’s Army to fight.

Immediately jumping up, you grabbed your wand where it was hidden, tucked inside one of your many pillowcases. Before you could get too excited, you noticed that you were still in your pajamas with a robe hanging off your frame haphazardly and mismatched socks covering your feet. As you hurriedly threw off your clothes to pull a pair of jeans over your legs and a sweater over your pajama shirt, you searched the top of your messy desk to find a scrap of paper you could write on, to let your mother where you had gone. Knowing that there was a chance that your note would fall into the hands of your half-siblings, you were careful to be vague. You wrote quickly with your pen running across the page, blotching the sheet with spots of ink. You wrote: Mother, I had to do it. I had to leave to show the strength and perseverance of Godric’s friends. I’ve gone to meet Hogwarts to do what has to be done. It is my time now to do what you had done 20 years ago. I love you Mother, never forget that.

Blinking back tears, you prepared yourself to Apparate straight into the Hog’s Head pub, as you tried to resign yourself to the idea that there was a chance that you would not be coming out on the other side, alive. But you had lived the entire year as a shade. In all honestly you were a little embarrassed of yourself. Proud, brave Gryffindors did not act like this. It was time for you to stand up for what was right. It was time for you to defend all the Muggleborns and everyone who had been persecuted and treated like vermin as He-Who-Must, no, Voldemort forced his will upon everyone throughout all of Britain.

If you died, you hoped that your mother would be able to sleep at night knowing that she had raised a strong and fearless daughter who defended and protected those who could not fight for themselves. As you hurried through your room, looking for what else you might have needed, your eyes got caught on your Gryffindor House badge tittering on the edge of the nightstand. Grabbing it swiftly, you stabbed it through the fabric of your sweater before raising your wand in front of you and Apparating to Hogsmeade Village.

Once you found yourself in the bar, you were immediately pushed to the side as the large group of people that had congregated tried to squeeze everyone in the small space. As your gaze flickered over the wizards and witches who had all come together to help Namjoon fight Voldemort, you thought you even saw members of the Order of the Phoenix and students who had already graduated in the mix. As you stood there awkwardly and alone, watching Kim Kibum get tackled by Lee Taemin as the two of them started to talk over each other, you thought you heard Kibum yell when Taemin announced that he did not have a wand. Further away, you saw Bang Sihyuk quietly talking with Kang Hyowon and Kwon Dohyeong, who had gone by PDogg and Slow Rabbit on the Goldenwatch broadcasts, about how to get the younger students safely away before the main fighting began. Adora was talking to Shin Donghyuk about how to defend the castle and block off the exits and entrances to the school, waving her wand around to cast a three-dimensional diagram that floated above their heads and changed to depict her plans.

You were so overwhelmed, taking in everything that was happening all around you at once, that you did not notice your best friends Nayeon and Jeongyeon until they both barreled into you, hugging you tightly. The tears threatened to overtake your features once more, but you held it in, knowing that you had to stay strong so that you could fight with a clear head. “I’ve missed you two so much,” you mumbled into their hair.

“We’ve missed you too,” Jeongyeon said, grabbing your hand and squeezing it tightly in hers.

“But it’s okay,” Nayeon declared, “We’re together now. And we’ll fight together too.”

You nodded energetically at that moving towards Mr. Bang who was gesturing you all over to get into orderly groups to go upstairs and exit into the castle, one group at a time. Once you were rushed up the stairs to a room, the likes of which you had never seen before at Hogwarts, since it had been designed by the Room of Requirement, you all were furtively pushed out into the corridors to make your ways down to the Great Hall where everyone was gathering so that Hog’s Head would have enough room for all the wizards and witches that were traveling to Hogwarts to fight.

The Great Hall was looking more haphazard and disorganized than it had looked the night that Azkaban’s prisoner had escaped onto the school’s grounds and the Dementors had been dispatched. All the tables were filled, there were First, Second, and Third Years who had been pulled out of bed in their pajamas sitting only feet away from battle ready, hardened witches and wizards who were all still holding up their wands up in a fighting move. Even the castles ghosts had all congregated at the Hall, looking at Professor Taeyeon who was speaking at the front of the room, on a raised platform where the Professors’ table usually was. Behind her, the other Professors could be seen, Kim Heechul, Eric Nam, Lee Sumni, and Tiffany Young, with the members of the Order standing behind them.

Professor Taeyeon was explaining that the evacuation of the students would be taking place immediately, “If you are of age, you are allowed to stay behind and remain to fight if you desire,” she continued as Nayeon pulled you down to sit next to her at the Gryffindor table.

As you stared at the Deputy Headmistress who was speaking about how the Headmaster had taken a permanent leave of absence, her voice was drowned out by a terrible inhumane voice that rang out through the space, chilling and clear: “I know that you all are preparing to fight. But you must know, your efforts are in vain. It is futile to go against me. You cannot fight me and expect to win. I do not wish to kill you. I respect the institute of Hogwarts greatly, the instructors and what they teach and represent. I do not want to spill any magical blood. I have a great love for our kind.”

Screams had erupted across the Great Hall, as panic-stricken students clung to each other in fear, their fearful gazes darting across the room trying to make sense of where the voice was coming from. Voldemort continued, “Give me Kim Namjoon and no one will get hurt. Give me Kim Namjoon and the school will be left standing and whole. Give me Kim Namjoon and I will reward you for your labor. You have until midnight to give him up, after that I will offer no mercy to a single soul.”

Silence overtook the entire Hall, broken minutes later when Jennie Kim stood up on the Slytherin table and shouted, “He’s right there,” pointing to the entrance to the Great Hall where Namjoon stood next to Yeri. “Get him! Someone quick! Before we all have to die for his actions!”

All at once, there was a rush of sound as people began to push up against the House tables. You stood up with the Gryffindors, reaching for your wand as you all stood to face Jennie face on to defend Namjoon from her. The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had stood up with you all, also reaching for their wands, targeting the table that was at the far left of the room who all had students that were stiffly sitting down. You tried to see if Jimin was with his mulish Housemates, but you could not see him anywhere. Now that he had gone back to his natural black hair, it was no longer easy to spot the Head Boy in a crowd.

With an acerbic, tight bite to her words, Professor Taeyeon grated, “Miss Kim cease your foolishness. You will be the first to leave the Hall, if the rest of your House could follow. Ravenclaws, once the Slytherins leave, follow them.”

The tables were slowly vacated, with only the adults who wished to fight remaining behind. To the absolute surprise of no one, the Slytherin table was completely deserted. The Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables however had about half of their Seventh Years still staying seated. However, when it came to the Gryffindor table, everyone was reluctant to leave their place, with even the First and Second Years putting on a brave face as they nervously clutched at their almost brand-new wands. Professor Taeyeon had to abandon her post at the platform to come and deal with her house, shouting, “Huening Kai, Kang Taehyun! Get going! You two absolutely cannot stay!” when the two were reluctant to part with the Chasers of the Gryffindor quidditch team: the Choi’s, Soobin, Yeonjun and Beomgyu.

As Professor Taeyeon took care of the Gryffindors who were leaving, arranging evacuation protocols with the Prefects, Mr. Bang took the stage to order you all to take up post all over the castle. You listened to him with your mind drifting wondering about Jimin. Would he be allowed to leave with the students or would Voldemort force him to return to the castle to fight after midnight when the school inevitably did not give up Namjoon.

…

As you were getting ready to fight, Jimin was getting ready too. He had slipped away in all the ruckus, casting a Disillusionment Charm over his form. He had to find the Headmaster. He did not believe what Professor Taeyeon had said. He needed to find the Professor to know if there was a way for him to get rid of his Dark Mark. He had no idea the magnitude of its power but he knew that if he wanted to make a break from the Death Eaters, it would have to be a clean one. He could not risk being in the fray, getting attacked by both the Light side and Voldemort’s followers who would both be seeing him as the enemy.

He stalked through the halls, walking through the halls determinedly, seeking the Headmaster’s studies where he knew that Professor Snape would be, licking his wounds after his brawl against Professor Taeyeon. Soon, he was in front of the gargoyles that would split to reveal the way to the Headmaster’s rooms. But what would the password be? Surely Snape had changed it after Taeyeon had attacked him to keep her from accessing it. Wracking his brain, Jimin’s memories paused on the portraits of Headmasters, past, cheering him on as he struggled to fight against Snapes attacks on his mind, striving to improve his Occlumency. His focus kept lingering on the portrait of the Albus Dumbledore with the sparkly vivid blue backdrop. “Dumbledore!” Jimin shouted, hardly pausing to feel the full extent of his astonishment before rushing up the stairs, into the circular chamber, where Professor Snape was slumped over his chair like a comic book villain, rubbing the pads of his fingers into his temple.

“Professor!” Jimin blurted, “You have to help me. Please. You’re the only one who can.”

Snape’s gaze flickered to Jimin distractedly, his eyes were glazed and unfocused, “I am a little busy Park. You could not have come at a more inopportune time,” he grated, standing up and clutching at his left arm, which must have been burning as hotly as Jimin’s if not more so.

“Is there a way to get rid of the Mark? Please Professor,” Jimin begged.

For a second, there was the cunning clarity, that Jimin knew Snape to have, taking over his person as his beady dark eyes focused on Jimin. “Come here Park and roll your sleeve up.”

Jimin rushed forward, swiftly shoving up the left sleeve of his school robes to expose the Dark Mark that stood out against Jimin’s pale skin with its black ink to Snape. Wrapping his clammy pale hand around Jimin’s wrist, he pulled Jimin’s arm forward, and with a whispered, “Sectumsempra,” cut a controlled gash over Jimin’s arm, going over the path he was tracing with his wand. The pain was blinding. It lacerated through Jimin’s flesh, cutting right to the bone, creating hemorrhages and causing Jimin’s vision to go white at the blood loss. As it cut through the ink of the Dark Mark, however, with the pain Jimin felt a sense of release as though his link to Voldemort was finally being broken. As quickly as he inflicted the curse on Jimin, Snape muttered a songlike chant, incanting the counter-curse. His wand was tracing the same path it had made earlier, only this time it was in reverse. The blood flow seemed to stutter and stop and then Snape was repeating the counter curse a second time and a third to stitch the flesh back up.

A disgusting mottled patch of flesh took up the entire length of Jimin’s arm, it looked like someone had dipped a sword into acid and ran deep horizontal lines through his skin, with the healed lines standing up in ridges against his arm, but the mark was entirely gone. The pain however lingered. If he was to fight in the war after this, he would have to be careful not to reveal that he was already nursing a wound.

“I can give you Dittany to ease the pain, however it is unlikely that the scar will fade. I had to use a dark spell on a mark that was already created by dark magic. We are just lucky it worked,” muttered Snape, getting up to go to the potions cabinet at the opposite side of the room where he kept his stash of powerful and intricate potions.

As Jimin stood still staring at the long white scars that had the heterogenic patterns of chemical burns, waiting for the Dittany to kick in, Snape rushed to the window on the far side of the chamber. Instantly he flung the two panels of glass open and stood at the sill, peering down eight floors to where the green of the Hogwarts’ lawn was still visible in the dark of the night. Without so much as a pause, he instantly stepped off of it, causing Jimin to yelp, thinking that he had just watched his Headmaster plunge to his death after a suicidal jump. Rushing to the window, Jimin could see in the distance a huge bat-like figure flying through the air, rushing towards the darkness that laid beyond the outer perimeter walls of the school grounds.

However, Jimin could not stay here forever. He had to get out to where the fighting was taking place. He had a job as the Head Boy of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to serve them to the best of his abilities. And that meant, that whether the Lees or Voldemort had intended when they had given him the title, that Jimin had the duties of being a good leader for the students, along with protecting the castle and its inhabitants, and doing anything else that was asked of him. As he made his way back into the fray, he saw Death Eaters fighting with students half their ages, some of their hoods and masks having come off in the heat of the moment.

The corridors were filled with a rainbow of brightly colored bolts as each side hurled defensive spells at each other. The Death Eaters fought with no compunction, having the Unforgivable Curses spill from their lips, with each wave of their wand. Jimin went through the crowd, running swiftly, sending targeted Stunning spells through them, aiming at what could have even been his own parents under those disguises. But suddenly, the air exploded with a deafening blast. The corridor cleaved itself, the walls shattered into a million fragmented pieces and the roof began to cave in. Jimin coughed at the sudden explosion of kicked up dust and plaster. He did his best to get out of the rubble, pitching his arm under the shoulder of a struggling student with a cut on his forehead and a tear in his black school robes. The boy’s red tie looped around his neck, tightening like a noose.

Once they had made it to the edge of the corridor that had not been impacted by the explosive spell, he was finally able to look at the person whose life he had saved. Kim Taehyung stared back at Jimin in confusion, wiping the back of his left hand across his mouth to wipe away some of the blood from a cut lip. As his brows furrowed and his mouth opened with the beginnings of a question painting his lips, a terrible scream from a female could be heard as a gigantic spider, the size of a Volkswagen beetle crawling in through the monstrous new hole in the wall that made the outside of the castle visible.

Sprinting away from each other, the two shot spells over their shoulders at the spider. None of the spells seemed to have an effect, as the spider crawled its way in, however when it was struck by both of their spells at the same time, it flipped in its back, struggling to make itself upright again. Jimin dared to look back into the direction of the hole. He yelled, “It brought its family,” as he sprinted away.

Soon, both students, members of the Order, and Death Eaters were all running, all attacking the spiders with jets of red and green lit spells, as they ran to save themselves. As Jimin reached the end of the hall where the staircases were, he took flight, leaping over the railing of the walkway to the moving stairs that were shifting ten feet below it. As his heart jumped to his throat, as he made himself a vulnerable target flying through the air for both Death Eaters and Hogwartians, he wondered if you were here too, or if you were long gone, hidden wherever it had been that you had fled to, making a new life for yourself away from war and political uprisings. He thought maybe it would be safer for him to fight out in the open on the Hogwarts’ grounds where there were not as much landmarks that could be weaponized to explode or collapse, crushing and hurting everyone in its path with its debris.

As Jimin made his way towards the ground level of the castle, running and leaping from staircase to staircase, He crossed paths with several Death Eaters who would give him a nod of acknowledgment before turning their backs and targeting Jimin’s classmates. Was it unchivalrous of Jimin to attack them when they had their backs turned? Perhaps. But Rome was not built in a day and Jimin could not unteach everything he had been taught. After all, he was not a self-righteous Gryffindor, he was a cunning Slytherin who took the chance when he saw it.

Jimin had finally neared the bottom floor, he took the stairs four at a time as he hurried to get out of such a vulnerable position. The staircase that connected all of the stories of the castles were death traps for not only the people using them, but the ones underneath or nearby them. After direct hits from powerful spells, they were liable to collapse into giant pieces of stone and marble that could crush the crowd below it or plunge the ones on it to a painful death. His mind’s musings came true a moment later when someone screeched “Glisseo!” causing the stairs under his feet to flatten to a smooth ramp, making Jimin who had been rushing down the steps to hurtle down it so quickly, unable to control the momentum his body had gained, that shots of red and green light went over his head, narrowly missing his body by a hairsbreadth.

As Jimin lay at the foot of the staircase, resting his weight on his hands as he struggled to get the feeling back in his legs, the shattering sound of glass being blasted erupted to his left. With a quick glance, Jimin was able to see that the Slytherin hourglass that kept track of their house points had exploded with only part of its bottom half remaining. The tennis ball size emeralds were spilled, the gems rolling around haphazardly, causing everyone to trip and slip over them. Jimin could not help but think of the previous June when the previous Headmaster had died, and the Gryffindor hourglass had gotten shattered in the carnage that the invading Death Eaters had left behind. The magic of Hogwarts worked in mysterious ways, often revealing omens that had grim outcasts. Had Headmaster Snape fallen and died?

With his heart pounding so furiously that he could not hear anything but the rush of blood moving behind his ears, Jimin ran towards the front doors of the castle. Everywhere he looked, there was chaos and destruction. There were enormous spiders climbing the walls freely, their pincers snapping erratically as they looked for victims to envenom and eat. The giants that Voldemort had created alliances with had come now, to play. They were attacking the castle with their monstrous clubs, sending the stone bricks that shaped the castle flying.

As soon as Jimin stepped onto the grounds, an unearthly chill entered his body. The air was frozen around him. His heartbeats slowed and quietened until he could no longer hear them, feeling leaden and immobile. Dementors. Those malevolent wraiths glided through the open sky of the castle, their multitude covering the brightness of the full moon that shown over all of the grounds. Already, the dark morose thoughts began to permeate Jimin’s minds. He was never going to be able to gain penance for his sins. He would never be able to make up for what he had done, and for what he had not done as he stood by and let terrible things happen. Headmaster Snape was most likely dead. There was no way that Kim Namjoon could beat Voldemort. It was futile, it was all futile and perhaps Nagini was the key. But as long as she remained in her enchanted protective cage, there would be no saving for the rest of them. They were all damned and doomed to die in this pointless futile fight. Voldemort would soon discover that Jimin had forsook him and would torture him until he could break into Jimin’s mind with ease and destroy everything that Jimin loved or cared about. And what about you, Y/N, Jimin would never be able to ask for your forgiveness or be given the opportunity to make up for his mistakes. His breath came out in smoky white vaporous streams, he tried to raise his right arm to create his Patronus, but it would not move.

He had resigned himself for the Kiss from the Dementor that was closest to him, and seemed to be targeting him specifically, when a massive silver tiger, soared over his head, joined by its mercurial companions, a silver squirrel and hare. The Dementors scattered, backing away from Jimin, but they still caged him in.

“Come on Park!” came the shout of Jung Hoseok from his right. “I know you can do this. You are easily the most brilliant wizard in our Year, excluding Namjoon.”

“Just think of a happy thought,” murmured Jeon Jungkook, coming over to Jimin’s left. “Come on, I know you’re not as bad as everyone paints you out to be. I saw you targeting those Death Eaters back there. You can do it Jimin. We will fight and we will win.”

A happy thought? A memory, uninvited, came rushing forward.

“Are you able to cast a corporeal Patronus?”

“I did. Once,” you answered.

The memory of you had a bitter sting to it. Jimin knew that he would never have his happy ending with you; he was undeserving of it. And yet, it was you and the memory of that one magical day in Paris that had the silver stream of magic shooting out of the end of Jimin’s wand, casting a fully corporeal swan to join the others. As the four Patronuses glided through the air, protecting their owners. The dementors finally dispersed, fracturing away from each other.

Jimin turned back to his classmates, people he had barely spoken to over the past seven years. “Thank you for saving my life,” he muttered gruffly.

“Yeah well,” said Kim Taehyung casting an unimpressed glance at Jimin, “An eye for an eye and all that. But I’m not convinced, Park. So, don’t expect me to save your life again.”

…

The fighting had continued for hours. Voldemort’s voice had come once again, bodiless and macabre, thundering across the space. An unwelcome and unnerving sound that licked the ears of everyone, making them shudder, as it spread the news that he would be giving them an hour to dispose of their dead and to heal their injured before he would be entering the fray and fighting himself, killing everyone in his path until he got Kim Namjoon.

You had been patching up Kim Seokjin’s arm with bandages. There was only so much your healing spell could do and the school Healer, Madame Shin Suran, was being stretched thin, having already enlisted a group of students to help her take care of the wounded. The healing and rejuvenating potions had long run low, even after Professor Heechul had added to the infirmary’s supply. That had been when it had happened.

The Death Eaters were lining the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Accompanying them at their backs were the Dementors and giants. They walked with Voldemort in the middle, it was the first time that you had ever seen the terrible evil that he was. The sight that met your eyes was far worse than you could have ever dreamt of him to look like. He made a tall figure in his voluminous dark robes that revealed a rail thin figure as he cut through the lawn, sweeping forward. He could have been seven feet tall and was entirely deserving of his boogeyman status with his bone pale skin and demon red eyes, the glint of which you could still make out 20 yards away. As he neared, you were able to see that he was completely hairless, with not a strand on his scalp or even his brows. The hairlessness and slits of his nostrils made him look terribly similar to a frightening serpent.

When Voldemort had crossed to be what he deemed was sufficient amount away, he stepped to the side, revealing the school’s groundskeeper Hagrid to be holding a bundled figure in his arms. Your heart stopped as your eyes cut on the tear tracks that had been left on Hagrid’s cheeks. You had the terrible feeling that it was Namjoon in his arms.

“NO!” bellowed Taeyeon letting out an unearthly cry of anguish, “NAMJOON.”

“Namjoon!” you heard the shouts of Mr. Bang and Mr. Kang, who you knew were like fathers to Namjoon join in. Hoseok was being restrained by Seokjin and Taehyung, yelling desperately for the male he considered to be as good as a blood brother to him. You could even feel tears streaming down your own face. With Namjoon dead, all hope seemed to be lost.

“SILENCE!” bellowed Voldemort. “The Boy Who Lived is finally dead. And at my hands. Hagrid, why don’t you put the boy where he belongs, at my feet.”

Hagrid placed Namjoon’s crumpled form on the ground. He looked so broken and small that bile was rising up in your throat. You had to swallow it down as you bitterly sniffed at the injustice.

“Do you see this?” Voldemort asked, circling Namjoon’s body, prodding it with the toe of his shoe and a maniacal smile painting his face. “Do you finally understand, you deluded fools? He was never anything more than a boy who counted on others to sacrifice themselves for him! But he, himself, never had any skills or strength. No, that is why I was so easily able to kill him with a simple snap of my wand.”

“You’re lying! He beat you!” Seokjin yelled, grabbing his bandaged shoulder with a wince as he talked back to perhaps one of the most vile and deadly wizards in existence. However, Seokjin’s retort was able to do the job. The Silencing Charm Voldemort had casted over the castle’s inhabitants broke and they were able to shout and protest once more.

Voldemort once again hit them with a Silencing Charm, this one more powerful than the last. His voice got even louder, “Kim Namjoon was killed while he tried to escape the grounds like the coward that he is, leaving the rest of you to die for him. He was killed while his self-preserving ass tried to flee for safety…”

Voldemort’s voice trailed off as a figure burst out from the line of Hogwartians, charging towards him. It was poor Jeon Jungkook who had idolized Kim Namjoon and seen him as his best friend. None of the other Gryffindors had thought to restrain him as well. With a laugh and a sweep of his wand, Voldemort easily disarmed Jungkook. “Ah, young Jeon Jungkook. How poorly misguided you are. Why do you defend that dirty Half-Blood whose blood is tinged with the filth that comes from his Mudblood mother? You are a Pureblood yourself, young man. We could do with your kind, Jeon. Brave, spirited purebloods.”

“I would never join the Death Eaters,” Jungkook bit out caustically, “Dumbledore’s Army forever!” His call was meet by shouts from the crowd, including yours, who Voldemort seemed unable to control with his Silencing Charms.

Angered, Voldemort turned to Jungkook, “If that is how you want to play things, young man. We will do it your way.” With a powerful wave of his wand, Voldemort incanted a nonverbal summoning spell. A deformed brown bundle swept through the air, falling onto his outstretched arm. It was the Sorting Hat, “There will be no more Sorting at Hogwarts. You all will be united under one House: the noblest one of them all, the House of my ancestor Salazar Slytherin.”

He then pointed his wand at Jungkook, instantly immobilizing him in a rigid, upright position, “Jungkook here will show you all what happens when you attempt to go against Lord Voldemort.” The hat was shoved onto Jungkook’s head forcibly with another snap of his wand, and then with a third flick, Voldemort had caused the Sorting Hat to burst into flames while still atop Jungkook’s head.

Just then, there was a disruption from the Forbidden Forest when two giants seemed to be attacking each other. All at once, commotion reigned and pandemonium struck. The giants laid into each other, hitting each other with powerful punches and kicks that shook the ground with so much force it felt like unnatural earthquakes were occurring. The castle’s protectors were no longer held by the power of Voldemort’s spells and both sides rushed towards each other. Voldemort had lost his grip on the situation and now everyone was attacking each other.

From the sidelines, Jimin had been watching impartially, but when Voldemort’s focus was no longer on Jungkook, he rushed forward. It felt like he was the only who saw Jungkook break free from the Body-Bind Curse that had been placed on him. The enflamed Sorting Hat fell off his head as he shifted, falling with its pointed tip facing downwards, and Jimin was able to watch as Jungkook thrusted his arm into the hat pulling from within its depths the glinting ruby encrusted handle of the Sword of Gryffindor. Jimin rushed forward towards Jungkook, staring at him with panic-stricken widened eyes. Jeon, look at me dammit, he thought as he ran forward. There was still ten yards between them when Jungkook’s eyes met Jimin’s and Jimin hit him with the powerful burst of his own thoughts, Behind you. The snake. Use the sword.

Jungkook swung the sword around purposefully, he caught sight of the snake that was now slithering around freely since Voldemort had thought that Namjoon was dead. With a single powerful stroke, Jungkook brought the sword down, beheading Nagini with one fell swoop. Voldemort let out a shrill unhuman cry at his pet’s death. Charging forward towards Jungkook and Jimin purposefully.

All at once, the two of them were fighting the evilest and most powerful wizard that was alive, struggling to hold their own even in a two on one match. When a killing spell narrowly missed Jungkook, singeing the top of his already static and burnt hair from earlier, a voice bellowed behind them.

“Stop, Voldemort!” shouted Namjoon, who apparently was not dead after all. Jimin did not take the opportunity to check where the voice had come from since Voldemort had not ebbed his assault on the two boys. “It’s me that you want so why don’t you come and finish the job!”

…

At the end of the duel between Kim Namjoon and Lord Voldemort, only one of them remained standing. Fortunately for everyone, that had been Kim Namjoon. As the people of Hogwarts dealt with the aftermath of the battle, rushing to put the remaining Death Eaters who had been alive into custody, Bang Sihuyk had been temporarily instated as the Minister of Magic; apparently Minister Yang had fallen during the battle which Jimin could not feel himself feeling at all torn about.

Jimin’s parents had been amongst the ones who were being rounded up. They had attempted to implicate him along with themselves when Jimin had scoffed and said, “Me, a Death Eater? Hardly, Mother. Why on earth would I have dueled against Voldemort himself then?”

His mother had been shocked into silence while his father had sputtered at his disrespectful tone and how Jimin had had the audacity to call Voldemort by his name. But now, Jimin was wondering throughout the castle looking for someone. He needed to see you, to make sure that you were alright. His new friend Jungkook had assured him that you had returned to Hogwarts to participate in the battle. And according to Jungkook and his friends, the last they had seen of you you had been alive. However, they had all seen you before the second bout of fighting had started. However, Jimin had made his way through all of the fallen bodies, from both sides, that were laid out on the courtyard, both as a type of penance and to make sure that you were not among them. Jimin would remember the faces of all of the dead for the rest of his life, taking care to never be prejudiced or intolerant ever again.

He was finally making his way into the Great Hall, where the separation of the Houses no longer persisted, and everyone was sitting at whatever space was available next to their family members, strangers, or even other magical creatures who did not have a drop of wizarding blood. It was a strange but welcome sight of equality and tolerance. After his rounds about the tables had taken him past Yoongi and his parents who were sitting in a corner all to their own feeling awkward and distant, he finally found you. You were sitting in between two girls and talking to them animatedly.

Clearing his throat nervously, Jimin asked, “Y/N can I talk to you?”

You turned around, your eyebrows almost disappearing into your hairline at your surprise. After debating about it, for what seemed to Jimin had been long interminable moments, you nodded and stood up. The stroll the two of you were on led you eventually to through the castle out towards the Quidditch pitch.

Jimin finally spoke up after the lengthy silent walk. He stopped in his tracks and turned to you, “Y/N, if I could. I would redo everything, from our first meeting. I’m so truly sorry for everything I put you through this entire year. I hope you can feel the depths of my sincerity.”

You stared at him wordlessly. After a moment you parted your lips and said, “I wouldn’t.”

Jimin stared at you in shock.

“Jimin I wouldn’t change a single thing about our history, as painful as some of those moments have been. The moments we shared cannot be undone, the things we said cannot be unsaid. But I understand what you are hinting at. You want us to have a fresh start,” you carefully gauged Jimin’s reaction to your words.

He had been initially panicked when you had started to talk. But now, he bit his lip before saying softly, “Yes please, let us start anew once more, Y/N.”

With a soft smile gracing your lips, you reached out your hand towards him, “Hi, I’m Y/N.”

Jimin met you halfway, his arm stretching forward, and his fingers wrapping your hand in his grip. “Hello, Y/N,” he murmured, “I’m Jimin. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

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