aroceu: (husband)
exclamation points! ([personal profile] aroceu) wrote2017-06-11 11:41 am

Assorted WIP amnesties (<1000)

In which Draco accidentally dies for Potter, and haunts him forever. (2014)

//

Across the hall, he could recognize his own wand everywhere. It was held in the hands of the Boy Who Lived - hardly an obstacle, to Draco.

"That's my wand!" he shouted, in the middle of Potter's speech.

His mother clamped a hand over his mouth. His father glared and said, "What do you think you're doing, Draco?"

"That's my - "

Draco wrenched his way out of his parents' grasp and started towards Potter. Never mind that the Dark Lord was, well, standing opposite them. But Potter had his own bloody wand somewhere, possibly, and he was saying,

"The true master of the Elder Wand was Draco Malfoy."

Like Draco actually cared - he wasn't going to go up to the Dark Lord and demand a wand that once could've belonged to him. Potter had materialized out of nowhere and was clutching <I>Draco's</I> Hawthorne wand in his hand, which was all that he cared about.

The Dark Lord was saying, "... and after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy..."

Potter opened up his mouth, looking like he was about to speak; but that was when Draco reached him.

Behind them, he was fairly certain that he could hear whispers of, "What is he doing?" and, "Is he stupid?"

Draco said bracingly to Potter, "Potter, you have my wand."

"Malfoy - Malfoy, what the hell, get out of the way!"

"Don't you have your own wand?" Draco asked. "Give me mine back."

Potter's green eyes in the roaring fires surrounding them. "This is my wand," he said, showing him a small satchel around his neck.

Draco's eyes widened. "You've got to be kidding."

Apparently the Dark Lord had advanced during Draco's interruption, for when he heard, "So Mr Malfoy has decided to join us," his voice was much closer.

"You're not touching him," Potter said sharply.

Draco cocked his head at Potter, never mind that the cruelest person he'd ever known was standing in front of them. "Protecting me, Potter?"

"Well," the Dark Lord said softly, "if you're the true master of the Elder Wand, then I suppose I shall rid of you now."

Potter looked panicked; quickly he said, "He's not, I disarmed him ages ago, I am. I'm the master of the wand."

The Dark Lord turned on him.

And something overcame Draco - he wasn't quite sure what was happening. But he saw the Dark Lord's wand - Dumbledore's wand - pointed at Potter, Potter too dumbstruck to register the transition, and Draco moved.

There was a flash of green light.

And then nothing.

*

The world was floating. He was floating. Everything felt positively light; perhaps either that, or the previous heaviness of the world made everything suddenly slipperier.

Draco opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was his mother and father. They were right over him, sobbing. Draco tried to tell them that he was okay, but as light as his mouth was, no words came out. Draco tried to turn his head, but it was all dark.

He sat up.

His mother shivered but otherwise didn't respond. Draco wanted to hug her, tell her to stop crying, that there was nothing to cry about.

"I'm sorry," said a gentle voice. Draco, as well as his mother and father, turned to see a speccy git staring at them, arms stretched out.

Draco's father stood up. "You did this." He was shaking. Angry. For Draco.

Draco looked down and felt like he should've been more surprised. There lay his body, folded awkwardly, eyes closed and flushed face getting paler.

His mother put a hand on his father's arm. "He didn't," she said quietly. "Draco made the decision - " tears were streaming from her eyes " - to protect him."

"Stupid decision," Potter said. But he was watching Draco's body with an air of astonishment, amusement, and guilt.

Draco wanted to punch Potter in the face, to stop looking at Draco's body like Potter liked him. He wanted to tell his parents that this was a mistake. It ought to be.

"He didn't protect anyone," Draco's father seethed. "If you hadn't stolen Draco's wand - "

"Then I'd be defenceless and we'd all be dead."




Scorpius/Albus (2016)

Scorpius's least favorite part of returning to Hogwarts was all the hassle that occurred when he was packing again. His father usually tried to help him, though that mostly consisted of, "Scorpius, do you really need your old Comet?" to which Scorpius would reply, "Yes, Father, I do, because I like Quidditch," and then his father would say, "Which is why you should let me buy you the new Nimbus--" and Scorpius would cut him off with, "But not that much."

It ended, in any case, when his mother would eventually discover their non-argument and then haul Scorpius's father away by the ear. Scorpius didn't mind his father but sometimes practicality was not his best feature. His mother was much better at that, and also gave Scorpius money for the train ride on the Platform, when his father would forget.

Scorpius had his luggage (with his shrunken broom inside) in hand as he browsed the Hogwarts Express, as the bustle outside echoed with chatter and slams of compartment doors. It was a headache, though no less than usual, to find an empty compartment.




Bebe/Wendy (2014)

When Bebe comes out, it's more of a surprise to Wendy than to anyone else. Bebe's got a fork dipped in her mashed potatoes (which Wendy's never understood) and an elbow propped onto the table and says, very nonchalantly, "I like girls."

Red says, "Oh," and then, "Okay," right afterward, which Wendy doesn't think is an appropriate response.

"Are you sure?" she says to Bebe, before, "I mean, I'm sure you're sure, but I'm just—double checking."

Bebe grins. She really grins, and Wendy knows that sometimes she masks her nervousness with her already over the top confidence, so it's hard to read.

"I'm sure," Bebe says. "I watched like, two hours of lesbian porn once, and squirted at least—"

"Oh my god," says Wendy. Bebe looks satisfied with herself. "Okay, you sound sure. I was just checking, you know, as your best friend."

Bebe nudges her foot under the table. "I know," she says.

//

Bebe says, "I'm going over to Kenny's," when they're walking to the school parking lot, after the final bell had rung.

Wendy furrows her eyebrows. She knows Bebe goes to Kenny's almost every day after school, but:

"I thought you liked girls now."

Bebe snorts into her hand. Her hair is long and poofy and golden and she tucks it behind her ear. "I've always liked girls," she says. "That doesn't mean I don't like guys, either."

"O… kay?" Wendy's still confused. "But at lunch you said—I thought—"

"I said I liked girls," says Bebe. "I didn’t say that I stopped liking guys. Hey," she say suddenly, her eyes lighting up. "Want to come to Kenny's with me?"

The first thing Wendy thinks of is her and Bebe making out while Kenny—fucks Bebe, or something. She blinks the way the image as quickly as she can, but it's still kind of hot and something Wendy really, really can't concern herself with right now, especially with grades and colleges and whatnot.

"I don't really," she says, sort of belatedly.

Bebe laughs. "I meant, like, I haven't told him about the liking girls thing, so I thought you could come along for, I dunno. Support." She shrugs.

Wendy asks, "Do you need support from me?"

"I'd like some," says Bebe.

So Wendy goes along with her to Kenny's, though they have their own cars so Wendy's alone in her peace and quiet instead of having Bebe rattling off about something or other while Wendy's still kind of confused about Bebe. Like, she gets that Bebe's now realized she likes girls and boys, or whatever, and her presence was going to be more of a sentiment than anything. She supposes some part of her wishes that Bebe had confided in her earlier, or told her in secret.

Two hours of lesbian porn.

They get to Kenny's, which is sort of a dump, and when he sees the both of them on the front porch, he smirks.

Bebe rolls her eyes and pushes past him. "Let's get to your room," she says, and Kenny says, "A little eager, aren't you?"

"You're disgusting," Wendy says to him.

Kenny grins. "I try."

As soon as they're all in and he shuts the door, Bebe says, "I'm bisexual."

"Sweet!" Kenny leaps over to her for a high-five. "I knew you brought Wendy over for something."

"You're disgusting," Wendy repeats.

Bebe laughs and says, "No, she's here for moral support. For me telling you this."

"Well," says Kenny, putting his hand down. "Good on you, man. Like, I am too, if you wanna bring Stan over next time for something fun."

Wendy coughs, a little offended at the mention of her ex-boyfriend. "Kenny."

"I'm just saying," Kenny says, turning to her. "So are you going so we can get it on? Or do you wanna stay?"

"I don't—"

Wendy glances at Bebe, who's picking at the hem of her shirt. "Was this all I was here for?" she asks.

Bebe shrugs. "I mean, if you wanna join us," she says, and she's grinning.

Wendy looks incredulously at these two—absolute—

"Fine," she says, and swings her purse over her shoulder. "Fine," she says again. "Fine. Whatever."

//

Bebe texts her the next morning with, want me to drive u to school?




Kageyama/Hinata, fruit stand AU, meant to be chaptered and this was actually all outlined before too lol. rip

"Do you know what you want?"

Tobio blinked. He didn't realize he was staring, much less had stopped.

The kid in front of him had bright orange hair, was smiling patiently. Tobio blinked again. He was standing in front of giant wooden crates of apples and oranges and bananas, dulled underneath the rising sun. The only thing Tobio seemed to be able to focus on was this kid's face, which was still watching him expectantly. Maybe some of the patience in his eyes were starting to wear off.

Tobio cleared his throat. Right, not eating so early in the morning made him so slow like this. "I'll have a banana, please," he said.

"Coming right up!"

The kid rung it into the cash register as Tobio picked a banana up. He watched as the kid punched in the numbers, frowned, stuck his tongue out, hit a few more buttons. Finally he said, "That'll be thirty yen."

Tobio handed the money to him. The kid put it in the cash register. When he was done, he perked up and said, "Have a nice day!"

Tobio hesitated, and then nodded. He went on his way.

He liked walking on mornings like this, when he could watch the city wake up. Around him was quiet, but he could hear a few cars honking in the distance. Maybe the sound of an ambulance blaring. It was a while from his apartment to work, and today was one of the occasional days were he could convince himself that he was a morning person. Other days he would lay in bed for ten minutes and force himself to get out so he wouldn't be so late that Suga would kill him.

Tobio arrived at the same time almost every day. At least on days where he wished he was still asleep, he wouldn't take the time to buy breakfast on his walk. He ate his banana as he drank in his surroundings, the distant sounds of waking. That organic market had always been there, and so had the fruit stand. That kid was new, though.

He entered the flower shop just as his clock on his phone reached the fourth minute past when his shift was supposed to start. "Good morning," he said, as the bells above the door rang.

Suga was at the front counter, smiled as he made his way over. "Kageyama-kun," he said. "You made it."

"Yeah." Tobio started toward the back to put his things away. He took his phone out of his bag and put it in his pocket. The back door was locked, which meant Kiyoko wasn't here yet. Tobio took out his keys.

"Try to be more on time next time, okay?" Suga said cheerfully.

It didn't fool Tobio, who'd worked here for a year already. Actually, now that he thought about it, he was starting his second year today, counting by university time.

He opened the door to the back, which was cluttered with Kiyoko's papers and things. There was a dark green closet against the wall that already had Suga's bag and jacket. Tobio hung up his things as well.

He walked back out. "Okay," he said, because there were no excuses that would work with Suga, and besides, there were a few times when Tobio had come on time, even early once. It wasn't volleyball so it wasn't like Tobio particularly cared as much about preserving time. But he needed to make money and his volleyball days were over.

When he was a first year in high school and his seniors had graduated, Iwaizumi-san had said that even if their hearts were in volleyball, even after school, they needed to at least try growing up once that was over. Back then, Tobio had told himself that growing up wasn't on his radar when he had volleyball. But that was back then.

The mornings were easy. Ennoshita was going to come by in an hour with his bike and make the preordered deliveries. Suga helped Tobio around the shop, and Kiyoko took care of the




Glee/One Direction xover

Brittany more or less drags Santana on the date.

"You're dragging me to the date," says Santana.

"I am not," says Brittany. "I'm not dragging you, and also you're the one driving the car."

"I didn't agree to this." Santana puts one hand to her forehead in exasperation. "I don't care about some guy in your sociology class, I don't care about his boyfriend—"

"British," Brittany cuts in with a bright smile. "He's British."

"Is his boyfriend British too?" Santana asks in monotone.

"Probably," says Brittany. "Maybe. They could've met each other in Britain."

"His boyfriend's probably not British," says Santana. "We're in America."

But the boyfriend is British, and the boy from Brittany's sociology class isn't, but Irish. "Niall," says sociology boy. He already has a milkshake in front of him. "Nice to meet you."

"Santana."

"Like the band?" says British boyfriend. Niall had introduced him as Liam earlier, but now Santana wants to call him "guy who doesn't need to point out the obvious, thank you very much."

"Yeah," she says dismissively, and before he can ask one of those inane questions like, "were you named that on purpose" or "were your parents rock groupies?" she moves on to say, "You guys ordered already? Brittany and I'll get our food."

"Okay," says Niall.

Brittany waves her fingers in goodbye at him.

Santana pulls her aside into the diner line, which is reasonably lengthy for seven-thirty. "What are we doing here, Britt?" she says. "Why am I hanging out with two strange guys I don't know?"

"Because they're my friends," says Brittany. She's pouting but Santana maintains eye contact. "Niall is, at the least. Don't you think he's nice?"

"He's said less than ten words to me, Brittany."

Brittany says, "That doesn't mean you can't think he's nice. Look at him."

She turns to Niall and Liam's table. Niall is talking enthusiastically about something and Liam is nodding, adding to the conversation every once in a while.

"They're like, normal," says Santana. "And not very interesting."

"Oh, Niall's really interesting," Brittany says confidently. "And he told me that his boyfriend was almost in the Olympics once."




Mark/Eduardo coping fic (2016)

Mark freezes.

"It's still a sensitive subject," Chris says gently.

"Oh my god," Shelby says hurriedly. "I'm - Mark, I'm so sorry - "

Chris puts a hand at her shoulder. "It's okay, you didn't know," he says. He begins to guide her away. He glances back once, but Mark has already resumed his typing.

Some time passes. Dustin appears at the desk. He sits on the table.

Mark pretends he doesn't know that Chris had sent him.

"So," Dustin asks casually, tossing a rubber band ball up in the air. "How's work?"

Mark doesn't look up. "Fine," he says.

*

He doesn't know when he begins noticing.




Hilda/Rosa thing (2014)

Hilda huffs and crosses her arms. "Fold," she says.

Her servine has snaked over to her shoulder, hovering. She huffs too.

Hilda says to her, "We'll get 'em next time."

"No, you won't." Hilda's opponent is a juggler—she can't for the life of her remember his name, but it'll probably be irrelevant anyway.

"You're broke," says the juggler.

Hilda sifts a hand through her hair. "I'm not broke," she says. It's true; she's still got all that champion money in her bank account.

"You don't have anymore cash on you," the juggler comments. "Bye, miss."

Hilda sighs, grabs her bag, and recalls servine back into her pokeball. She hears servine whine from inside; servine much prefers being out. "We'll go to the park then," she says. "Then you can stretch all you want."

She nearly bumps into someone on her way out. "Excuse me," she hears, and then, "Is there a Hilda in here?"

Hilda whips around—the someone in question is a girl with big long pigtails and yellow skirt. Her eyes are big and worried; the biker she'd asked is sneering.

"Who's asking?" Hilda says loudly, and the girl whips around. She doesn't look remotely familiar.

"Hi, oh my god," says the girl, running up to her. "Hilda? Hilda, right? I'm Rosa, oh my god, I'm—" She puts her hand to her forehead, smile lighting up her face.

"Hi," Hilda says shortly. "What do you want?"

"I've been looking all over Unova for you." The girl, Rosa, beams.




Amy/Erica (2016)

Amy first meets Erica on a music forum where jaded young adults and pretentious teenagers pretend to know anything remarkable about music. Amy doesn’t really post much, mostly lurks just for the fun of it; it’s easier to just laugh when a bunch of kids end up in a fight about the Beatles, before clicking away to her email (she has a friend who frequently sends her Cats That Look Like Hitler, which Amy pretends she’s not amused by.)

She does have an account, though, where all her favorite bands are listed. So it comes as a surprise one day when her email tells her that she has 1 New Private Message from the forum. Curiously, she clicks on the link that opens another window to the website.

orange_bright: White Stripes, Yeah Yeah Yeahs, Libertines. Okay – how about Death Cab?

Amy’s surprised. She’s made a total of four posts (so says her profile, anyway), most of which are for voting or agreeing with one person who has some sense on this stupid website. Her profile picture is a black-and-white picture of herself that her sister had edited, because her sister claims to be a professional with photo editing even though she’s sixteen and can barely pass pre-Calc. Still, Amy’s not really the type to be presumptuous about this sort of thing – it’s only the internet, and she still has some time to procrastinate on her French lit homework.

sayitbaby: I like Death Cab! From the few songs I’ve heard by them, anyway. But I have nothing bad to say about them. Is that what you were expecting?

She clicks around orange_bright’s profile—there’s not much to see from the profile picture, just a symmetrical photo of a pair of orange socks, probably meant to look artistic. (Amy doesn’t know; her sister’s the one with the eye for this sort of thing.) The name that’s down is E, and E is 19, too, just like Amy.

Her computer pings with the alert of a new email. 1 New Private Message. Amy opens her email, which opens another window on her computer browser.

orange_bright: I wasn’t expecting anything, actually, I haven’t listened to Death Cab yet. I like all the bands you listed, so I was wondering what your opinion was. For a rainy day, maybe.

Btw, just so you don’t think I’m a creep—I’m Erica! Thanks for answering my question :)

sayitbaby: It’s no problem :) Hi Erica, I’m Amy (as you might’ve guessed.) I’m really flattered that you trust my taste so much to ask my opinion on a band.