“Run!” you heard Hyunsik shout behind you as your feet gained momentum on the pavement. Yoongi was already several yards ahead of you, leading the way to safety. The three of you had been ambushed. Your targets now made you the target.
You could feel your heartbeat in your chest as you tried to run as fast as you could, but you were stuck in place. There was no place for you to go. There was no place for you to hide as the sounds of their bullets started to ring through your ears.
“I told you to run!” he shouted again, angry that your feet hadn’t made any progress.
“I can’t move!” you shout as you turn around to face him.
The air gets knocked out of your lungs when you see the sight in front of you. Hyunsik is on his knees. Flowers grow from chest where the metal bullets made impact. He silently begs you to turn around, not wanting you to see the gardenia’s blooming. You let out a silent scream, no one able to hear your cries as you watch the petals of the white flowers spread open as they drain the light from his eyes.
Your eyes snapped open to a room full of darkness. You were dreaming. It was just a dream. You grabbed at your chest only to find that you weren’t dressed. Sitting up, you realized that you had fallen asleep in his bed. The clock on his bedside table read 4:30 in the morning. You had to be up in 30 minutes.
He doesn’t stir as you slip out of his bed, cursing yourself for breaking one of the most important rules between the two of you: never stay the night. Sleeping with your partner was already a very bad idea and neither of you wanted to deal with what could happen if either of you developed feelings. Emotional weakness could get either one of you killed.
And as your dream reminded you, you had already lost enough.
Warning: Graphic hybrid smut. Please don’t read this if you’re not into it because I don’t want to scar you.
Summary: Dogboy Tae gets extremely possessive when “that time of the month” rolls around and find’s it hard to control his natural instincts and his dominating nature during the monthly occurrence.
Note: Ah, okay, so this is my first time ever writing about Hybrids and stuff like that, so please bear with me. The idea came to mind while I was surfing the interwebz, so I just thought I’d write it up. What a thing to be my first post lol, but oh well.. Idgaf. I’m pretty much uneducated on “Dogboys” but I’m giving it my best shot.. HUZZAH!!~
You were driving him insane. The intoxicating scent of you calling out to him, begging for him to mount you and claim you as his own before any other male could get to you. It was hard to fight his natural instincts, but he knew better than to force you into anything and you had told him you didn’t feel well, stating you had ‘cramps’ or something along those lines. But your body was crying out for him to dominate you, your body needed him, he could sense it, and it was taking every ounce of his willpower to refrain from mounting you whenever he was in your presence. And that was quite a lot.
It was already hard enough not to mount you, so he really couldn’t help his need to follow you around everywhere, his possessive nature having to make sure no other male could get near you, his precious bitch. Just the thought of it made the hair on the back of his neck raise, his hands clench into fists and a snarl appear on his lips, slightly revealing his canines hid beneath.
He was in no mood to be tested today in particular. He could sense you were at your peak of ovulation, which was when it was most hard for him to suppress his feral desires. It was so strange to him how humans were so unaware to what their bodies needed. Couldn’t you sense even a little bit how badly your body was yearning for him? He could only shake his head, perplexed by your utter oblivion.
Nose tucked under tail, you are a warm, furred planet centered in my bed. All night I orbit, tangle-limbed, in the slim space allotted to me.
If I accidentally bump you from sleep, you shift, groan, drape your chin on my hip.
O, that languid, movie-star drape! I can never resist it. Digging my fingers into your fur, kneading, I wonder: How do you dream? What do you adore? Why should your black silk ears feel like happiness?
This is how it is with love. Once invited, it steps in gently, circles twice, and takes up as much space as you will give it.
When I went into the store today after work, I had decided I was going to be brave. I had a pretty good day, and I wanted to reward myself with something I’d been eyeing for quite some time. Mens underwear.
I won’t lie, I stalled quite a bit before I slunk over to the mens underwear section, but eventually I wound up in the aisle looking over my various options. It was while I was trying to figure out what size I would be, that the man is all his socks and sandals glory came into the aisle. I barely had time to look up before he bellowed at me, “you fucking abomination”
I gaped like a fish while I tried to wrap my mind around the fact that yes, this was happening, and yes, he just yelled that at me. He said it again, and began to make his way towards me, very tall and very angry looking. All the clever things I wanted to say died in my throat and tears started pooling in my eyes.
Just as he was getting right up in my face, telling me about how there wasn’t a single god from any religion that would accept a piece of shit like me, you appeared at the end of the aisle. You ran towards us and put yourself between me and him like you weren’t a tiny 5 ft nothing. Then you stuck your finger in his face and told him to “shut the hole in his head that was spewing ignorance and hatred and get out because he wasn’t welcome here”. It was his turn to be the fish then, and before he could say another thing you shouted “GET THE FUCK AWAY” drawing the attention of shoppers who had been so conveniently hard of hearing before. He tucked tail and left.
You turned to me then, put the underwear I had dropped back in my hand and asked if I was okay. I was sobbing and could feel my face doing the ugly thing it does when I cry. I nodded, you asked me if there was anything else I wanted to look at in the mens section, I shook my head. You asked if I had anymore shopping to do. I huffed out that I wanted some bananas. You took my hand and lead me towards produce. You told me I was beautiful. You told me I would look so handsome in the underwear I picked. You helped me pick out bananas and told me my future was so bright and wonderful it was practically blinding.
You held my hand all the way to the cashier, and then outside. You asked me if I wanted a ride, I told you I’d like to walk, that I needed some time to cry. You stared at me very seriously, then hugged me so hard I could feel all me pieces coming back together. You said “I don’t even know who you are and I don’t care, I love you”
I cried all the way back home.
Thank you. Thank you for everything. For who you are, and for what you did. Plenty of other people passed by and did nothing, but you came in like a shining beacon and all I can say is thank you. You saved me when I was all alone. Thank you.
Summary: Your feelings for Sam scare the life out of you. So you cling to Dean for guidance. One day when you drag them out to go swimming, Sam asks you about your feelings for his older brother, only to be surprised when he learns he’s had it all wrong.
A/N: I don’t know why, but in my mind the A/C in the bunker just…sucks.
Request: Alright here’s hoping I get in cause your writing is FANTASTIC. Sam x reader. They’ve been friends for years and they’re both crazy about one another but Sam thinks she’s into dean because of all the to me they spend togethet but he’s actually trying to help her get Sammy. Thanks:)
Pairing: Sam x Reader
Warnings: Shirtless Winchesters - I know I need a warning for that.
Word Count: 1.7k
You doubled over with laughter at the sight of Dean trying to flip the bacon while shirtless. The grease was spitting everywhere, and the way that he jumped and yelped every time a drop hit him was almost worthy of recording.
Somehow, you and Dean were both awake and ready for the day before Sam. Normally he was the one up before both of you.
So here you and Dean were, goofing around in the kitchen while cooking breakfast. It was hot in the bunker, the middle of summer was always the worst. The air-conditioning system in the bunker needed a serious update. You were wearing only a pair of shorts and a tank top, while Dean was only wearing his pyjama pants.
You threw your drenched backpack, filled with the school books that have drowned a couple of time, in the corner of the apartment door. The small, homely apartment that you shared with your boyfriend. Both of you and Jungkook were college students and juggled with a part-time job to afford the rent together. Since you and him didn’t want to live among the crowded students in the University’s dorm.
The apartment was placed nearby the sea, making the rents much more expensive. However, the clear view over the Busan sea was unforgettable. Although they forbid pets especially dogs. There’s a big red sign right outside of the door with no dogs allowed. Of course, Jungkook being Jungkook got quite offended by that.
At the same time, no one can know what Jungkook really is. It’s best to keep it as a secret.
Summary: Based off the song Toothbrush by DNCE. Seth and reader have had a Friends With Benefits relationship going on but one morning after, Seth and Y/n realize the other person is all they’ve ever wanted. Fluff. Slight angst. Smut.
Teen Wolf-Scooby Doo, as in, the
Teen Wolf crew driving around in the Jeep solving supernatural mysteries. Just
So I don’t know what this is, but this fic turned
out to be my ARCH NEMESIS, so, you know, make of that what you will. It’s even
alternating POVs, which I haven’t written in years upon years. So please
appreciate how much this story wanted to kill me, and how we’re still eyeing
each other with open hostility from different corners of the room.
The groundskeeper has gnarled, knotted fingers and
rheumy eyes, and it takes five hundred years for him to turn the key in the
rusted padlock. The gate creaks almost
as loud as his bones, and Derek flicks an ear in irritation.
“That’s a big dog you’ve got there,” he says, only
Stiles buries one hand in the scruff around Derek’s
neck. “Not sure he is one,” Stiles says, and Derek cocks his head up at him.
Scott has the van idling behind them.
Derek takes a deep breath and sneezes. Decay, old
blood, and sulfur flood his senses—he whines softly. He doesn’t have a good
feeling about this.
The old house looms in front of them, stone and
spires, ominous, cloaked in shadows thrown by the nearly full moon. His skin
ripples under his fur, uneasy, and he tucks his tail between his legs.
“Relax,” Stiles murmurs to him. “This is easy money,
right? A simple salt and burn.”
Derek huffs, knocks into Stiles’ side as he hastily turns
around, and then slinks back to the van. He doesn’t like this place. He never likes haunted places, too much lingering
despair that stirs up old guilt, but this house feels like it’s made out of
skeleton bones, dread sits like a stone in his belly.
Lydia already has the side of the van open. He hops
in, slides past Kira, and then digs into Stiles’ open duffle, buries his snout
in an old t-shirt that smells a little bit like Scott, too.
“Dude,” Stiles says when he climbs in after him.
Derek growls, low in his throat, and Stiles backs
off with a huffy, “Fine, be that way.”
The van grinds into gear and rolls forward slowly,
tires bumping over the cobblestone drive, and Derek feels like his chest is
Summary: Housesitting for Dean had its perks, his house was beautiful, quiet and relaxing when it came to studying compared to your dorm or the lecture hall. However, your friends convince you to throw a party at his bachelor pad only to have Dean crash the party.
✮ - must find a place where to spend the night (w/ hybrid!hoseok)
Hoseok had no idea where he was going, what he was doing, what he’s supposed to do but he’s walking - no, running, sprinting at the speed of light. Droplets of his blood leave a trace but at the rate he’s going, it’s pointless to even catch up if they were still on his tail.
There’s no time to think if his actions are right or wrong but he’s following the one scent of security and home guiding him in such a big city. He’s quick on his feet and keeping his rest stops up to a minimum. He barely as time to think if this is the correct choice but it’s far too late to rethink it through as he knocks on the door.
The voice of familiarity sounds against his eardrums and his tail finally stops waggling. His ears, slowly rise from his head of hair and his fingers stop trembling when the door opens, revealing the pair of eyes he remembered seeing when he was chained up and - “H-Hoseok?”
He senses bewilderment, nervousness and anxiety striking through your body at the sight of him. A part of his heart deflates at your shock and tone, but it automatically combusts into relief when you open the door without hesitating to catch him just before he falls to his knees.
He’s barefoot and bleeding. The stains of red on his skin only leaves telltales of the struggle he must’ve had in running away and his neck… your fingers gently come up to feel it and he whimpers in your shoulder as he confides in your presence. It doesn’t take much for you to piece together the two choices that one, he either broke out of the cage and fled or two… they threw him out.
Whichever the case may be, there was no way he was going to - “C-Can I stay the night?”
“Are you crazy?” Hoseok feels his heart tightening with his throat, his hands remain frozen by your waist and he’s so close to biting his tongue off. He pales, shaking his head with his tail tucked beneath his legs as he tries to clarify, “I… I don’t have anywhere else to go and you’re the only one I know cou-”
“You can stay here for as long as you need to,” You murmur, your fingers tentatively threading through his hair and staying there when he lets out a shaky exhale and hides his face from you on you, arms now coming to strap your waist as he hugs you tight. You let him have a moment to let it sink in that he’s actually here.
He takes in your scent and it’s already imprinted in his mind: this is what home smells like.
Fic Request: “OML OKAY I HAVE A REQUEST IDEA!! So the reader is getting rly stressed about exams (seeing as it’s that season again ;-;) and ends up having a breakdown. Chica comes in and tries to cheer the reader up with cuddles and being cute but when that doesn’t work Chica finds mark and brings him to the reader to help and fluff happens :,)) I’m so sorry this is so long :,,,,,,)”
The textbooks seemed to mock you. Nothing you read stayed in your mind. Words became fuzzled as you tried to get some kind of information from the books. You were already stressed about the upcoming exams, this bullshittery was just adding to the growing plate of anxiety. You shoved the textbook away in a fury of frustration. Tears stung your eyes but you refused to let them fall. Hurriedly brushing them away and breathing in a deep sigh. “I’m going to do fine,” You tried to reassure yourself. “It’s just a little test. You’ve read through everything already. You know what it is.” But your words fell heavy as the crushing dread your situation flooded your mind. A quiet sob burst from your chest, and it seemed to be the breaking point. Tears streamed down your cheeks and you leaned back against your bed, stifling your sniffles in your knees as you curled into a ball.
Unbeknownst to you, a particular fluffy canine had heard you. A black nose pushed against the small crack in your closed door and squeezed into the room. She was rarely allowed in your bedroom. Chica only came in when Mark allowed it or you would call her as she passed the door. She stepped quietly towards you, surprising you with her wet nose prodding your arm. “Oh, Chica!” You sniffled, wiping away your tears. “Hey, girl. How’d you get in here?” Chica sat beside you, her tail wagging gently as her left paw came up to touch your hand. She then pushed her snout into your fingers and pressed her body against yours. You chuckled, still wiping away the tears. “I’m alright, girl. Just stressed.” You scratched her nose. Chica whined when you stopped and tried wriggling under your arm. “Chica, not now please.” You said, a little too firmly. “I’m not in the mood, girl.” You felt bad when Chica’s tail stopped moving, and she lifted her head from your lap. Looking at you almost reproachfully. You felt even worse when she turned and trotted out of your room, tail tucked under her belly. You tightened your hold on your legs. You hated crying. Especially at something stupid like school-work. It always came down to this. You breaking down over a test. It was a vicious cycle.
“Chica what are you doing? Let go of my pants!” You looked up at Chica backed up into your room. Her jaws were clamped around a loose pair of trousers, which were being worn by her adoring owner, Mark. “Honestly. (Y/N) do you know why-” Mark halted when he saw you on the ground. Eyes red and swollen from crying, hiccuping with quiet sobs. “(Y/N) what’s wrong?” He asked, moving by Chica (who had released his pants upon entering the room) and crouching beside her. “Are you ok?” You tried to nod, but the movement wasn’t very assuring when another burst of tears rolled down your face. “I-It’s just school-work.” You hiccuped, wiping your tears with your sleeve. “I-I don’t think I c-can do it? What if I fail?” Mark moved beside you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you against his side. “Don’t think like that,” He said softly. His arms enveloping you. “You’re smart. You’ll be able to beat this test easily. It’s just an exam, nothing you haven’t done before.” You shook your head, “But everything I read just-” Mark hushed you, squeezing your shoulders. “It’s ok. Don’t worry about it now. Have a break, ok? Let’s go get something to eat, huh?” Mark shook your shoulders gently, rocking both of you side to side gently. As if soothing a child. Chica walked over Mark to get to you. Her nose pressing against your cheeks and her tail wagging madly as you stroked her head. “Ow, Chica that would be my dick!” Mark groaned with pain, moving Chica off his groin. Then spluttering as her tail slapped into his face. You couldn’t help but laugh at the scene. Hugging Chica close as Mark pushed her off him, spitting fur and wiping it off his tongue. He half glared at Chica, but smiled when he saw her cuddle up to you. She collapsed into your lap and you ran your fingers through her fur. The stress of everything seemed to disappear as you patted the loving dog. Mark stayed with you, kicking the text-book away from you with a disgusted grunt.
Authors Notes: Again, I’m so sorry this has taken so long. I have a ton on my plate as far as writing goes and almost no time to do it! I was also struggling with this part, I knew there had to be a confrontation and I had a hard time putting it into words.
“Nathan, you need to leave.” You said coldly. You had already hinted at it once and he clearly didn’t get it but you had no problem spelling it out for him.
“(Y/N), come on. Don’t act like you haven’t missed me.” He grinned.
“I haven’t.” Your tone was flat and unfeeling; you were tired of the smug look on his face. He hadn’t changed since you’d last seen him. His curly brown hair was still slicked back to sit under his cowboy hat he always wore. He still sat like a he was a king, arrogant and regal, slouching just enough to make him look perpetually bored by the people around him.
Nathan sniffed and stole a look around the restaurant. he smirked at a girl who sat at the bar behind you and ran his hand over his greasy hair. “Well, I’ll be honest, I’ve kinda missed you.” His eyes found yours again but there was shadow in them that made your stomach churn. “We used to have fun didn’t we?”
request:Would you be able to do a Seth imagine? Where he saves you from being beaten up by the authority and gets really angry at them? And this carries on where you help each other out and yeah I don’t mind how you end it xx
aaaaaa ;; I’m sorry for this being so late I’ve been so busy ~ little goose
little guy! Show me what you got!” Cait got into a fighting stance and smirked at Maxson. In a matter of seconds she was flipped over and on the ground.
“Watch what you say, civilian. I will not tolerate-” Cait had got up as he was speaking and sucker punched the Elder right in the face. The fight was on. It lasted around 3 hours tops, both getting knocked around by the other. The fight was closed to a tie because never of them would give up. Curie scolded them both when they were done, saying that “it was a hazard to their health” if they continued. Maxson suffered from a fractured wrist, a broken nose, and a cluster of bruises making his face swollen. Cait suffered a minor concussion a black eye, a few cracked ribs, and a sprained hand. They both decided it was best to not do that again, unless they got bored.
Maxson raised an eyebrow at the Mr. Handy.
“Sir? If I may, I don’t think it would be wise to conduct a fight against you, my saw arm alone is enough to give you stitches. I wouldn’t want to worry Miss Curie.”
“I suggest if you don’t want to be turned into a scrap heap, then you better stay back.” As Maxson said that, it made Codsworth run tail and run, he didn’t even want to fight the Elder of the brotherhood anyway.
Curie is a sweetheart, why would anyone want to fight her? She doesn’t even like fighting, only when it’s necessary. When asked to Maxson she was in shock.
“Fight him? He has done nothing wrong to provoke me! Yes I mean he can be a bit ah, rude to me but that’s not a reason to hurt him!” However, she still ended up to face to face with him.
“Monsieur? If I may, I do not wish to fight you.” Curie crossed her arms in protest. Maxson didn’t say anything, just shrugged and walked off. He’d never admit it but he was quite fond of Curie since she helped people no matter what, despite being a synth.
“Me? Fight elder Maxson? You’re out of your mind.” Danse crossed his arms and stared at the person who dared him.
“Last time that happened I ended up with a few broken ribs and a hand. I was off the field for almost 5 months.” He looked at the ground and then back up,
“Of course I was more naive and less aware at that time, maybe I will take him on again.” Later that day, Danse was seen fighting Maxson. He wore a swollen face and a bloody nose just looking at him, however he also had a broken rib and a sprained ankle. Maxson had a black eye and what seemed like a fractured hand. Maxson was winning, Danse was unfortunately too cocky to take him on, leaving him on the ground after being flipped over, and then being left with a shattered pride.
“me, fight that hunk?” He laughed loudly, “Oh goodness, you gotta be kidding me!” He wiped a tear from his eyes from laughing so hard.
“Well, you only live once, am I right?” He got up to go find Maxson. Once he spotted him, he popped a stealth boy and snuck up to him. He forcibly pulled the elder down, however he did not expect him to reach blindly in the air and take a lucky grab at the spy, pulling him down too. Deacon slammed onto the ground, giving him a small nose bleed.
“Using a stealth boy, eh? Coward, show yourself!” Maxson yelled out in anger. Deacon quickly ran off, but kept his cool as he told the person who dared him that he totally beat Masson with just one punch. No one believed him since they saw Maxson the next day with no bruising or swelling showing that he’d been in a fight.
He tilted his head in confusion. He was a sweet dog (most of the time), why would he jump Maxson? Dogmeat didn’t move, he just sat down, scratched himself and rolled around on the ground in boredom.
“I’ll gladly do so.” Hancock smirked a mischievous smirk. He strolled up to Maxson with a wide grin on his face.
“What do you want, ghoul?” Maxson looked at him in disgust.
“Oh nothing, just wanted to give you something.” Hancock punched the elder in the face and yelled out, “Fight me you little punk!” The fight my friends, was on. Maxson was strong and fast, but Hancock was swift and flexible. He was like a fox letting a bull charge him but then jumping to the side at the last second. Maxson was able to get a few punches on the mayor but soon found himself on the ground in pain. Hancock had body slammed him to the ground and walked off with just a broken finger and a slight limp in stride that wpuld last at least a week. Maxson however had a cracked rib, a black eye, and busted lip. No one ever let the elder live that down. Who couldn’t talk about it? The elder of the Brotherhood of Steel had just got his ass kicked by a skinny ghoul from Goodneighbor.
Maccready nervously chuckled
“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, I mean I’m not really trained in hand-to-hand combat.” However he strolled up to Maxson and was about to punch the guy in the face but when he turned around and questioned Maccready, the poor sniper just about jumped out of his skin and ran away with his tail tucked between legs.
Nick: “Listen, I would and I really want to, but he could easily turn me into a scrap heap the next time he saw me, so I’d better not.” The detective lit up a cigarette,
“However, maybe if I’m feeling risky I might just fight the guy”
“Bring it Maxson! Fight me!” Piper put her fists up at the taller man. Maxson looked down at her and scoffed.
“Do you really want to do tha-” before he could finish his sentence, piper went right into fighting dirty and had kicked him right in the baby maker. The elder held his groin in pain as a tear welled up in his eye, but he held it in. He gasped slightly before maintaining his posture and got rewards with a strong kick to the shin bringing him down on one knees. Piper cheered,
“Hey guys! I just brought the elder of the Brotherhood of Steel to his knees!! How many of you can say that, huh??” She walked laughing and pumped her fists in the air, she was definitely writing an article about this.
“Oh I don’t know, he’s a really strong guy….but I always wanted to challenge him!” Preston smiled and nervously rubbed the back of his neck. Later that day, he walked up to Maxson and bluntly told he wanted to challenge him to a fight.
“Challenge me? To a fight? You do realize you are addressing the Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel, correct?” Maxson challenged Preston, his back straight and staring sternly at the Minuteman.
“I know exactly who I’m addressing and I’m challenging you to a fight.” Preston stared down the Elder.
“Very well then.” With that, the two were at each other, punches flying and dirt being kicked up everywhere. Soon enough, Preston landed a punch square Maxson’s face. The sweet pure man soon realized that was a mistake since he then found himself on the ground, wheezing, flooding coming from his face. He groaned as he slowly got up, suddenly feeling nauseous.
“Monsieur! Oh dear, you need to be treated immediately! You too Monsieur Maxson! Come come! ” Curie had ran up to scene of the fight just in time to see Preston go on the ground.
“Curie I’m fine..just need to catch my breath..” Preston almost went unconscious as he stumbled to Curie’s place. He was diagnosed with a few broken ribs, a bruised shoulder and a broken nose, Maxson however, had a broken nose and a fractured jaw. Preston decided to never challenge Maxson again.
As soon as he was dared he got a wild grin on his face.
“Strong smash small human? STRONG SMASH PUNY HUMAN!” He ran over to Maxson bellowing a loud roar. Maxson silently thanked whoever was listening that the super mutant was so loud that no one could hear his high-pitched scream as he was taken into the mutants arms and thrown like a rag doll. The Elder suffered from a number of injuries: broken leg, arm, wrist, a concussion, and extremely sore joints and muscles for next few months. It took a ton of persuasion to convince Maxson not to terminate Strong for treating him so poorly.
“I will gladly punch the shit out of that surface filth.” Standing up, X6 walked out of the room, finding Maxson easily.
“Excuse me, sir? I wish to speak with you.” Maxson turned around at the voice, seeing who called him.
“What do you wan-” before the Elder could finish, he was punched in the face, kicked in the shin, and thrown on the ground in a matter of seconds.
“Hm, always wanted to do that.” With that, X6 walked off calmly, like nothing happened leaving Maxson in a stunned daze wondering what had just happened.
Maxson was aboard the Prydwen, strolling towards his quarters when out of the corner of his eye, he spotted something. He stopped and looked around and saw someone right beside him. Thinking it was an attacker, he launched himself at the intruder only to come into contact with a wall. No, wait, it was mirror. Maxson launched himself at a reflection of himself like a puppy seeing itself in a mirror for the first time. Humiliated and sore, Maxson was just glad that no one saw that and he shamefully shuffled into his quarters and stayed there for the rest of the night. However, he did not see the newest recruit climbing up from the command deck just in time to witness the scene. The next day, Maxson walked down the hall wondering why everyone was whispering and snickering when he walked by.
Gage laughed, loudly. “That little guy? I bet you 30 caps I’ll win!” Gage quickly strolled up to Maxson with a huge grin on his face. Maxson turned around and in exchange, got a sucker punch to the face. He staggered backwards slightly from the force and held his bloody nose. “What the hell??” Maxson’s eyes flashed a lethal look towards Gage and lunged towards him. Maxson had Gage underneath him and was angrily punching him. Gage quickly rolled away and ran off, limping ever so slightly. Gage lost his thirty caps and a got rewarded with a broken nose a few chipped teeth and two black eyes.
“Why would I do such a thing?” Ada was confused, why would she attack someone just to attack someone? She walked away from the person who asked her and went to go do her own thing leaving the person slightly disappointed since they didn’t get to see a fight.
Have you ever thought about writing a fic in which Voldemort went after the Longbottoms instead of the Potters?
If Voldemort had chosen the pureblood boy, not the halfblood, as his opponent? This Neville would have had graves to visit, instead of a hospital. He’d still have grown up in his grandmother’s clutches, tut-tutted at, dropped out windows absentmindedly, left to bounce on paving stones.
Let’s tell this story: Alice Longbottom, who was the better at hexing, told Frank to take Neville and run.
She died on the braided rug of their sitting room floor. Frank heard her fall from where he stood in front of the cradle. He did not have time to run.
When the Dark Lord climbed the stairs and saw Frank, he laughed at the small man in front of him. Frank had crooked teeth, a mis-sized nose, big fingers and small, watery eyes. Voldemort looked at him the way children would look at Neville, in almost a decade, at stubby fingers around a rememberall, a wrinkled brow and a stammer. “Move aside,” he said, the way a different Voldemort had once offered a way out to Lily Potter. That had been for the sake of another man’s love, and this was for his own contempt. “Just let me have the boy. Did you really think you could–”
When Neville met Voldemort again, in his fourth year, when Luna’s advice, his own gillyweed knowledge, and Ginny’s Bat Bogey Hex lessons had gotten him through the Triwizard Tournament he’d never signed up to enter, there would be a bubbling scar on Voldemort’s sunken left cheek. His father had had time for one curse. Frank’s love had saved his son, marked him, but his hate had been enough, too, to scar Tom Riddle through every rebirth and transformation he would ever have.
Harry Potter would have grown up as James’s oldest son. I think Lily, who missed her sister, and James, who had found three brothers at school and loved them more than life, would have had more children: a little sister who James taught to fly (little Tuney’d be Keeper to Ginny’s Seeker, in a decade, and gossip terribly about Harry), a baby brother Lily fervently talked James out of naming Lupeterius. Harry would have grown up spoiled and loved, magical, with toy broomsticks and playdates with the other Order kids– stumbling Neville, the Bones girl and the rollicking Weasley bunch.
If the Potters were never the main targets, never hiding and frightened, I don’t think Peter would have turned when he did. Not enough gain. Not enough tail-tucking fear. Peter would have limped through to the end of the war, whiskers shivering in his soul even when they were popping champagne on the night Neville Longbottom’s parents died.
They raised delicate glasses that had somehow survived all the first war, laughing, in Godric’s Hollow, to the Boy Who Lived. Augusta Longbottom planned her children’s funeral and wondered if her grandson’s forehead would scar like that. Lily danced in the living room with James, on the garish rug that Sirius had bought them as a joke and that they had kept just to spite him.
But this was a story about Neville now–it would always be a story about Harry, somewhat, because it had never been the scar that made the boy. When Draco Malfoy stole Neville’s rememberall, this Harry would still jump on a broom; when Hermione, weeping in the bathrooms, didn’t know about the troll, Harry would still run to tell her–that instinct was not something even having loving parents (especially these parents) would have kept from him.
But this had always been a story about Neville, too– unscarred Neville, Neville with his pockets full of gum wrappers, this had always been the story of his rise and his steady soul. But this time he was marked from birth, a scar on his forehead and hands that weren’t any better at holding a wand. This time, his grandmother had even more reason to look at him with disappointment when he spent all his childhood looking powerless.
Neville was not the disappeared savior who they whispered about. Halloween was still a celebration of Voldemort’s fall, but Neville was a lucky object, not a small hero, because where there had been a vacuum to fill when it had been Harry Potter, to fill with wonderment and thanks, here Neville toddled down Diagon Alley and held his grandmother’s hand. The whole world knew this boy was probably a squib, with pudgy fingers and a slow stammer, who didn’t learn to read until it was almost time to go to Hogwarts.
When Neville got his Hogwarts letter, the whole wizarding world was very politely surprised. He got told congratulations from strangers in the street, who in different universes would be shaking Harry Potter’s hand and swooning. Neville was far above smart enough to recognize than none of the other children got congratulated for the victory of being asked to attend school.
He asked the Hat for Hufflepuff and it gave him Gryffindor. He hoped they did not expect him to learn how to roar.
This was a Neville scarred. This was a Neville who would still get a rememberall and still forget it in his room two days out of five, who would eat a Weasley treat and turn into a canary, who would take Ginny Weasley to the Yule Ball and not once step on her toes.
This was a Neville who had had long conversations with the garden snakes in his backyard as a child and who had snuck them bits of his breakfast, kept track of which little serpent liked soft boiled eggs and which would dare to try a bit of sausage if he wiggled it properly. When he first got to Hogwarts, lonely, a lion in lamb’s fleece, Neville hid out behind the greenhouses and made friends with the snakes who curled on the warm rocks there.
There are a lot of things that are obviously difficult to train, like learning to ignore distractions like other dogs, screaming kids, and food, but there are a few things that are surprisingly ShitToTrain™ your service dog.