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headcanonsandmore · 3 years

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“Letters to Charlie”

Summary: A selection of letters from Ron to his brother Charlie, throughout Ron's first four years at Hogwarts. Includes some mild Romione mentions.

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[1st October 1991]

Dear Charlie,

How are things at the reserve? You said in your last letter that you’ve been getting a lot more burns than normal; have you asked mum for her recipe on salves?

Anyway, I’m settling in okay at Hogwarts. Really glad I was in Gryffindor; my friend Harry was really worried about it, I think. He’s doing fine, but I wish everyone would stop gawking at him all the time. He’s a good bloke; bit quiet but, considering what his aunt and uncle seem to be like, that’s not surprising.

Also, there’s this girl in our class who’s pretty annoying. She treats everyone like they’re idiots and she’s such a teacher’s pet! Her name’s Hermione Granger, and she’s always butting in whenever me and Harry are chatting. She’s not all bad, but I wish she wouldn’t be so uptight about everything. You’d think that someone with hair that bushy would be a bit more fun-loving, but she’s very straightlaced. But I saw her laughing the other day at a joke I made, so maybe she’s not so serious all the time? She has a cute nice laugh.

Don’t tell the twins I said that, or they’ll never stop going on about it.

Anyway, hope you’re okay and that everyone at the reserve is doing fine,

Love,

Ron

[12th November 1991]

Dear Charlie,

Glad to hear that that the Common Welsh Green pair are doing okay. Things have gotten pretty weird at Hogwarts; someone (probably Peeves) let a troll into the castle at Halloween! Me and Harry had to rescue Hermione Granger from the troll; she covered for us, so we didn’t get punished. McGonagall even gave us some points for Gryffindor!

Hermione’s alright, I think. Bit intense, but she’s not as stuffy as I thought. I mean, it was kind-of my fault that she ended up getting caught by the troll, so I’m glad she didn’t hold a grudge about it. She’s always asking me about stuff, probably because she’s never grown up in a magical family. You wouldn’t think it if you saw her in class, though; she gets so many questions right and she’s apparently memorised the textbooks! Barmy, I know, but she’s alright.

Speaking of dragons, do you know if there’s any way of getting a baby one out of the country? Hagrid has a baby Norwegian Ridgeback in his house, but it’s dangerous for the baby to stay here.

Love,

Ron

[16th August 1992]

Dear Charlie,

We managed to rescue Harry from the Dursleys! Mum went mad when we got back, but no harm done. Harry’s aunt and uncle had bars put on his window! I told mum we had to get him out quick; good thing I noticed he wasn’t responding to my letters. Apparently, a house-elf was trying to stop him going back to Hogwarts; weird, right?

Hermione’s saying that she’s hoping to meet up with us in Diagon Alley; I hope so. It’ll be nice to see her again. Apparently, she’s already done all her homework, but that’s what she’s like. What do you think I should get her for her birthday? I asked Harry, but he suggested one of the textbooks (the poor bloke’s never had to buy any presents for anyone ever). I was thinking maybe some of her favourite long-lasting quills, but I’m not sure. Do you reckon I should get her something more… girly? Her best mates are two blokes, so maybe she’d like something to make it clear that I we don’t just see her as another boy? What do you think?

I’m looking forward to Hogwarts this year; hopefully, it should be a bit quieter than last year. How’s your summer been going? You mentioned about the Chinese Fireball having fang rot; has that been fixed yet, or is she still having troubles?

Hope all’s good with you,

Love,

Ron

[6th January 1993]

Dear Charlie,

You’ve probably heard the news already about the attacks happening at Hogwarts. The teachers don’t seem to know who’s doing it. Me, Harry, and Hermione have been trying to figure things out, but we haven’t got any leads lately. We thought it might have been Malfoy, but turns out he’s not doing it (still too happy about the attacks, though, the little git!).

I’m really worried about Hermione, to be honest. The attacks are always against muggle-borns and I’m scared she’s gonna be attacked. Do you know if there’s any creature that can petrify someone? I would ask the defence teacher, but Lockhart can barely tell one end of his wand from the other. Can’t see why Hermione likes him so much; can’t she see how much of a stupid twerp he is?

Like I said before, I’m really sorry about breaking your old wand. I know you said you don’t mind and you’re just glad I was okay, but still. It keeps making weird bubbles whenever I try and cast any spells. My own fault for breaking it, I guess.

Hope you’re well,

Love,

Ron

[8th May 1993]

Dear Charlie,

Hermione got attacked. She’s been stuck in the hospital wing ever since.

I’m scared. Harry’s managing to keep his head screwed on straight, but I can’t concentrate in lessons. I keep expecting Hermione to be sat next to me, and whenever I turn to look at her, I remember where she is. All pale and cold, like she’d dead or something.

What do I do, Charlie? How do I help her?

Love,

Ron

[1st June 1993]

Dear Charlie,

Hermione’s okay! The mandrake stuff finally got given to her, and she’s back to normal! I haven’t smiled this much in months! She gave me and Harry a massive hug each when she turned up in the great hall; me and her couldn’t quite look each-other in the eye afterwards, but I think we both got a bit overwhelmed, you know?

Turns out, this was also because Lucius Malfoy was trying to stop dad’s muggle protection law being passed; people could have died!

Confused as to why none of the teachers bothered to ask Myrtle, since she was a witness to the last time the chamber has been opened, but I guess we’ll never know. Were the teachers like this when you were here?

Anyway, got to go; I insisted that Hermione play some chess with me, since our exams have been cancelled (can you guess which Gryffindor was upset about that?).

Love,

Ron

[3rd September 1993]

Dear Charlie,

We’re all settling back in at Hogwarts; I’m still using those quills you got me in Egypt (thanks again, by the way). Everyone’s talking about Sirius Black, and Malfoy won’t stop being smug about how he knows something we don’t (arrogant little twerp as always).

Hermione’s cat is a bloody nightmare; he’s spent every evening trying to get at Scabbers, but Hermione won’t hear a word against him! Honestly, I don’t get why she can’t just keep the cat away when I ask her to. But she’s always had this thing about being right about everything, so it’s not unsurprising. I just wish she’d stop acting like it’s normal; Hedwig’s been around for three years, and she’s never attacked Scabbers!

Having said that, the first Hogsmeade visit is something to look forward to. It’s gonna be a bit different because Harry can’t go (his aunt and uncle refused to sign his form), but me and Hermione are going to make sure we take back lots of stuff for him so he doesn’t feel left out.

I am a little nervous about going, though; me and Hermione spend loads of time together, so why would this be any different? Probably nothing. Maybe it’s just because we’re bickering more because of our pets? Yeah, that sounds about right. I’ve already got her birthday present, so hopefully she’s not too angry at me and won’t mind me giving her a present.

Let me know how the Chinese Fireball baby is doing,

Love,

Ron

[4th January 1994]

Dear Charlie,

Hermione just can’t keep her nose out of things! She reported Harry’s firebolt to McGonagall, and now it’s been confiscated! She says it’s because it could have been sent by Sirius Black. I know that’s a possibility, but she didn’t need to go behind Harry’s back about it!

I swear, this girl is driving me nuts!

Love,

Ron

[13th February 1994]

Dear Charlie,

Me and Hermione have made things up; she even apologised about Scabbers. She must have been really upset, because she started crying and hugged me! Is it normal to get all flustered when a girl hugs you? Cause it didn’t the same as it did when she hugged me at the end of second year.

You’ve probably heard from Hagrid about Buckbeak being executed. We’re trying to get an appeal plea sorted; it’s mostly me and Hermione doing it, since Harry’s got other stuff to worry about. It’s nice being friends with Hermione again; I hated it when we weren’t speaking. It’s still a bit awkward (we both can’t quite look each other in the eye at times), but that’s probably normal, given what’s happened.

Remember to put that salve mum made on your new scars,

Love,

Ron

[14th July 1994]

Dear Charlie,

Hope you’re enjoying the summer so far; it’ll be great to see you again, mum’s organising the room situation, so I think you’re sharing with Bill. Can’t wait for the world cup! Do you think Ireland will win against Bulgaria? I’ve been saving my pocket money all summer for it, so I can buy some souvenirs! Are you gonna bring some stories about the dragons when you get here?

Mum’s said I can invite Harry and Hermione over, and they’ll be coming to the world cup with us! It’ll be brilliant to see them again; Harry deserves a break from those horrible people he lives with, and Hermione could do with a break from work in general (she’s already finished all her summer homework, but that’s what she’s like).

It’ll be great to have both of them here for the summer; I hope Hermione doesn’t mind sharing with Ginny, since Gin’s more of a Quidditch-head than Hermione is. Mum keeps on at me to tidy my room before Hermione arrives, but it’s not as if she’s staying in my room, is it?

I did clean up my room a bit, though. Hermione’s a bit funny about mess, and I don’t want her to think I’m a slob.

See you soon,

Love,

Ron

[30th October 1994]

Dear Charlie,

I’m still angry at mum, dad, and Bill for keeping us in the dark about the Triwizard Tournament; half the other kids from wizarding families knew! Speaking of the Tournament, the students from the other schools have arrived. You won’t believe it but Viktor Krum’s a student at Durmstrang! He’s a bit grouchy looking, but I guess he gets sick of people treating him different all the time. I didn’t know he was eighteen; he looks way older. The Slytherins are trying to cosy up to him, but he’s knows exactly what they’re doing; I saw him telling a few of them off for being unpleasant to the muggle-born first years. So I guess he’s alright.

The students from Beauxbatons are all nice enough but one of the girls has some sort of Veela charm thing. Hermione keeps glaring at me whenever I get caught in it, but it’s hardly my fault, is it? Harry gets affected too, but does she yell at him? No, of course she doesn’t. I swear, Hermione’s been weird ever since the term started; the other week I caught her staring at my hands for no reason. She got all flustered when she saw I’d noticed, and yelled at me to concentrate on my work. I’m worried about her. Did that ever happen between you and your friends at school? Is this something that happens around our age? I know that mum said things start to change after you get into your teenage years.

Speaking of change, I hope I can get some new dress robes before I ever have to wear these ones. Do you think Bill has any old ones he can let me borrow? I don’t get why mum didn’t just remove the lace and change the colour. I was going to ask Hermione to do it, but I don’t want her to think I’m whining. I just wish I could have some decent robes like all the other boys have. I know money’s tight at the moment, but even the twins have got alright-looking robes to wear I’d feel a lot better if I wasn’t stuck wearing rubbishy clothes for once.

Apparently, the tournaments due to start tomorrow evening. Me and Harry did have a think about entering, but it’s probably too high security. Fred and George said they’re gonna enter, because they turn seventeen in April, so they won’t need to use much aging potion. Should be interesting to see whether they succeed. I just hope we get a decent Hogwarts champion; Cedric Diggory’s alright, but half the girls get giggly over him and it’s bloody annoying. Hermione says it’s because he’s a prefect, but she’s a bit funny like that. If I ever end up a prefect, I bet I wouldn’t have girls giggling and getting flustered about me.

Got to go now; Hermione said she wants to go over our Transfiguration homework in the common room.

Love,

Ron

[25th November 1994]

Dear Charlie,

You should have told me you’d be here for the first task! I know it was secret, but it would have been nice to catch up! Glad the trip over was safe and that the dragons are all okay. That Hungarian Horntail was a nasty piece of work; Harry almost got hit by it!

Speaking of which, me and Harry are best mates again. I’m glad; it was miserable when we weren’t speaking. Funnily enough, he said he didn’t even need an apology; just told me to forget about it. Weird bloke, but it’s great to be friends with him again. Hermione got all teary and told us we were being stupid, but she’s never really understood things like this, so there you go.

Love,

Ron

[17th December 1994]

Dear Charlie,

Glad to hear the dragons got safely back to Romania with no issues. I almost wish I was there instead; ever since this ball thing got announced, half the school’s gone mad about it. Everyone’s asking everyone to it, and I don’t get it. Why can’t we all just go as friends and have fun? But the boys keep going on about dates, so I said I best go with someone good-looking. Yes, I know it’s dumb, but how else will I get everyone to not laugh at my robes? I even asked McGonagall if I could go in my school ones, but she insisted that I use my official dress robes (although she did look sympathetic while she said it, so I guess she understood where I was coming from).

Flitwick’s doing alterations to people’s robes, but he was so swamped with requests that there isn’t any room for me to get mine changed. I swear, I can’t wait until the ball is done and I won’t have to worry about this stuff anymore.

I’d happily stay behind in Gryffindor Tower with the first, second and third years, but I can’t leave Harry in the lurch. He’s got to be there to open the ball, and it wouldn’t be fair to leave him on his own; the poor bloke isn’t good with crowds, especially since half of the school still gawks at his scar every day.

Hermione doesn’t seem to take much interest in the ball, so maybe she’s also planning on staying behind. She got angry at me when I mentioned about going with a pretty girl, which is understandable (it was a dumb thing to say). Hopefully, she’ll have forgiven me by the time Christmas swings around, and we can just go and have fun at the ball. Just as friends, obviously. Maybe if we’re having a laugh, I won’t have to think about my robes looking so awful.

Love,

Ron

[27th December 1994]

Dear Charlie,

I swear, if I ever have to go to another ball again, it’ll be too soon! Hermione’s still angry at me about it; which makes sense, since I was a bit of an arse. But, well, she went with Krum! Seriously, he’s eighteen and she’s barely fifteen! Why didn’t any of the teachers think that was creepy? Why was I the only person who got irritated by it? Is it really so bad that I don’t want my friend being pursued by some creepy eighteen-year-old git? I know what the twins are saying about it, but it’s alright for them, isn’t it? They had decent robes and could actually ask a girl without the girl glaring at them like they’d only just realised the girl was a girl! Gits. They don’t get it.

Ginny had a nice time with Neville, at the very least. Neville’s a good bloke, and I’m glad he treated her well. Apparently, she borrowed a dress off a friend for the ball. I wish I was shorter so I could have just borrowed something off Harry; that would have at least made things a bit easier. Then I wouldn’t have already been a bad mood before we even got to the ball.

Seriously, I’m never wearing those robes again. I don’t care what mum says, I’d rather go in my normal school ones that those frilly disasters.

Me and Hermione are being more polite to each other than normal, which is probably for the best. I hate the fact that I got so angry at her, but I’ve learnt now to not act like that again. I mean, considering she got Krum, I don’t think she’ll need to worry about me acting like that again. It wasn’t as if she even said she wanted to go with me, either; how was I supposed to know? I’m not a mind-reader!

Hope your Christmas is going better than mine, and thank you for the burn-proof socks; they’ll come in handy against the Skrewts.

Love,

Ron

[27th February 1995]

Dear Charlie,

It was nice getting some of the limelight for a while; everyone was asking me about what it was like during the second task. I even had Padma Patil hanging on to my every word about it; I even managed to apologise to her properly for being such a berk at the ball (she was my dance partner, but we didn’t do any dancing). She seemed pretty okay with it.

Fleur Delacour (you remember, the champion who used the calming charm on her dragon in the first task) is being very nice lately; I think she got the impression me and Harry helped saved her sister in the second task. She even gave me a kiss on the cheek after we were all out of the lake! It’s nice to get attention from girls for a change.

Funnily enough, Hermione get glaring at me for the rest of the day. Funny how it’s fine for her to get attention from boys (that creep Krum had her as the person he’d miss the most; they’ve only been to the Yule ball together, the pervy git!), but I can’t do so much as talk to other girls without getting the cold treatment from her. Barmy as ever, but that’s what she’s like.

I think Harry’s really happy about the tournament just having one task left; at this point, I just hope he gets through it with no injuries or anything. Poor bloke’s had another rough year, and I hope he can take it easy after this is all over.

I wonder what I’ll get for my birthday this year. You think Hermione will get me anything? She’s so irritable lately that I wouldn’t be surprised if she just gets me a card and some chocolate frogs. Given what’s happened between us lately, that sounds about as much as I can hope for.

At least we’re still friends, though. I’m not that much of an idiot that I’d stop talking to her over this. I almost lost one friend this year; I don’t want the same thing happening with Hermione.

Love,

Ron

[29th June 1995]

Dear Charlie,

Harry left the hospital wing a few days ago. Me and Hermione are trying to help him as best we can, but the poor bloke still’s struggling. I’m not surprised, considering what he went through.

Dumbledore’s said that things are already changing. I just hope he knows what to do. But he’s still saying that Harry needs to go back to the Dursleys this summer. I hope we can pick him up as soon as possible; Harry’s relatives are bloody horrible.

After the third task, me and Hermione stayed up in the common room. We’ve both said we’re gonna help Harry with whatever happens in future. She also hugged me before she went to bed. It was different this time. It seemed like neither of us wanted to let go.

Stay safe,

Love,

Ron

~~~~~~~~~

Thanks for reading, everyone! Hope you enjoyed it!

#harry potter fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #ron weasley #charlie weasley #tw: food mention #tw: insecurities #tw: mental health #character study #pre-romione #romione #ronmione

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cappuccinosweets · 6 years

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Puppy Blues

Title: Puppy Blues

Warnings: Violence and death (somewhat)

Pairing: RFA x MC

Description: The RFA members meet the most important being in MC’s life--her dog!

READ MORE OF MY WORKS HERE (X)

ZEN:

Today was the day! Zen was finally going to meet your family! For your sake he tried to keep calm and remain positive

. Strict dad? No problem! Zen’s a pretty straightlaced guy--despite his shady history--he knows how to respect authority. Protective mom? It’s alright! It doesn’t matter how long it takes! He’s determined to show her his sincerity. Overbearing siblings? Well, he’s been with Yoosung and Seven almost all the time-- Zen’s sure he can manage your brothers and sisters.

Your family had invited the two of you for dinner at your parents’ house.

From the moment the two of you crossed the threshold of your childhood home, Zen was on his best behavior.

He didn’t actually have to try much though. Your family was obsessed with him!

Except... for one particular member.

“Al!” you crooned as you fed your childhood pet some scraps off the table.

Almond, the gigantic Doberman, had never once left your side since your arrival with Zen.

The dog was practically like your shadow! Dark, sleek and serious--he looked like it was was his sworn duty to protect you from everything--Zen included!

“Babeee,” Zen attempted to grab your attention “come have a taste of the cake your mom baked. It’s so good~”

Zen leaned in to feed you off of his spoon when Almond started to growl--a deep guttural sound that came from the back of his throat.

Zen caught the angry dog’s eyes and in them he could see his impending doom.

“Make one more move,” Almond seemed to say, “and I’ll bite your throat off.”

Your family laughed as Zen backed off.

You bit back your own laughter and tried to comfort your pouting boyfriend.

“Sorry, sweetie,” You placed a quick peck on Zen’s cheek, “he’s not usually like this...I think...Almond just misses me that’s all.”

“It’s alright.” Zen smiled he couldn’t really stay mad about this. It was silly to get jealous and fight over your affections with a dog.

He looked over and got a hold of Almond’s dark eyes. Zen made sure the dog was looking when he kissed you back. At that moment Zen swore the that Doberman got even more mad at him.

It was petty but Zen felt a rush of satisfaction after that.

The whole night he wore a smug grin on his face. In his good mood he even let you drag him out into the yard in the cold night air.

“My parents like you,” you told him matter of factly and Zen couldn’t help but laugh.

“I know,” He admitted to which you raised your brow suspiciously.

“Look at you! Getting all cocky!”

He pinched your cheek and made a face, “I know I shouldn’t lower my guard but I do genuinely think that I made a good impression on your family. It’s your dog that I’m worried about.”

“Almond?” You looked over at your dog. Sitting rigidly at the porch.

Zen could feel Almond’s eyes watching over the two of you closely, as if waiting for an opening to pounce on him.

“Yes! Haven’t you noticed, MC? Your dog hates me!”

“Almond doesn’t hate you,” this time you laughed freely, “It’s just been a while since I last saw him so that’s why he’s like that.”

“MC,” Zen was dead serious now, “he growled at me. He growled at me!”

You laughed even harder, “He did scare you pretty good, huh? He ohh--”

You missed a step and all of a sudden you were falling. Zen had looped his hand around your waist and he was quick to grab on to you. Catching you before you could have completely fallen in.

Maybe it was the dark of the night but you hadn’t noticed that there was a shallow ditch dug on your backyard. It wasn’t really that deep but the ground was damp and your foot had sunken in.

From a distance you could hear Almond barking frantically. From right beside you Zen was the same but you know he was trying his best to stay calm.

“MC! Just--just hold on okay?” he grunted as he adjusted his grip on you, “I’m going to pull you out alright? Just tell me if you feel any pain, okay?”

You nodded fervently at Zen’s instructions. From behind him you saw Almond. Your dog was looking straight at you, his tail frantically wagging as Zen pulled you out from the earth.

You closed your eyes and tried to distract yourself from the throbbing pain on your ankle.

You focused on Zen’s voice and Almond’s low howls. You breathed in deeply as you clung to Zen’s shoulders.

“Alright, babe--I’m gonna pull you out one more time. Just hold on--one, two and three!”

At the count of three your foot popped off the ground.

Zen lifted you up and hugged you to his chest, his laughter bubbling with relief.

“Are you alright?” He brushed away the stray hair from your face.

“Yeah,” you told him, “that was really cool of you.”

Zen chuckled in response. He shifted you in his arms so he could carry you back to the house.

Your whole family was in disarray as they saw you and Zen enter the house, with Almond trailing behind you.

After explaining what had happened Zen set you down on the couch so your mom could apply ice on your ankle.

Your dad said he would take a look at the ditch tomorrow, mumbling something about Almond probably digging up the lawn again.

Eventually, everything quieted down. Your parents insisted that you and Zen stay over for the night--with the condition of staying in separate rooms, of course.

Your dad gave you some pain killers for you ankle and soon enough you were knocked out.

When you woke up you were still on the couch. Your family probably decided it was best not to move you.

A blanket had been tucked over you and at your side was a snoring boyfriend with a gigantic Doberman on his lap.

YOOSUNG:

It was a school holiday and Yoosung had decided to surprise you with some snacks and a movie marathon.

He came to your apartment goodies in hand and a smile on his face as he rang your doorbell.

He jumped when he suddenly heard a series of barks as a reply.

Strange, you didn’t mention anything about owning a dog. Maybe he got the wrong address?

Before he could think about it too much, your head popped out of the door. A delighted smile breaking out of your features when you saw him.

“Yoosung!” you exclaimed, still hiding behind the door, “what a treat! What brings you here?”

He could still hear the dog yapping behind the door but you didn’t seem to mind it so he decided not to mention it.

“It--it’s a holiday today!” he explained, “I brought some stuff over thinking maybe we could hang out. Is--is this a bad time?”

“No, no, no” You grinned even wider, “not at all. I’m just, actually looking after my aunt’s dog, Peanut. We can hangout--that is if you don’t mind that he’s around.”

“Not really,”

“Great!” you flashed him another smile and Yoosung swore his heart could burst at any moment, “Just give me a sec, so I can calm Peanut down for a bit.”

You closed the door for a bit and when you opened it again you were holding a 6-month old beagle by the collar, laughing as it tried to lick your face.

“Peanut!” you tried to sound firm but Yoosung could see that you were about to burst out into a fit of giggles. It was adorable.

“Come in Yoosung,” you managed to say in between deep gasps of breath, “he’s slobbery but harmless.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Yoosung murmured as he closed the door behind him.

You let go of Peanut and immediately, the dog went berserk--running around the house his floppy ears flapping around like wings.

“He’s so silly,” you cooed before giving your boyfriend a peck on the lips, “I’m glad you came over.”

Your boyfriend blushed a deep scarlet, “I’m glad too.”

You and Yoosung set up on your couch arranging the snacks he brought on the coffee table in front of the TV.

After the two of you decided what movie to watch you settled in on the couch.

Yoosung was ready to cuddle and just as he was about to pull you into an embrace, when Peanut jumped over and settled on to your lap.

The dog barked happily, oblivious to the moment he just ruined. You laughed thinking that it was cute.

Yoosung on the other hand was starting to get annoyed.

This was your day with him!

You weren’t going to pay more attention to the dog than him, right?

Wrong.

The whole afternoon practically revolved around Peanut.

Twenty minutes into the movie, the dog started to get bored and started to whine. He jumped out of your lap and brought you a toy.

You immediately understood that he wanted to play a game so once every so often you would throw the toy in some random corner of the house and the dog would fetch it.

It was distracting for Yoosung. It was alright when the dog would scamper away when you threw the toy but once in a while you would get engrossed in the movie and kind of forget about Peanut. The dog would start howling to get your attention.

On several occasions you would get up to refill Peanut’s water bowl because he kept running it over.

Yoosung practically begged you to just ignore the mess, since the dog would just run over the bowl again. He swore Peanut was doing this on purpose.

You apologized on several occasions which made Yoosung feel guilty.

He didn’t really know what to do at this point. He couldn’t really blame you. You were just looking after this dog for your relative and plus, Peanut didn’t know any better.

Realizing this Yoosung, extended his patience, albeit a little reluctantly.

When your aunt came over to pick Peanut up and Yoosung was beyond relieved.

Once you said goodbye to your aunt, Yoosung was quick to cling on to you.

“What’s wrong?” You laughed at your boyfriend’s sudden display of affection.

You could see the pout prominently jutting out, “Noona, you love me more than Peanut, right?”

“Of course!” you petted Yoosung’s hair trying to reassure him.

He cuddled into you closer, never letting go for the rest of that afternoon.

It seems like you had a needy puppy of your own.

JUMIN:

You were at home sick with the flu.

Jumin had done his research about this. According to what he had read, the correct protocol, was to go to your house and nurse you back to health.

Jaehee had been adamantly against the idea but once Jumin’s mind was set there was no changing it.

He came to your house, guards and all, with ingredients for chicken soup, some organic fruit gelatin and medicine.

He had met your parents before but it was actually the first time he had visited your house.

Jumin’s first impression as your mother ushered him into your abode, was that it was warm and inviting--exactly the kind of environment he imagined you growing up in.

What did surprise him was the big black dog that sat at the foot of your bed.

Your mother explained that it was your dog, Bear, a Rottweiler that had been in your family ever since you were a teenager.

Jumin could see that the dog was aptly named. The dog had a broad back, black fur tumbling all over it like a curtain of black satin. It had a big head and an even bigger mouth, Jumin noted, as it opened it’s maw to yawn.

Bear looked like he could tear anyone apart with that kind of physique, yet the dog did nothing but look over you as you slept in your bed.

“He loves her a lot,” Your mom said quietly, almost reading Jumin’s thoughts, “Bear had always looks after MC even when she’s all grown up.”

“Then maybe I should visit MC later,” Jumin murmured, “when Bear is no longer in the room.”

Your mother chuckled softly, “I don’t think he’ll be leaving anytime soon. Besides, he’s not going to bite you.”

Jumin gave her a doubtful look and she shrugged.

“If you’re apprehensive then maybe you can come back later once MC is awake. Bear tends to be a little more gentle when she’s around.”

Jumin didn’t need to be told twice. He followed your mom to the kitchen.

He stole a peek at you again.

The image of you and Bear snoring at your side was engraved on his mind.

Jumin and your mom prepared the ingredients he had brought in to soup. It was his first time making anything of the sort and he was proud to say that it ended up pretty well.

That maybe mostly because of your mom. It didn’t matter, he had fun making it and he learned something new in the process.

Jumin served the soup into a bowl. He arranged it together on to a tray, along with silverware and the gelatin and medicine he had brought for you.

He was so delighted at his little creation that he had momentarily forgotten about Bear.

Jumin came into your room carrying the tray. Bear looked up from where he sat on your floor, mostly curious at the sudden noise.

Jumin stood rooted to the spot. He wasn’t sure of what to do next. You were still fast asleep and your mother was downstairs. The rest of your family was out. His bodyguards were all waiting for him outside of the house.

Jumin didn’t have anyone to call for immediate help. He wasn’t entirely familiar with your dog except for the comments your mom had made earlier.

What if the smell of the soup had roused the dog?

Would he attack Jumin to try and get the soup?

If so would Jumin be able to fend him off?

Unlikely.

His best chance would be to just surrender the soup.

Bear looked at Jumin, as if studying him. The dog had dark black eyes. They were shiny like marbles. Bear looked at Jumin with the same look he often saw with Elizabeth III--intelligent. That spurred something in Jumin and in that moment he decided to take a risk.

“I’m not here to harm her,” Jumin found himself telling the dog, “I’m just here to bring her food and take care of her--like what you’re doing.”

For several heartbeats the dog continued to stare at Jumin.

He hadn’t realized that he was holding his breath until Bear stretched to lie down on his paws.

On the floor, Bear looked like a giant hairy carpet. He stayed there, still looking up at Jumin and continued to do nothing.

Jumin took this as a sign that he could enter.

“Thank you,” he nodded at the dog and Bear blinked at him sleepily, still docile.

Jumin walked into your room and set the tray on your nightstand. He checked to see if he had disturbed you but you were still in a deep sleep.

He wanted to touch you, assure you that everything was alright and that he was there. However, he hesitated.

Jumin could feel Bear’s eyes on him the entire time.

It was probably a stupid move since he actually allowed the dog an open invitation to his jugular but Jumin bent down and kneeled in front of Bear.

He didn’t dare make any sudden moves, “Hello Bear, I don’t think I’ve properly introduced myself yet... I’m Jumin Han.”

Bear cocked his head as if listening to Jumin. This encouraged him to keep talking.

“I--I don’t know if you understand this but I’m currently dating her,” Jumin pointed at MC, Bear’s eyes following his index finger as it gestured back to Jumin, “I love her--just like you love her. Maybe even more.”

Jumin chuckled as he ran his hands through his hair. He couldn’t believe he was confessing his love for you, to your dog!

Yet, he continued.

“You’ve done a good job protecting her and her family. I’m not saying that I’m going to be taking your job but... you’re probably gonna see me around more often. If you’ll allow me, I hope I’ll do a good job of taking care of them as well.”

Jumin waited--he wasn’t sure what he was waiting for exactly. but he remained still.

He became frozen when Bear slowly stood up, leaned his heavy head and licked Jumin’s hand.

Jumin was in a state of pure awe. He looked up at Bear, silently panting--almost smiling and Jumin opened his palm.

The dog shuffled closer and rubbed its gigantic head on Jumin’s palm.

Bear had given Jumin his blessing.

“Good boy,” Jumin whispered.

Unbeknownst to them both, you had woken up to witness the entire thing.

You remained quiet, not wanting to disturb them.

Jumin would find you later, eyes brimming with happy tears.

SEVEN:

Saeyoung wasn’t sure if dogs could make facial expressions but he was pretty sure that yours was mad--at him specifically.

The tiny dachshund, Violet, had barked at him when he came into your apartment and it continued to growl at him as he sat on your countertop.

You assured him that she was friendly--just a little outspoken but he didn’t want to take any chances.

He would like to come out of your house with a complete set of limbs thank you very much.

You didn’t understand why he was so afraid of Via. He liked all kinds of animals, you saw him interact with cats and dogs all the time. Why was Via any different?

“Did you know,” he grinned from your countertop, “that animals and children can sense when a person is bad?”

You were about to go out on a whole spiel about how he wasn’t a bad person but he cut you off.

“Just let me work on your computer, MC.” He chuckled, “then I’ll leave so your dog won’t have a seizure.”

It hurt him to see you so sad but that was the truth. It was important that you were reminded of that.

You left him alone at your kitchen with your computer. You took Violet with you much to his relief but he still remained perched on your counter.

He set up camp there. He turned on his laptop as well as yours and placed his backpack against the wall as he worked.

You stayed in your room and decided to leave him alone for a few hours but you fell asleep.

Violet escaped your room and went back into the kitchen to bark at Saeyoung.

“Still not done yet?” He sighed, “well you can’t really get up here now can you?”

The dog growled.

Saeyoung flashed Violet his tongue, “Bleeeh,”

The dog gave up for a while and Saeyoung continued with his work.

For a few minutes it was quiet until he heard the some light tapping. He stopped typing to look around him.

Nothing seemed out of place.

He continued to work on your computer when the tapping continued. When he looked around, this time he saw that Violet had jumped on to the counter.

Seayoung yelped falling over and landing on his ass.

He thought the dog would leap over and attack him but instead it went and launched itself at his backpack.

Violet attacked his bag, growling and barking like a maniac.

Saeyoung scrambled over on to his feet and tried to separate Violet from his bag.

“Let go!” he huffed, “Hey! What’s wrong with you? It’s just a bag? MC!”

Saeyoung pulled Violet and his bag apart and when he finally did he saw something wiggling on Violet’s mouth--it was a rat. A huge one at that.

Surprised, Saeyoung dropped the dog.

Violet shook the rat until it became limp.

Once she was sure that it was dead, Violet dropped the rat on the floor and looked at Saeyoung expectantly.

You came barrelling into the kitchen almost a second later.

“What--what happened?” you were still half asleep, “Did Violet bite you?”

“No,” Saeyoung was still in shock he rummaged through his bag and saw a desecrated bag of chips.

He pulled it out for you to see, “The rat must have smelled my chips. Violet caught it.”

“She did,” the pooch casually trotted towards you and you picked her up.

You grinned at her before turning to Saeyoung.

“Did you know,” you laughed, “that dachshunds are hunting dogs?”

Violet sniffed in your arms.

Saeyoung broke into a grin, “You don’t say?”

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ayankun · 6 years

Text

Ok full disclosure, the following is a wee backstory for some characters in a dream I had so please read it if that’s your thing but I completely understand if it’s not.

I also borrowed a bit of a friend’s IRL backstory for this, and all the places mentioned I have actually been to. I also also used this opportunity to experiment with a narrative technique that’s been kicking around in the back of my mind for a couple of years, so with all said and done it’s nice to be writing again.

In other news, I’m currently 2100 words deep into a Gotham-esque Jim Gordon fic, so keep an eye out for that one if that’s your jam.

His Name Was David

It was your last day, so like a sad sack you moped around town trying to smash the sights into your brain with the hopes of grubbing onto them a wee tad longer, but all the cobblestoned streets started to run together and all the doors to all the quaint back alley pubs started to look the same, and the only thing you really instilled at the end of it all was a wholehearted enthusiasm on the part of the locals for your sad sack face to go back to whatever sad sack place it came from.

It's a wonder, then, that he took pity on that pinched bohemian sourpuss of yours and offered to buy you a drink.

A right local, he was, a regular face at Kelly’s Cellars who couldn't help but recollect he’d seen you skulking round town – there at Kelly’s on a couple of trad nights, or pawing through vintage trinkets at Young Savage, or shooting some midday pool down at Laverys, even scuffing around the kebab shops near the Holylands at most certainly unholy hours of the night.

You weren’t traditionally the type to let pretty strangers buy you drinks, but it was the last hour of your last day in Belfast, so really, at this point, what was the harm in going all in? You couldn't stand the thought of folding early just to walk away with nothing.

It was his last day, too, you would later find out. At least you had that much in common.

He caught your accent right away and instead of asking where you were from, he asked you how long you were staying. Just tonight, you said, in that sad sack way of yours. In commiseration he ordered another round.

Where were you headed after Belfast, then?

What a soul-crushing question. You had no idea. You would have said “home” but that wouldn't have been the right word. Not the right idea. There was a place you were going, and it was more or less the place you had come from. But what was “home,” anyway?

You tried to spin a non-answer that avoided the heavy shadow of your last-day-in-Belfast existential crisis and raised your glass to wherever life intended to take you next.

Hear, hear. The only sound decision you made all day.

And did your gracious host partake in the truest expression of ones youth and freedom in the form of throwing responsibility to the wind in favor of chasing said wind around the globe? (Two drinks in, you start to sound like this. It's unbearable.)

He'd been to Cardiff. The once.

Oh well you're all done, then, you said.

The joke appreciated and out of the way, he then chose to confide in you the story of his Welsh excursion. Of the sister he’d had there but didn’t have any longer. Of their schism and the last time they spoke. Of his crippling regret that they hadn't been able to mend the fences before it had been too late.

He was the guy who, two drinks in, started spilling his guts all over the table. At least, that's what you thought at the time.

You spoke quietly after that, in a cozy corner, until last call came at one o’clock sharp. Even then, not really wanting to be turned out into a dark January night until you really had to, you talked.

Religion had come between them, he told you. Religion had helped split the country, way back when, and helped draw invisible lines through towns and families even in modern days.

You got it, you told him. You had as complicated a past as anyone, religiously speaking.

He promised to try to not convert you, then. You told him you appreciated it.

It was the kind of quiet, introspective conversation that was appropriately held between two strangers in a pub in the middle of the night. Nothing to gain, nothing to lose. You'd be gone tomorrow, anyway, so what did it matter what you said tonight?

(What either of you said?)

Finally, you and the rest of Belfast’s nightcrawlers were turned out into the streets to stumble home in laughing packs or single shadows or, in your case, suspicious looking conspirators what with the pair of you slinking off together into the night with your collars up and your heads down.

You paused in the wind-break shelter of a bus stop for half a moment to light a cigarette. You offered him one but he declined; his vices extended to a couple of pints with a stranger here and there and maybe a foul word directed at negligent drivers on occasion, but not a step further.

You went off again into the night, trying to wrangle your smoke into his downwind, just to be polite. There wasn’t much worth heading to, this direction at this hour, but you just kept walking. The both of you, content to wander.

With all the chit-chatting that was taking place, the one thing that went unsaid was a shared understanding that neither of you wanted to go home. You had a cold hostel bed waiting for you, and he had his religion, so it wasn’t like there was a real destination for this encounter other than a midnight stroll through the sleeping city.

There was ice on the ground, taking the golden glow of Belfast’s streetlights and reflecting it back so the streets literally sparkled as you walked. The sky was clear but it was bloody freezing – not bloody freezing enough, though, to prevent the two of you from availing yourselves of the pleasures of the starlit city and of the human warmth of each others company.

Your wandering took you past the Big Fish, majestically lit by floorlamps, and its cold dead eyes staring into space were suddenly the funniest thing you ever saw. You crossed the bridge and somehow were still laughing by the time you managed to stumble all the way out to the Pump House, although the thought of drunkenly falling into the Titanic’s dry dock sobered you a little.

He took your elbow – like a gentleman, to ward off the vertigo – and steered you back out of the rushing river wind.

Completely aimless and without rhyme nor reason, you were satisfied in turning around on the spot and heading back the way you came toward the city centre. Finally you ended up in the Cathedral Quarter staring up at St. Anne’s with its insane Spire of Hope jabbing out of the top.

You and he took a bit of a rest stop on the low cement wall that bordered Bouy Park, contemplating the Spire in silence. Neither of you had bothered to check the hour, mostly out of a ticking time bomb sort of impending disappointment that the night would have to end eventually.

I guess this is where life took us, he said at last.

Church? You laughed.

He didn't laugh, but he put his hand on your knee. Looking up at the Spire, all lit up like a strike of divine inspiration, he told you he’d like to see where life was going to take him next.

Smooth enough for the kind of straightlaced sort of lad he made out to be, so you were not unready when he grabbed life by the horns and kissed you under a pale sliver moon.

You, too, were curious to see where life could have taken you next, but life unfortunately had other plans.

He all but instantly seemed to snap out whatever flight of fancy had grabbed him, and very nearly flew up from his seat on the wall and away from you.

He didn't know what had gotten into him, he stammered, he wasn't normally the sort of guy who –

He never finished his sentence because he stepped backwards onto a patch of invisible ice that took his leg out from under him.

One, two, three steps, all frictionless, all resulting in the same: The most comically picture-perfect pratfall you’d ever seen.

You laughed. He fell.

You stopped laughing, but he didn't stop being dead.

You didn't know this last bit yet. Rather, you very greatly feared this knowledge but were quite willing to be skeptical of the fact for as long as you were able. For his sake, at least.

There wasn't any blood, for one. You scrabbled down to the icy pavement next to his body and tried to rouse him, panic pushing out the last of the alcohol from your bloodstream. You did a very good job of panicking, for what it's worth.

And then the body’s head began to move and the eyes opened. The body breathed again.

“Oh thank God,” you said, the fog of your breath lifting to heaven like a prayer.

“Not bloody likely,” I said. And then I sat up and dusted myself off.

You wheezed. “Are you alright - ? You hit your head.”

“Wasn't me,” I said, sitting up. I had fixed enough of the body’s broken bits to render it useful, but left the edge on. My head swam – I felt like I was going to be sick –

It was exquisite.

You wanted me to take it easy. You wanted to know if you should call an ambulance, or at least a cab to take us to the hospital. You wanted to fix, to nurse, to hover until everything was proven not to be the dead-end disaster your last night had become.

I let you drag me to my feet and I stood so close to you that it made you uncomfortable. You were still thinking about the aborted kiss, probably, but I was thinking about the complex exchange of temperature between my hemmed-in flesh and the vast expanse of not-me swirling all around for miles and miles and miles.

You were warm. The night was cold.

“How about a cigarette, then?” I asked. My teeth were chattering. Delightful! Having teeth, I mean. What a concept.

I'll give you a hand, you somehow managed to took even more worried than before. Quite a feat, you truly exceeded yourself there. “You don't smoke,” you told me.

“Nah,” I said, “You're thinking of the other guy.”

“You hit your head,” you said, slowly. You were thinking very clearly about calling that ambulance.

I relieved you of the crumpled packet of cigarettes hidden in your jacket pocket.

“Like I said,” I told you around the cigarette on my lips, “you've got me confused with someone else.”

I cupped my hands around the cigarette and lit it with an ounce of will. I blew smoke into your face and you sat back down onto the wall with some force. “Easy now,” I laughed, “Ain’t you never seen a little black magic before?”

“What happened to you?” you asked. You started to look quite ill at this juncture, let me just say.

Damn, where to start with a question like that.

“Okay, stay with me a moment, eh? So imagine there's a, like a, uh, barrier, a film of sorts between your physical reality and, well, let's just say everything else. Some things, like souls, can pass across from side to side, but only according to certain . . . laws, shall we say.”

“What.” You were not having this. It would be a while yet until you really caught on.

“So what happened, to answer your question, is that your bar buddy’s body lost grip on his soul, and the sheer weight of that bloody disgusting thing smashed through the barrier with enough force that an opportunist, such as myself, could latch onto the frayed edges to ride the whiplash back up to this side. To put it simply, that is.”

“So you're possessing his body?”

“Sure. I now ‘possess’ his body. Sure.”

“Why?”

I laughed. It felt good. “How do you mean, ‘why?’ Why not? You were created on this side, so you can't imagine what it's like to be non-corporeal. To be everywhere at all times, to extend from one end of the universe to the other. Wrap all that being up into a tiny body with bones and skin and nerve endings and synapses and a cardiovascular system and autoimmune responses – all this consciousness and sensation boiled down into one little self-contained speck of existence – it's like being in the center of the fucking sun, mate. You lot take it for granted, you do.”

“So you're some kind of demon who killed him and took his body for the fun of it?” I swear your eyes were going glassy, and you looked like you might tremble yourself apart any second.

“If demon’s the word you want to use, I won’t stop you. But really, I'm a spirit, same as you. Just from the other side of the tracks, is all.”

Damn that sad sack face of yours. No wonder he took pity on you.

I came up to your side at the wall and offered you the cigarette. You took it but forgot exactly what it was you were supposed to do with it.

“And I didn’t kill him. Like I said, I'm an opportunist. Leaden soul like he had, it was only a matter of time.”

Some ash from the forgotten cigarette fell onto your pant leg, so I reached over and brushed it off. You jumped.

Sticking the cigarette in your mouth and standing up, you said, “I d-don't know what you mean. He was a good guy. He was a good guy and he just died in front of me. And I couldn’t do anything.”

He was not in any known understanding of the word “good,” but I let you find that out in your own time.

In the moment, I followed you up and said, “Give me your hand.”

You didn't want to, I could tell, but you have this mad streak that makes you do things you don't want to do, if only to see what will happen. I had to find that out on my own time.

You put your hand out and I turned to stand at your side, so when I put my hand on your hand, palm to palm, they lined up.

“The barrier I came through does a decent job of keeping things separate, but there are ways for spirits to, let's say, bend the rules a little bit. To bend the barrier a little bit. I could show you how to reach past it and tap into forces beyond your imagination. It would be as easy as this –”

And I pressed my fingers between yours and squeezed your hand.

“Why,” you asked. You didn’t really need an answer.

“This guy,” I said, pointing to myself, “Wasn’t worth saving. You should have seen his plans for you, my friend.”

You got all dejected at that, tried to pull away. I held your hand and you didn’t get far. “But. But. Maybe you could try and save the next one. Eh?”

“With party tricks? Lighting cigarettes without a lighter? What else can you do, balloon animals?”

You were joking but you looked so serious. So serious and so very tired.

“Come on,” I said, pulling you by the hand and starting backwards down the path in the direction of the home this body belonged to. That’s where this would have gone, otherwise. It only felt right. “How about you and I see where life takes us, eh?”

The night was deep and cold and dark, and the feeling of your hand in mine felt as bright as day.

“Hey,” you said, “What's your name?”

I stopped short and glared at you. “That's not how it works. I can't just tell you my name. Not with this body. Have you ever tried coalescing an eternal cosmic truth into a sound that a set of human vocal chords can produce?”

You didn’t flinch. “What do I call you, then?”

I shrugged. “Just keep calling me whatever you called this guy.”

“His name was David,” you told me.

“Well then,” I said, pulling you close to sling my arm over your shoulder and pointing us both towards what would be, for a while anyway, home. “Guess that's my name now.”

#words

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