#it’s nothing spectacular but he just comes across as so *old* and forgetful during this. hearing issues and forgetting the question at hand | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

marvellovegalore · 4 years ago

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Loving You

Chris Evans

Synopsis: Chris is over the moon, he's met you and life couldn't be better - you're all he's ever dreamed of and there's nothing you could do to ruin that.

Warning: explicit language, sexual content

No one in your industry would ever consider you difficult to work with, neither mean, arrogant, conniving or calculating. Most would go out of their way to praise you, proclaim their adoration for the movie star of dreams. On the other hand, your previous partners would. Ex-boyfriends that would bravely volunteer to be interviewed about your past relationship would recount their experiences with the same look as a shell-shocked soldier. If they could, they would gather in a support group for those left with deeply affecting, unresolved trauma - left by you.

You would deny it, if you could be bothered; or if the media had declared your heartbreaker ways to be of public interest. Which they are, but you’re largely untouchable therefore they're unreported. A Hollywood starlet, philanthropist, trend setter and tastemaker - alongside with being viewed largely as a sweetheart. Your childhood nannies coming in storming with adulations and saccharine recollections of a sweet and shy child. Friends that are more than happy to celebrate you on social media and fans who fill the internet with high production videos of you strutting on the streets and red carpets cement the idea that you are the moment, and you are loved.

To the world outside of the sphere of your ex-boyfriends, you were the most eligible bachelorette. There was no flaw in sight, no illusion to dispel or enchantment to break; you’re the real deal. Until you get bored, and you need to hurt someone. Because hurt people, hurt people. As the saying goes. There’s no need to go into that - just yet.

So, when Christopher saw you at the 2019 Vanity Fair Oscars after party, he fell head over heels. Your eyes cast a spell on him, and the enchantment was cast by the world’s master mage, you. You barely realised what you did, you were in no mood to flirt or truly fraternise. You were attempting to drown your sorrows of missing out on another Oscar win for the second time - in a mojito glass. You looked spectacular, possibly more than how you looked during the ceremony. But to Chris, your face of indignation looked like the angelic expression of a good second place loser with no hard feelings. He attempted to approach you, but too many people go into his way, they came with unprovoked film criticisms and pseudo interview responses that would get them into the academy board. All he wanted was to see your face up close and know how you spoke when you weren’t being regarded by a crowd of enraptured spectators.

He could see that you weren’t being left alone either, you hadn’t won the Oscar, but you are being treated as if you did. Your eyes bounce off of him every once in a while, but he couldn’t capture your attention - and then you left the party. You hardly made the French exit you were seeking. Stars old and young clamoured to say their goodbyes and kisses on your cheeks. You finally managed to escape. If Chris were to attempt to lie and say that he wasn’t disappointed, a blind woman could have seen right through him. His heart dropped, and he couldn’t explain why - he didn’t even know you.

Some other actor friends managed to drag him to a more intimate after party, the setting hardly intimate. A compound nestled in Hidden Hills, twenty-four-hour security circling the property, of one starlet who presented herself at the beginning of the night but chose an early slumber rather than socialising.

You came in half an hour after him, a miniskirt showing off your incredible legs - which were insured for an absurd amount.

His breath caught in his mouth. You were dressed down, but you looked too incredible to even try and claim you didn’t try. Everyone’s head turned and everyone was captured by the beauty at the door, accompanied by a friend. Your demure appearance fooling everyone into thinking that the attention was unwanted. You grabbed yourself a drink and half an hour later you were still enveloped with a group of equally intoxicated friends.

Though, Chris was determined to get your attention. He grabbed a drink off of the barman and slowly and easily made his way to you. The word ‘chill’ being chanted over and over again in his head. He was dead set on not making a fool of himself. Three steps away from you, glass of mojito clutched in his hands, his anxiety being beaten down and desperately suffocated into his stomach and away from his brain. He goes over his words, and before he finishes walking to you, you turn suddenly.

Your eyes pierce into his, a smirk glossing your lips. “Hi.” Your voice is low, characteristically different from your stage voice - your accent just as strong.

“Hey, got this for you.” Chris thrusts the glass into your unexpectant hand, some of the drink splashing out over the frosted rim. “Hope, it’s not too presumptive of me to have gotten it for you?” His eyes have glossed over, he shifts his weight from one foot to another. You shake your head no, a sweet smile playing at your lips. He’s even easier on the eyes much closer up. “Sorry you didn’t win that Oscar, real shame, I was rooting for you!”

You store it in the back of your mind that this man manages to look like a golden retriever even when he’s several drinks down, “It’s nothing, what does it mean anyway, I’ll still get more jobs in the future.” You take a sip of your drink after he takes a sip of his.

He compliments your eyes, your complexion and goes on an eager rant of how much he admires your capacity for acting. You drink in the adoration diluted by alcohol and take his words with a pinch of salt. After twenty minutes of solid, drunken conversation you’ve moved to a nook shadowed by statues. Your legs next to his on the red velvet sofa. You remark on the class of the artistic statues, clearly purchased illegally from a Mediterranean museum. He barely takes in your words, much preferring to intoxicate himself with the sight of you - and his fifth beer.

You’ve decided that you want him. Badly. But you’ve sussed him out. He’s not just going to be a one-night stand - in the animal kingdom he’s a Golden Retriever, and those aren’t dogs to be messed with. Your last fling was essentially a Doberman pinscher - discardable - but this Chris had to reeled in slowly.

You interrupt his musing about the Boston markets with a kiss.

Your lips smoothly capture his, your lipstick smearing over his lips. His hand presses tightly on the small of your back, arm underneath your waist holding you up higher. Stars explode inside your eyelids and his fingers grip tightly onto your shirt as your tongue licks his bottom lip. Your entry is granted, you lips pressing tighter against each other. Your eyelashes dance over his. Your hands rise to his face, your hands imprinting themselves onto his cheekbones. His hand brushes over the bare skin of your leg, his fingertips tracing the insides of your thighs. A small moan rises from the back of his throat.

The hold you have on him is cemented, you part away from him. You untangle yourself from him and stand up from the sofa, your eyes refusing to look at him, you smooth your clothes and slowly strut away from him.

Chris looks at the fire that you’ve set on his limbs in disbelief, he doesn’t grasp what you’ve just done. Did he do something wrong? Does he smell? No. You just didn’t care for the ceremony of the first ‘after-kiss’ moments.

He doesn’t see you for a year.

You truly are elusive - to the media and him.

He couldn’t get you out of his mind, and the fact that you starred in another award-nominated film did little to help him forget you.

You were curious to understand whether you really enticed him or not. You decided to not pursue that line of questioning, and never bothered to reply to his direct messages. It wasn’t done with the intent of hurting him, you just didn’t care. But life has a way of putting things in your way that deep down you didn’t know you wanted.

Nevertheless, here you are, with your boyfriend of a year - Christopher, sat across from you telling you story about his nephew. You simper, your eyes flitting between the sight of him and the view of the sea. The coast of Martha’s Vineyard enraptures you, you drink your wine, eyes steadily moving to the coastal view.

You grew up coming here. Your family often choosing the quiet island to rest in during the late spring holidays. You brought Chris back here to stay at your family holiday home as it’s not too far from his own family home, a perfect last stop after spending the week with his family.

He watches you curiously, his blue irises begging you to let him in to your thoughts. You refuse silently and beckon the waiter. You ask for the bill, it’s quickly on the table and you pay - ignoring Chris’ refusals. You smile at him, for the second time during dinner. He responds in kind, remarking on your bad mood and how he’s glad you’ve cheered up after having some food. He muses on the lovely weekend you’ve had together as you leave the restaurant. Candlelight following you as you make your exit with your hands holding each other tightly, his other hand in his preppy shorts.

You walk slowly, watching the sunset. His arm finding its way around your shoulders. His sweet and intimate embrace enveloping you in warmth. Your heart beats quickly against his bicep as you near your home. Your hands tremble for some reason and you practically sprint up the porch steps after you’ve crossed the gate and walkway, leaving Chris five steps behind you.

You open the door and make a quick beeline for the kitchen in the far back of the house. You enter the pantry, ignoring Chris’ questions of what is wrong. You take a bottle of Rosé out of the wine fridge and forgo pouring it into a glass and drink it straight from the bottle. It tastes incredibly sweet, and Chris finds you eventually in the pantry. He looks at you in surprise as you gulp the drink.

“Everything okay, baby?” He walks to you, his hands failing onto your hips, his adoring eyes almost boring into your soul. You refuse him entry into the pits of your emotions. Steeling yourself against the onslaught of therapy-like talk.

You don’t want him to know that hurt people, hurt people. And that you’re one of them.

You kiss him, silencing his calming words.

His fingers tighten on your sundress. The colour melding with the colour of his fingers. Your lips become one.

You go through the steps of getting out of the pantry in a seemingly choreographed dance, your dance ends in the smaller reception room; your bodies tangling themselves on the rug. Neither of you giving a care to fact that you��re undressing in front of the window overlooking the pool and coast.

The flickers of the setting sun’s rays highlight his now bare chest. He returns his lips to yours in a hypnotising kiss. Your hands dance with the muscles of his back as you caress his skin, his torso vibrating in between your legs with the fervour of his movements. Your dress is ripped off your body. He directs his attention to your right breast, his soft lips caressing your skin. His tongue lashes slowly against your nipple, you fight to hold back your moans as his hand lowers to your pussy. His fingers pushing aside your pants, his fingers sink into you like it’s their second nature. Your head rolls back as he makes love to you with his fingers and his lips lower down to where his fingers are. He licks you where you need him most, his love for you being written inside you with his tongue.

You orgasm. Slowly.

And all that runs through your mind is how much you’ll miss him.

You pull him up to you, you turn over and straddle him. Tasting yourself on his lips as the sun sets even lower. The waves crash against the shore violently as the wind picks up. You lower yourself onto him and start riding him, your hips bucking in an impassioned manner against his. He doesn’t hold back his moans as he caresses your breasts and stomach.

You realised you loved him four months ago, but every time you catch sight of his loving eyes when you’re fucking, it makes you fall in love all over again.

Chris switches and puts you on all fours, he grips your hair in his hands, the rising intensity making him grip you harder. His thrusts are merciless, his spare hand spanking you and stroking, you’re on the cusp of a sensory overload when he turns you over. On your back you have the most beautiful view. A strong ray of sunlight brightening his eyes as he makes love to you. His kisses are tender but intense. His hand grips onto yours, your fingers intertwined and his other hand griping onto your face.

A tear slips out of your eye, you wipe it away quickly. Your increased sensitivity makes the second orgasm come, Chris fucks you through your breathy moans and you throw your head back. Momentarily blinded by the bliss; the pink sky wakes up from the saccharine, cloudy state. Chris orgasms into you with four thrusts.

You push away from him and stand up; you pull on your silky pants. You sigh and leave Chris on laying breathless on the rug. You walk upstairs and enter your room. You use the toilet, wash your hands, have a glass of water and throw on a short black dress. As you pull on your boots Chris enters the room, a smile gracing his lips.

He pulls on some shorts, “Want to tell me what all that was about?” He gives you a confused expression as he lies back against the bed, taking one of the fluffed pillows from behind him and tucking it between his chest and arms.

Hurt people, hurt people.

You turn towards him, facing away from your walk-in closet. “When we fuck, I have to think about other men to get through it.”

His eyes widen alarmingly, he turns to you, the light of the tv making him blue. “Say that again?” The disbelief is almost tangible in his words.

“I feel embarrassed about being seen with you now. I feel I’m just too good for you.” You walk into the closet and you hear him stomp off the bed.

“No, rewind to what you first said.” His voice is louder, his features twisted with confusion and hurt.

“I have to think of other guys to get off,” your eyes connect with his, you don’t look away, you fight the smirk biting at your lips. “I can’t stand the thought of being with you any longer. I’m sick of it.” You grab the suitcase that was packed for you when you were at the restaurant. “Also, you’re not as ripped as you were when we met, there’s other guys that can provide that image for me.”

“Take it back.” The hurt he’s feeling is completely tangible now. “Take it back right now. Right. Now.” His eyes are pleading with you to have mercy.

You've decided that you've gone past the point of no return. “I’d be happy never have to see you or have to hear from you - ever again.” You scan his eyes, your heart swelling with an eerie feeling of pride as his eyes flood with held back tears.

“This must be some elaborate prank— “he chokes on his words, his hands reach for yours, but you step back.

“This year has been tedious, completely boring and I’ve gotten nothing but only ten decent fucks from you.” Not true, and both of you can attest to that, you've had the best sex, your mutual adoration is clear when you make love. So, Chris is at a loss to understand how this is all being said and happening. “I’m off to New York, stay as long as you like or don’t. I don’t care. Have a nice life.” You slip past him.

Taking his heart and soul with you.

He can’t stop the tears from ballooning in his eyes and then trickling down his cheeks.

He must be stuck in a nightmare. He doesn’t know how long he’s been pacing in this closet filled with your clothes, your smell haunting him.

He rushes downstairs and there’s no sign of you. He stumbles outside and there’s no sign of you or your driver. He rushes in to get his phone and calls you. Five times. The sixth time it goes straight to voicemail.

He feels his heart break.

He falls right in the spot he’s in. He vomits his heart out, the pieces being spat out onto the wooden floors. The blood shinning underneath the soft lights of the lamps.

He wants death. Slow and steady death.

——

Part Deux -

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babykatsu · 4 years ago

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PAIRING: katsuki bakugou x fem!reader

WORDCOUNT: 7k

RATING: nsfw ⛈

GENRE: smut!

WARNINGS: slow burn, swearing, kissing, no intercourse, foreplay, car sex, little bit of degradation, a littleeee rough!

⤷ SYNOPSIS:

as though fate had its worst intentions, bakugous car had broken down on the way to your high school reunion with you in the car as well. GREAT! Not only was it getting dark and chilly, you were also in the middle of nowhere... That really didn’t ease the atmosphere, especially when Bakugou was already hesitant on lending you a drive to the reunion. But with the discomfort, there always comes a way to ease it ;)

AUTHORS NOTE:

a special thanks to @laylahoran for not only helping me proof read and pick out the title for this scenario BUT also for just being there to support me through out this whole thing! Literally the purest friend🥺🥺💕💕 ilysmmm!!!

Also, this is my first detailed smut imagine so sorry if it’s a bit sloppy :(

Life after high school proved to be a lot more different than expected. For starters, after having moved to find better work opportunities in the city, you found yourself deprived of nearly all social interaction with your previous friends. Yes, you still caught up over text and call, but it was safe to say it was not quite the same. Not only did the hectic schedule of working for a hero agency clash with your friends’, when you were on your days off all your friends seemed to be busy with their own goals of becoming high ranking heroes. You sort of started living a more solitary lifestyle, a drastic change from your previous one.

So when you flopped down on your couch, your body sluggish and desperate for sleep after a bustling day of work, you felt suddenly energised. Eyes wide as you could just barely believe what you were reading. An email had illuminated on your phone screen, reading the following:

“Greetings class A! It has been nearly a year since we have all graduated and I’m in complete aw as to how far you have all come :) On a more dejected note, however, we have all seemed to grow more distant due to our work. I have missed you all dearly and believe the connections we all formed are amazing experiences we should not forget about! Though we may have kept in contact here and there, it’s evident that we all have been lacking. This is why I have taken it upon myself to set up a reunion party! More information is soon to be delivered in the next email, and I’m super excited to hear from you all. Arrangements with your agencies will take place as soon as confirmations come through. You’re previous classmate, Tenya Iida”

As though your prayers had been answered, you were greeted with that email. Now, this was an offer you couldn’t pass up! Without hesitation, your fingers started typing away at your phone, the pads of your fingers darting across the glass as though they had a mind of their own. You were determined to go, excitement flooding your sense at just the thought of the whole event! As your eager fingers hit send on the email a sudden thought crossed your mind.

Shit...

You hadn’t thought about it previously, mind racing and occupied with the general idea of a reunion, how were you going to get to the location of the party?

As said previously, life was not as expected after graduating, and though heroes lived a life with above-average pay, bathing in luxuries at times, it all took years of experience. No way could you have reached such a high status having worked for less than a year in this field. With the lack of money to your name, there were no chances of you owning a car at this very moment in time. Maybe public transport was a good option? But the delays, need for time arrangements and the entire coordination of your journey was already giving you a headache. The travel aspect was less than fruitful.

But you were going to get there one way or another.

Taking in a deep breath, you gently pressed the off button on your device, sinking your body further into the couch as you allowed your body to finally relax. Your mind pondered of all the different options, from uber’s and cabs to all the different forms of public transport available. But as your unresting thoughts echoed around in your head, you finally concluded. A conclusion that churned your stomach, a fluttery feeling pricking the goosebumps along your chilled skin.

You could ask Bakugou for a lift.

Though this plan seemed faulty, a high chance he would decline the offer to attend the reunion filled with “extras”, you still had your hopes up high.

Out of all the people who could have moved to the same part of town as you, Bakugou was the one. It was pure coincidence that you both had ended up not too far from each other, a block away in fact. Though throughout all three years that you attended u.a you had barely spoken to him. You had your exchange in words here and there, the occasional insult would be thrown your way, but oddly enough out of all people in the class, you received his harsh treatment the least. You just figured, he barley knew you so acknowledging your existence was a waste of his time. Yet his subtle acts of warmth towards you didn’t go unnoticed by your subconscious, a strange feeling invading your body. You developed feelings for the boy.

Shockingly, you found yourself attracted to him, even with the lack of a solid foundation for a proper friendship. You didn’t know what exactly enticed you so much, maybe it was his toned chiselled frame or perhaps his confident exterior. Whatever it was, it had your heart thumping faster at every glance you two shared, and the thoughts that lingered with these unexplainable emotions were even more hectic. It was as though every second you spent alone, confined by the four white walls of your room, you lay wondering of all you wanted him to do to you. A peak of curiosity soon turned into a full-fledged lust for him. The moment you batted your eyelids shut, you’d picture his muscular body towering yours, his hands pinning you down as he’d shamelessly make you a mess under his touch. A thought of him could make your entire body explode. It was all far too complicated for you to process.

That’s why when you moved to a new part of the city, in hopes to start work as well rid yourself of your weird infatuation, you went pale at the sight of him only a couple streets away from where you newly lived. You tried to convince yourself this was indeed a one-time occurrence, yet you’d see him again and again... and again. He most certainly lived near you, it was undeniably true.

Every time you’d return from work, shoes hitting the concrete sidewalk with an echoing tap, you’d always pass him. At first, you shared no words, not a single exchange between you two until one day he randomly spoke up. You remember that moment like the back of your hand, as though it happened just a few minutes ago. Admittedly, the conversation was nothing spectacular, but it still caused a rapid shock to strike through you as the memory of you exchanging numbers with him lurked your brain. The whole event was so bizarre and it still seems unreal now.

Snapping from your daydream, you came to a solid answer. This was probably the best time to put his number to good use. Unlike you, he had a car and could most likely drive you to where ever this reunion will take place... That’s if he decides he is going to attend as well. That’s where your plan seems to not be so successful.

Yet, you had no other choice. He was your best shot at finally getting a break from this borderline isolation.

Nervously, you picked your phone up once more, gently scrolling through your contacts until a familiar name was visible: ‘Katsuki Bakugou’. A nervous feeling burnt at the pit of your stomach as you anxiously went to type out a message. Your shaky fingers tapped the keyboard, with every additional letter that was added to your sentence, your heartbeat sped up even faster until you felt it pound against your ears. Who knew you could feel so nervous about a generic message... It was Bakugou you were texting after all. Not only was he known for being an uncontrollable hothead, but he was also the guy you often fantasied about. You were more than flustered by this point.

Finally, after rereading your message frantically over and over again, you hit send. You felt your heart quickly sink before a chill ran through your entire body. Now you play the waiting game...

On the other end of the line sat a pouting Bakugou. Just like you, he had received the same email, his face crinkled into a frown as he read the disgusting email present on his screen. Like he’d show up to watch a bunch of extras overly excited for no reason. The entire thought of a reunion made his blood boil. At the same time, however, he wouldn’t mind seeing a few faces.

Sure he hated the class, but there was no denying he missed the ‘old days’. He rolled his eyes and let out a huff, in complete annoyance at how soft he’d become. Was he really contemplating going to that shitty reunion? Apparently so, as he decided to type up a quick response to Iida's invite.

A thought he had tried awfully hard to suppress soon made its way to the surface. It was you. Out of all the people he’d want to meet at the reunion, it had to be you. Though he didn’t necessarily have to be at the reunion to view you.

Similarly, he found himself drawn to you for some obscure reason. All throughout high school up until now. During school, he would always gawk at the way your skirt swayed side to side as you walked or even the way you leaned against the desk arching your back most perfectly. It had Bakugous eyes adhered to you. He just wanted to run his hands across your entire body, his lips bequeathing marks on every soft sweet spot on your skin. You’d be his, the deep hickeys that scattered your delicious skin marking his territory. Never had he felt so sexually frustrated, desiring a person so bad it was making him lose his mind. He had better things to worry about, like brining the number 1 hero for starters, but no matter how much he tried denying his deepest desires they just wouldn’t leave.

He tried so hard, he even moved just to get away from you. Of course, that didn’t work, when he saw you strutting down the sidewalk, your clothes hugging all your curves in a way that made his mouth water. He wanted you, and he wanted you bad!

And Bakugou gets, what Bakugou wants.

Just as that memory swirled his mind, a ping came from his phone, the gentle vibration of the device in his palm breaking him from his fantasy. His vermillion eyes went wide as he glanced down at the notification that had just gone off. The name he wanted to see most displayed.

‘Hey! It’s [name], hope I’m not being a bother :) I’m sure you also received the email about the reunion party, I hope to see you there. That’s if I can get there... Maybe you could give me a lift? Don’t worry if you don’t want to, I understand!’

Bakugou bit his bottom lip as he squinted down at the information in front of him. As much as he wanted to agree, his pride didn’t permit him an agreement to your proposal so easily. Rather than cooperating the way he wanted to, he typed out a message juxtaposing his real desire.

And there started your exchange in messages, the back and forth and your “convincing” to give you ride. Though we all know Bakugou was going to give in to it either way.

Weeks had passed since then, the texts that followed after between you two was kept to an evident minimum. The only exchange included a catch up on your plans for the reunion and that was about it. You were more anxious by the day, knowing the reunion date was coming closer to existence.

Next thing you knew, the day had arrived.

You were seated in the passenger seat of Bakugous car. Nervously, you shifted in the leather seat, hand resting on the inner door handle as your eyes followed the passing trees that came in and out of view.

The sky was faintly clouded, a ray of golden sun piercing through parted clouds, dripping a soft sunset hue over the ivy leaves of the trees. You sat inside the car, yet you remembered the faint chilly winds that caressed your skin. Overall, the weather was decent, far from perfect but not awful either.

The tranquillity that filled the car was apparent, the most noise that was present was the hushed sound of the radio playing, the music placid. It only intensified the awkward silence that was held between you both.

Playing with the hem of your dress, you spoke up in an attempt to spark up a conversation. “well, aren’t you the conversationalist” you spoke sarcastically, a hint of playfulness in your voice. Though you spoke suddenly, Bakugou didn’t seem to divert his focus from the road. His face stayed in its usual state, not even a smirk dared to spread across his lips. Clearly, your playfulness was not reciprocated. The silence engulfed you both for a while longer before he finally responded. His reply was less than adequate, a simple hum.

You shifted your attention back onto the view outside, watching as the car drives deeper and deeper into some sort of forest. The trees grew larger, the suns light being swallowed by the towering greenery above. Cars began passing more infrequently until you had not seen one in ages on the road that had become more narrow.

It felt like you had been in this car for an unbearably long amount of time. You couldn’t tell if time was just moving slower than usual at how bored you were at this very moment in time or if your destination was farther than you expected.

Pulling your phone from your bag that rested atop your lap, you checked the time.

‘6:23 pm’

It was confirmed that time was just moving awfully slower than usual. You had only been in the car for a little under 15 minutes. There was still a fair amount of time left until the party started, so there were no worries on being late though you still had quite a few kilometres to cover. Relieved, you placed your phone back into your bag. You slowly let your eyes rest shut, hoping a quick nap would pass time more sufficiently.

And as you had just calmed your nerves enough to sleep, your body suddenly jolted forward. Your seatbelt immediately binding around your chest, pressing your body flush against the seat as you braced the impact of the sudden stop of the car.

“For fuck sake” Bakugou finally spoke up as he kissed his teeth, gripping the steering wheel remarkably tight that his knuckles were becoming white.

“what just happened?”. Out of curiosity, you questioned the man, his face now looking more annoyed than ever. His hand fiddled with the car keys, the engine roaring repeatedly as he tried turning the car on. “What does it fucking look like, dumbass?” he barked at you, still frantically trying to turn the car on. It didn’t help that he had now started slamming the steering wheel between each attempt.

“Are you out of gas?” You spoke up innocently. There was no denying you were now, in fact, feeling less hopeful that you had enough time to make it to the reunion.

For the first time, he finally made eye contact with you. His rose eyes staring at you in frustration, in complete disbelief at how oblivious you were.

“Of course not! You fucking moron, the shitty car just broke down” He barked at you before flinging the car door wide open, slamming it with a harsh bang as he made his dramatic exit.

You watched him pace up and down with distinct stomps, muttering something under his breath while typing away at his phone. Taking the hint, you exit the vehicle as well. “So, what now?” you irritate him further with your persistent queries.

“How the fuck is there no service? HOW AM I MEANT TO GET THIS SHIT FIXED?” his yells echoed through the vast scenery that surrounded you.

With him stressing, you couldn’t help but taste your mouth go dry as panic began settling in as well. It was no use having the two of you in a frenzy. Rationally, you walked over to Bakugou, your phone gripped in your hand as you formed the only logical suggestion. “Try my phone”

He didn’t even question or ridicule your suggestion like he probably desired to, instead yanking the phone out of your hand and attempting to dial-up a number. It didn’t take long until his eyes rolled back in failure and his jaw flexed with gritted teeth. No luck there either clearly.

“Guess we aren’t going to the shitty reunion. You're fucking welcome!” He yells once more, slapping the phone back into your palm. The worst somehow ended up playing out, complete defeat washing over your body.

Resting against the car, you dropped your bottom lip into a slight pout, the chilly air growing cooler.

You were in the middle of nowhere, the only form of transport for miles was now down and to top it off you were getting cold. Your body rapidly began to shiver, goosebumps pricking along your exposed skin.

“Aren’t you fucking smart” Bakugou scoffed as he stared at you, arms crossed over his broad chest. “didn’t even bring a jacket while wearing some stupid dress”

Rather than yelling like he had been doing for the last couple minutes, he was calming his nerves by teasing you. It may have been the adrenaline that made him feel so open to being more playful, or maybe he attempted to distract himself from how much of a loser he currently felt with a broken car. Whatever it was, he was now smirking at the girl in front of him, tantalising her about the cold.

“I didn’t know I’d be stuck outside, did I?” You teased back, rolling your eyes at him. The fact he was being so calm on the outside was making you feel less worried, yet more nervous at his sudden change in mood than anything.

His eyes stared you up and down, analysing your shivering state as the wind began picking up. Another sigh left his parted lips before resuming to speak. "Go sit inside the car. No use shivering like a dumbass if you can't handle a bit of wind" he chuckled slightly as he spoke, as though to assure you his comment was in fact not as rude as he intended it to come out.

Though you obeyed, taking careful steps around the car to sit back in it, you decided to throw your own snarky remark his way. "Not one to talk when you're wearing a jacket". You give him a 'look', before fully submerging yourself in the cars shielded warmth. It may have broken down not too long ago, but it was still well heated. An instant chill rolled down your spine as your body quickly adjusted to the sudden change in temperature.

"Sorry, princess. Didn't realise I had royalty as company". That devious smirk sprawled itself across his tanned face as he followed your move, getting in the car himself. Something about the way he addressed you made you quiver, the innocent word was also oh so seductive. That sudden feeling of arousal pent up inside you, fogging your thinking.

"I- don't get too cocky now". Your reply came out as a jittery stutter, senses overwhelmed by his playful tone that had you heated. Senses scattered, too flustered by his seemingly unintentional words. It's not like he knew about your fantasies of him or how your sinful thoughts begged for him to call you such names. And now as you were in the midst of it all, you couldn't help but lose yourself.

He let out another husky laugh. The way you broke apart at the simplest words only stroked his ego. No denying he purposely chose those specific words to see how you'd react, and to his surprise, it went far better than expected. "Here, have my jacket then if you wanna keep yapping about it"

Speechless, your vision was once again fixated on him. Gawking at the leather jacket that slipped of his physique, revealing his toned, muscular arms. You swallowed the nervous lump in your thought down, butterflies invading your system as you watched.

You expected him to carelessly throw the jacket your way, alternatively he leaned over. His significantly larger body mounted over yours as he placed his jacket over your exposed legs, instant warmth tickling your chilled skin. His hands felt so smooth as they lightly brushed against your thigh, the accidental touch shooting straight to your core. It was humiliating at how quickly you discomposed around him, cheeks red and breath hitched. You just couldn't help it, a presence like his was way too intense. Especially, at this moment.

"U-um, so what are we going to do now?" you try to change topics as you felt your current heated state become far too overwhelming, whole-body hot as your thoughts began drifting to all the wrong places.

He peeped his eyes, as though deep in thought."Wait until someone hopefully passes, I guess?". The uncertainty in his tone had you feeling concerned again. The worry bombarding you, diverting your inner emotions elsewhere. You've wanted to meet your classmates so vigorously for ages, all fired up for weeks as you obsessively counting down the days, only for this to happen. Not a single car had been in view for ages, god knows until the next one would come. That's also assuming that the car would even stop for you two. This was so disappointing, a hollow feeling in your chest as you sulked.

"I guess? For god sake, we aren't even going get to the reunion in time!"

Bakugou had noticed your sudden change in mood. In all honesty, he didn't quite understand why you wanted to see those annoying dickheads anyway, but he felt strangely sympathetic towards you. "Oi, I'm fucking sorry. I'll drive you to see your friends another time".

"What if there isn't another time?" you mope at him, facing your body towards him. He doesn't reply right away, mirroring your actions instead to examine your current behaviour. There was no way he could make this situation better unless the car magically fixed itself. Which to be fair, would never happen. As his eyes scanned you, he noticed the way you were still shivering, the once heated car losing its warmth. It was his best shot at diverting the conversation.

"You're still shivering, dumbass". His red orbs were fixed on you as he reached out his arms towards you. They felt considerably warmer than you as they rested on your shoulders. You followed his gaze that watched his own hands as they rubbed you up and down carefully. The slight friction between his hands and your skin bringing you some heat. It only sunk in then that his large hands were tracing your arms, his warmth transferring to you. Flusters took over your sense again. As much as you wanted to speak up right now, you knew you'd only choke up on your words, far worse than your stutters. As your stomach swirled, you felt ardour rush to your face. A rose haze coated your skin, eyeing the way Bakugou rubbed his hands against you.

"Looks like you've warmed up, that's for sure" he grinned at you, noticing the way your chest began rising and falling, heartbeat thumping rapidly. The way your face flushed scarlet as your eyes danced around your atmosphere, all at his touch. He noticed it all. And boy was it rubbing his ego.

"I-uh, yeah. I mean- no?". Your words came out jumbled, unable to form proper sentences when his ruby eyes finally gazed up at you. The mysterious glint in them made you feel overwhelmed, unaware of what move he would make next.

"So you need to be warmed up a bit more, huh?". His hands swiftly grazed your arms, just about hovering over your soft skin. Careful touches traced it, your words departing from your brain. The entirety of your focus was on the way Bakugou's fingertips tickled you delicately, the electric feeling flowing throw you. "Speak up for me. Do you still need to be warmed?". He snapped you back into reality without warning, only to put you in a trance again. The way he spoke with such dominance, demanding for you to speak, only stirred your imagination further. You had pictured moments like these so many times, him ordering you to do as he says. And as these thoughts rushed to the surface, you started to feel heat build between your thighs.

"Yeah, sorry!". Frantically, you attempt to respond, a nervous giggle followed your sentence as it came out of your mouth. "If that's what you want, princess". He emphasised the nickname, his lips curling into a sneer as his hands began to wander. The soothing touch travelled upwards, his hands gliding over your skin, one resting on your warmed rosy cheek. His sudden action had your breath hitching. You'd portray such touches numerous times yet nothing could have appointed you for this moment as your nerves fell apart.

As you tried to ration the situation out in your mind, his eyes finally locked with yours. The intimate stare had you holding your breath. Gently, he massaged his thumb against your cheek as he slowly moved his hand to the back of your neck, chills dripping down your spine. His eyes flickered between your eyes and mouth, hinting at a kiss. Was he going to kiss you? You must have been dreaming or something. But it was all happening, right now. There was no time to contemplate the event at hand. His face was edging closer to yours only inches apart, his proximity to you titillating. As you waited for his lips to finally come in contact with yours, you began losing patience. It's like he purposely was a millimetre away from your lip just to taunt you. You took in one more breath, easing your nerves before crashing your lips against his.

Your initial cold shivers were a way for Bakugou to change the subject from his broken car, and it all had worked out in his favour. Admittedly, this was not the outcome he was intending for, but he was not complaining either. He was finally able to seel a kiss with a girl that had invaded his thoughts for years. A dream come true if you will.

His tender lips felt so soft against yours, the sweet caramel taste engulfing your senses as they oozed from his lips. The once overwhelming anxiousness that had you falling apart beneath his touch was now easing as you melted into the passionate exchange between the two of you. Bakugou's lips moved in sync with yours, sucking and tugging at your bottom lip hungrily, undoubtedly smudging your lipstick. His pearly whites sunk into your bottom lip, giving them a smooth tug before sliding his warm tongue in. As he did so, his hand explored your body, slowly descending down the side of your torso, gripping you tightly. His other hand, that had itself placed at the back of your neck, suddenly wrapped around your throat. A rough squeeze was given, encouraging a gasp to erupt from your voicebox. His unforeseen move made you feel sensitive, clenching your thighs together to relieve the desperate ache between your legs. The warm wet muscle that had slipped inside your mouth earlier adventured in your mouth, swirling around your tongue and trailing every inch. It all felt so unreal.

Suddenly, Bakugou pulled away with a string of saliva connecting you both. His hands were still firm on wherever they were on your body. Through parted lips, he panted as his gaze darted. "Fuck, looks like you got me warm as well now". His signature smirk was back, his hand that held you by the neck pulling your face closer to his. Vermillion eyes analysed you, watching the way your face was flushed, lips were wet and lipstick was smudged. Realising he probably had some red on his lips as well from your makeup, he brought one hand to his face, wiping his plump lips with the back of his hand. The image before you only made you wetter, thighs already tightly clutched. And as though he could read your mind, he brought that same hand down to your thigh with a slap. The impact of his hands against you instantly shot to your soaking core, though the actions didn't hurt you much. You felt a tingling sensation to dance across your skin. Rubbing the impacted area, Bakugou continued to look at you, his eyes occasionally diverting to were he was soothing your thigh. His hands began needing your thigh higher and higher until his fingers dipped into the gap where your two thighs made contact. Teasingly, he drove one thigh from another to part them. "And you're definitely warmed up now, baby". His words insinuating how flustered you were.

He brought his lips back to yours as he worked his fingertips up your leg. His touch was so close and you felt so sensitive, you couldn't help but let out a shaky moan into the kiss. You wanted him so bad, craving to feel every inch of him against you. Your hands eager, you brought them up to his shirt. Clenching your hands around the piece of fabric, you tugged him closer to you, the distance between you two unbearable as you sat in separate seats. Your actions brought him to a sudden pause, causing him to pull away. "Are you that desperate for me?". His seductive tone made your face heat up and even more aroused. By now, you sure as hell knew your cunt was drenched. "You want me so fucking bad, don't you?". His hand was back in motion, fingertips almost touching you through your underwear. All you could do was moan in response as you craved his touch. "I can't fucking hear you". He taunted you once again, before his fingertips finally stroked your wet panties, massaging your folds through the cotton. You felt your breath tremble as he applied gentle pressure.

"Y-yes, I've wanted you so bad for a long time". Voice unsteady, you could just barely articulate. You felt the way his fingers caressed you through your underwear, index finger circling your clit so that the fabric would trigger your sensitive bud. Another moan emerged out your lips as you took in a profound breath. "I can tell. Your fucking soaking and it's all for me, babygirl". His cool breath trickled down your ear as he murmured against it.

You couldn't bear it anymore, the distance practically eating away at your patience as sexual frustration overflowed your senses. His fingers continued to shower you in affection but it was no longer enough. You needed more. "Please, Bakugou. I-I want you so bad right now". Hitched breaths and shallow moans rolled off of your tongue as you spoke, Bakugou's eyes sinful as he observed you.

"You'll have to be more specific than that". The same mockeries filled your ears, craving to see you flush as you spoke of all your desires, embarrassed by their explicit nature. As he awaited your response, he slowed his movements down, only teasing you further as it stript you off the pleasure you so desperately yearned for. "Shit, I want to feel you. I want to be closer- please".

The words dripped from your mouth as though it was second nature, the thirst for him more than unambiguous by your needy state. With that, his hands left your core, the cool air surrounding you as his warmth departed. You watched him carefully with longing eyes. The way his cherry centres locked on you as his grip came to your waist. His firm hands grabbed hold of you as he granted your wishes, placing you on his lap.

You sat on top of him, his toned legs holding you up and his hands pursued your body. The way your thighs rested atop his, your sensitive core throbbing against his hardening cock and the way his palms massaged your curves felt all so surreal. Subconsciously grinding against him, you felt his cock brush up against your folds, and with every stroke of your hips, the friction was shooting an electric buzz through you. "Didn't know you were such a needy slut for me". He purred at you with that deriding look in his eyes, smirking smugly. All you did was hum in return to his taunts.

Wrapping your hands around his neck, you lingered your fingertips along his neckline, gradually pulling his face in for another kiss. Devouring each other's lips once again, Bakugous hands slipped beneath your dress, lifting it to loosely drape around your waist. Your legs fully displayed, the frigid air hurried to leave goosebumps along your skin. Resuming his excursion, his fingers wandered back to where they seized you previously. As he leaned into the makeout, he rested your back against the steering wheel before tearing away from your mouth. Keen set of eyes watching you."Tell me exactly where you want my hands to go, baby. Your lucky I'm willing to take directions". For a moment you realised the exception he was making.

Bakugou was known for listening to no one but himself. So the fact he considered something like this, even if it was during an odd time, spoke volumes. It only stabilised, if not boosted, the feeling that you harboured for Bakugou. Yet there was no time to ponder over his actions. You hesitated to respond at first, slightly embarrassed to provide him with an answer.

"I want you to touch me". You deeply flushed at your reply but Bakugou only squinted at you. "Babygirl, your such a needy bitch but won't even get into specifics. Come on, you can be open with me". His words only strengthened the blush that overlaid your skin to deepen, if that was even possible. Even in your profoundly flustered disposition, you needed him and retaining your mouth shut was not an option.

"Bakugou, you know what I mean. Here". You childishly whine before grabbing hold of his hand, guiding it to your heat. His firm hand was resting on your bound cunt, not making a single move but rather looking at you intently. "Good enough" was his only response.

Swiftly, his slender fingers submerged under the fabric of your underwear, coming in contact with your wetness. The suddenness of his actions provoked a gasp to emit from your mouth, his fingers already exploring you. The feeling of his warmth travelling tenderly up and down your folds, with the occasional attentiveness to your clit made you squirm as you sucked deep breaths in. Your chest came up and down as air raced to pervade you, your moans getting gradually louder as you rubbed and arched against his touch. His attentive touch began centring more on your delicate bud, picking up his pace as he soaked in the sight of you falling apart atop him. Your heavy breaths and moans that filled the air and the way you desperately moved against every circular motion of his finger. Fuck was the sight something he had dreamt of for so long, and it was far better than he imagined. "You fucking like that huh?" he uttered through gritted teeth as his face crept closer to yours, observing the way you tightly squeezed your eyes shut, mouth dropped open.

"Shit, yes. Just like that" your breathy response came out as just above a whisper, too caught up in the pleasure of his touch. And just when you thought it couldn't feel any better, you felt his two fingers slip inside you. Your warm pink walls instantly sucking his fingers in, frantically tightening against them. A lusty moan shot out of your mouth, the overwhelming feeling of him fully submerged within you, pumping in and out. His fingers curled to hit just the right spot before you could fully adjust. The sensation was all too much and you felt the desire consume you. Panting and moaning, you could barely make sense of your surroundings as he didn't hesitate to advance his movements by pumping harder and faster, your wetness trickling down his bronzed palm.

His pace only intensified, his fingers gliding in and out of you, rubbing against your contracting walls that made your stomach burn. Burn in a way that made you almost lose control as it tied knots in your abdomen. Every spot that made your body arch against its will, legs jutting and twitching, he hit it all. And just as you edged nearer to your orgasm, moans building up at the back of your throat, ready for release as your nails dug into Bakugou's forearms. He came to a sudden pause, retreating his fingers, now soaked in your juices. You felt the dissatisfaction of his lack of attention, yearning to be touched again. Thick pants filled the car as Bakugou smirked at you and at the way you couldn't help but grind against him to supply for his loss of attention towards you.

"Princess, you didn't really think you'd get it that easy" he spoke tauntingly, rubbing your thighs as he trailed kisses on your collar bone. He'd wanted to mark up your delicate skin so many times, his presence forever embedded on you. Sinking his teeth on your flesh, he sucked and licked it, earning a soft moan from you against his ear. The tickling sensation of your breath against him accompanied by your lewd noises only hardened his growing erection. The restricting tightness of his trousers becoming infuriating for the boy.

He left mark after mark, immersing in the way you rubbed and groaned into him. "Bakugou... I need you. All of you.". Your words were like music to his ears, a combination of sounds he'd wanted to hear for so long. You begging for him to please you, make you his. It didn't even take him a second thought to know what he wanted to do to you, almost agreeing instantly. "Show me how bad you need me then". The challenging statement made you feel more heated, already in complete aw at the way his lips marked your skin.

You gently pushed him off you, pressing his back into the black leather seat, planting a delicate kiss on his lips before ducking between his legs. The position was cramped, the compact space of being under the steering wheel, legs crossed as you shifted your body further back until you could feel the disengaged pedal of the vehicle.

Bakugou sat with eager eyes on you, waiting for what you'd do next. To be honest, he felt uncomfortable at his lack of control at this very moment, already plotting how he'd regain it once more once he caught onto what your plan was. "Is this your way of proving yourself" he snickered at you, your hands on his belt, the clinking of the metal drowning out his voice. Through the material of his trousers, you could see the outline of his bulge, tight around the fabric restraints.

And just as you went to undo the restraints, unravelling the package that was contained, your head had hit the soft padding of the steering wheel. The sudden beep of the car horn went off, alarming the two of you. "What the fuck," Bakugou spoke up first in confusion. The car had obviously broken down only a few minutes ago yet it had finally decided to cooperate and disturb your guys' self-indulgence.

"Perfect timing" You giggled as you let your hands fall from his belt, slightly disappointed by the interruption. You wanted to continue this fantasy, see where it would take you both but you had other priorities on your mind as well. Like getting to the reunion for starters."Don't look so distressed, baby" Bakugou spoke softly as he lifted your chin, admiring you and the marks he left all over. "We will finish what we started, after all, I've been wanting this for so fucking long" He admitted and you couldn't help but redden at his remark.

You delicately slipped from under the wheel, dragging your dress down to cover your flashed skin. "I'll be looking forward to that then" You fire your own flirt his way, tipping over to leave a gentle peck against his lips before cleaning your lipstick from his face. He responded with a scoff and a rolling of his eyes, diverting his attention to the road to start driving again.

"I would say cover up the hickeys, but I want all those damn extra's to know who you belong to now" He smirked giving you the side-eye. Only then did you notice your wrecked state, desperately trying to fix your appearance in the small overhead mirror.

Bakugou steadily drove to your destination as his large hand rested on your thigh, you both wondering where you'd finish this excursion...

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ateezmakemeweep · 4 years ago

Text

you’re the one that i want (part 13)

word count: 5k

angst

(part 12) (series masterlist)

tag list: @chogiout ; @psshwa ; @yeocult ; @seongghwaa ; @cherryeonii ; @chaoticbanqtan ; @8teenee ; @nczenniez ; @atinyarmyx1 ; @mingtopiaa ; @chubsluda ; @joongiebug ; @mochibabycakes ; @jisungity ; @skz-on-my-mind ; @nlost21 ; @myonlyaurora ; @closer-stars ; @kuaenam3g ; @byungaji ; @floweryjh ; @joeycheungg ; @lostscenarios ; @atinyxtopia ; @sanisms ; @kpopnightingale ; @simpforhyunjin ; @89staytinyzen21 ; @lokicaramel ; @ttalgimin ; @sakura-uji ; @songsoomin ; @toffee-hwa ; @deobitiful ; @hyunjeansuniverse ;

“your first meal back home and you’re not even gonna touch it?”

you look down at the chicken and rice in front of you, the scent alone making your stomach queasy. you haven’t been hungry since you woke this morning, the second your eyes fluttered open feeling your heart sink.

you felt seonghwa’s hand running through your hair, your face on his chest as you just laid there silently.

you knew he knew you were up by the way he kissed the top of your head, his deeply mumbled “morning, baby,” knotting your stomach even more; you knew it was gonna be the last time you heard that. the last time you woke up next to him and melted under his soft gaze and heard his voice in person.

“what time is it?” you asked quietly.

you both had been up until almost four in the morning, quietly talking and laughing as words just kept pouring out from your mouth.

about your first impressions of each other and wondering how you both had been coming here but never crossed paths until this year. about your fears for the upcoming school year and his crazy friends back home.

you were exhausted by the time the clock struck three but you couldn’t find in yourself to stop talking to him. to close your eyes and miss out on the last moments of time you had to spend with him.

“almost ten,” he mumbled in response. he can feel your pout against his chest, picking your head up and placing a kiss on your lips.

he’d woken up two hours prior and had just been watching you sleep, the calming inhale and exhale of your even breaths wafting against his skin. any time you whined sleepily or thrashed, all he had to do was run his hand through your hair and hum that he was here.

it made his heart soar but also crack a little bit, knowing that tonight, you’ll both be sleeping alone.

“oh,” you say, voice short and quiet and his adams apple bobs as he swallows down his sorrows.

you can’t speak in fear that you’re gonna start crying and you think you’ve cried enough over this goodbye. you’ve made him listen to your weeping and wipe your tears and no matter how much you want to, you can’t do it anymore.

you can’t put either of you through it anymore.

silence hangs between the both of you, his lips against your head and your arm wrapped around his waist as you lay in the sunlight. it’s just like any other day here, the hot summer sun shining and waves crashing and people laughing as they walk down to the beach.

“i have your number and you have mine,” his deep morning voice reminded you lowly.

he takes your face in his hand and makes you look at him, his thumb brushing over your lower lip as his eyes look down at you softly.

“i’ll answer whenever you call, okay? whenever you need me, i’ll be there.”

your lips press into one another so a tiny cry doesn’t leave you, simply nodding as tears burn behind your eyes. you watch his gaze roam over you but he doesn’t comment on the tears, just strokes your face gently and presses a parting kiss to your forehead.

it was the last kiss he gave you before the final one in your room, lips parted and your arms wrapped around his shoulders. it was full of desperation and love and left like a true goodbye kiss, his hand on the back of your head as he held you to his chest and told you you would talk soon.

you walked downstairs hand in hand, fingers intertwined and a sad silence between you before your aunt came over and hugged seonghwa goodbye. the two of them shared a knowing look that went unnoticed by you, too sad and upset to notice anything except the sinking feeling in your stomach and chest.

the same feeling in his as he hugs you one last time, kissing the top of your head with such a gentleness it makes you wanna let your building sob break free and cling on to him.

makes him wish you guys could just rewind back to that first day in june so you could have the summer again.

but summer is over and time travel isn’t possible. nor is it gonna be possible for him to go on like this, every shred of vulnerability he has completely exposed and leaving him ready to be even more hurt.

it took you just a few weeks to bring down the walls he’d put around himself and he knows, after the tears he’s gonna cry in his car in the next few seconds, he has to work extra hard to build them up again. forget about who you made him become while not forgetting about you.

but is that possible? can he actually do that? because with the way he’s barely able to pull himself away from you, he’s truly fearful for his emotional state during the next few weeks.

you watched him walk to his car before he waved goodbye, finally letting out the cry that was so desperate to leave your throat once he was out of sight. your aunt pulled you into a hug and told you everything was gonna be okay, that you and seonghwa’s feelings were true and nothing would change between you guys.

“i’m just not very hungry,” you mumble, looking at the plate as your fork scoops up pieces of rice.

the familiar clatter of utensils being slammed down on the glass causes you to jump and squeeze your eyes shut, half expecting something to be thrown across the table.

but nothing of the sort happens, your mom just stomps off and leaves you and your father alone. you don’t raise your eyes from the table, just continue to play with your food before sucking it up and shoveling it in your mouth.

“she talked about making this shit all morning for you,” your dad’s harsh voice finally says.

you look up to see disgust in his eyes, the words falling from his mouth making your stomach sink in guilt.

“she was excited for you to come back and see the new house but you’ve been nothing but an ungrateful bitch.”

you bite the inside of your cheek and let out a sigh, a quiet “sorry,” leaving you that just proves to make the man angrier. he lets out a scoff when you blink at him, swallowing nervously and feeling yourself shrink in your seat; you don’t like the look in his eyes because you know he’s about to rip into you.

“i don’t know what you’ve been doing at fucko’s house but you’re back here now, y/n, and we won’t tolerate your nonsense,” he growls at you.

you raise your eyebrow as you look up at him, the elapsed silence only making him grow more and more tense.

“we’re also expecting you to get a job now, maybe finally pitch in a little.”

you nod your head immediately because that’s not a problem at all; it’ll give you a reason to be out of this house even longer. and when he sees that you’re agreeing too easy, he’s quick to tell you not to make a fuss at your new school and to stay out of the way.

“this is a nicer area so keep to yourself.”

you swallow down the nervousness as you nod and know that he’s not gonna let you leave this table until you at least try to eat, his harsh, cold gaze on you successfully bullying you into eating.

when he gets up with a final grunt, you feel yourself relax. you take a few calming breaths in and out, itching to run into your room and talk to seonghwa; you were too nervous to text him first and hope that you’re gonna walk into your room with a message from him.

but after you throw out your food and clean your plate, you turn to see your mom in the doorway.

this kitchen, the whole house really, is a lot nicer than your old one. it’s bigger and has a more modern feel, the tall glass windows covered with nice white curtains because god forbid anyone saw what goes on in this house.

you see her looking at you with a blank expression and feel your stomach sink again thinking about her this morning. because if she really was excited for your arrival and planned that dinner for you, you completely blew your chances at starting your return on the right foot.

“i’m sorry i wasn’t hungry,” you say quietly. “i...the food was really good so thank you. but i really just wasn’t-”

“it’s fine,” she says shortly and you swallow at her snappy tone.

you look at the floor as you rock on your feet nervously, biting down on your lip before deciding to speak again; talking to a parent shouldn’t be this hard, the small talk should be natural and nice, like the way it is with your aunt.

“so...what’d you guys do this summer?”

her eyes narrow slightly at your question, turning her head to the side as she looks over you carefully. you feel more and more uneasy the longer she looks at you, her head leant lazily against the wall like she can’t hold herself up on her own.

“i think the better question is what did you do this summer,” she says and the vengeful tone in her voice makes you bite down on yor lip. “with your fun, amazing spectacular aunt that can do no wrong.”

your face drops at the bitterness that seeps into her tone, looking at her with furrowed eyebrows as you swallow the lump in your throat. and just because she’s petty and needs to get another little dig in, you hear her mutter “i bet you ate all of her food.”

you let out a humorless laugh, one of just utter disbelief really because it all just seems so surreal.

you’d been dealing with some of the nicest people you’d ever met and that was weird to you; but now this is weird, adjusting to the way you used to live before summer started and dealing with stupid little digs from your grown parents.

“mom, i just wasn’t hungry. it had nothing to do with-”

“whatever, y/n,” she snaps.

the words die in your throat and you can only look at her, wide-eyed and begging for her to just let it go for tonight. to let your first night in the new house be relatively incident free; and it would’ve been if she hadn’t mentioned something about her visit there.

“wasn’t only your aunt keeping you company either it seemed.”

you bite down on your wobbling lip as you look at her, shaking your head because the last thing you wanna do right now is talk about him. but she must see the pain in your eyes and know immediately what happened, a smirk spreading right across her face.

because she saw the way you all but jumped to go over to the dirty blonde boy when they visited that july day, heard your lowly spoken whispers and saw the way he looked about ready to kill for you.

“was he your boyfriend?”

when you don’t answer, only blink at her as your stomach starts to churn even more, she lets out a groan like you’re being overdramatic and keeping gossip from her.

“c’mon, isn’t this what mothers and daughters do? tell me all about your summer romance.”

you wanna snap at her that you haven’t done any mother daughter activities before this so why start now? that she never cared to ask about your life before this so why now over something that’s obviously upsetting to you?

“i don’t wanna talk about it.”

your short tone causes her eyes to narrow, eyebrow quirked up and you know she’s just gonna try to get back at you for not eating her food tonight.

it’s why she keeps going on and on, asking if he took you on a dates and if you exchanged numbers. if your aunt approved of him and if you guys all sat around the table like a happy little family.

“i said i don’t wanna talk about it,” you finally snap.

and probably because she’s never heard you fight back before, it takes her a second to respond. for her vengeful, mocking look to turn into one of anger before she stomps toward you and slaps you right across the face.

the harsh sting on your cheek causes you to wince, tears burning your eyes as you remember that this is it; you’re home now and they’re not gonna let you forget it. they hold the control and power over you until you’re quite and docile and the shell of a person you were three months ago.

to not give them any trouble or talk or express your feelings, just act solely like a piece of furniture they can ignore and forget about.

“really must’ve hurt leaving him since you’ve been such a little shit today,” your mom growls lowly.

your teary eyes meet hers and they hold not an ounce of remorse, just a hot anger and disgust because she was trying. she was trying to connect with you and how dare you deny her? she knows you were talking to her fabulous sister with no problem.

“i hope for your sake he doesn’t forget all about you,” she sneers, “but something tells me he’s gonna.”

you fight the tears threatening to leave your eyes before she raises an eyebrow at you, her eyes roaming your red stinging cheek. you can’t help but flinch away when she lifts her hand up, soothingly running over the mark on your skin.

“that’s just how those things work, sweet girl.”

you bite down on your lip harder so you don’t cry or scream, simply swallowing the lump in your throat as you move your head away from her. she lets out a scoff as you do so, looking over you coldly one last time before turning around wordlessly.

you feel ready to completely break down right there in the kitchen when she’s gone, walking straight to your new room that’s in complete disarray.

much to your surprise, your bed frame and dressers were actually set up. but your mattress was bare and boxes and boxes of your clothes and furniture litter the floor.

you only tackled half of it when you got home and you certainly don’t feel like doing it now, laying face down on your mattress as you try to calm yourself.

it’s the first day and you’re all just getting used to each other again; it’s gonna be an adjustment for all of you. you’re gonna have to remember to just keep your mouth shut the way you used to to avoid injury - pick your battles and speak up for yourself at the right moments.

your phone vibrating on your bedside table causes you to jump up frantically, snatching your phone and the tight knot in your stomach immediately vanishes when you see two messages from seonghwa; you bite down on your lip so you don’t squeal or giggle too loudly when you open them.

seonghwa [7:42] hey baby

seonghwa [8:27] don’t tell me you forgot about me already

you can’t stop the smile from spreading across your face, thumbs frantically working to write back a message.

and it’s with your heart racing and palms sweating that you think maybe this could work out for you guys. that even if you’re back in such a toxic, draining environment, they’ll be at least one good thing in your life getting you through it.

“and she PUKED on him! like legit all over him, chunky and disgusting. i didn’t even think that was-”

“wait, mingi! this fuck’s not even listening!”

“he hasn’t been listening all week!” wooyoung exclaims, knocking into seonghwa’s arm as the boy smirks down at his phone. “he’s been talking to his summer lover with the golden pussy.”

seonghwa’s head snaps up and he kicks the boy in the leg, wooyoung falling back with a grunt that causes the others to laugh.

“shut the fuck up.”

mingi and yeosang share a knowing smirk with one another, seonghwa raising an eyebrow when he sees the look on their faces; because just as he predicted, his friends were obnoxious.

they greeted him his first day back excitedly, wooyoung and yeosang tripping over and hitting into one another to tackle him in a hug before mingi’s towering figure completed knocked them away with loud whines and grunts.

seonghwa only rolled his eyes and pat their backs awkwardly, the boys asking how his beach town was before he could even get out a hello.

“the same,” he told his friends as they spread out on mingi’s couch, seonghwa pushing yeosang out of his spot on the sectional before plopping down.

dick,” yeosang grunted, seonghwa rolling his eyes at his friend’s tone. “and when are you gonna let us come one year?”

“yeah!” mingi whines, “we wanna go to the beach.”

“never,” seonghwa says.

because the last thing he thinks he can deal with is his summer friends and his school friends meeting. he doesn’t know which group is more headache inducing so seeing them together? his absolute worst nightmare.

“oh, c’mon,” wooyoung whines, daringly jumping on the chaise where seonghwa’s legs rest. “then we can meet your friends. and see all the girls you hook up with on the beach.”

seonghwa rolls his eyes despite the sinking feeling in his stomach, knocking his foot into the boy. “i don’t know what you’re even talking about. i don’t hook up with anyone there.”

and it was that blatant lie right there that got the boys intrigued, adding on to the fact that he’d been all but attached to his phone since his return; smirking down and checking it immediately after it vibrated.

it took four days of their whining and screaming and nosy eyes to tell he’d hung out with one girl.

he didn’t want them to know the extent of it, to know how he completely changed this summer and allowed himself to fall for you; but it felt gross, diminishing what you guys had as he told them you guys “hung out.”

and when wooyoung nosily asked if you hung out and did other things, seonghwa only raised an eyebrow and it sent the immature boys squealing.

“are you ever gonna tell us more about her?” wooyoung asks, his hand in a bag of chips as he can’t help but be nosy.

they’d all been in able to sense something different in their friend, the way he’s being so cryptic about his summer and avoiding the topic of girls.

“there’s nothing to tell,” he says, locking his phone and sticking it in his back pocket. “she was cool and we had fun but there’s nothing more to it.”

he hates how easily he lies through his teeth, making it seem as if you were just a small part of his summer opposed to everything. everything had revolved around you.

“then why are you texting her?” yeosang asks, a smirk on his face as he looks at seonghwa unconvinced. but the dirty blonde can only roll his eyes and not say a word, giving the boy a dead stare that tells all of them he’s not gonna give them an answer.

“i’ll tell you why,” wooyoung says, “she’s got him pussy whipped. i never thought we’d see the day, guys but here it is. seonghwa’s balls are in a jar and now he’s gonna be a little bitch.”

“pussy whipped by a virgin?” seonghwa blurts out sarcastically and he doesn’t even realize what he’s said it until it’s too late. until he sees the wide eyed look from his friends, a mix of disbelief and amusement glinted in their eyes. until he feels right in his heart and stomach that he already fucked up.

“a virgin? are you fuckin’ nuts!” mingi yelps. “no wonder she’s texting you nonstop!”

seonghwa rolls his eyes and shrugs, ignoring the way his stomach sinks because talking about you like that doesn’t feel right at all.

you had been nothing but honest and trusting with him during that time and it was something he cherished so why the fuck did he just blurt that out like it was some conquest?

but then he remembers this is what happens. that this summer he wasn’t himself; he isn’t kind or thoughtful or capable of love. he fucks around with his friends and they’re known to be bad, to break girls (and maybe some boys) hearts and use them without any regard for another person.

“how did you even let that happen?” yeosang asks in disbelief; they all knew it was like an unspoken rule to never get with someone like that. that almost always, they need to coddled afterward and get attached.

seonghwa only shrugs his shoulders, popping his neck to the side as he looks at his friends. “just did,” he hums lowly, wanting so desperately to talk about something else; his phone vibrates against the couch and all the boys let out amused snorts.

“well i bet you’re regretting that shit now,” wooyoung laughs out, yelping suddenly when yeosang smacks him in the back of the head.

“stop hogging the bag fat boy!”

seonghwa smirks hearing his friends fighting, ignoring the way his hands are itching you look at the two unread messages in his back pocket. but he'll get back to you later, he thinks, he can't be completely consumed by you anymore.

no matter how much he wants to be.

you woke up for your first day of school more nervous than usual. and that’s pretty bad, given the way the three weeks in this house have completely drained you.

the tension and prickly feeling that comes with living with your parents came back full force, reduced you to the meek and timid girl you were before; the only time you felt okay was when you talked to seonghwa.

smiling and feeling yourself relax immediately at the sound of his voice, his deep words and occasional chuckle making the knots in your stomach disappear for just a little bit.

“you find a job yet?”

you’d been keeping him updated on your job search for the past few weeks, applying to cafes and restaurants and movie theaters all over your new town.

you’d just about given up in a fit of frustration, accept whatever punishment your parents had for not being able to pitch in, when a cafe down the block from your new school called you back.

“i did! a cute little cafe, it’s down the block from my new school too.”

“that’s good,” he says, smiling to himself at the way you sound hopeful and positive; it’s the happiest he’s heard you sound in these last few weeks, your voice quiet and mousy that way he was once so used to.

“you start tomorrow, right?”

“yeah,” you tell him quietly, feeling nerves flood through your stomach at the thought of tomorrow morning. “i’m scared.”

“no need to be, baby, it’ll be fine. you walked around the other day, yeah?”

you nod your head as you tell him more about the school, how big and daunting it seemed even though it wasn’t much different than your other one. your counselor seemed nice too, walking you through the building and giving you your schedule early so tomorrow would go a little smoother.

“see, so you’ll be okay,” he says to you softly.

you let out a small sigh as you nod your head, the both of you talking quietly until you tell him you should shower and get ready for bed. he says goodbye and wishes you good luck tomorrow, reminding you that if anything really gets that bad, you can always text him.

“wait. but don’t you start tomorrow, too?”

“yeah,” he says flatly, “so?” and when the silence lapses he can’t help the chuckle that leaves his mouth as warmth spreads through his chest. “oh, baby don’t tell me you’re gonna say i shouldn’t text during school hours.”

your conversation with seonghwa did little to calm your nerves though. because the whole time you’re getting ready and walking to school the next morning, your mind is racing.

wondering what the people are like and how they’re gonna treat you. will they be indifferent to your presence or target you, sense your vulnerability and exhaustion and make it even worse?

you recognize the building when you’re just down the block, seeing a flood of cars dropping off students into the mass of other bodies. people are laughing and hugging and smiling as they reunite, a seemingly pleasant scene that you wish you yourself could take part in. reuniting with friends and hearing about their summer as you excitedly walk into school with bumping arms.

but instead you fumble and try to avoid the other bodies, wincing when you walk right through a big group of people with a quiet “sorry.”

you’re looking down at the schedule you wrote in your phone when you hit into someone’s body, a tiny squeal leaving your mouth as your heart immediately drops into your stomach.

“i’m sorry,” you repeat to the boy quietly, watching him turn around and look down at you. his lips quirk up in a small smirk when he sees your face, your pink cheeks and roaming eyes a dead give away you’re nervous and flustered so it’s probably your first day.

“it’s okay,” he smiles. “you new?” but he already knows that, he’s never seen you here before.

you press your lips together as you nod, biting down on your lip when an awkward chuckle leaves your mouth. “yeah, is it that obvious?”

“painfully,” he says and your blushing cheeks immediately cause him to laugh. “i’m kidding. just watch where you’re going next time, yeah?”

your face drops when you hear those words ring in your head, except it’s seonghwa’s voice on the beach on that first day. when you saw him and then bumped into him on your walk, so shy and frazzled by his sharp gaze on you.

the boy can’t even say another word before you nod your head and smile shyly, making your way around him and into the building. he watches your back as you walk into the school, a quiet hum leaving his mouth because that’s very interesting.

you looked to be about his age, he wonders if you’re in the same grade and how everyone is gonna-

“wooyoung! the fuck are you doing just standing there?”

the boy rolls his eyes at mingi’s shouting, making his way over to the tree they always hang out under before class. the cigarette buds are a dead giveaway it’s their spot, seonghwa sitting against the wooden rail as he looks up at the boy.

“a girl bumped into me, think she’s our age and new,” he tells them, mingi and yeosang’s eyes widening as seonghwa looks questioningly at him; his eyes travel to where wooyoung was standing just a few seconds ago.

he feels something settle in the pit of his stomach, like nervousness or apprehension. because there’s no way. there’s no fucking way.

“was she hot?” the tallest boy asks, seonghwa rolling his eyes as he lights up his morning cigarette; this was another bad habit he immediately started up again after returning home.

"eh. not my type. a little too timid."

“or a little too girly.”

wooyoung smirks at yeosang’s comment before shrugging his shoulders, stealing the pack of cigarettes from his hand that immediately causes the boy to shout.

the ruckus pulls seonghwa's attention away from the yard and back to his friends, mingi noticing his set jaw and bouncing leg. but before he can comment on it, the ten-minute warning bell blares from inside.

they all put out their cigarettes and make their way inside as they talk about how crazy and stupid it was that they all had the same homeroom; they bet that within the first week of school, they’ll be separated and put into four different classrooms.

you heard the ten minute bell, courtesy of your counselors warning, when you were at your locker and thought you had perfectly planned everything out. you had ample time to open your locker, run to the bathroom and walk to your class in an uncharacteristically relaxed manner.

but an error on your schedule with your locker combination had you almost in the midst of a full blown anxiety attack, doing it over and over a hundred times before scurrying down to the office and telling them about your problem.

it took them about twenty minutes to get the situation sorted, telling you to go your class and that it’ll all be sorted out by the time you’re done; and while you were grateful for that, you now had to walk into class ten minutes late. with everyone’s curious eyes on you and a horrible first impression to your homeroom teacher.

you took deep breaths and tried to calm your shaky hands, wiping your clammy skin on your shirt as you stand in front of the door. you make eye contact with the teacher sitting at the desk and she gestures for you to come in, swallowing the lump in your throat as you do so.

“can i help you?”

“h-hi, i’m sorry i’m late. i...i’m a new student but there was a problem with my locker. i have this pass from the-”

“it’s okay, just take a deep breath,” she says softly, her smile and kid tone immediately making you relax. but you’re still all too aware of the eyes on you, your shaky voice and stutter already embarrassing you.

“what’s your name?”

“_____”.

you hear people whispering but do your best to ignore it, instead listening to her tell you where to sit and welcoming you to the school.

“there’s a empty seat toward the back. wooyoung, can you raise your hand?”

“we meet again new girl,” you hear the teasing voice say, snapping your head to the side and feeling a blush creep on you cheeks - of course it’s the boy you bumped into; what kind of sick luck is that? that the person you embarrassed yourself in front of already just happens to be in-

a familiar shade of dirty blonde catches your eye and you can’t control the small gasp that leaves you. because there park seonghwa sits just a few seats away, staring right at you with a look you’d never seen in his eye before.

you feel like your heart is about to explode out of your chest, blinking in disbelief because you almost think you’re seeing things. but then as you continue to stare at him, you see that’s he not disappearing. he’s meeting your stare and looking right back at you and it brings a smile to your face.

but then you feel your heart drop when his remains blank, squinting his eyes and raising a brow as if to say what the fuck are you doing here? you cock your head to the side as the smile falls from your face, looking at him in confusion as hurt swirls in your chest before the teacher calls your name.

“y/n?” she asks softly.

you tear your gaze away from seonghwa and swallow the panic and confusion down, shaking your head as you mutter what feels like your 100th apology today.

you walk to where wooyoung is sitting and immediately plop down, feeling your hands shake as you sink into your seat and try to figure out why seonghwa looked like he just saw a ghost.

mingi and yeosang watched the whole exchange between you two, the latter boy catching seonghwa’s face when you sat down. he ran his hands through his hair and his leg started bouncing frantically, jaw clenched and eyes wide before yeosang kicked his foot.

“hey,” he whispers lowly, watching the storm of emotions in his friend’s dark eyes. “what the fuck was that? do you two know each other?”

(part 14)

#thank you for 1k followers <33 #im sorry to celebrate by hurting u guys :(#this is also about the time they'd be singing summer nights <3 #seonghwa #seonghwa angst #ateez #ateez angst #seonghwa scenarios #seonghwa imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines

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halothenthehorns · 3 years ago

Text

TLTNL- GRAWP

"What I don't understand," Remus said in exasperation, "is how Voldemort was even in Nagini's mind? What on earth kind of magic allows that!"

It had taken them ages for the Marauders to finally stop talking about the twins epic leave of Hogwarts, but finally as James made to grab for the book again, Remus chose now to break in with something he'd been thinking on all morning. He glanced anxiously at Harry, and though he paled and flinched again at the reminder, he waved Remus on with a curious look in place.

"We've no more idea than how he's even alive," Sirius sighed, also glancing at Harry nervously, though in fear for what was happening to his pup, he was sure Harry could handle this conversation so long as he had them around.

"I was wondering if it was some unprecedented Parseltongue ability." Remus offered. "Nagini was telling Voldemort what happened in such detail, Voldemort was visualizing the whole thing, and Harry just happened to be present while that was happening. Just because Snape said it happened one way doesn't mean there aren't other options."

"I mean, I guess it could have happened that way," Lily frowned as she thought that through. "He'd be learning about this information and feeling the emotions in the moment, so it still counts-"

"but doesn't explain Harry's insisting fear he felt he had fangs for a moment," James disagreed.

"Harry still could have just been projecting what Voldemort was visualizing during Nagini's attack," Sirius disagreed.

"None of that explains Dumbledore's sudden no contact with Harry," Lily shot down. "This must be something, more. I can't think how else to put it, but something new must have happened over the summer, some ability Voldemort seems to have. It clearly does involve Harry in some way, his mind and connection at least, that has Dumbledore avoiding Harry."

"That doesn't track with everything else though," James said in exasperation. "Why allow Harry to even know about the Order if he really thought Harry knowing anything was dangerous?"

"He hasn't let me know much of anything," Harry shot back. He hated having to think about all this again, but it somehow felt better as well. He was no longer in the heat of the memory, being forced to listen to the idea he was turning into Voldemort. Now he instead got to hear them push around theories and ideas, and that would always feel more bearable, especially when he could feel they were close.

James didn't blame Moony for the change of subject, that had probably been on his mind since the part before Snape's memory had turned their world in a new direction, and it was a miracle he hadn't butted in with this by now. Nonetheless he beckoned to Harry, "why don't we do something nice for your mum, we'll do lunch."

Harry didn't hesitate in following him out, Lily watching them with a light frown. She didn't think Harry felt any ill will for James anymore, but clearly James had more to say. So she forced herself to remain in her seat rather than follow.

When James had said, 'do lunch,' he actually just rapped a pot on the stove to start heating leftovers, but it was the thought that counted, right? Instead he watched as Harry uneasily set the table. When both tasks were done, lunch was ready, and still neither had said a word, James finally forced himself to just spit out what he'd been chewing on this whole time.

"I am sorry."

Harry looked around in surprise, that was usually his line.

James watched Harry steadily for a reaction, hoping his continuing to bring this up wouldn't change whatever comfort Harry had taken in from Sirius, but he couldn't let this one drop without saying his piece either. "Not for that time," he clarified, "I'll never let anyone talk to Lily like that, but I am sorry I was that way, and it pushed Snape into saying that. I'm sorry if what I did to him really did push him into being a Death Eater, when I'd spent the past five years of my life showing Sirius that would never happen to him despite his family. I'm sorry for the way Snape treats you, that's entirely my fault."

Harry rested his hand on the back of a chair like he needed the support. The realizations still hit sometimes, that he was speaking to James instead of wishing it like he'd spent all his life doing, and now more than ever after such a harrowing blow to his memory was returned. "I forgave you," he told him with confidence. "It's like Lupin said, you were only fifteen. If you guys had just seen shots of my memory, me shouting at my friends for nothing, Hermione punching Malfoy, Ron's anger at me before the First Task; you'd all be thinking the worst as well. I wish I'd gotten to know more about you, but Mum's right. You changed," Harry stopped there. He wanted to say Snape hadn't, that he was still a bitter fifteen year old treating Harry like dirt because of what James had once done, but the words wouldn't fully come to him either. Snape was still a vindictive arse, but this memory had really charged something in him, leaving him very confused about his full memories to the man.

James didn't seem to notice that part though, as he roughly pulled Harry into a hug. The absolute fear Harry could have actually hated him hadn't really been felt until it was gone.

Harry returned the affection with a natural ease he never would have believed.

He also broke the hug first, saying, "I'm glad this one should be almost over, I've had a bad feeling about it from the start and I really just want to be done with this year."

James agreed at once, though Harry felt like he hadn't made himself plain enough about that bad feeling considering he was still smiling.

At least lunch was a calm affair, Lily saying they should be able to finish this book by dinner if they didn't have any more long dramatic interruptions which she tried to blame entirely on Sirius.

Sirius informed her she did this too much, but took the blame with grace by spending the rest of lunch refusing to talk about anything else by discussing with the boys anything and everything he could about Quidditch.

James and Lily managed to slip away for a few minutes by themselves to care for the baby, and James happily showed Lily a broom design made from redwood. Even if that tree wasn't native to their land, he'd import it just for his Lily flower.

It didn't actually take that much effort though to get them all back in seats, but they'd switched it up just a bit so now Harry was in between James and Sirius again simply to prove he had no ill will towards either of them. Remus took the seat next to Lily and muttered for her alone while James began looking for his place, "any bets on how long before the next catastrophe takes place in here?"

"I'd rather just pretend there's not going to be one," Lily huffed.

"Joys of being a pessimist, either you expect the worst, or you're pleasantly surprised to be wrong," Remus shrugged without remorse.

"That sounded more like the optimistic view on pessimism," Lily rolled her eyes while James began with a genuine smile again.

The story of Fred and George's was retold so often over the next few days that Harry could tell it would soon become the stuff of Hogwarts legend:

"I'm so proud!" Sirius squealed. "We've forever been upstaged by Weasley's and I'm not even upset!"

"I can hardly believe what they did, the mark they left," James couldn't stop smiling for something so momentous as the twins putting themselves into Hogwarts history like that.

For just a moment as Harry watched them react so proudly to this, he got just a touch jealous. They'd made it clear they were proud of him too, but he'd certainly never felt like he'd done anything Marauder worthy like the twins just had. Then he wondered if this was how Ron felt all the time, towards his own brothers, to his own best friend?

it stretched into the two becoming their own phrase, students could now be heard saying if they suffered anymore classes they'd pull a Weasley.

"I can't believe we were so easily replaced with our infamy," Sirius sighed.

"I think hiding our symbol in the Shrieking Shack is still good enough," Remus shrugged, that was where they spent more time than even their dormitory.

"Yeah," James grudgingly agreed, "guess I'm just jealous. If it wasn't for Lily, I'd feel like I wasted my last year at school not doing something as spectacular before I left."

Lily blushed faintly James had actually admitted aloud he'd cooled himself down just for her.

Fred and George had made sure nobody was likely to forget them too soon.

"Oh that's impossible," Sirius said firmly.

For one thing, they hadn't a clue how to remove the swamp filled corridor.

Then James promptly burst out with laughter as he kept envisioning the thing, the others joining in with delight. They hadn't thought the twins could get better and they just kept being proven wrong.

Umbridge and Filch had been seen trying all manner of things to be rid of it, but with nothing working, Filch was given the task of ferrying people across when need be, who was not at all pleased with this.

Lily gave a righteous laugh, still wanting to punt him from the school after what he'd so wanted to do to the twins, to any student. This was far more what he deserved.

Harry was certain that competent teachers could have removed the swamp in an instant,

"Well I do agree," Lily nodded, her mind boggling a bit at this stretch of magic, "I'd like to ask them how. What kind of magic even was that, an ever lasting potion, a transfiguration spell for the corridor?"

"I want to ask the twins!" Sirius whined. "Curse them not having done this yet."

Remus gave him a look for that comment even as he did agree.

but just as in the case of the fireworks, they seemed to prefer to watch Umbridge struggle.

"The appropriate response," Remus agreed.

Umbridge's door had to be replaced for the two broom shaped holes in it, and rumor now had it Harry's Firebolt was being kept in the dungeon with a security troll to prevent him doing the same.

"I actually believe that," Sirius groaned miserably.

"I wish you'd summoned it to you when they had," James sighed. "Even if you didn't fly off and join them, you'd find a way to keep it out of her webbed fingers."

"I was a little stunned at the moment," Harry protested, and no one argued the point, as they would have been as well.

Her troubles were still only just beginning.

Inspired by the twins, half the population of the school was now vying for the newly vacant position of Troublemakers-in-Chief.

"At some point the title could rest in peace," Lily said without a hope it would happen.

"My fingers are crossed for Ginny now," Sirius grinned, clearly the lot of them ignoring her, "she's got potential."

"What about that one lad always friends with the twins," Remus offered. "He wasn't mentioned going with them, but I'm sure he'd still miss them enough to keep up their legacy one more year."

"Guess it's too much to ask you tried?" James asked of Harry, who was already shaking his head in answer even with a smirk in place for remembering the chaos so constantly erupting in corridors for all this.

Such occurrences of this involved a niffler somehow getting into Umbridge's office and trying to chew off her rings.

"That poor Niffler," Remus said in concern.

"I saw Hagrid nursing it that afternoon," Harry promised.

As well as Dungbombs and Stink Pellets were dropped so frequently in the corridors that the Bubble-Head Charm became a new trend,

"I'm glad that spell's gotten some popularity," James grinned even remembering the ire of not knowing about it when it would have come in handy.

even though it gave them all the peculiar appearance of wearing upside-down goldfish bowls on their heads.

"Well, whoever said fashion isn't functional clearly never met that trend setter," Lily giggled.

When he wasn't attending tasks, Filch was prowling the corridors with a horsewhip in hand, desperate to catch someone to use it on, but the problem was there were so many around he had no clue which way to turn.

Harry watched all of them shake their heads in disgust for that, Lily even starting to get a nervous tick picturing some poor innocent kid ending up on the wrong side of him, so soothed, "don't worry, as far as I know, no one actually did get a single hit. If ever it looked like he'd pinned down someone long enough, kids you'd never believe did something to distract him so others could run away. I saw this Slytherin fourth year knock over a statue on purpose after Filch was screaming at a little Hufflepuff girl for accidentally tripping over one and 'destroying school property.'"

As if they hadn't enough reason to smile already, that gave them all yet more warmth for this display.

The Inquisitorial Squad was trying to help, but odd things kept happening to the members. Warrington was submitted to the hospital wing for his skin being covered in something akin to burnt cornflakes,

"I feel like someone got a hold of more wartcap powder," Sirius smirked.

and Pansy missed all her lessons the following day as she had sprouted antlers.

James in particular looked pleased with this bit of magic, one of his personal favorite tricks when people asked why he was called Prongs was to grow antlers on others for answer and claim that as his signature spell.

It also became clear just how many Skiving Snackboxes Fred and George had sold in their time, as soon every one of Umbridge's classes were fainting, vomiting, high with fevers, or had blood pouring endlessly from their noses, claiming to have Umbridge-itis.

"A deadly disease I would not wish upon my worst enemy," Remus kept grinning wider every second.

"I don't know, what do you think would happen if we put Voldemort and Umbridge in the same room?" Sirius couldn't help but ask.

"Either they'll kill each other-" Lily said hopefully.

"Or she'll have a new master to follow and somehow become even more terrifying," James shivered. "I still can't believe she's not actually a Death Eater!"

After putting four successive classes in detention and failing to discover their secret,

Harry sighed heavily for that one, rubbing at the back of his hand in remembrance. Madam Pomfrey had ordered whole stocks of Essence of Murtlap and had started handing them out without question, but none of that made it feel better to see others suffering what he had.

she was forced to let the droves of students leave.

In all their efforts though, no student had come close to the master of chaos, Peeves, who seemed to have taken Fred's words to heart.

James looked as if he'd found a treasure map, ticking off each item Peeves did like a new nugget of gold!

In a constant state of cackling, he was never seen without anymore; bursting through walls to scare anyone on the other side, knocking over whatever was upright, regularly shutting Mrs. Norris into anything available, smashing anything remotely breakable, juggling lit candles, flooding whole hallways, dropping tarantulas into the Great Hall during meals,

"I'll bet Ron loved that one," Remus got out in between James' breathless retelling.

and whenever he fancied a break, spent hours at a time floating along after Umbridge and blowing loud raspberries every time she spoke.

"I am actually impressed," Lily said faintly. "I never thought he could get worse!"

None of the staff but Filch seemed to be stirring themselves to help her.

"I'd be worried if they were," James wheezed, acting so giddy upon reading such massive mayhem he was likely to pass out soon. Of all the regimes going on inside their school, all the hateful new being passed around his son, finally some good was being the cause of it all!

In exact opposite it seemed, as Harry distinctly saw McGonagall pass by Peeves trying to unscrew a chandelier, and she told him it worked the other way.

Sirius fist pumped the air in triumph, all of them red faced from laughter and wishing McGonagall was here already so they could give her a hug in congratulations.

To cap matters, Montague had still not recovered from his sojourn in the toilet;

Sirius managed an extra hard laugh for that swift remembrance.

and his parents had been summoned to the school, the trio watching their arrival on the front lawn through their Charms class.

Hermione was worried they should say something about what happened to him, if it might help Madam Pomfrey cure him.

"Nah," the three Marauders said at once, while Harry rubbed at his temple in some empathy for Montague and Lily just shook her head at them.

Then they froze, and looked to Harry like any hint of no remorse upon another student would set him back into thinking the worst of them again. He however only considered this like he did all their passing comments, just them mouthing off. Even if they did mean it, he still couldn't really care, Madam Pomfrey had fixed worse injuries without anyone's help.

Ron said no at once, he'd be fine.

Harry agreeing it only caused more problems for Umbridge.

"This is true, it's not a good mark for the woman parents have to come up to the school," James smirked.

Not at all distracted, the two tried to tap their teacups and have legs grow from them. The spell was supposed to be like Hermione's, who's had grown four strong willow sticks and was trotting around happily.* Instead, Harry's grew such tiny stumps they didn't even bend enough to bring his cup off the desk, and Ron's were so flimsy the cup stood for only a second before falling and cracking in half.

Hermione repaired Ron's cup for him while still speaking if Montague was permanently injured?

Remus actually considered that for a second, again remembering the half broken cabinet and genuinely wondering if something had gone permanently wrong there.

Harry suddenly felt a heavy twitch cross his mind, some dire warning he should have paid more attention to this, because someone had...but he tried to shake that off and told, "I feel like he recovered." For some reason though, this only made him feel worse, and they easily let the matter drop, all confident Pomfrey could fix this.

Ron insisted no one cared, this was only a good thing for their already slim chances at the Quidditch Cup. If Hermione wanted someone to worry about, let it be him.

"Oh Ron, the spell's not that hard," Lily giggled, Flitwick would probably just assign them more homework practice.

While putting his finger under his cup to help support its weight, he told them he was expecting a howler any day now when it got through Umbridge's screening process.

"Why?" Sirius said slowly.

"If I'd guessed, it would have been back when the DA had been outed, but it's been far too long, he hasn't done anything more recently," James agreed curiously.

Hermione tried to ask why, but Ron was already explaining his mum was going to blame him for not stopping the twins leaving. He should have grabbed their broom tails or something to stop them, this was somehow going to be all his fault.

"Oh, she wouldn't," Lily tried to say even if her tone showed no signs of meaning it.

"I really can't see even Molly doing this one," Sirius shook his head. "I don't remember her ever saying to go after the twins once he got his Prefect badge. She's got a bad habit of comparing the youngest to the elders, but never seems to have expected the younger set to tell the elder ones off."

Harry at least fervently hoped so, Ron most certainly did not deserve that one when Harry was their enabler in all of this.

Hermione said if she did, it would be entirely unfair, he couldn't have done anything.

Harry grinned for Hermione again, thankful that finally she seemed to be on their side again in these arguments.

She was confident Molly wouldn't, clearly they had been planning this anyways if they had premise in Diagon Alley.

Ron said that was something odd though, as he wrapped his teacup to try the spell again, but he'd hit it so hard it only fell again.

"I don't think that's helping," Lily randomly giggled.

Where had they gotten the gold for that? Their mum was going to want to know.

"Did they never ask you what you did with your Triwizard Winnings?" James asked. He knew Harry had never told them, but his friends had never brought it up?

"I guess they just assumed I shoved it into my vault," Harry shrugged.

Hermione agreed that had occurred to her too, ignoring her own cup that was going in circles around Harry's cup who still hadn't tried moving with its stubby legs.

"This is just getting insulting," Lily couldn't stop giggling even while she said it.

She'd been wondering if they'd been doing work for Mundungus to get that kind of money.

"That wouldn't have been a bad guess," Remus agreed.

Harry said they hadn't at once.

"You finally going to tell them, because otherwise that was idiotic," Sirius scolded.

"I wasn't going to have their family thinking they'd done something illegal," Harry sighed. "I'd far rather Mrs. Weasley hate me than think something like that of anymore of her children."

"She's not going to hate you," James at once said with conviction. "The only thing she might be is flustered at the generosity, but she'll just have to get over that."

They asked how Harry would know that, and he only hesitated a moment before finally telling why.

Hermione was so surprised, her cup took a dive off the desk and neither of them noticed.

"Timing," Lily gave the loudest snicker of all.

Ron stated this was excellent, at once asking if he could tell his mum this was all Harry's fault!

Sirius burst out with laughter once again, James nodding along and agreeing, "Ron's priorities."

Harry agreed he'd better, especially if she was going to start thinking her sons had stolen cauldrons.

"I can see why you wanted to wait," Remus agreed, "now they're really going and she can't guilt them into giving it back."

Hermione said nothing at all for the rest of the lesson, but Harry had a shrewd suspicion that her self-restraint was bound to crack before long.

They all sighed, not particularly wanting to hear another Hermione lecture about what Harry had done stupidly lately.

Sure enough, once they were out in the quad in the weak May light, she turned to him with a determined look on her face, so Harry interrupted before she could start.

"Has that ever helped?" Sirius asked in surprise.

"Nope, but it was worth a shot after the last time she spent a whole day on it," Harry sighed.

He told her not to even start, it was over and done with, and to save her breath because he did not regret doing this for them.

Hermione sounded hurt when she said she wasn't going to say anything about that.

"Maybe if she wasn't nagging you all the time, she wouldn't be so offended when you try to stop her doing it," Remus rolled his eyes.

"Oh stop," Harry cut them off with a sigh. "Hermione's a bit much, I know that better than anyone, but lay off her for a bit, I jumped the wrong conclusion that time."

They gave in with a muttered apology.

Ron snorted disbelievingly and Hermione threw him a very dirty look.

"Can't say that wasn't deserved though," Remus muttered.

She insisted she wasn't, she'd wanted to ask him when he was going to ask Snape for more Occlumency lessons

"Why!" Sirius demanded. "He's been tortured enough this year!"

Once Fred and George's dramatic departure had evaporated their talk, the two had wanted to know what Harry had gone to talk to Sirius about. Still failing to explain the initial reason, Harry instead told them it had been to do with Snape stopping his lessons and Sirius wanted him to keep going with them.

James crinkled his nose at this, saying, "there are far too many holes in that, I'm not surprised Hermione's trying to get the real story."

"That's still not why she was having a go at me," Harry groaned.

He had regretted this ever since, as Hermione had then chosen to bring the subject up again when Harry least expected it.

"Ah, well honestly this one's your own fault, I could have told you not to bring this back up with her," Lily rolled her eyes.

"Especially as you still have no intentions of doing it," Remus shook his head, Harry's expression made that abundantly clear, and he felt quite sore his warning had so easily been brushed off by Harry.

Hermione snapped at him he couldn't pretend like they weren't needed, Ron had said he'd been muttering in his sleep again.

Harry gave Ron a furious look, who had the grace to be ashamed.

"I don't know, I can see the good of that one," Lily sighed as she saw some snippy comment on Sirius' lips. "He's worried about his friend, not on the same level as Hermione, but both recognize far more than you seem to this shouldn't be entertained," she finished with a look at Harry, who also had the grace to look ashamed for never trying harder at this. He wasn't sure if it was his mother's guilt trip, or something far more unspeakable that was causing him to feel this so heavily...

Ron apologetically said for both it had only been a bit, he'd been muttering about reaching further.

Harry lied he'd been dreaming of Quidditch, he wanted Ron to reach out just a bit further for the Quaffle.

Ron's ears went red, while Harry didn't feel a drop of remorse for lying.

"Brutal," Sirius laughed in surprise.

"But deserved," James sighed.

He had in fact again dreamed all the way up to the room full of glass spun orbs, but again woken up feeling he'd been moments away from the true want.

James stopped in alarm at the noise Harry made, all of them looking to him with deep concern as he groaned with misery, head in his hands again, breathing so heavily they could have been his last breaths.

"Harry!" James swiftly put the book aside at such an alarming reaction that somehow got worse each time this was brought up. "Harry, calm down! You're going to be fine, whatever is in there, you are going to be fine!"

This had no effect on making him better, as that was not what was gripping him so tight he couldn't breath. It wasn't his safety he so feared.

"It's okay, it's going to be okay," Sirius insisted, looking frantically to Lily or Remus to help, but they had no more clue what left him in such a mess. "Erm, what if I-" his mind flagged desperately for something to distract Harry with, "show you how we created the Marauders Map!"

"What?" Harry looked up in genuine surprise, the pain from his skull not yet fully subsiding which must explain the tears trickling out, but he wiped furiously at them to keep his attention on Sirius.

"Yeah," he confirmed at once. "Something to look forward to!"

James agreed at once, saying, "it took me a few days to create it, but it won't take near as long to recreate it. I've been wanting to show Lily anyways, you'll both get a kick out it."

Harry gave a slow nod, taking easier breaths now as he kept this promise tight inside him. Whatever horrid thing had happened in his past to cause this feeling, they were right, he had something he could cling to now as a promise he wouldn't have to relive his memory long.

James waited an extra moment to make sure Harry wasn't going to set himself into a full blown panic attack before gingerly picking the book back up, almost afraid of what else it was going to do to his son if this topic didn't change soon.

Hermione inquired then that he was still trying with his Occlumency?

Harry lied and said he was, but the truth was he was curious about all this and wanted the dreams to keep going.

Harry's whole center shook, he looked very much like he would collapse in a fit in moments. Clearly what he'd been thinking at fifteen, the exact opposite was trying to run through his mind now, and the two together were wreaking havoc inside of him.

James reached over again, grasping his shoulder firmly until he fought back for control, still waving him to go on adamantly for this to just be over with.

The problem was, with less than a month till exams, his mind usually seemed much more focused on stupid dreams.

"First you were complaining about them, now you want them and you're not getting enough of them," Remus tried to get a rise out of Harry instead of watching him tear himself apart for something he couldn't yet understand. "You never can seem to make up your mind eh?"

Harry offered him a flimsy smile that was as weak as the toddler upstairs.

He also suspected the more Hermioneish part of his mind was guilting him into waking up before the journey's end.

"Hermione doesn't seem so bad now she's right," James offered as Harry kept rubbing at his temples.

Sirius gave Remus a sympathetic look as well which Moony easily grasped. It wasn't just him being ignored, Harry wasn't taking advice from anyone about this.

Something new to distract him was the final match of the Quidditch season, Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw, which was to take place on the last weekend of May. Although Slytherin had been narrowly defeated by Hufflepuff in their last match,

"Wow, where's my description of that match!" Sirius yelped, grasping at any pleasant conversation, and this was an easy one.

"Nothing too memorable happened," Harry shrugged. "Malfoy actually caught the Snitch, for once, but he took Krum's way out. Hufflepuff was winning on points, Montague hadn't come back yet and the appointed Slytherin was a right idiot, I don't know what they were doing during training but it wasn't practicing."

"As much as they deserve," James cheered, wriggling in pleasure even as he kept a close eye on Harry to make sure he really was trying to put mention of that Department past him.

Gryffindor did not yet dare for a victory, though no one said it to him, because of Ron's goalkeeping ability.

Ron took his own outlook on the morning of, telling them at least he couldn't get any worse.

"There's the bright side," Lily snickered in surprise, while James just looked bemused at this. Better than constantly ragging on himself he supposed.

As Harry and Hermione were shuffling into the crowd, Hermione mentioned she suspected this game might just go better because Fred and George weren't around, they never helped his confidence.

"I can see that," Remus said fairly.

"They mocked him from time to time," Sirius disagreed, "but they were never so bad I think it damaged Ron any more than that horrid song. I don't think they'll make a real difference to him."

"Least Angelina already had their replacements," James grumbled, still wishing it was Harry on that pitch rather than Ginny, he was sick of reading side line events, he wanted to be back in the air!

Luna Lovegood overtook them with what appeared to be a live eagle perched on top of her head.

The boys burst out in surprised laughter Luna had indeed gone further with that idea!

It was as Harry watched this though, not at all mean spirited but that recent memory still with him, that the expression they'd first carried upon hearing of her finally clicked as he turned sharply to them. "Would you lot have done all that to Luna?"

James' automatic response wanted to be no, but he still considered the question for a moment before saying slowly, "ah, well, we certainly would have liked to have words with her, she's a fascinating thing."

"You would have mocked her?" Harry outright demanded with a raised brow.

Sirius blew a chunk of hair out of his face, but didn't deny, "guess it depends on how well we bothered to get to know her. We thought Remus was a right odd ball before we had a proper chat with him."

Harry saw they were still avoiding the question, as he'd honestly noticed outside their little group they didn't seem to 'converse' with much of anyone unless it was for a motive. Still though, he was just as fascinated they looked a touch ashamed even as they side stepped this. He hadn't realized his disapproval really meant so much to them.

Then the teams assembled on the edge of the field, and Hermione said her surprise she'd forgotten Cho would be playing. Harry grunted in response, he had not.

"Ex crush versus ex fan girl!" Sirius said loudly, very clearly trying not to let Harry linger on that last subject.

"Sadly I think Cho's got the better edge, she's played more games, actually wants this position," James eagerly put in.

"I wouldn't underestimate Ginny, we don't know how long Cho's been flying outside her house team, but we know Ginny's been doing it since single digits, she may well have the advantage," Remus offered insight.

Harry decided to let the Luna matter go, they'd yet to actually be doing anything wrong to her and there was no sense yelling at them for something they hadn't done wrong yet to one of his friends.

Across from them in the stands, the Slytherins were all filing in, and Harry hoped desperately they wouldn't have anymore chances to sing Weasley Is our King.

"I wasn't aware they needed an excuse, they just continued doing it because they're arse holes," Lily grumbled.

Lee Jordan, who had been very dispirited since Fred and George had left,

"That was it," Remus huffed for forgetting.

"Guess I can't blame him for not being in the mood to prank others when his mates up and did that," Sirius sighed.

was commentating as usual. As the teams zoomed out on to the pitch he named the players with something less than his usual gusto.

"I can just imagine McGonagall feeling sorry for the poor kid," James frowned sadly.

Harry watched Cho chat with Davies as the teams matched up, prepared to shake hands, and Harry found he only had a slight twinge of jealous as the two Ravenclaws smiled at each other before the captains shook hands.

"Guess that crush wasn't as gone as we thought," James looked to Harry in surprise, who only shrugged, he really didn't have much of a memory for this game, especially not Cho, though he wasn't exactly sure why. Surely even if he wasn't playing in it, he'd have a care? Maybe Ron really hadn't done any better and he'd tried to block the whole thing out, but that wasn't the right kind of disconnected feeling...

Lee began as usual, saying who had the Quaffle in what position, and Davies was already heading for Gryffindors goals, Gryffindor had a chance at making it, and- Lee swore.

"Least he hasn't lost all of his enthusiasm," Remus chuckled.

Ravenclaw had scored, and the Slytherins at once took up the chance with their song.

Harry and Hermione were distracted from what happened next by Hagrid sidling up to them, trying to remain crouched as if wanting to be out of sight, but even doubled over he was four feet taller than those next to him.

"Why's he trying to hide at all?" Lily asked in surprise. "He's been known to come to a few matches."

"Don't look at us," Remus shrugged even as he looked eagerly at James for this explanation that he had his fingers crossed in hope for.

He asked if they'd come with him, now, while everyone was watching the game.

"I can't believe I'm saying this," James gaped down at this, "but I'd actually go with him."

"If there's one thing to drag away a good Quidditch match," Sirius agreed, though finished rather threateningly, "but Hagrid had better finally be showing you what he's been up to, if it's for anything less, I'll find a way to curse that man through his skin for cutting this off."

Harry merely hummed in agreement.

Hagrid's nose was gently dripping blood. His eyes were both blackened. Harry had not seen him this close-up since his return to the school; he looked utterly woebegone.

Lily crooned loudly for the poor dear, all of them feeling a pain deep inside for what Hagrid was putting himself through. He must have a really good answer for this one!

Harry agreed without any thought.

Harry felt absolutely no regret for this decision, even as his face tightened just a bit, his innards promising this wasn't going to be a pleasant stroll.

The three got themselves out of the stands, Hagrid saying how much he appreciated them, and hoped she didn't see them leaving.

"Only one she I can think of," Lily spat, "and sadly she might have."

"She can't stop them from going off with Hagrid," Remus miserably tried to argue, already feeling it pointless.

Harry said Umbridge was surrounded by her Inquisitorial Squad like she was expecting trouble, there was a good chance she hadn't noticed them.

"Guess she understands less than I thought, which is saying something. No one would try a prank during a Quidditch game," Sirius heavily rolled his eyes.

Hagrid said that may be good for them, give them more time, as he started heading towards the Forest.

Lily began playing with a strand of hair with nerves. She knew Hagrid wasn't purposefully leading Harry to anything dangerous, but this was certainly not a pleasant beginning in her opinion, and it was nice to see the others faces showed agreement even as well used to the Forest as they were.

Hermione asked what they were doing as they went across the lawn, but in favor of answering Hagrid heard a roar go up from the crowd behind them and asked if someone else had scored.

Harry said it would be Ravenclaw again.

Harry winced heavily and they all felt the same, maybe leaving had been a good idea anyways, that wasn't fun to think about.

Hagrid was so distracted, he said this was a good thing.

"Now I know he's not thinking right," Sirius grumped.

Hermione tried to turn into Hagrid's cabin when they passed it, but Hagrid kept walking right to the edge of the trees where his crossbow was waiting.

"He must have just come back from whatever he was training," Remus realized.

"Think he thinks he's finally got it domesticated and wants to show off?" James asked, that didn't feel important enough to be dragged away from Quidditch, but then, Hagrid had different priorities.

"I still think there's something more than that going on," Lily sighed. "It's very clear Hagrid cares deeply for something new going on, just training a new best can't really mean more than his job?" She phrased it as a question though, none of them were quite sure of Hagrid's comments from before.

Harry asked why he needed that, he hadn't taken it with him when they'd seen the Thestrals.

"This new thing of his is less and less encouraging," Sirius agreed.

Hagrid said they hadn't been going in as deep, and that was before Firenze left the Forest.

"Why's that change anything?" Remus asked in surprise.

Hermione asked why that made a difference.

"Thank you Sirius!" Remus said quickly and with such a mocking gratitude you could almost believe it. "Really, just thank you so much for sharing that, I hadn't a clue I'd done it!"

"Alright, no need to get snippy," Sirius smirked.

Hagrid said the other centaurs were now very riled up. It used to be he could go wherever he liked in this Forest, they were always friendly, but not anymore.

"What's that got to do with Hagrid though?" James ruffled up his brow.

"Familiar loyalty," Sirius nodded to himself as he explained aloud. "The centaurs know Hagrid's trust in Dumbledore, they'll blame anyone associated with him right now for what he asked a Centaur to do."

"But it was Firenze's decision," Harry protested. "Why be mad at us?"

"For offering it," Remus sighed.

Harry felt a deep chill web around his mind, promising he had no want to deal with an angry centaur.

Angry didn't cover it, they were livid with Dumbledore and Firenze, probably would have kicked their fellow centaur to death if Hagrid hadn't stepped in, he'd had half the herd on him.

They all gave sympathetic noises for that, Harry even saw some traces of fear in them at the same time. He could hardly imagine the scene himself, but just the thought was giving him the creeps, it probably was terrifying thinking about all this in detail when he wasn't so distracted wondering why he may have seen it in person.

Harry was amazed Hagrid had stopped all that, and Hagrid said he certainly couldn't have just stood by. Then he added more menacingly he'd have thought Firenze would remember that before sending stupid warnings.

"I'm worried he was trying to return a favor," Lily muttered, still considering Hagrid's injuries. They weren't yet deadly, but if he kept at it, they may keep progressing.

Hermione asked if that's what Hagrid wanted their help with, the centaurs?

"Oh he'd never ask for your help with that," Remus said at once.

"And those injuries started up well before this," Lily agreed.

Hagrid simply said no, and kept plunging deeper into the shadows. Harry wasn't too worried, he'd been in the Forest a few times and followed Hagrid willingly, until he stepped off the path. Remembering vividly what had happened in his past when he did this, he tried to ask where they were going, but Hagrid didn't answer as he plunged into the more wild parts of the woods. Harry and Hermione had a hard time following, often getting caught in thickets and brambles while Hagrid walked right through them.

"I'm surprised he hasn't created a new path, as often as he seems to have headed to this thing," James said, his eyes still narrowed suspiciously to what Hagrid had added to a Forest he knew so well.

After several miles of heavy silence where even the snapping of a twig felt ominous, it occurred to him that he had never managed to get this far into the Forest without meeting some kind of creature.

The tense unease kept growing in here, like the book was pressing that darkness out and shadowing the whole room with its eerie vibe. Harry had yet had a very pleasant experience in this Forest in any sense, and even with Hagrid inviting them into this one, they could already feel it wasn't going to turn out much better.

When Hagrid came to an abrupt halt, Harry walked right into him and fell back into a thorny bush Hermione had to dig him out of.

Hagrid apologized and decided to explain back here before they got to the spot, and began by saying there was a good chance he'd be getting the sack any day.

"He did not bring them all the way out there to say that," Sirius rolled his eyes.

"No," Remus agreed, "but we know he finds this more important than that, so at least we're finally getting that answer."

Hermione said he'd done well so far, what changed?

Hagrid said Umbridge thought he'd put that Niffler in her office.

"That's ridiculous," Remus scoffed at once, it was akin to him doing that, and he'd never put anything in her vicinity if he could help it.

"And when has she ever done anything remotely reasonable," Sirius' face was scrunched up for the ludicrousness of it even as he agreed.

Harry asked if it was before he'd thought about it.

"Harry," James said in exasperation, his son should know full well Hagrid would never use a creature for such a purpose.

"I know," Harry agreed with his idiotics. "Reflex question." This lot knew all about that.

Hagrid said no, but that hadn't convinced Umbridge, who associated any problems with creatures on him. He'd honestly leave now so that he wouldn't have to suffer in public like Trelawney had.

James didn't have to think about that one at all as he nodded in agreement, he could respect that.

He'd be useful to the Order out there helping Dumbledore.

"Hagrid knows where Dumbledore is?" That one caught Remus by surprise.

"I wouldn't be surprised if the Order actually does," Lily shrugged, "even if we're not sure now."

They had Grubbly-Plank to get them through their exams, his voice wobbled there and broke.

Lily felt a heartbreaking sigh pour out of her, she didn't want Hagrid to ever feel unneeded! She wanted him in her son's life just for being such a good man, no matter how he was in a class!

The problem was, he couldn't just leave without telling anyone, and he needed their help, and Ron's if he was willing.

Harry agreed at once asking what he needed them to do?

"You have such a big heart," Lily told her son, starting to feel a little teary eyed herself for what Hagrid was going through.

Harry had no response for that, he'd do anything to help his friend.

Hagrid thanked them tearfully, and led them the rest of the way.

"I thought he said he was going to explain!" Sirius said, the suspense was about to kill him. "He just stopped to tell them what was going on!"

"That's the same thing," Remus told him just to keep James paused for an extra second.

Sirius scowled at him, while James decided to ignore them anyways.

They reached a small clearing where a great mound was in front of them like a den, and all around were trees ripped up by the roots. Hagrid breathed sleeping, and Harry heard it too, a great set of lungs at work. He looked sideways at Hermione, who looked terrified.

"I don't blame her," Remus muttered, his mind flipping through all sorts of things that lived inside mounds, though as this could be something undiscovered even any of those may not be possible.

James was more in deep curiosity than anything. Hagrid was there, he had no fear Harry would come to any harm.

She asked who is he?

"Err," Lily began in confusion, sure she'd heard wrong.

Then she kept going, her voice shaking why he was here, Hagrid had said none wanted to come!

"What's, Hermione, on, about?" Sirius said slowly, he couldn't put together such a declaration with just an animal...

Harry looked to Hagrid, Hermione, and then realization struck as he looked back at the mounded earth, which in fact was moving in time with the deep breaths. It was a curved back.

"A giant!" Remus interrupted with a near shriek. "He actually brought a giant into that forest!"

James' voice had failed him, his mouth left hanging open so he couldn't have kept going even when the book had broken off. This truly was a new level of unbelievable.

"Has he lost his mind!" Sirius was so blown away by this one he wouldn't even deny the squeak in his voice. "A giant! A real, bloody, giant!"

Harry felt just as numb as the others from shock, but it was his fumbling fingers that snagged the book away to try and force this to keep going.

Hagrid agreed he hadn't exactly wanted to, but Hagrid had to bring him.

"It's his family," Lily whispered, her eyes still too wide from shock, but a flash of understanding lit them nonetheless.

"When he was at the Three Broomsticks," James recalled breathlessly.

"Oh Hagrid," Remus groaned in sudden understanding, genuine sympathy now for the man even if he couldn't find the air to really say it.

Sirius wasn't quite there yet, he was still putting his mind into the thought someday he'd walk into his Forest and a giant would be there!

Hermione demanded why!

Hagrid insisted that if he just spent a little time around here, taught him some manners, he could show everyone how harmless he was.

"Harmless!" Lily said near hysterics. "He's been beating the shit out of him for months!"

"Hasn't killed him yet though," Sirius couldn't help but point out as this started to fully form in his mind.

"Was that supposed to make me feel better?" Lily demanded, her voice wasn't lowering in volume and starting to hurt their ears.

Hermione accused this was why he was always injured. Hagrid defended he didn't know his own strength.

"That I'd actually believe," Remus said slowly, some form of acceptance starting to set in as he really thought past the shock.

Hermione still couldn't believe this was why he'd taken two extra months to get home!

"Yeah, I'd say lugging a giant behind you could slow you down!" Lily's voice was still extremely high pitched, but at least she was making an attempt to lower it now.

Hermione demanded why he had, he'd have been happier with his own kind!

Hagrid insisted he'd been picked on while there for being so small.

"Small." James repeated the word slowly, shaking his head back and forth as he was stuck in the same vision as Sirius, their forays into the Forest suddenly being interrupted by a giant crashing through a nearby tree, no one wanted to know how Moony would have reacted to that. Yet thankfully Harry reading was putting a good distance from that image, and James got the book back from Harry without fuss.

Hermione repeated small in near hysterics.

"I suppose, by that description, he's either not fully grown, or a runt," Remus nodded.

"Try telling him that," Harry muttered, his mind still boggled at such a huge movement as his breathing.

Hagrid pleaded with them to understand, near tears as he told that was his brother.

"That, is a relation, that makes sense," Lily grudgingly agreed, finally her voice only just a touch more off than usual, but sympathy for Hagrid's situation was finally pushing past the shock. It was the same as always, she trusted Hagrid. If he said his brother hadn't meant to hurt anyone, then she'd just have to believe he wasn't going to turn on her son the moment he awoke.

Well, half-brother, he amended. His mum had another child when she'd left his dad, Grawp here.

"Grawp?" Harry repeated curiously.

"Never claimed giants had our kind of names," Sirius shrugged, his brow still set deep in thought, but now he was almost back to normal and could appreciate Hagrid's position at least.

Harry wasn't sure he'd heard that right, and Hagrid said that's what he thought was being said when asked for a name. He didn't know much English, though Hagrid had been teaching him. His mother had abandoned Grawp as well for being so small, so he was all alone, he was only sixteen feet.

"Poor Hagrid," Lily went new, her voice now coming out in a whisper as now she felt like Hagrid needed a hug, after she popped him over the head for giving her heart failure.

Hermione's voice was still in shrieking shock as she said how miniscule that was!

"Who knew Hermione turned sarcastic during these times," Sirius muttered, he couldn't get a joke to his mind yet.

Hagrid insisted he was being kicked around by the others.

Harry asked what Maxime had thought of this, and Hagrid said she'd realized how important this was to him, but got tired of fighting to get him back, so she'd just promised not to tell anyone.

"Good woman, that," James sighed, knowing he'd probably have done the exact same as Maxime, he wouldn't pretend he'd try to handle a giant, even a...small one.

Harry asked how he'd even gotten back here. Hagrid explained they could only travel by night and very out of the way, Grawp could cover quite a bit of distance when he wanted to, the problem was he didn't, kept wanting to go back.

Harry gave a pitiful sigh, he didn't need to ask. He'd been kicked around plenty in his youth but had always returned home because he'd always known he had nowhere else to go. Hagrid seemed to have a gift for taking wayward souls away.

Hermione buried her face in her fingers as she asked why Hagrid hadn't just let him, what was he going to do with a violent giant?

Hagrid defended violent was too strong, he took a swing now and again when he was in a mood, but he was getting better.

Harry asked what the ropes were for then?

"Well if he was wanting to go back, I suppose I can see Hagrid stopping him leaving when he wasn't around," Sirius frowned heavily.

As Harry's eyes had adjusted and made out more detail, he found ropes binding the giants ankles and around his waist.

Hagrid repeated he didn't know his own strength, and Harry now understood why there were no other creatures in the area.

"Oh yeah, I can see that," James finally nodded at something that made sense to him in his forest.

Hermione circled back to asking what Hagrid wanted them to do?

"Almost forgot about that," Remus shivered, he didn't like the idea of Harry around...Grawp with Hagrid around, now Hagrid was asking them to keep looking after a hateful giant after Hagrid was gone! How was this worse than the Skrewts?

Hagrid just said he needed looking after, while Harry and Hermione exchanged an uncomfortable look, well aware they'd already promised Hagrid they would.

"I feel as if at some point there's a line, and he crossed it," Lily said miserably, as she wouldn't feel right backing out of this either even with the circumstances. "A bruised rib to Hagrid could knock your skeleton right out of you! I'm sorry Harry, but I'm worried this one's above you!"

Harry certainly wasn't going to argue the point.

Harry did not argue the point, and they were just as relieved as they were upset for Hagrid Harry didn't seem gung ho to keep this particular promise.

Hermione asked for details, and Hagrid said nothing too big. He got his own food, birds or deer that traveled through,

James looked vaguely offended, even if he knew it to be true. It just wasn't helping his mind's eye as he kept imagining trying to run away from this thing.

Hagrid really just wanted them to come out here and talk to him, help teach him along in talking.

Harry said nothing as he kept eying Grawp, picking out details. Now he saw that his feet were the size of sleds and bare, his clothes seemed roughly stitched together. His head was like a boulder sitting right atop his shoulders with his ears sitting more on the area where his neck should be.

Remus couldn't deny a touch of fascination in him at Harry's description. He'd only heard general depictions of them as well, and though he still had no want to meet one in person, Harry's were always more vivid than usual texts.

Harry hollowly repeated Hagrid's want for them to teach him English. He now understood what Firenze's warning had meant.

"I almost wish I didn't," Sirius grumbled, in this case ignorance had been bliss.

He could just imagine the other creatures of this Forest hearing Hagrid's vain attempts to teach Grawp English.

Hagrid agreed cheerfully, even if they just came out here to chat with him, keep him around people.

Harry looked to Hermione and said it made him wish for Norbert back.

Sirius blanched for a moment, but after considering he told, "no, actually this is still marginally better. I'll take whatever form of intelligence this thing posses over that beast."

"Wow," Harry said towards him, as of now he'd still rather have it the other way.

Hagrid misunderstood, confirming that they'd do it?

"He really didn't get that was supposed to be a bad thing?" James muttered, that concept seemed lost on Hagrid quite a bit.

Harry uneasily said they'd try-

Hagrid beamed at him, saying he'd known he could count on him!

Even as Lily shook her head in exasperation for Hagrid, she was smiling just a bit as well now. She couldn't deny some part of her was happy for Hagrid finally having a bit of family back to him.

He insisted it wouldn't be much, just nip out here once a week, then he decided to introduce them.

Hermione said that wasn't necessary!

"Well yes it is," Remus corrected. "Much safer to be first seen with Hagrid, at least he knows him."

"And considers him his kidnapper," James reminded hollowly. "So I'm really torn here."

Harry still didn't want to say what was really on his mind, he didn't really have a want to see Grawp again with or without Hagrid.

Hagrid ignored them, picked up a long sturdy branch, and jabbed Grawp in the back with it.

"He just poked a giant!" James said faintly, unable to believe what he'd just said and stuck on that one for several moments before Harry gave him a commiserating pat on the shoulder that was probably supposed to be reassuring.

Grawp woke with an ear splitting roar that shook birds from trees. He got onto his knees to turn around and see who was here, and Hagrid greeted him as Grawpy, telling he'd brought company.

Harry and Hermione backpedaled as far as they could while keeping him in sight, as his face leaned in like a dull grey full moon.

All three Marauders blanched in shock at the description they weren't taking kindly too.

His features seemed misshapen, the nose of no real design, the hair looking more like moss even a dark brown, and his pupils were rather tiny and currently still cummed with sleep. He took to his feet with surprising agility and turned away.

"Don't ever underestimate speed for size," Remus agreed, James wanting to smack him for starting to sound more interested than resigned like the rest of them.

He went over to the nearest tree and plucked a birds nest up out of the higher branches, turning it upside down and pelting them with eggs like grenades below.

"I can see how riveted he was by the company," James said deadpan.

"Be pleased while it lasts," Lily grumbled, at least finding some small comfort Grawp hadn't at once started trying to take Hagrid's limb off.

Hagrid tried to keep his attention, yelling to Grawp about that trip he'd be going on, and these were his new friends who'd be coming to visit him.

"I thought he couldn't understand English quite yet," Sirius shifted uneasily.

"I can see why Hagrid does it though," Remus shrugged, "that's one of the ways you learn other languages, hearing them as well as practicing to speak them."

"Oh, so now it's a good idea," James frowned at him.

"I'm not saying Harry should do it," Remus defended, "I just understand why Hagrid is talking to him."

Grawp took no notice, Harry wasn't even sure if the giant recognized what Hagrid was doing was speech. He'd instead sized the nearest tree and began pulling on the top, the fascination on his face making it clear he did it for the simple pleasure of seeing how far he could go before it would spring back.

"Exactly how old is he?" Lily asked.

"Not sure," Harry muttered, "I only know what Hagrid said."

"He could be older than Hagrid, we don't know which kid came first, though I think Hagrid assumed it was himself." Remus shrugged.

"Either way, I don't see what that has to do with anything," Sirius muttered.

Lily considered this response more to do with the fact Sirius would probably try to do the same thing if he was that size no matter what age.

Hagrid tried to tell him not to, that's how he'd pulled up the last ones, but when the creaking roots could be heard, Hagrid intervened and gave him another jab with the stick.

Grawp looked down with an expression of clear annoyance as Hagrid waved to Harry and Hermione. Grawp only just seemed to realize their presence as he gazed down at them still half hidden behind a tree.

"How good is a giant's eye sight?" Harry asked wearily, he wasn't going to enjoy the experience of one checking out his hairline.

"As good as ours I'd imagine," Remus scratched at his ear. "Perhaps better, as they hunt more naturally than we do."

He introduced Harry first, and tried to do the same for Hermione, but realized her full name may be beyond him, so asked her if he could call her Hermy.

Hermione gave a squeaky agreement.

"I know I would have protested," Sirius sniffed. "If my name was the first four syllable word he'd said, it could be an accomplishment."

Hagrid introduced Hermy to Grawp,

"So does that mean we can start calling her-"

"No," Harry told Sirius flatly before he could even finish.

saying she was going to come out here as well and, Grawp no!

James nearly jumped from his chair in surprise, he hadn't intended to shout that so loud but he'd just been getting back to a place of normalcy in his mind as he adjusted to this situation, now Hagrid was scolding him!

Grawp's hand had shot out of nowhere and tried to seize Hermione, but Harry reacted a moment faster and pulled her back behind the tree as Grawps palm scraped against the bark but seized on air.

Lily gasped, watching Harry's arms tense at his side now like he was prepared to pull her away again.

Hagrid scolded he was being a bad boy, not to grab, while Hermione clung to Harry whimpering.

"Oh, he wouldn't have really hurt her!" Remus tried, and failed to say even as he'd gone a bit white in shock. "He might have just been trying to pick her up, out of curiosity-"

"And look how well that's worked out for Hagrid," Harry shuddered all over.

Then Hagrid let out his own yelp of pain, and Harry poked his head back out to see Grawp had swatted Hagrid away and gone back to his tree.

"Good to know of his attention span I suppose," James tried to say around a squeak, there was just no way he could find some fun in this one.

Hagrid stumped over to them holding his newly broken nose, saying that was enough for one day.

Some color finally started coming back to James' face, Lily was still rubbing at her chest, and the other three were still trying hard not to show they were shaking. A giant. This was a new level, even for Hagrid...

They began walking away, Harry and Hermione still struck dumb. Hagrid actually wanted them to come visit a giant in the Forbidden Forest and pointlessly teach him English?

"Now that's pushing it," Remus couldn't quite push into scolding as he was still shifting his weight in unease. "You heard Hagrid say he had full conversations with them, they can be spoken to as well as a Centaur if you give them half a chance, this one in particular just never seems to have been put into any type of situation like this."

Harry looked at him like he wasn't sure what to say to that. He'd put up with a lot of crazy things for Hagrid, and this one still felt like the worst.

Harry had never understood Hagrid's insistence the most killing things were lovable and harmless, but this was a new one fooling himself Grawp could mix with humans.

"That one is stretching it just a touch," Sirius agreed. "He'd be just fine spending his days in a far off proximity, but not unapproachable, if Hagrid shows we're not all bad." He couldn't quite put the right tone into place, he still wanted to rage at Hagrid for putting a giant into the Forbidden Forest! If the name hadn't been appropriate before, it was now!

Then Hagrid took them both by surprise by drawing his crossbow and fitting an arrow in.

"There's a giant in the forest," Lily enunciated clearly like they already would have forgotten. "I can't imagine something much scarier, and Hagrid hadn't pulled a weapon on him."

Even still, James was back to bouncing his leg with unease. He knew plenty of things Harry could expect in there, and it was good for Hagrid to be on guard, they seemed far enough away from Grawp this was necessary.

They waited in tense silence until a male voice told Hagrid he was no longer welcome here.

"Can the Centaurs do that?" James protested in further outrage, that was somehow even more offensive to him than the giant.

"By our laws, no," Remus said carefully. "The Forest is property of the school, so it's technically Hogwarts land...but the Centaurs may well recognize no such thing. It's rather a conflict that's never had to be brought up in our history, for we've never fought over the space."

"That Forest has been there since Hufflepuff sanctioned it back when the castle was being built," Sirius offered to Harry.

"The stories are unclear though, if the Centaurs were already in the area, or if the Hogwarts Founders created it and they claimed it," James sighed.

Lily was honestly impressed at their history lesson, and so apparently was Harry as he tried to keep focus on this and told them how interesting that was even as he kept looking worriedly at nothing. He didn't like this set up, Grawp not too far off, angry centaurs...

A whole group of centaurs had arrived, including one Harry recognized as Bane. Hagrid wearily greeted the foremost, Magorian, who gave no friendly greeting back, repeating Hagrid was no longer welcome here after he'd helped the traitor Firenze enter servitude.

Hagrid protested this, saying he was doing a favor for Dumbledore!

"There is no point arguing this," James said tensely. Even having Hagrid describe the fight before had made him uneasy, now Harry may well find himself in the middle of it.

"Hagrid won't really start something," Lily tried to say with conviction, "he'll get them out of there, he's been dealing with this for a while now at least."

The centaur said there was no coming back from such disgrace, and Hagrid had lost the friendship of the centaurs by helping him, he was no longer welcome in their forest.

Hagrid shot back he wasn't going to be hearing any of this 'their'. It wasn't their say who came and went here.

Magorian cut in no more than Hagrid's. He'd let him pass today because he was with his young,

"His young," James couldn't help but mutter that a second time, though they'd all long since noticed Hagrid seemed to have as unofficially adopted the kids as much as Molly had.

Bane interrupted they were not his, but students, profiting from the teachings of the traitor Firenze!

"I would not call his vague life's a mystery speech profiting," Sirius rolled his eyes.

"Not helping," Remus hissed at him.

Magorian did not waver, they did not hurt the innocent. Hagrid may pass today, but this was his final warning.

Hagrid shouted he wasn't going to let these mules tell him where he could and couldn't go.

They all began itching terribly in fear of this fight. It was probably easier not being there, but they could see both sides in light, and didn't care about either! They just wanted Harry to get out of there!

The centaurs turned to leave anyways, but Hagrid kept shouting after them he wasn't going to let them scare him off. Harry and Hermione put their hands on Hagrid's back to try and force him to move along, but then he glanced down in surprise like he hadn't even felt it.

"Bloody hell," James blinked in surprise. Not that they'd ever tried, but they'd have liked to think Hagrid would have at least registered the two!

He told them to calm down, they wouldn't really do anything, then he took off again as if nothing had happened.

Hermione uneasily kept pace, trying to say to Hagrid that if the centaurs weren't letting people come through, than the three of them wouldn't be much help to Grawp.

Hagrid brushed this off, repeating their own words they wouldn't hurt the innocent. Besides, they shouldn't let those centaurs push them around.

"I see where he's coming from," Sirius said genuinely, he knew he'd have a few things to say if a centaur had ever told them off for being caught in there.

"But while I admire Hagrid for not letting them push him around," James grudgingly agreed, "it wouldn't kill him not to insult them while he's at it!"

"A little avoidance can go a long way," Remus agreed, knowing Hagrid knew this place well enough he should be able to pass by Centaur heavy areas just like they could.

Harry watched all of them with a small smile of pride in place. As if he'd needed further evidence they weren't still fifteen, but here they were actually speaking of avoiding a real life fight.

Harry told Hermione nice try at her disappointment this hadn't made a dent in Hagrid.

They rejoined the daylight to see people pouring out of the stadium laughing and cheering,

James spluttered in surprise, he'd actually forgotten a game was going on!

"Well, I found something to cheer me up next time Ron's goal keeping is mentioned," Sirius groaned. "Teaching ABC's to a giant!"

and Hagrid told them to hurry along into that so they wouldn't be missed, then he went to his cabin. Harry and Hermione trudged back looking distinctly out of place with their numerous tiny cuts and twigs in their hair, but Hermione took no notice of this as she said she couldn't believe him!

"Oh I do," Lily sighed. In Hagrid's...inflated world, she really did see where he was coming from, but did he have to drag Harry into this one?

Harry tried to get her to calm down, but she wouldn't hear it. A giant in the Forest! He wanted them to teach English to it, assuming they could get past the murderous centaurs!

"I think the centaurs scare me more than the giant!" Remus shivered harder than ever to prove his point.

"That didn't make me feel better," Harry told him, a still rather distracted look in place as he had no clue why he agreed with him.

Harry tried to say they didn't have to do anything yet, and Umbridge might not-

Hermione cut him off to say of course she'd get rid of him, and after this who could blame her!

"I can!" They yelped in protest. It was very clear Harry wasn't the only one losing his temper this year if Hermione was going to be saying nonsense like that!

There was a pause in which Harry glared at her, and her eyes filled slowly with tears.

"At least she regretted it," James sighed, letting go of his anger the moment he read that. Hermione did care, she was just scared, they all were at this news.

She admitted she didn't mean that, but the rest of her words were cut off by singing.

Insert Gryffindor version of Weasley is Our King.

James paused with his head cocked to the side in confusion, his wild hair looking more flyaway than ever as he shook it and told them he hadn't read that wrong. Hardly daring to pretend to understand the mix up, he kept going in a slow, forced calm voice.

Hermione began miserably she wished they'd stop gloating, it was already bad enough, but then Harry whispered it wasn't the Slytherin's singing as the edited lyrics continued.

"No, way," Sirius whispered, his eyes now locked on James with nothing else going through his ears.

"They, used the lyrics," Remus spluttered, a grin spreading across his mouth more from surprise than actual pleasure hitting him yet.

James ignored them both, Lily and Harry were still sitting there with their mouths open in shock as he practically shouted the rest.

Hermione whispered no in surprise, Harry shouted yes in excitement, and Ron caught sight of both of them atop many people's shoulders and shouted about their win!

Lily squealed in triumph, clapping and bouncing in place as they all began laughing and cheering loudly. The damn broke, James hardly wanted to finish he was dancing around in so much excitement, but he also couldn't have stopped yelling the words in triumph no matter how hard he tried!

They beamed up at him as he passed. There was a scrum at the door of the castle and Ron's head got rather badly bumped on the lintel,

Sirius laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his seat and banged his own head on the table, and no one stopped to notice that either in their fusing excitement. They didn't have to keep worrying about Grawp right now, this was something so immensely good instead!

They waited until the large cheering crowd had stormed past before turning back to each other, their smiles fading a bit.

Harry said they'd tell him tomorrow.

"You are the best friend ever," Remus assured Harry, or at least tried to over the din. No one would want to be the one to tell all this to Ron in such a glorious moment.

Hermione agreed as they headed up to the party, but both stopped at the door and looked back, wondering if it was their imagination a bunch of birds shooting into the sky far off into the Forest, as if something had just tried to pull up their tree by its roots.

James hardly paid this any mind, the giant wasn't actually hurting anything in the forest yet, but this was wonderful!

"I can't believe you missed that!" Sirius shouted right in Harry's ear, and he hardly even noticed. "You, you actually missed the Quidditch Cup, and they won!"

"I'm sorry, okay," Harry raised his hands in defence even as he couldn't straighten up in his seat from his shoulders shaking too hard. "I know Ron'll make sure I hear every last thing!"

James suddenly didn't want to give the book up to Sirius. This was fantastic! So many bad things had happened this year, but he was actually hoping this was a pattern that was going to keep going, and with his luck Sirius was probably going to get to read about something happening to Umbridge finally. Surely Grawp was the worst thing to happen to Harry the rest of the year.

HPHPHPHP

*This is one of those spells I genuinely question, why? If you just want to transfigure the cup, then you're in the wrong class. If the goal is for the cup to sprout legs to bring you, like a sugar bowl or something, levitate it to you. This...is just so entirely random to be an actual spell being practiced in class!

#Harry Potter #fanfiction #The Life that Never LIved #Marauders #HP #OotP #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Lily Potter #Harry and James talk #reading the books

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saucy-sapphic · 4 years ago

Text

Only Have Eyes for You

Lana Winters x Reader

Ch. 1

Summary: Grey skies and butterflies were not how you expected your first day to begin. You try to shake of your first day jitters, but in a sea of faces a dazzling pair of honey brown eyes hold you captive.

A/n: This is set during the same time period as Asylum (1960s), so I will do my best to maintain some historical accuracy. This is the first series I have ever written, so pretty please be patient with me. I am thinking that it might be anywhere from 3-4 chapters, but we’ll see how it goes. Special thanks to @make--your--life--spectacular who sparked this idea and is always willing to proof read my work, you truly are a gem💖😘! I hope you all enjoy!

Word Count: 2.5K

Warnings: None

The soft sound of rain hitting your window eased you out of your slumber. Getting up and heading to the window you peer outside, seeing nothing but grey cover the skies above. You let out a slight groan, you had been looking forward to this day for so long, and seeing gloomy weather was not how you anticipated it to start. You make your way to your small kitchen to start boiling water for your tea. Heading back to your room, you pull on the blouse and skirt you had picked the night before. You assess yourself in the mirror, running a brush through your hair, making sure that each strand is in its place. Your mind wanders, playing out scenario after scenario of how the day may go. You are pulled from your thoughts when the high pitch whistle of the kettle blows. After pouring yourself a cup of tea and putting together a quick breakfast, you sit down sighing deeply. The earthy scent of green tea captivating your senses and calming your nerves. You let out a deep breath, quietly saying to yourself, “it’s going to be okay, it’s just first day jitters.”

After finishing your meal and cleaning up, you grab your bag, camera, and keys and head to the door. While heading down the stairs of your apartment building, you run through a mental checklist of the things you needed. After opening the front door, you release a small whine realizing you had forgotten an umbrella. Looking down at your watch, you determine that you do not have time to go back and grab one. Pulling your coat over your head you begin your trek to your new job. All the while, a couple of blocks down Lana Winters peers out her window taking in the April showers.

“Damn, it’s really coming down, Wendy,” Lana huffed as she stubbed out her cigarette.

“Don’t forget an umbrella then, honey,” Wendy replied, emerging from their shared bedroom. She smiled at Lana before saying, “come on, you have to get going. You don’t want to be late now do you?”

Lana gave her a soft smile before placing a quick kiss on her cheek and grabbing her belongings. As Lana drove to work, she noticed a woman walking briskly on the empty sidewalk, coat hiked up above her head attempting to shield herself from the rain. Driving past and parking her car in front of Gazette, Lana felt a small pang of guilt for not offering to help the woman. Walking into the building, she is greeted warmly by the secretary and the bustling noise of other journalists.

Finally reaching your destination, albeit slightly out of breath and damp, you take a second to compose yourself before walking in. After straightening your coat and taking a deep breath, you pull the doors open. The boisterous scene playing out before you causes your heart to thrum with excitement. Eyes wide and mouth slightly ajar, you scan the room taking in the men typing away, arguing over who gets to cover what story and paper after paper being printed with headlines for tomorrow’s news. You faintly hear someone clearing their throat and it breaks you from your spell. Snapping your mouth shut and quickly looking at the smirking woman sitting behind the desk in front of you.

“Uh, h-hi – umm… I mean h-hello,” you stutter out before taking a calming breath. “I’m sorry, can I start over?” you sigh out.

The woman nods at you in amusement.

“Hi, my name is Y/N Y/L/N. I’m the new photographer.”

“I know, honey. I could tell by the camera dangling from your neck,” she giggles out. “I’m Betty, I’m the secretary here,” she offers kindly. “I’ll let Johnny know that you’re here.”

You give her a smile and nod before looking back at the busyness that lies ahead. Anxiety and nerves filling you slowly.

“He’s on his way”, Betty states. “And sweetheart, relax. They’re all bark and no bite, trust me”, she adds smiling at you.

“Thank you,” you breathe out. You glance back up to see a man approaching you.

“There she is! The big hot shot herself!” he beams at you.

You feel your shoulders relax and a smile spreads across your face after seeing the familiar face. “God, Johnny, it’s so good to see you again!” you giggle out.

“You too kiddo,” Johnny replies before enveloping you in a big hug. Pulling back quickly he gives you a small frown. “You’re wet”, he says flatly.

“Yeah, well, it’s raining,” you say shrugging at him.

“You didn’t bring an umbrella?”

“Yeah, Johnny, I did. But I decided not to use it, I thought that maybe showing up on my first day like a wet dog would make a good impression on the boss man,” you tease.

He lets out a throaty laugh before saying, “always one to tease. Come on in kiddo, I’ll introduce you to everybody.”

As you both step into the newsroom Johnny clears his throat before booming out, “Hey, everyone, listen up!”

All motion stops and the room goes dead silent. You turn, looking to Johnny, somewhat in awe that the goofy guy you knew in college could command such a room. He gives you a small smirk before carrying on, “this is Y/N, she’s our new photographer for the Gazette. She just got back from doin’ a big project in New York, which means she’s the best in town,” he compliments.

A slight blush creeps its way onto your cheeks from not only his complement but also from having all the attention on you. Your eyes scan the room full of men, you had fought tooth and nail to be where you are despite having everyone tell you that a woman’s place was at home. Most of them look at you rather blankly, others offer kind smiles, and a couple look at you with a sly grin on their faces. But none of them hold your attention like the woman in the back corner of the room. Your eyes meet and she holds your gaze. You feel your heartbeat quicken and the blush deepen on your face. You promptly look away and listen to Johnny finish up his speech.

“And if any of these knuckleheads give you a hard time, Y/N, you come talk to me.”

You give him a nod and a small smile before he turns and clearly states, “now get back to work.”

The room immediately goes back to the organized chaos that it was when you had arrived. Your eyes search the room for the woman you had seen, but she seemed to have disappeared in the sea of journalists.

“Come on kid, let me show you to your office,” he exclaims.

“I get my own office?” you ask in awe.

“Well… no not exactly. You get a desk and closet that can be turned into a red room, you know for your photos and stuff,” he smirks.

“And you said I was the tease,” you reply with a roll of your eyes.

“The only person here who has an office is me, no exceptions. Not even for an old friend,” he says smiling at you. You stop at an empty desk and he nods his head towards it. “Here, it is kiddo. Home sweet home.”

“Fine, but if I don’t get my own office can you at least drop the nickname? We’re not in college anymore, Johnny, and your only four years older than me,” you whine out.

“Not a chance,” he says before turning to leave.

You groan and plop your things on your new desk unceremoniously. Sitting down, you close your eyes and take in a deep breath in an attempt to clear your head.

“Well that was an entrance,” a warm voice speaks.

Your eyes fly open and you see a woman from before, now next to you and leaning on your desk. You look up at her mouth agape, taking in her chestnut brown of her hair and the way a smile played and her perfectly painted red lips.

“He must really like you; cause John’s never made a speech like that about anyone before,” she says.

Your mouth is still agape, caught in the glow of the woman in front of you, you go to reply but no words come out. She smirks down at you, her eyes taking in every detail.

“The name’s Lana Winters, my ‘office’ is right there,” she adds while pointing to the desk next to yours.

Trying to gather your thoughts you stutter out, “h-hi, I’m Y/N. Uh, I guess you knew that though.” You laugh awkwardly struggling to ease whatever awkward tension there was between the two of you. Lana tilts her head and stares at your sitting form, and you see a playful glimmer in her eyes before she stands.

She rounds the corner of your desk and calls over her shoulder, “it’s nice to have another woman here.”

You let out a breath that you did not know you were holding as you see her walk away. The rest of the morning was far less exciting. A few more people introduced themselves to you while you set up your equipment. However, none of them were of interest to you, the only person you wanted to get to know was Lana. But every time you would glance in her direction, she was always too busy with one thing or another.

With lunch approaching, you tidy your desk and make your way across the street to the small café. You set your meal down and as you go to take a bite, a familiar voice stops you.

“Mind if I join you?” Lana asks.

You look up at her with wide eyes and shake your head.

She sits down and begins to eat her sandwich as you stare dumbfounded at her.

“Are you always this quiet?” she asks.

You go to shake your head, before stopping abruptly to say, “no, not usually.”

She hums before taking another bite and looking at you quizzically. “Do you plan on eating that or just holding it up for an hour?” she teases, pointing to your uneaten sandwich.

You look down at the sandwich your holding and inwardly groan at how awkward you were being. You take a bite, chewing slowly, and look back up at Lana. She giggles at you and you feel your heartbeat jump at the sound. “You know you don’t have to eat if you’re not hungry,” she offers.

“Oh, trust me, I’m always hungry,” you joke, letting loose for a second.

At this Lana lets out a full laugh. “Ahh, so she does speak,” she teases.

You look at her apologetically, “I’m sorry, you’re just so…” you stop yourself before the word beautiful could spill out of your mouth.

“So?” she asks curiously.

“Umm… so… confident,” you say instead. “You’re the only female reporter in town and by what it looked like, the hardest working one too. It’s somewhat intimidating,” you explain shyly.

Lana gives you a bright smile and nods, “you’re pretty intimidating too, sweetheart.” Hearing the term of endearment causes blush to bloom on your face.

You take another bite to hide your blush you ask, “how so?”

“Well, you’re the new hotshot photographer from New York City, I’d say that’s pretty intimidating.”

You giggle at her comment, which causes her smile to widen further. “I was just helping a friend with a project, it was nothing that big really,” you explain.

She playfully squints at you before questioning, “what paper was the project for?”

“The New York Times…” you quietly mumble out.

“See, I was right, you are a big hot shot from New York!” she smirks. “And you shouldn’t be shy about it either, it’s pretty impressive.”

You smile at her and give her a quiet thanks, the rest of the lunch is spent in comfortable silence. As the two of you make your way back to the Gazette, Lana turns to you and asks, “did you walk to work this morning?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“I saw you while I was driving by. If you want, I can give you a ride,” she offers.

“Lana, you don’t have to do that,” you tell her.

“Y/N, it’s no bother, I was coming from the same direction as you were.”

“Are you sure? I don’t want to cause you any trouble.”

“Trust me, it’s truly no trouble at all. I can even give you a ride today after work,” she beams.

“O-okay, thank you,” you respond entering the building before you.

As the rest of the day progresses the hustle and bustle start to die down, and by 4:30 everyone seems to have packed up.

While you work to convert the large closet Johnny designated as your darkroom Lana approaches you. “Hey, you ready to head out?”

You look up from your equipment and see Lana casually leaning her hip against the doorframe. The golden light from the sunset radiating around her and you cannot help but gaze at her body from head to toe. Too bewitched by her form, you barely register her question. The clearing of her throat snaps you out of your trance and you mumble out a quick apology. “Uh-h…umm… yeah, sorry. Let me just grab my bag and camera and I’ll be ready to go.”

You quickly rush out of the room and head straight for your desk, almost knocking into Lana on the way. Your eyes were trained on the ground trying your best to hide how the pink coloring your cheeks. Little did you know, Lana was behind you with a cocky smile playing at her lips while her eyes raked your body, staring at your hips longer than she would like to admit.

After gathering your things Lana shows you to her car. She starts it and the two of you sit in awkward silence for a few minutes. Lana glances at you before asking, “do you mind if I turn on the radio?”

You release the breath you had been holding and reply, “no, not at all.”

As the radio comes to life, a familiar tune causes your shoulders to relax and a smile to flourish on your face. Lana notices the subtle change and lets out a relaxed giggle. “I Only Have Eyes for You is one of my favorite songs,” she says.

You turn to face her, the smile on your face growing wider. “Mine too,” you reply as you begin to hum along to the song causing Lana’s smile to widen. As you reach your apartment the song slowly starts to fade out. Turning to Lana you say, “thank you again, you really don’t have to do all of this for me.”

Lana giggles out, “really it’s no problem at all. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

You cannot help but smile as you leave her car. Walking up the steps to your building you turn to see Lana watching you intently, offering a flirtatious wave as you make your way to the door. After stepping through the threshold, you give Lana a wave goodbye and she gives you a wink back. You feel your heart skip a beat as you go to close the door. Leaning against the now-closed door, you let out a sigh mumbling to yourself, “God, I’m in trouble.”

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#lana winters #lana winters x reader #sarah paulson #sarah paulson x reader #ahs fanfic #ahs asylum

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bubbyleh · 4 years ago

Text

like real people do

It's not often that Dr. Bubby finds himself at a loss for knowledge.

As the perfect scientist, he has basically all the information he would ever need inside of Black Mesa. He knew the purpose of every lab, all the equations they used, a complete layout of the Black Mesa facility... It had all been programmed into his mind sometime during his development, though files from that time were something Bubby was explicitly denied access to.

So, for the first few years of his life, Bubby was incredibly well-versed in all things Black Mesa. As time went on, he picked up things about the outside world. At first it was small things, like a song or a location. But completely by chance, a scientist turned the corner from the break room too fast and ran directly into Bubby, spilling his soda all over him.

"What the hell!?" Bubby had fumed, staring down as his drenched shirt. "Watch where you're going!"

"Oh, goodness! I do apologize for that!" the other scientist stammered. "Let me go get you some napkins!"

Looking up, Bubby was struck by the man before him. He was nowhere near as tall as Bubby (who was?), but there was obvious muscle under his lab coat, and those eyes... they looked so kind. Though he didn't realize it at the time, Bubby would look back and realize the thing he felt was attraction.

He was back in the break room before Bubby could react, but true to his word, he did bring napkins with him on his return.

That was how Bubby met Dr. Coomer.

Coomer had offered to front the quarter Bubby would need for the washing machine in the Black Mesa dorms, which Bubby took as an opportunity to have all of his clothes laundered at no cost to himself. Coomer had laughed at this, and Bubby couldn't explain the surging feeling in his chest when he did. He also couldn't explain why he kept talking to Coomer, regaling him with stories that made him seem intelligent! Bubby sat on one of the unused washing machines, which Coomer was leaning onto. They only realized the passing time when the machine beeped, signalling that Bubby’s clothes were clean.

At that point, Bubby's heart had dropped. He shoved his clothes into a dryer, started it, and left with only a flimsy excuse.

They weren't happy about that one. But Coomer and Bubby kept finding excuses to skip out on work to hang with each other, so eventually they were made lab partners.

Coomer would never hesitate to share information about the surface with Bubby. During their early mornings, while they drank their coffee, Coomer would recite verbatim (as best Bubby could tell) the happenings in his favorite movies and television shows. He liked following along to the dramas Coomer would tell him about, to the point where he could hold his own in a discussion without ever having seen an episode.

It was, after all, its own form of knowledge. And like all knowledge, Bubby reveled in it.

Which is why, fifty-some odd years later, Bubby is completely out of his depth.

Bubby’s been out—free, he’s been free—for a week. Sure, he wasn’t expecting his first experience in the real world to be at Chuck E. Cheese’s, but he wasn’t complaining. Because there was something so normal about eating subpar pizza at your friend’s birthday party, Bubby was fine enough that it wasn’t “special” in any way.

But sitting across from Dr. Coomer, Bubby realized something.

They’d been together for the better part of four decades, and they had never even been on a real date before.

Which Bubby thinks is justified, all things considered! It’s not like he was allowed to leave Black Mesa property, and underground research facilities aren’t exactly known for their nice eateries. What were they supposed to do, just ask the administration if their super secret lab-grown power man could leave for a night only because he wanted to have dinner somewhere?! That would just be asking for the tube.

It’s not like they didn’t make do, though! There had been quite a few occasions where, during a late night, Coomer had snuck down a bottle of wine for the two of them to share. Bubby would push down the stinging shame he felt every time, because Coomer deserved someone he could go out with. But for some unimaginable reason, he had chosen Bubby.

So, a week after their escape from Black Mesa, Bubby does research. He finds as much media as he can about dates, mostly coming back with romcoms. He read articles and blogs online about how to have the perfect first date. A lot of these guidelines seem to make assumptions about how well people on dates knew each other. But, well, if it’s what you’re supposed to do…

It takes about two days of doing nothing but binging romcoms, but eventually Bubby decides that his notes are satisfactory. He’s managed to narrow down what he calls the Expected Questions, or, the questions that are apparently required on a date. And Coomer has to know about them, because, hello? He’s been through this all before. The man’s been married before, Jesus.

And then there’s Bubby. He’s gonna mess this all up, isn’t he?

The thought of that almost makes him snap his note-taking pencil.

Around hour forty-three, Coomer pops his head into the room Bubby has tentatively claimed as his study (he’s not used to being able to claim rooms, let alone ones as frivolous as a study). He looks worried.

“Bubby, dear,” Coomer says, his tone wavering a little. “I’m all for the advancement of scientific research, or whatever it is you’re doing.” Right. Coomer can’t know what’s going on in here. “But, perhaps you would like to come down and eat? It’s almost time for lunch.”

Oh. Lunch. And food in general. That thing people need to eat in order to live. Bubby hasn’t eaten since around hour thirty-one, when he snuck some yogurt from their kitchen. Yeah, he could eat.

“Uh, okay. Sure,” Bubby stands, trying to ignore the dizzy feeling. He’s not used to having so much free time, apparently, since he’s forgetting to eat.

Which, hey, another thing. It seems a little stupid, but Bubby thinks their whole relationship is going in the wrong order. Like, they haven’t even been on an actual first date yet, but they’re already living together? But in another sense, they’ve been together for thirty-six years, and they’re only now moving in with each other? In all the romcoms Bubby just watched, there wasn’t anything remotely close to that.

So maybe they’re doomed already?

It’s something Bubby thinks about while he eats the wonderful grilled cheese that Coomer prepared for him. Seeing the way that Coomer looks at him, though, smiling brighter than the sun felt the first time Bubby ever stepped foot outside… Well, Bubby can’t help but want to try anyway.

♡♡♡♡♡

It takes three more days for Bubby to work up the courage to actually ask Coomer to go out. Which is the dumbest thing ever, but hey! This is a big deal for him!

They’re spread out on the couch watching Rocky II, which was Coomer’s suggestion. Bubby is honestly sick of watching movies, but he’s not about to admit to what he was getting up to during his over forty-hour research binge. Besides, he gets to lay down in Coomer’s lap, which is nice.

This is another example of their relationship being completely out of order, but Bubby chooses not to think about it.

“You know what I was thinking?” Bubby asks during a lull in the action.

Coomer gives him a wry smile. “When aren’t you thinking, professor? I swear, that head of yours must go a mile a minute.”

“Doctor,” Bubby corrects automatically. “But really.”

“Okay then, Professor Bubby,” Coomer chuckles to himself. “What were you thinking?”

“I don’t know who Professor Bubby is, but Doctor Bubby was thinking we should go out to dinner sometime. Like somewhere fancy.”

Coomer hums. “You know, I was thinking the same thing. I've always wished we could go someplace nice together.”

"Well, they do say great minds think alike," Bubby smirks.

"But fools rarely differ," Coomer presses a kiss to Bubby's forehead. "You make me feel like a lovesick fool, did you know that?"

Oh!

"You old sap!" Bubby laughs at Coomer. But he pulls him down to kiss him anyway.

♡♡♡♡♡

Coomer catches Bubby staring at himself in the mirror just before they head out. It's the suit, really. It made sense to buy, after all, going to an upscale restaurant kind of requires one. But actually wearing it, is…

It's jarring. It's like everything he never thought he'd be.

"Are you alright, Bubby?" Coomer asks him. "You know I don't care if you dress nice tonight. You could wear one of your turtlenecks if you'd like."

Bubby shakes his head. "Harold, I absolutely love this suit."

♡♡♡♡♡

Bubby does certain things to prepare for their date. Nothing too drastic, no. He's not going to have, like, Tommy or someone feed him lines from an earpiece or anything like that. No, all Bubby does is script out everything he's going to say for the entire date. God, it's such a simple and ordinary thing to do! Okay!?

So they sit across from one another, at a candlelit table next to a window. It's romantic, more romantic than anything they ever did at Black Mesa. Which isn't saying much, but truly, Bubby can't complain.

"This is a fine establishment, Harold," Bubby notes, keeping on script. "How did you find this place?"

"Well, you see, my dear Bubby," Coomer starts but god, the word "dear" alone is making Bubby want to burn the whole restaurant down as a symbol for his love. "I used the internet! It’s quite a useful tool, don't you think?"

Ah, a question! Luckily, Bubby has accounted for just this situation, and the tactic is not something he’s unfamiliar with. “I’ve found it to be helpful, yes.”

The good old agree card. Works every time.

But! Bubby needs to get back on track. This is a very important date, and Bubby can’t just let himself forget that! Time for the most basic of lines.

“So, Harold,” Bubby finds himself saying after they’ve ordered. “How was your day?”

Nice. Good. Perfect. Amazingly spectacular.

Coomer laughs. “We were both home all day, Bubby. You tell me!”

Right shit damn it a garbage fire.

“Fuck,” Bubby says before he can stop himself. And when he realizes that he let that slip, he lets his head fall into his hands and groans. “I’m fucking this all up, aren’t I?”

“Er, Bubby dear, are you alright?” Bubby feels Coomer grab onto one of his arms. “Is… is this too much for you? Drat, I knew we should have worked up to this. We could go home, if you’d like.”

Bubby’s head shoots up. “No!” he says, forcing the word out as fast as he can. He takes a deep breath, then grabs Coomer’s hand. “No, I’m fine. I want to be here.”

“Then what is it?” Coomer asks, and damn it, he’s not supposed to be worried! Nobody is supposed to be worried for Bubby, not like this! He’s used to the medical kind of worry, where the other party’s concern was more for their career than Bubby himself, always talking about him like he couldn’t hear, ignoring his presence except for when they needed him. But Coomer…

Coomer was never like that. Even when he found out about the tube, and the prototypes, and the medical evals and everything… Coomer still loved him. Which meant the world to Bubby, who, for his whole life, thought himself unlovable. And when Coomer looked at him, he didn’t see something immoral that shouldn’t exist, or something that needs to succeed, lest it be cast out like the others, he just saw Bubby.

Bubby loves him. And he thinks he can afford to be a little less than a genius around Coomer.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” Bubby admits, and damn it, why is the world suddenly blurry? He’s wearing his glasses and-

Oh.

Bubby realizes that he’s crying.

“Sorry, fuck,” Bubby chokes back a sob. Coomer squeezes his hand. He’s talking through his other hand, which is covering his entire lower face. “I’m not… Shit, I didn’t think it would go like this. I don’t know how to do a… date. I wasn’t supposed to do stuff like that, so they never programmed it into my head but… I just want to do normal person things like go on dates with you.”

“Normal?” Coomer remarks, and Bubby can see he’s trying very hard not to laugh.

“Oh no, go ahead,” Bubby still manages to be snarky even while he’s breaking down. “Please make fun of me while I’m crying and being emotionally honest. It really helps.”

“Sorry, sorry!” Coomer at least has the decency to look apologetic. He reaches to hold Bubby’s other hand as well, which he is so graciously allowed. “It’s just… did you think I would be with you if I wanted normal?”

Bubby is taken aback.

Huh.

“I… suppose you’re right,” Bubby admits, and he can feel the worst of his feelings going away. It feels a little empty now, without it. “I do still want to try this date, though.”

The look Coomer gives Bubby is so wholesome and accepting that Bubby believes for a moment that he’s died and this is the face of an angel. It’s so powerful that he actually manages to forget, if heaven and hell are real, then he definitely isn’t going to heaven.

Coomer is happy to immediately launch into explanation mode. “Well, first things first, for a date, you should begin by talking.”

Bubby can’t help but smile at the man he loves. “Talking,” he repeats.

“Yes,” Coomer nods at him. “Tell me, Bubby. What do you want to talk about tonight?”

♡♡♡♡♡

It’s in the parking lot after their meal that Bubby comes to his conclusion about dating.

“I don’t see what the big deal about that was!” he rants as he and Coomer get into the car. “We could have done that at home! All the movies and stuff hyped it up.”

Coomer, thankfully, ignores his comment about movies. “Well maybe next time, we can just make some good food at home.”

Bubby rolls his eyes. “And who is going to make all that food? I don’t remember you being a chef, Harold.”

Coomer just beams at him. “We’ll order some takeout! What do you think? Perhaps next time we will order some Chinese food!”

This is the man he’s in love with, and Bubby smiles to himself. Chinese food sounds nice.

#hlvrai #half life vr but the ai is self aware #dr coomer #dr bubby #hlvrai boomer #my writing #like real people do

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 4 years ago

Text

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 10: Premonitions]

Several weeks and depressive episodes later...I’m BACK! 😃

And guess what: we’re officially approximately halfway done with BYCNL! (There will probably be nineteen chapters total.)

The Queen/BoRhap fandom is feeling extra quiet lately, so if you’re still out there I’d LOVE it if you dropped me a comment/message/etc to let me know! I appreciate you all so much and hope you are finding things that bring you happiness, fulfillment, and peace. 💜

Chapter summary: Roger makes a purchase, Freddie makes a friend, Y/N makes an unsettling discovery, John makes a bewildering request.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, babies (but not your babies...or are they?!).

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii @loveandbeloved29 @killer-queen-xo @maggieroseevans @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark @im-an-adult-ish @queenlover05 @someforeigntragedy @imtheinvisiblequeen @joemazzmatazz @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @namelesslosers @inthegardensofourminds @deacyblues @youngpastafanmug @sleepretreat @hardyshoe @bramblesforbreakfast @sevenseasofcats @tensecondvacation @bookandband @queen-crue @jennyggggrrr @madeinheavxn @whatgoeson-itslate @brianssixpence @simonedk @herewegoagainniall @stardust-killer-queen

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! 😊

“Roger, this is too much.” Your sandals click on the marble tile floor, a sandy gold like the beaches of Ostia. You peer up at the winding staircase, the Tudor-style diamond windows, the chandelier dripping with crystals. “This is way, way, way too much.”

“There’s no such thing as too much,” he parries merrily. “And look!” He pulls back an armful of sheer white curtains that had obscured the backyard. “The pool has a slide!”

You smile because you have to; he’s so elated, so young. “Roger, baby, unless you’re planning to acquire a literal harem of women we will never have a use for six bedrooms.”

“Sure we will!” He counts on his rugged fingers. “There’s one for us, and one can be the guest bedroom for when my mother or your parents visit, and then there’s one for if Chrissie ever wises up and leaves that wanker Brian and requires a place to stay between husbands, and one for when John needs an escape from that mind-numbing domestic purgatory of his, and one for Freddie’s overflow cats...” Roger trails off. He’s lost track.

“That still leaves one unnecessary bedroom.”

He grins. “One for Roger Junior.”

“Oh my god.”

“It’s a wonderful home for children,” the real estate agent chimes, flitting around rearranging pillows and dusting off tabletops. “Plenty of space to spread out in, lots of bedrooms, fenced-in yard, security gate, spectacular school district...and such a lovely garden to explore! Does your wife garden?” she asks Roger.

“Girlfriend,” he corrects. “And no, she’s thoroughly useless in the agricultural department.”

You laugh and shove him away. “I have other talents.”

“You certainly do.” He growls as he grips your waist, inhales you, bites playfully down your neck and collarbones. The real estate agent raises her eyebrows, but politely averts her gaze and pretends to check if an artificial fern needs watering.

It’s the downturn of August, 1976. The sun is glaring and hot and spills in through the windows, setting the metallic flecks in the marble floor alight. It makes you think of the Yellow Brick Road, of fantasies built piece by piece into truth. John and Veronica bought a house in Putney, Brian and Chrissie a far larger one in Chelsea, Freddie and Mary a posh flat in West Kensington. Roger has his heart set on nothing less than a Surrey mansion. On the rare occasion that Queen has been home since the start of the A Night At The Opera Tour, you and Roger stay in his shabby—dodgy, you remind yourself—old apartment and pack boxes late into the evening, giggling over all the random and ancient relics you stumble across, sticks of Freddie’s eyeliner and dust bunnies tangled in strands of Brian’s spiraled hair, crumpled up spheres of paper with excerpts of songs scrawled on them, fossilized crusts of grilled cheese sandwiches beneath the couch. Queen is preparing for a brief UK tour at the start of September, including a free concert in Hyde Park organized by entrepreneur Richard Branson. Then it’ll be back to the studio to record their next album, a highly anticipated album, an album that will make millions regardless of what’s on it; and what’s on it, in your humble and musically unlearned opinion, is pretty goddamn great.

“Seriously,” Roger prompts, quietly now. “Do you like it?”

“Of course I like it. I love it. I just don’t need it.”

He grins. “I know you don’t need it. But I do.”

“That list of yours is getting awfully long.”

“You have no idea. We haven’t even started on the exotic pet collection yet.”

“There’s a marvelous koi pond out in the backyard,” the real estate agent says. “You could add turtles, and frogs, and all different types of fish. I can recommend sturgeon, they have such an alluring primeval sort of look to them, and the shimmer on shubunkins is just delightful...”

“You heard the lady.” Rog stretches his right hand like he does when his arm bothers him, when the bone that will never fully heal aches like something ancient and irredeemable, like hunger, like unrequited love: fingertips sprayed outwards, then folded into his palm, then outwards again.

“Rog...I don’t know.”

“Come on, baby! It has everything. Roman-style master bath. Bedrooms with mirrors on the ceiling. Space for my own studio. Land. Enormous refrigerators. You’ll have abundant room for John’s drawings.”

“Ohhh, now that’s true.” John is always adding to your collection, slipping you sketches as the boys scurry around getting ready before a show, during songwriting sessions that last long after midnight, when the band and its expanding circle of friends and family gather for birthdays and holidays. You don’t ask him about You’re My Best Friend, or, come to think of it, any of his other songs. You don’t ask him how he feels about his new life as a husband and father. And in return, John doesn’t ask whether you’re ever going to marry Roger, if you even want to, if you worry about what the future holds. It’s a loaded peace, but a comfortable one. A safe one.

“It doesn’t bother you, does it?” Roger asks suddenly. “The girlfriend thing. The not-wife thing.”

“No,” you reply, smiling. “Of course not.” Roger isn’t someone who pens love letters, recites all the reasons why he cannot live without you, sings love songs. He rarely speaks of love at all. Roger is as he always is: all action, all energy, eyes forever looking forward. But he does love you; you’re sure he does. Everything he does bleeds with love.

“Good. Because there’s no one I’d rather acquire a harem and zoological park with.”

“Okay,” you relent. “But no lions or tigers or bears. I’m quite attached to your limbs, and you’ve come close enough to ruining them already.”

“Deal.” He taps the Canon that hangs from your shoulder by its strap. “We should document this momentous juncture. One day we can pull out the photo album and show Roger Junior. ‘Hey look kid, this was the day Mum and Dad bought the house you were conceived in.’”

You laugh, almost positive that Roger isn’t serious. “I can guarantee you that precisely zero percent of children would ever want to hear that.” Nevertheless, you ready the camera and hold it as far away as you can, the lens aimed towards you.

“Don’t forget to smile!” Roger trills in his high, victorious voice as he rests his chin in the dip of your collarbone.

You snap the photo. The flash bursts through the kitchen of the Surrey mansion, blinding you both. The artificial bluish light dissipates like smoke.

~~~~~~~~~~

His name is Laszlo, and he’s one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever seen...even when he’s not especially well-mannered.

Currently, Laszlo—an Eastern European moniker from somewhere in his mother’s comically vast family tree—is whimpering and squirming against Veronica’s chest as she pats his tiny back and sighs wearily. Veronica, ever the good Polish Catholic wife, is already pregnant again. Chrissie smirks triumphantly and puffs on a cigarette, her rings glimmering on her left hand, her dress violet and new and very expensive. Brian is lost in some deep intellectual conversation with Richard Branson, gesturing with his long nimble hands and nodding empathetically, his dark curls rustling in the breeze like the lithe branches of a willow tree.

“Thank god you’re here,” John calls as you and Roger approach. “Freddie is about to get this concert cancelled.”

“I’m about to make this concert fabulous, darling,” Freddie objects. “We need pyrotechnics, we need sparklers and explosions and fireworks!”

Mr. Branson shakes his head. “Can’t do it, Fred. The embers could travel and set the trees on fire.”

Freddie groans. “Tell him, Roger!”

Roger shrugs, grinning, resting his elbow on John’s shoulder. “I don’t know, maybe we shouldn’t burn down Hyde Park.”

“You’ll be under a huge orange canopy, right over there.” Mr. Branson motions with a sweep of his arm. “You can’t do anything aerial. Flashing lights, sure. Fog, sure. But no fire. No explosions. Oh, and there’s technically a noise ordinance, but we’re working out a deal so the city won’t enforce it on the day of the show.”

“Orange?!” Freddie squeals.

“How will the acoustics be in a tent?” Brian asks, troubled.

John smiles mischievously. “Yes, how dreadful if no one could hear the extraneous guitar solos.”

“I have a gong, Rich,” Roger says. “Everyone will be able to hear my gong, right?”

“Your gong?” Freddie whines. “What about my voice?!”

“I miss stadiums,” Roger grumbles. You exchange a knowing glance with Mary and Chris and Veronica, who is imploring Laszlo to take a bottle. Our boys are difficult, aren’t they?

“The acoustics will be fine,” Mr. Branson snaps. “The tent color will be fine. Everything will be fine. You don’t need any fucking fireworks. Please for the love of god just tell me what kind of sandwiches you want.”

“That’ll be an ordeal as well,” Chrissie quips, and you all laugh; even Laszlo perks up, stops wriggling, glimpses around the open green space with curious greyish eyes like John’s.

Some teenage employee carrying a tangle of cables trots over, sweat dripping down his flushed freckled cheeks. “Mr. Branson? There’s someone from the city here to see you.”

Richard Branson smacks his forehead. “Jesus christ. Okay, I’ll be right there. Hey, Steve, hey, have you seen Dom? Go find Dom and tell her to come over here, okay? Thanks.”

The teenage employee nods and disappears into a sea of bustling people ferrying equipment, fliers, chairs, messages.

“I’m so sorry about this,” Mr. Branson says. “These city bastards are out to crucify me. You’d think they’d be a little more grateful that Queen of all bands is willing to put on a free concert in their backyard, but alas. Hey, Dom, over here!”

He waves to a petite young woman with a glossy shock of black hair and olive Mediterranean skin. She’s wearing all yellow: shorts patterned with daffodils, a tank top the color of butter, a headband like a sunbeam. One of her trim arms is cradling a notebook; the other reaches out so she can shake hands with everyone. The gesture is courteous but somewhat unnatural.

“This,” Mr. Branson begins, “is my personal assistant Dominique. She’s wonderful, she’ll listen to all your pretentious tales of woe and do it with a smile, because she’s a true professional. Better yet, she’s going to ask you the tedious questions I was supposed to so you don’t have to wait for me to finish sparring with the city council. Okay? Okay. Have fun. I’ll be back.”

“It’s a pleasure,” Dom says placidly in a heavy French accent. So that’s why her handshake was off somehow, stilted and weak; the French usually kiss as a greeting. You choke back a snort as you imagine Veronica’s reaction to that. Mr. Branson stalks away muttering about litigious twats.

“Oh, aren’t you just darling!” Freddie circles Dom, admiring her outfit, her hair, her gold hoop earrings. He wafts his cigarette around flamboyantly, completely forgetting to smoke it. “The French are so tasteful, aren’t they? You simply must connect me with your stylist.”

“I would be happy to, Mr. Mercury. But regrettably, I am my own stylist.”

“Ahh!” Freddie exhales, enamored. Mary lifts Laszlo from Veronica’s tired arms and cradles him, tickles his nose, beams down into his fresh and inquisitive face.

Dom pulls a pen from her shirt pocket. “May I ask your sandwich preferences for the day of the show?”

She immediately receives four very different answers, and she raises an eyebrow, her pen hovering over the lined paper of her notebook.

“I’m so sorry about them,” Chrissie says, and Dom chuckles civilly.

“Ham and cheddar,” Freddie tells her, synthesizing the responses. “Bacon, fried fish, steak and onion jam...and something for Brian. Cucumber maybe. Could we get some cucumber sandwiches, dear?”

“You’re a vegetarian?” Dom asks Brian, jotting down notes.

“He’s morally superior to us in every way,” John sighs dreamily, and Rog and Freddie cackle.

“I’m not a strict vegetarian,” Bri clarifies. “But for the sake of the animals and the planet, I try to limit meat when I can.”

Roger adds: “And I order twice as much of it, just to spite him.”

Dominique leads Queen around the portion of Hyde Park where the concert will be held, runs through the itinerary, fields a litany of questions and complaints. And you decide that you like Dom; she’s professional and reserved, yes, but she’s also patient with Freddie, smiles at his jokes, compliments his black-and-yellow striped shirt (“We match, and you remind me of a...oh, what’s the word in English? That bug...it flies around buzzing...buzz buzz...a bee!”), asks him what he’s planning to wear to the show. She assuages Brian, listens to John, takes the time to chat with the women about children, makeup, homes, what it’s like to be in love with rock stars. But Dom mostly ignores Roger, dodges his grins, remains staunchly undazzled. And that would worry you—because Roger loves the chase, you know that firsthand—if he hadn’t already taught you how to trust him, how addictively flawless and exhilarating life with Roger Taylor could be.

When Laszlo begins to fuss in Mary’s grasp, you take your turn holding him; and he blinks up at you with eyes that are wide and clear and seeking, and you find yourself feeling like you always do when you’re around your godson: like maybe you have a stronger opinion about wanting children than you thought you did, like you can’t stop envisioning a baby with Roger’s eyes instead of John’s.

That evening—after leaving Hyde Park, after dinner, after drinks mixed out by the koi pond—as you doze in a sweltering bubble bath and steam curls through the air, you hear Roger’s voice floating from the kitchen downstairs. You rise out of the tub, towel yourself off, slip into a white silk robe as rivulets of bathwater slink down the back of your neck. You tread gingerly towards the kitchen, keep silent so you can hear, lurk in the shadows of the hallway with your palms pressed flat against the wallpaper.

“Hello, is Dominique Beyrand in?” Roger says into the kitchen phone. “I’ve been trying to track her down. Sure, I’ll wait. Thanks.” After a pause, he continues. “Hi, Dom! It’s Roger Taylor, from Queen. The irritating blond one. I was just wondering if you’d happened to stumble across my wallet since this afternoon, I seem to have misplaced it. Oh, you haven’t? Bloody hell. Well, thank you for taking my call. Aw, that’s so kind of you, I’m sure I’ll locate it eventually. I’ve got a terrible habit of losing things. Okay, thanks so much. Goodnight to you too. See you soon. Cheers.” He hangs the phone up as you step into the kitchen. His smile is bright and innocuous. “Hey, baby!”

“Who was that?” Your tone is similarly casual; or so you hope.

“Just Richard Branson’s assistant. That French woman Dominique. I can’t find my wallet and thought I might have left it at Hyde Park, but no dice. Oh well.”

Roger begins rummaging through the drawer full of business cards and address books, tapping his foot, humming to himself. And surely he isn’t trying to avoid my eyes. Your gaze skates over the marble countertop. There, by the refrigerator, just a few feet—a meter, you correct yourself to be properly British—from where Roger stands, is his black leather wallet.

“It’s right there, Rog,” you say, pointing. And now your voice isn’t so nonchalant.

Roger spins to check. “Oh my god, I completely missed it!” He snatches up the wallet with a celebratory chuckle. “I’m such a twit sometimes. You’re too fucking smart, you know that? You’re making me look bad.”

He rushes to you, takes your left hand, bites your knuckles lightly like he did outside Massachusetts General Hospital under dawn skies over two years ago. And then Roger whispers to you, nuzzling your neck scented with lavender soap and doubt.

“Let’s go to bed.”

~~~~~~~~~~

There’s a knock at the door. John is standing on the front porch of the Surrey house with his hands in his pockets and a vague sort of smile on his face. He’s in a black suit.

“Get ready,” he says. “Do your hair, throw on some earrings. Maybe the pearls Roger got you last Christmas. We’re going shopping.”

“Why do I need to look fancy to go shopping?”

John shrugs, feigning indifference; but the puckish glint in his eyes gives him away. Yet there’s something a little sad and weighty in them too, isn’t there?

Your own eyes narrow. “I’m onto you, bassist.”

He laughs as you tug teasingly at a lock of his downy hair. “You always are.”

John takes you to a dress shop on Bond Street where the corsets trickle with gemstones and the designers all have Italian names: Armani, Prada, Abate, Cerruti, Valentino, Biagiotti. He sinks into a leather chair just outside the fitting room and lights a cigarette, takes a long drag, points to you with the lit end.

“Go ahead. Go wild. It’s a blank check.”

“Really?!” You glance around the shop, your pulse racing. “But I don’t know the occasion. I don’t want to be underdressed or overdressed or whatever. Although I don’t think I’ve ever been overdressed in my life.”

“Yes, you can’t seem to shake those pragmatic service industry roots, can you?” Another drag. “You need a dress and matching shoes. Formal, but not too formal. Think a record company party. Elegant but exciting. Lots of sparkle. Slightly slutty, if you’re so inclined.”

“This is an unconventional bonding activity,” you tell John, trying to conceal your nerves.

“Love, this isn’t something you can fail at,” he says, gently now. “You’re going to look amazing no matter what. So just have fun with it. This isn’t a test. This is one of those adventures you’re always searching for.”

I can promise you that your life will never feel like a cage; that’s what Roger once told you. But maybe you don’t always want to be quite so free, so unmoored. “Okay. But you have to swear to give honest opinions. I don’t want to show up looking like a wombat because you were too nice to say anything.”

John just chuckles to himself, shakes his head, devours cigarette after cigarette.

With the assistance of one of the shop employees, you climb into a pastel pink dress with a full ruffled skirt, an emerald green dress with an empire waist and loose sheer sleeves, a shimmering metallic silvery dress with a form-fitting silhouette. John nods at all of them, wholeheartedly approves, defers to your judgment. He periodically consults his wristwatch as he taps his cigarettes on the rim of an ashtray, and deflects your questions when you ask him why. Then you step out of the fitting room—balanced on gold heels—in a white dress with a hem that hits just above your knees, a halter neckline, a slim keyhole down the center of your chest; and John’s cigarette tumbles out of his fingers.

“That’s the one,” he breathes, soaking it in. Then he asks the employee to cut off all the tags and whips out his wallet. “Toss your old clothes and shoes in a bag. We gotta catch a cab.”

“We’re going straight to the party?”

“We certainly are.”

“What the hell kind of ridiculously lame party starts at 3 p.m.?”

John smirks craftily. “The kind of party we’re going to. Let’s rock and roll, Florence Nightingale.”

John gives the taxi driver an address and you sail through the streets of London, splashing through shallow evaporating puddles, squinting when sunlight ricochets glaringly off the slick pavement. The taxi rolls to a stop outside of a grand stone building with columns and intricate carvings of leaves and flowers. The sign outside reads: Kensington and Chelsea Register Office.

You turn to John. “Who’s getting married?!”

He just smiles, a deep harbor of secrets.

“It’s Fred and Mary, right? Jesus christ, John, you can’t wear white to someone else’s wedding, Mary’s going to strangle me—”

“It’s not Mary’s wedding.”

Slowly, your jaw falls open. “No,” you whisper in disbelief.

John darts out of the taxi, jogs around to your side, and opens the door for you. You gape up at him senselessly, struggling to remember how to form sentences.

“John...this...this is some bizarre and elaborate joke, right?”

“Nope.” He offers his hand, helps you out of the taxi, leads you up the front steps of the Register Office. Inside, everyone is waiting: Freddie and Mary, Brian and Chrissie, Veronica with babbling baby Laszlo, Roger’s mother and sister...and Roger, of course, in his best black suit and bleached blond hair and trademark guaranteed-to-dazzle (unless of course you’re Dominique Beyrand) grin. He flies to you and takes your hands in his.

“You look incredible, baby.”

“Roger, what’s going on...?”

“Don’t freak out,” he commands, and instantly your panic vanishes. There’s a pink rose pinned to his lapel. “I know we don’t feel like we need to get married. I know we agree it doesn’t mean anything.” Is that still true? “So don’t think that this is about trying to trap you or control you or bullshit white picket fences or anything. And of course you can say no, I won’t be mad, no one will hold that against you, we can find some other reason to party. But the simple facts are that I’m a British national with a mansion and a plethora of perpetual royalties and you’re an American here on a work visa, and the law gets a bit thorny in this situation. And I want to make sure you’re taken care of if something happens to me. That you can carry out my wishes. That you can stay here with the band as long as you want to. So, I’ve got your passport and birth certificate and everything else we need...and some overly-enthusiastic witnesses. Are you cool with signing a piece of paper today?”

“Of course she bloody well is!” Freddie exclaims, and everyone laughs. Mary is carrying a basket full of champagne flutes, Chrissie several bottles of pink champagne, Roger’s sister a tub of ice. Brian has been entrusted to chronicle the event with your Canon. Veronica is more giddy than you’ve ever seen her, even more animated than she was at her own wedding. Well, I suppose she doesn’t have to worry about any illicit pregnancies or condemnatory great aunts this time around.

“Okay,” you tell Roger. And you wish you weren’t beaming so broadly your cheeks ache, because it feels a little pathetic to be this happy about an admittedly meaningless wedding. But it does make you happy, your general aversion towards conventionality be damned.

You sign papers and you toast glasses and you giggle uproariously in the lobby of the Register Office with the best friends you’ve ever had, guzzle pink champagne, pose for photos, take your turn holding Laszlo, kiss Roger beneath the stone arch of the centuries-old building.

It doesn’t mean anything, you remind yourself, suddenly very aware of the missing weight of a ring on your left hand. It doesn’t mean anything. It doesn’t mean anything.

But you catch a few furtive glances between Chrissie and Bri, the twist of a frown on Freddie’s face when he thinks no one is watching, the distance in John’s shadowy eyes as he inhales champagne like air.

It doesn’t mean anything.

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fortheloveoffanfic · 4 years ago

Text

Put Me In a Movie

Keanu Reeves x reader (A/n- The past week has been hectic and tough, but we made it! Anyways, this may be the last update for this one for a couple weeks. Maybe. Finals are staring tomorrow, so I’ll only be posting things that I’ve managed to complete over the past two weeks or so. However, the exams are online and open book this semester, with way more time to complete them, so maybeeeee, I’ll sneak something in)

Summary Prologue 1 2 3 4 5 6

Warnings- Very, very slight smut

Chapter 7- Behind The Scenes

"And cut!" Jackson yelled, and after a minute of delay, Y/n along with everyone else in the scene stopped, some breathing sighs of relief, others diving straight into conversation. She'd been fretting against bindings on her arms and legs, though, upon his call, Y/n's muscles relaxed and a small group came to help out of the restraints that bound her to an old iron chair, which in actuality wasn't that old, in an abandoned warehouse, which really happened to be a section of the studio decked to look differently.

From the minute the last of the rope was undone, Y/n stood, stretching her muscles. She'd been sitting in the same position for an hour. Just then, Keanu came over, wide grin plastered on his ruggedly handsome features, "Don't tell me I missed you being bound and gagged?" He teased, low enough so they wouldn't be discovered. While she'd been tied up, much like your typical kidnap victim, Keanu had been in the thick of his fight scene just a few feet off.

"Just by a bit," Y/n teased playfully. She was about to say more when Jackson approached them, his hair a wild, disheveled mess as it usually was and his grey button up was wrinkled to match his skittish, eccentric persona.

"There are my stars," he grabbed their shoulders, "I just wanted to let you two know, whatever’s changed between you two, I’m loving it. The chemistry is fantastic! Keep going like this and people will start thinking that you’re actually a couple!” As usual, Jackson seemed to completely forget about social cues, walking off before either of them could respond.

“Its….almost….like we’re actually a couple,” Y/n cocked her head to the side, a teasing glimmer twinkling in her bright eyes. Slowly, they started towards the entrance, close enough so her shoulder would occasionally brush Keanu’s arm, though not touching intentionally.

“I know,” Keanu scoffed, shaking his head, “It’s wild,” he chuckled, holding the door open so Y/n could exit first. The minute they were both outside, Keanu took a quick look around, before hastily shifting until he’d had Y/n backed up into the outer, grey painted wall of the studio, his front pressed firmly to hers. He looked down at her, feeling himself react to her coy, sultry grin, “I mean think about it; a girl like you, and I get to do this,” Keanu’s hands skimmed up her thighs, slow enough so his touch would send tingles up her spine as it made his way to her hips, slipping beneath the hem of her tattered, light blue blouse.

“I know right,” Y/n giggled, standing on her toes, “A guy like you, and I get to do this,” her fingers tangled in the ends of his soft, dark locks, twirling them between her fingers as she reached up to capture his lips in a kiss that quickly became heated. “We’re gonna get caught,” Y/n mumbled against his lips when he reached for the button of her jeans.

“You started it,” Keanu accused, pressing his denim clad hard on into her.

“Well,” Y/n giggled between passionate pecks, “Why don’t we finish this in my trailer?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

“So,” they were huddled on the sofa, basking in the afterglow of their pleasure, "We're gonna be off for a month from next week. Got anything planned?" That was actually Keanu's way of asking Y/n if she'd be spending any time with him. It was illogical, but some part of his mind was worried that what they were doing was exclusive only to Chicago.

They weren't calling it a relationship. At least not yet. It was as if they were scared to.

Y/n shrugged in his embrace, absently tracing circles into Keanu's chest. "I don't really know yet," she thought for a moment more, "I'm definitely gonna spend some time with my dad, maybe I'll fly out to see my aunt," chuckling quietly, she eventually added, "And I'm dating this guy, he’s probably gonna want me to spend some time with him too.”

“Sounds needy,” Keanu played along, his fingers tangled in the ends of her hair, his other hand splayed on Y/n’s back.

Y/n made a little sound of disagreement, “He’s more of a control freak, especially in the bedroom,” she shifted so Keanu could see when she rolled her eyes, the gesture completely exaggerated, and when Keanu smacked her ass, Y/n yelped in surprise, “Ow!” Her shoulders shook as she erupted in a fit of giggles.

“What about your mom?” Keanu probed when the mood settled as they lapsed into yet another somber bout. Up until then, Y/n never talked about her mother, she’d mentioned her father a couple times, never by name and only briefly. But never her mother.

Y/n didn’t make any move to respond immediately and Keanu was beginning to think that she hadn’t heard him. Or perhaps she’d wanted nothing to do with the question. Though, Y/n eventually gave in, feeling the weight of her silence press down on them, “What about her?”

“You aren’t going to see her too?” Really, it probably wasn’t his business, Keanu was mostly sure that Y/n would tell him about her family life if she wanted too.

Shrugging again, Y/n maintained her facade of indifference and if there was any turmoil swirling beneath her exterior, Keanu couldn’t readily identify it. Of all the women he’d met, all the women he could never figure out, Y/n was by far the most difficult. She was an enigma of sorts. Maybe that was what had made her so alluring. She was so quiet and reserved that an air of mystery followed her like plumes of smoke signaled fire and her demure disposition was perfectly enticing, her obvious innocence making Keanu want to show her things. Ruin her even. But only in the best ways.

Y/n was the embodiment of a paradox, the thought; the more she told him, the less he knew. And her silences were typically quite telling. Much like the one she’d just sunk into. Her relationship with her mother was clearly a sore subject, and Keanu was about to remind her that she didn’t need to tell him more than she wanted to when Y/n spoke up, “I’m not, we haven’t spoken since I was fifteen.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, cuddling Y/n closer. Again, he wanted to know more. Yet, he didn’t know if it was even his place to prod around; Y/n didn’t exactly come across as the type that wanted to open just out of the blue like that. Still, he felt compelled to put it out there, “You can talk about it, if you want ”

On his chest, Y/n folded her arms, propping her chin there so she could almost meet his gaze, “I don’t want,” she rejected, already disinterested in the topic, “So, what about you; what are you doing with the time off. Any hot girls to keep you busy?”

Chortling quietly, Keanu let his rough palms inch lower, reaching her thighs and urging her legs open, “Oh,” he cocked a devilish grin, “Just one.”

It had been a while since she’d been there, but still, Y/n knew the place like the back of her hand. Her father’s beachfront home on the Malibu stretch was the perfect reflection of contemporary luxury; thirty two hundred square feet of modern architecture situated on thick round posts, holding the house nearly four feet off the pale sand. When tides were high, water would invade the space beneath the house, and unless you were willing to wade through a foot worth of ocean, then you’d be stuck there until the water receded.

Inside, large panes of glass, lightly colored hardwood and white marble dominated. Natural lighting filtered in from several places, though transparent walls and awning windows, negating the need for bulbs during the day and the view from the living room was spectacular; the vast blue was straight ahead, just past an infinity pool that hung daringly over the shore.

An open floor plan allowed one to still see the sparkling water even from the small kitchen, which was nearer to the front door. Y/n and Roger had spent most of their evening there, preparing dinner together. Or course, it might have been easier to order in or maybe even let one of the house keepers do it for them, but cooking together was something they enjoyed. It made Y/n feel normal; in the kitchen she wasn’t a rising actress and her father wasn’t an acclaimed director. It was just a father and his daughter, most of the time floundering around a recipe that was far too complicated for their sub par talents put together.

That night, Y/n was on pasta duty while her father sauteed scallops in a white wine sauce, both often referring to the recipes on their phones. “I think I’m doing this wrong,” he eventually admitted, when for some reason beyond comprehension, the sauce started to dry down without the shellfish taking on the golden color it was supposed to.

“Maybe you didn’t put in enough liquid?” It was no doubt more of a question than sage advice, and Y/n was too busy trying to finely chop a handful of parsley to pay attention to whatever Roger’s troubles were anyway.

“You’re right,” he hummed, grabbing the bottle of Pinot Gris next to the stove, pouring a generous amount into the pot, “Wine makes everything better,” he chuckled. Y/n just shook her head, rolling her eyes absently at his ridiculous quip. “So,” Roger began once he seemed to get everything under control, just as Y/n finished draining a potful of al dente penne pasta, “How are things in Chicago?”

What he really meant was; did you ever work things out with Luke and he who had never been named?

“They’re good,” Y/n started up her own sauce, trying to follow every direction to the letter, unlike like her father, who usually preferred to add his own touch, even if his culinary skill set was next to nil, “Filming has been lots of fun, I’ve been…..hanging out with….people,” just one person really.

“You’ve been hanging out?” Roger seemed surprised, if he knew his daughter as well as he thought he did, and without fail, he really did, he knew for a fact that Y/n wasn’t the ‘hanging out’ type. She’d always been more reserved, keeping an alarmingly small friend circle and almost everyone at an arm's length. There was only a privileged few that had seen her for the sweet girl she really was, with an overly sensitive heart and an open mind. Most people, the ones that didn’t really know her often, though she was stand-offish and too prissy to hold them in conversation. “Are these people real?”

Y/n’s dismay came in the form of a huff, contained in her throat and an annoyed rendition of the classic, “Dad!” Huffing again, she continued the task as hand, measuring out the right amounts of stock before pouring it into the pasta, following that up with a generous handful of basil.

“Can you blame me?” Roger took a lengthy sip from his beer, proceeding to lower the lower the flame on his burner, letting their entree simmer. When Y/n just scoffed, he continued, determined to wean what he wanted out of her, “So, did you ever work things out with Luke?”

For a minute, Y/n considered pretending to not hear him, but there weren’t really any disruptive noises, unless you counted the crashing of waves muffled by the walls. Besides, she’d just feel guilty about ignoring him anyway. “No,” she breathed reluctantly.

Roger nodded slowly, regarding Y/n curiously, “But you’re seeing someone, aren’t you?”

Why’d he have to know her so well?

Well, there was no point in lying anyway. “Yeah, we’ve been going out for about two months now. He’s nice.”

“Yeah? Nice enough for me to like him?” Of course her father would want to meet that man she was dating. Curse him for being so involved!

Y/n just shook her shoulders, wishing that there was a way for her to just slither out of that conversation. It wasn’t that she was ashamed of dating Keanu or anything like that, but she still wasn’t really sure of what they were doing. He’d never called himself her boyfriend, and she had even considered that she might be his girlfriend. It felt even juvenile to have to think about something as frivolous as labels, but for the first time, Y/n understood Luke’s desire to have them. Labels were easy and unambiguous. There was no toeing around the subject or wondering where you stood.

But on the flip side, Y/n wasn’t even sure if she wanted Keanu to be her boyfriend. He was a little confusing, serious most of the time but humorous at others and she constantly felt like he was holding out on her, like she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. And worst yet, Y/n didn’t think she’d exactly call herself ‘girlfriend material’, she was a little too self-concerned sometimes and found that she couldn’t always empathize when she was stuck in her own thoughts and feelings. Who wanted that for a partner?

“Well?” Roger probed, awaiting an answer. Why was it so confusing? Because despite both their obvious flaws and incompatibilities, Y/n wanted things to work with Keanu. She thought she could want them to work in the forever kind of way, even if he didn’t seem like the kind of man interested in forever, even if part of her knew that she probably shouldn’t.

“I don’t think we’re ready for that yet,” the mood changed and Y/n gave the pasta one last stir before turning the stove off, “We’re just…..”

“Seeing where things go?” He chuckled quietly, shaking his head, getting a couple dishes out of the overhead cabinet mounted to the wall over the sink, “Why are you young people always doing that? Seeing where things go? When I was your age, people dated for a future, for marriage.” Which was probably how he’d ended up with her mother.

At a loss for words, Y/n just raised her brows in unspoken annoyance as she took a generous swing from her own tinted bottle. She didn't really want to broach the whole ‘Keanu wasn't really her age’ part of her answer, "I don't know what to tell you dad. I'm just not looking for that right now," she shrugged, helping him with plating their dinner. Afterwards, he grabbed a couple of stemless wine glasses and Y/n grabbed a bottle of white from the refrigerator, following her father out to the balcony where they'd be having dinner.

"What about him?" Their talk was starting to feel like an interrogation.

"What about him?" Y/n shook her shoulders, using the toe of her black ballet pump to shove the screen door open. When she saw the warning eye, scolding her sass, coming from her father's direction, Y/n sighed internally, relenting, "He's not looking for anything too serious either."

Y/n could see the worry in his gaze, nearly boring into the side of her head. Maybe it was the turmoil of her parents' marriage, maybe it was just her nature, but Y/n was proving to be repellent to stable relationships, not wanting to get too serious or go the whole mile. She knew that he'd probably blame himself for part of it, but she wouldn't. She'd cut that offender out of her life the second she could. They set everything down at the table that looked over the infinity pool and the ocean beyond. "Well, who is he?"

Ugh

Y/n was growing tired of the conversation. The less she gave, the more Roger wanted to know. Even if he hadn't been around a lot when she was younger, he always tried to be involved. Usually Y/n didn't mind, he was her go to for parental advice and a listening ear, but as of then, her dating life was a complicated mess and the last thing she wanted was for dad to give her a lecture on why she shouldn't be with Keanu. "It's the guy from Chicago," she evaded, "The one I told you about."

"I thought he didn't feel the same way?" He quoted.

Pushing some food around with her fork, she shrugged childishly, staring at her glass, the chill of the wine fogging it over, "I guess I was wrong."

"You don't want to talk about this," he finally assessed, "But you know I don't mean to be overbearing, I just don't want you to get hurt again."

"I know," she nodded, "I won't," it was a baseless promise, Y/n had no idea on where things were going with Keanu, and it was likely to end badly, even if she was hoping for the best.

Their silence stretched on for a while, but when Y/n broke it, she was adamant on shifting gears and getting them to talk about something else. "So, are you reading any new scripts?"

After a lengthy conversation about her confusing dating life, Y/n and her dad had spent the rest of their dinner talking about work. She'd left his place at around nine that Friday night, and after nearly three months of not driving on an actual street, she drove back to her place, a cushy condo in West Hollywood.

Keanu had called and they'd talked for about an hour, in the end deciding that he'd come to her place that Saturday evening, just after sunset. And, as promised, he'd showed up at around seven, "Hey," he cocked a crooked grin, his motorcycle helmet chucked under his arm and his hands stuffed in the pockets of his dark jeans and his leather jacket zipped up.

"Hi," Y/n pulled one of the heavy doors open a bit wider, wordlessly inviting him in through one side of the double entryway. The minute she closed the door and turned the lock, Keanu discarded his helmet on the counter of her moderately sized kitchen, just a few feet off from the entrance, laying his hands on her hips. He pressed a searing kiss to her lips, letting one arm circle her waist.

"I missed you," he mumbled against her lips, his salt and pepper scruff rough and ticklish on her skin. As they lingered like that, Keanu tilted his head again, his calloused touch inching beneath the hem of her loose, cotton tank top.

Y/n giggled softly, the musical sound muffled by his lips smooshed on hers, "We saw each other two days ago."

"Two days too long," he growled, tugging her closer that Y/n thought was possible. Really, he was right; in Chicago they saw each other every day, they had sex everyday.

Y/n's hands skimmed the cool leather of his coat, sliding them upwards until her fingers were tangled in his ends of his shaggy, dark locks, tangling them around her little fingers, “You really missed me, didn’t you?” Y/n teasingly rubbed against his jean clad erection, smiling at how he hissed appreciatively.

“Baby,” his husky voice was low and rich, the simple word making her feel things, “You have no idea.” Kissing her again, heated and hungry, Keanu pushed Y/n deeper into her apartment, just past a thick rectangular post, where the electronic fireplace was embedded and the television mounted above it. There was an armchair near the unlit fireplace, with soft white upholstering, complemented by black accent pillows, and as they reached it, Keanu slid his palms down the curve of her ass, hoisting her up in his arms. As he sank down into the chair, Y/n straddled him, eager to undo the zipper of his jacket before pushing it off, unabashedly moving on to undo the fastenings on his jeans.

Groping her ass one last time, Keanu’s hands resumed their former task, traveling up the inside of her worn, grey top, his touch igniting shocks. His lips ravished her neck, probably leaving behind purplish bites and beard burn. Y/n ground in Keanu’s lap, moaning eagerly when he reached around to fondle her unrestrained breasts. Clumsily, she reached between them to free his hardened cock, when a startled obscenity erupting from near the kitchen interrupted them.

Keanu’s hold on her boobs was still firm as sirens went off in Y/n’s head. “Dad!” Y/n shrieked, more horrified than she’d ever been.

“What?” Keanu furrowed his brows, confused at her alarm, and why she’d stopped. Turning and craning his head to see who she was seeing, his eyes went wide, his jaw hanging slack. Just when he thought a situation couldn’t get much worse than sleeping with a woman and then having brunch with her and her boyfriend, Keanu was reminded that it always could. An uncomfortable and awkward brunch was certainly better than getting caught with his hands up the top of an old friend’s daughter. “Roger?”

“Keanu?” Needless to say, Y/n wasn’t the only one absolutely mortified with the situation. Almost immediately after, though still not nearly soon enough, Keanu dropped his hands, not really sure of where they should go from there on.

It took another minute or two, but eventually, Y/n was scurrying out of Keanu’s lap, tugging at her tank top and loose, grey booty shorts. So much for hiding her somewhat complicated relationship from her father. Though, that wasn’t the issue hot on Y/n’s frazzled mind, “You two know each other?”

Red in face, Y/n stood, barefoot on the fluffy, off-white rug, unconsciously curling her toes into the fabric. Neither of the men made a move to answer and the sheer horror of the moment seemed to be mirrored three ways. Everyone was at a loss for words and tension was on a continuous rise; embarrassment, awkwardness and bubbling anger from at least one person. The room suddenly felt much smaller than it actually was, and though there was at least ten feet and one piece of furniture between Keanu and Roger, anyone could tell that whatever friendship was shared between them, wasn’t going to be there much longer.

As seconds ticked by, and everyone processed what had just happened, it felt like time was passing too slowly for anything to make sense. Though, when the kettle finally whistled, the noise was piercing and what happened next was not what Y/n was hoping for.

His face was beet read with anger and his fists were clenched at his side as Roger strode up to Keanu in long steps, “You’re fucking my daughter!”

“Dad!” Y/n screamed, and the rest of it was a blur.

*****

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @paanchu786 @thesadvampire @fanficsrusz @fickensteinn @ladyreapermc @babygirltaina @septimaseverina @snatchedbylele @omg-imagine @21stcenturyyfoxx @magnificentclodpiebanana @allie1804-fan @keandrews @greenmanalishi

#keanu reeves #keanu reeves x reader #keanu reeves x you #keanu reeves fanfic #john wick x you #john wick x reader #john wick #put me in a movie #series #chapter 7 #lana del rey #fanfic #fanfiction #ff #keanu reeves fanfiction #john wick fanfiction

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schleierkauz · 4 years ago

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The Color of Revenge: Chapter 2

Here we go again! Please tell me if you find any mistakes, share your thoughts and enjoy! <3

Chapter 2: Five good Years

The night sky was burning. Dustfinger loved to set fire to the darkness. His flames were red flowers, blooming between the stars like poppies in a field of bittercress.

Fenoglio stood at the window and enjoyed the view. He’d moved back under Minerva’s roof a few months ago. The simple chamber was still the best home and the view was so much more spectacular than that from the castle – especially during nights like these when Dustfinger was setting the stage for his beautiful wife. Whenever Roxane danced for her Ugliness, she did it under a fiery sky.

Dustfinger and Roxane… Fenoglio had given up on calling them his creation a long time ago. He no longer believed that it was possible to create people and the worlds they lived in with nothing but words. It was possible to trap them, yes. Catch their echo in the sounds of consonants and vowels. But create them? No. Life itself wasn’t born out of ink. The fingers of a giant had made Fenoglio humble, a forest track littered with the corpses of soldiers and, crucially, the daughter of the Adderhead, whose wise regency he hadn’t foreseen when he’d written about a lonely, ugly little girl.

But even if the fabric of this world wove itself (or had a weaver who preferred to stay hidden), Fenoglio still liked to hear people call him the Inkweaver, their voices full of awe (or a little afraid). The title stroked his ego and after all: From time to time he still managed to add some embroidery to the cloth of this world.

There! Dustfinger’s flowers spat fiery seeds into the dark velvet of the night. A swarm of swans flew across the sky, their wings emitting white sparks. The Fire-Dancer was very creative when it came to staging the performances of his wife. Violante asked Roxane to dance for her almost every month. The gates of Ombra’s castle were wide open during those nights and people came from far and wide to see the woman who danced with the fire.

A few times Fenoglio had been part of the crowd but these days he preferred the view from Minerva’s window. It was still cold even though March was almost over and Fenoglio’s aging bones resisted every word he wrote to keep the rheumatism out of his joints.

Roxane’s herbs were way more effective, which was more proof of the true roots and realities of this world. Ah, Inkweaver, you’re getting old. That’s not pleasant anywhere and Fenoglio longed for no place but Ombra. Sometimes he did miss his newspaper in the mornings or the strong coffee he used to enjoy three times a day. The fact that the coffee bean had yet to find its way to Ombra was outrageous. Wine and tea – that was all anyone could find at the markets. Ah well, one can’t have all. Unfortunately, Fenoglio had always struggled to accept that rule.

He frowned when there was a knock at his door. It sounded as if someone was striking the wood with the neck of a bottle and without much patience. Heavens, this glass man would splinter himself one day!

Fenoglio still maintained that the glass men were his creation, even though Meggie liked to tease him with the wild ones who lived in the woods surrounding Ombra. Admittedly, they were not interested in sharpening quills and disproved his claim that he had invented the species solely to assist poets. But no matter who had created them: It was a fact that their ridiculous high voices were so shrill it was almost impossible to understand them. Especially when they were excited. Which was a good reason to agree with the widely held opinion that glass men in general were a ridiculous concept and completely unnecessary.

“Slow down! How many times do I have to tell you?“ Fenoglio snapped at Rosenquartz while he closed the door behind him. “What is it this time? A cow pie on the street? A chicken that tried to peck you? One day you will shatter losing your mind over some inanity!”

Outside, Dustfinger was celebrating his wife’s talent and beauty by letting the fire paint Roxane’s dancing silhouette into the sky. Her hand reached for the moon as if it were a silver ball.

“That smoky gray louse…!“ Rosenquartz panted. “I was so sure I’d never have to see his ugly face again. Nothing but a pile of broken glass, that’s what he deserves to be! Glass shards in the excrement of a mangy dog!”

Who was he talking about? The glass man he was competing with over the favor of the glass woman Rosenquartz had been courting for weeks? Although, no, that one wasn’t gray but violet (an unfortunate color for a glass man).

“Well, I hope you’re not planning on starting any fights with your rival,“ Fenoglio said and stepped back to the window. “With broken arms you would be useless for me as well as for you pale yellow crush.”

The needle holder who had caught Rosenquartz eye was working for Beatrice Sommavilla, a seamstress who had turned the heads of almost all the human men in Ombra. Even Fenoglio had written her love poems… There was no fool like an old fool…

“You’re not listening! As usual!“ Rosenquartz hissed as he climbed onto the chest of drawers under the window with the agility of a spider. He hated having to look up at Fenoglio when they argued – which, of course, he still had to do from his new position. Ridiculous little creature. But his climbing skills were truly exceptional.

“Your kind never listens!“ he shrieked. “All that space in your plump heads – wasted! You want to know what it is? I saw Ironstone! I hope you still remember that name? He was Orpheus’ glass man! He was sitting on the shoulder of a man who looked even more devious than himself and he was staring at the Fire-Dancer like he was trying to burn holes into his skin!“

Outside, Dustfinger let his fire die and the night turned to ash.

“Nonsense, I’m sure you’re wrong.“ Fenoglio hated the tremor he could hear in his own voice. “One glass man looks like the next, that’s it. And god knows gray isn’t the rarest of colors.”

Rosenquartz gasped. “One glass man looks like the next?!“

The ensuing tirade about Fenoglio and the human race in general seemed endless. All that time Rosenquartz spent at the tavern by the market made him rebellious. The innkeeper kept a dozen tiny chairs on her counter, as well as thimbles filled with her cheapest wine. In return the glassy idiots wrote down all those titillating songs she wrote for the strolling players.

Rosenquartz was still throwing a fit over his human audacity. Oh, his shrill little voice! It cut right into Fenoglio’s old ears. But what if the glass man wasn’t wrong? The thought filled Fenoglio’s stomach with stones. He felt as if the seven little kids had come for him.

The last time he’d heard Orpheus’ name had been almost exactly five years ago, the day Meggie’s younger brother Dante had been born. Only then had Mortimer finally told them all the details of what had happened at the Castle in the Lake.

Five years…

They had celebrated Dante’s birthday three days ago. His mother had drawn all his favorite creatures for him (forest spirits, nymphs, glass men – and dogs) and his father had bound them into the most beautiful book ever owned by a five year old. His sister, who preferred needle and thread over words these days, had given him a tiny replica of the cloak the Black Prince wore. Meggie’s boyfriend Doria had whittled him a carriage that drove all by itself and Dustfinger… Yes, of course Dustfinger had made the boy forget all about those presents by sending him a dog made of fire.

Stones in his stomach…

Five years. Five gorgeous, magical years. No. Orpheus and his devious glass man were dead. That’s what Fenoglio had told himself during all those years whenever his thoughts had drifted towards the Cheeseface. He had to believe it.

Still, he spent a sleepless night. The sky above Ombra’s rooftops was alarmingly dark without Dustfinger’s fires and the morning was as pale and gray as the glass man who had stolen Fenoglio’s sleep.

Even Minerva’s children were still asleep when he saddled the horse the Black Prince had given him. The whole town was asleep and the hills he rode through were painted silver with dew. It clung to thousands of spiderwebs. Glimmering death traps…

Heavens, he tried his best to think a single positive thought but he just couldn’t come up with one!

Rosenquartz had already left last night to search for the man whose shoulder Ironstone had been sitting on. He would ask the other glass men to keep an eye out for the stranger and Fenoglio had sent messages to the Black Prince and Mortimer.

But he wanted to deliver the concerning news to Dustfinger in person. After all, there was no one Orpheus hated more than the Fire-Dancer. Not to mention the fact that Fenoglio never missed a chance to visit Roxane. Her beauty let him believe in the perfection of this world, if only for a few precious moments.

But Roxane wasn’t home when Fenoglio arrived at the plain house where she lived with Dustfinger. Of course. She liked to collect the herbs she traded with when the leaves were still damp with dew. Fenoglio had to admit that he missed the tasteless pills of his world whenever he drank Roxane’s bitter infusions – even though they often worked better. Roxane always sent knowing smiles his way that made his old cheeks blush.

Ah, her smile… Despite everything that had happened to him, Dustfinger could still count himself lucky. And not just because of the woman who loved him. Whoever had spun the thread of his destiny, the Fire-Dancer was absolutely magnificent since he had returned from the dead. A breathing flame, in peace with life and what came after.

He stood in front of the house with Jehan, Roxane’s son from her second marriage. Jehan was apprenticed to a blacksmith in Ombra. He already had a reputation of creating wonderful things out of iron. All the things his stepfather had taught him about fire probably helped.

Fenoglio was sure that they could see that he was bringing bad news. He still found himself searching Dustfinger’s face for the scars he had described so long ago - but the White Women had erased every trace of pain life had ever left in the Fire-Dancer’s features. In his face, Fenoglio found nothing but secrets he had no words for.

They listened silently as he told them about Rosenquartz’s discovery.

“We have to find the glass man,“ Jehan said “and find out if his master is still alive. And if he is, he has to tell us where he’s hiding.”

“How could you know if he’s telling the truth?“ Dustfingers gaze was even more mysterious since he’d returned from the White Women. It made Fenoglio self-conscious. I know everything about you, you old fool, it seemed to say.

“Oh, he will,“ Jehan said. “As soon as I hold him over my forge!” He must have inherited the hot temper from his biological father. Dustfinger just shook his head.

“Your mother wouldn’t like such methods one bit.“ A tiny flame grew in his hand.

“No. Should we find him, we have to pretend to let him go. That way, if Orpheus is still alive, he will lead us to him. All these years, I’ve searched for him in the fire. But it couldn’t find him – which means that if he’s really still alive, he fled to a land where my fire is blind.”

Stones in his stomach…

Fenoglio imagined wild places, foreign and dangerous. Lands that knew nothing of his words or Dustfinger’s fire. Automatically, he looked to the horizon. For the first time, the vastness waiting behind it made him feel afraid.

The flame in Dustfinger’s hand vanished. Ash painted the silhouette of a dancing woman onto his skin.

“I’ll talk to the Prince,“ he said. “Jehan is right. We have to find this glass man.”

Five years. They all felt it. A new story was stirring. A new one – yet the old one all the same.

(Next chapter)

#inkheart #inkworld #cornelia funke #the color of revenge #ly dont look #i tried to do this as quickly as possible #but every time i work on these i start doubting if i even speak english at all #(looks up how to spell 'or' just to make sure)#anyway...#WE'RE BACK IN OMBRA BABYYY #everyone hurry up and read this i got memes #my translation #GOD i'm so nervous to post this for some reason #ok im clicking post im doing it-

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twentiethcenturymoviesandtv · 4 years ago

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Episode Spotlight: The Twilight Zone Season 3, Episode 19: The Hunt

“An old man and a hound-dog named Rip, off for an evening’s pleasure in quest of raccoon. Usually, these evenings end with one tired old man, one battle-scarred hound dog, and one or more extremely dead raccoons, but as you may suspect, that will not be the case tonight. These hunters won’t be coming home from the hill. They’re headed for the backwoods—of The Twilight Zone.”

Such is Rod Serling’s opening narration for the Twilight Zone episode: The Hunt.

By the third season of The Twilight Zone, which aired from 1961 to 1962, the show was doing rather well. Still, Serling was getting tired, after two seasons during which he contributed somewhere around 73% of the scripts being made. By the time season three came around, he was contributing around 56%. This was the last season that Serling would be a very active executive on the show.

Still, the show was doing very well. In its third season, it received its third consecutive Hugo Award for ‘Best Dramatic Presentation’, and for good reason. Many of the show’s most memorable and iconic episodes came from this season.

Such as The Hunt, written by Earl Hamner, Jr. and directed by Harold Schuster. Airing on January 26th of 1961, The Hunt was loosely based on an episode of The Kate Smith Hour, titled ‘The Hound of Heaven’, written by Hammer himself.

The episode goes as follows (Spoilers below!):

The story opens on an old man by the name of Hyder Simpson. He lives with his wife, Rachel, and his hound dog, Rip, in a cabin in the backwoods. Rachel isn’t terribly fond of allowing Rip in the house, but Hyder insists on it.

Why?

Because Rip once saved Hyder’s life. Ever since, Hyder has refused to part with him. As an avid dog-lover myself, I sympathize.

After some affectionate banter, Hyder announces that he intends to go raccoon hunting that night with Rip. Rachel, however, warns him, explaining that she’s seen some bad omens recently that ought to prevent him from going.

Undeterred, Hyder goes anyway.

After catching the trail of a racoon, Rip chases the animal into a pond, where he flounders. Determined to save his dog, Hyder jumps in after him.

A moment later, the racoon emerges, but no sign of Hyder or Rip.

The following morning, Hyder and Rip wake up alongside the pond. Sure that Rachel will be upset at him for staying out all night, Hyder makes for home, with Rip alongside. As they travel, though, Hyder notices something odd:

Men are trespassing on his property, men who can neither see nor hear him, digging a small grave for a beloved dog.

Certain that the men are blinded and deafened by grief, Hyder understands, offers his sympathies, and continues on home.

Much like in the case of Carnival of Souls, (a film previously analyzed on this very blog!) at this point in the story, a savvy audience is already several steps ahead of Hyder. We realize, almost immediately, that he, and Rip, are dead, drowned together in the pond.

But the point of this story, unlike Carnival of Souls, is not in the horror or surprise of the situation.

As a matter of fact, at this point, the impression is that the writer knows the audience knows. This is not meant to be a twist. This is a journey. The audience is not waiting to find out what happened, they are aware of it, and are now waiting for Hyder to realize the sad truth.

Hyder arrives at his house and enters, where he finds his wife, Rachel, wearing black and looking upset. Also in the house is the preacher, who is comforting the widow. Unsurprisingly, these two also cannot see or hear Hyder.

Hyder follows Rachel, the preacher, and the men assigned to bury the coffin of what the audience knows is Hyder. As Hyder and his dog follow the small funeral procession, they are stopped by what appears to be a strange fence. Halted in their progress, the pair turn to the road, following the fence.

While walking along the path, they come to a gate, guarded by a man who explains to Hyder that he is walking ‘Eternity Road’ and explains to him that he is dead. The gate, the man says, leads to the Elysian Fields.

Ready to go, Hyder begins to accept, until he is told that Rip, who doesn’t seem terribly fond of the gate-keeper, cannot go in with him. The man explains that Rip will have to enter a different afterlife, one that only dogs can enter.

Upon hearing this, Hyder declines the offer of eternal paradise, doubly offended when he hears that there are no raccoon hunts in paradise. He firmly says that he and Rip will continue walking along the Eternity Road, as he cannot imagine being happy in an eternity without dogs.

“Any place that’s too high-falutin’ for Rip is too fancy for me.”

As they travel on, eventually, Hyder and Rip stop to rest. As they do, they are approached by a young man, who explains that he is an angel, who is supposed to take them to heaven. Confused, Hyder asks about his previous experience.

As it turns out, the first gate was the entrance to hell. Rip was not permitted to enter there, the angel explains, because the dog would have smelled the brimstone and warned his master not to go.

(Also presumably because All Dogs Go to Heaven.)

“You see, Mr. Simpson, a man, well, he’ll walk right into Hell with both eyes open. But even the Devil can’t fool a dog!”

The angel leads Hyder and Rip along the road towards heaven, telling Hyder that a raccoon hunt is scheduled for that night, assuring Hyder that his wife, Rachel, will be along soon, and that she would also not be fooled into entering hell.

And so, Rod Serling closes:

“Travelers to unknown regions would be well advised to take along the family dog. He could just save you from entering the wrong gate. At least, it happened that way once—in a mountainous area of the Twilight Zone.”

The Hunt stands apart from many of the memorable episodes of The Twilight Zone. There is no horror here, no science-fiction element. The surprise twist isn’t so terribly shocking. This isn’t a scary episode by any stretch of the imagination; it is a fable, a bittersweet, sentimental, old-fashioned story about an old-fashioned man.

The episode feels very comfortable, almost comforting, which is rather odd considering its subject. While it’s grasp on accurate depictions of heaven and hell is a bit theologically lacking, the idea is an interesting and simple one.

The Hunt feels almost nostalgic, a charming folk tale type story about a man and his beloved dog. It works, not with complex themes or characters, but instead with very simple ones. The dialogue is perhaps overly open and honest, and a bit on the nose, but again, for a story that feels like a fable, it somehow sounds a little more natural than it would otherwise.

There are no ‘special effects’, no costumes or otherworldly sets in The Hunt. Rather, it is a small, rural story, with an odd, hazy warmth and sobriety hanging over the entire runtime. It is this casual sense of almost drowsiness that saves the episode from its rather slow pace. It’s an oddly heartwarming piece, especially considering its subject matter. The performances, although possibly coming across as a bit stilted and the characters a bit slow (it does seem to take Hyder a long time to figure out that he’s dead) work as long as one keeps that awareness of the ‘fable’ style of the entire episode.

Overall, it’s a solid installment, if nothing terribly spectacular (unless you are a dog person, which I am). While not possessing any of the thrills and chills that made The Twilight Zone a huge hit, it does possess an odd rustic charm in its ambling story.

Still, it does entertain, make you think, and keep you at least somewhat invested, which is the purpose of good television. A slow, relaxing paced folk tale, The Hunt represents The Twilight Zone in its quieter moments, and remains a well-liked, well-remembered episode because of it.

Don’t forget that the ask box is always open for anything from suggestions and discussion ideas to questions and conversations! Thank you guys so much for reading, and I hope to see you guys in the next article.

#The Twilight Zone #TV #Television #50s #Horror #Science Fiction #Sci-Fi #Fantasy #Mystery #Rod Serling

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meetmeinthematinee · 5 years ago

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A/N: This is a new fic I’m working on. I had a wacky idea for how John & Helen met and I wanted to explore it. At this point I’m not sure how many chapters this will be but certainly there is another in the works.

No warnings as of yet but it’s me so there will be smut, eventually.

He propelled himself through the water. No large splashes, just the steady waves he left in his wake. He always made time to get in some lengths at the continental pool---when he could. Luckily it wasn't too often that he came back from a job with open wounds that would preclude him from diving in. The weightlessness, repetitive movements and rhythmic breathing grounded him in a way that other physical activities didn't. Unlike the gym, he usually had the place to himself. An added bonus since he wasn’t much for idle shop talk. He did the jobs---he didn’t much feel like talking about them. Get in, get out, get paid. The worst were the people who enjoyed it. The ones whose eyes gleamed when they’d talk about their past exploits, about how quickly or cleverly, slowly or painfully they extinguished someone. Instead of making the turn underwater John reached his hand up and gripped the wall, treading water with his legs as he swiped his wet hair out of his face. He stared at the wall blankly while he caught his breath. He’d lost track of time---and from the sounds that came from behind him---he was no longer alone.

“I’m just getting things ready for the class.” She said as she hauled the lane ropes out of the water. “There’s still some time before it starts if you want to keep swimming. Nice form by the way.”

“Thanks.” He said. “Class?”

“Aquafit. Every Tuesday & Thursday at 8.”

“I didn’t know we had that many old ladies staying here.” He teased, trying not to stare at her.

She shook her head and moved to pull another lane rope out of the pool. She stopped and tucked a strand of her long dark hair that had escaped her bun behind her ear before she tugged the rope toward her.

“Ha. Can’t say I’ve heard that one before. If you’re too shy I do private classes too.”

John let go of the side of the wall and ducked under the water, swimming his way to the ladder.

“You know, your left shoulder is pretty stiff. Aquafit could help that.” She called out to him.

“I thought you said I have perfect form.”

“I said you had nice form. Not perfect.” She said with a laugh. Unable to keep herself from staring as he emerged from the water. He was tall, well built but not overly muscled. A solid and broad back covered in tattoos. Her eyes drifted down and she took in the massive, dark purple bruise along his left side.

“Guess I was stiffer than I thought.” He said as he carefully rolled his left shoulder and reached for his towel to roughly dry off his face and hair.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have---”

He smiled and shook his head, his hair sticking up at all angles. “It’s fine. I started it.”

“True.” She said as her grimace was slowly replaced with a big grin.

“I can’t stay---work thing.” He wrapped the towel around his waist.

“Every”

“Tuesday and Thursday at 8, I got it.”

“Helen.”

“Helen.” He said with a polite nod.

“John.”

“Nice to meet you, John. See you Thursday?”

“We’ll see. Have a good class.” He said before heading toward the change room.

He striped off his wet bathing suit and wrapped his towel around his waist before he headed into the steam room. He situated himself on the bench and laid down. Letting the heat work its magic on his sore muscles. He rolled his shoulders and hissed as he gently touched his bruised ribs. “What her hands would feel like on his body. Would her hair cascade around their faces as she sank down onto him.” He wondered. He shifted on the tile bench and let out a heavy sigh. The door to the steam room opened, momentarily letting in a blast of cool air. "John." His eyes opened at the familiar voice. He swung his legs over the side of the bench and sat up. "Marcus."

"Are you here for the class?" He asked as he sat on the bench across from John.

"No, I was just swimming laps."

"You should give it a shot sometime. It's more of a workout than you'd think." He leaned forward. "The teacher is the one I told you about." They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes before John replied.

"She's nice."

"Who?"

"Helen."

"Oh. You met her?"

"Yeah. Today."

"So you're coming, then?" Marcus said as he stood up.

"No."

"Suit yourself, John." He said as he got up and moved to the door.

"I do."

"Yeah, that's always been the problem with you." Marcus said over his shoulder as he left to join the class.

John sifted his fingers through his wet hair. “What the fuck did he know.” He thought. “Well, except for everything.” Marcus knew him and knew him well enough to know that John needed someone or something to hold onto---that something inside him had shifted and needed attending to. It wouldn’t be tonight though. No. Not tonight.

--------------------------

His left shoulder still didn’t feel right. As hard as it was to admit, he wasn’t young anymore. He was slower to heal and sore for much longer. He woke up feeling like he’d been working the night before---even though he hadn’t been. He took a breath and blearily looked up at the ceiling, he exhaled slowly and attempted to untangle himself from the sheets. He didn’t feel like he’d had any dreams but from the way the bed was ransacked it must have been a restless night. “Was I back at the Tarkovsky Theatre? Practicing and falling? Over and over again?” He wondered. It wasn’t often that he could remember his dreams which was a relief. He saw enough during his waking hours---he didn’t want to see more of the same in his sleep. Finally untangled he swung his legs over the side of the bed. He picked up the phone.

“Hi, this is Wick. I’d like to order breakfast. Coffee. Eggs---poached soft, bacon, fruit and whole wheat toast. Thanks.”

The soft knock at the door finally got him off the bed. He grabbed a coin and opened the door so they could push the cart into his room. He slipped the coin to the room service person.

“Thank you.”

“My pleasure Mr. Wick.”

He nodded and shut the door. He settled into one of the chairs by the window and poured himself a coffee, ate and read the paper. He tugged out the crossword, folded it neatly and set it aside for later. With a pencil. “Fuck, everyone loves that story.” He shook his head. The truth was as mundane as it was spectacular---and horrifying. “You mind your own business working on a crossword at the bar, get attacked and the next thing you know you’re a fucking legend.” He thought. “This is it. My life. In its entirety. I have everything and nothing at all.” He existed in that liminal space between monster and man. He thrived there, once, but now he just felt strangled. He got up, coffee in hand and picked up his watch from the nightstand. 8AM. Thursday. “Helen.”

-------------------------------------

She’d always been a morning person. Waking up chipper and ready to go the moment her feet hit the floor. This morning was no different. She stretched lazily, put on her silk floral print robe, slipped her cellphone into the pocket and went to the kitchen to make her morning americano. Her home---the one she’d kept in the divorce---was airy and minimal. A far cry from the cluttered, darker space it had been when her husband was there. She’d remodelled everything after he left. More accurately, after she kicked him out for fucking someone---or, as it turned out a string of someone elses. “What a goddamn disaster that had been.” She looked around at the kitchen and felt a wave of contentment wash over her. Everything about the place was definitely hers and she’d worked hard to make it so. “Why do I feel like I’m forgetting something?” She thought to herself as she sipped her drink at the counter, looking out into the backyard that was still heavy with the morning mist. She opened her phone and went through her calendar. Double checking to see if there was something she’d overlooked. “Photography class? No. That was done until the next section started up in a few months. Private client appointments? No, those were all next week. Aquafit at the Continental tonight. Right.” Suddenly it became clearer. She wasn’t forgetting anything. She was looking forward to something. “That guy from the pool.” She thought as she settled onto the couch to scroll through the news on her phone. “I wonder if he’ll turn up today. What the hell was his name again? Josh. No. James? Hmm. John! Yeah. That seems right.”

---------------------------------------

She was hauling out the last of the equipment when he walked in. She smiled to herself---knowing her face was obscured by her hair as she placed the foam weights along the edge of the pool.

“Hey, John. Didn’t realise you were an old lady at heart. Joining the class today?”

“Thought I’d give it a try.”

“I expect you to do better than try.”

He heard the low murmurs of the people already in the pool. “She’s got balls. Talking to Wick like that.” She heard them too and she knew exactly who she was talking to. She just didn’t care. He smirked at her. Colour rising to his cheeks. “I better get ready then.” He said.

She handed a foam belt to him when he came out of the change room.

“I’m good.” He said.

“You’re used to being strapped up aren’t you? Just put it on. If you don’t you’ll have to stay in the shallow end for most of the class and you’re far too tall to get any benefit from the workout that way.” She said as she thrust the belt towards him.

“I didn’t think of that.” He said as he tried to take it from her, but she didn’t let go of the belt.

“How about you do less thinking and more listening and following instructions.” She said with a smirk before she let go, leaving John to put it on as she took her place at the side of the pool and welcomed everyone to the class.

John followed her instructions. Her voice, strong, and clear over the music as she demonstrated the movements on deck. She called out encouragement and corrections in equal measure. Always with a kindness that was impossible to overlook. He wanted to do his best. For himself but also because of his overwhelming desire to impress her. Which was---unusual---to say the least. Now he knew what the fuck Marcus was talking about. How Marcus knew what he was talking about was an even bigger mystery to John.

“That’s it for today, great work everyone! Take your time getting out and don’t forget to hydrate.”

A chorus of “Thanks, Helen. Great class Helen. See you next week.” reverberated around the tiled pool room.

John watched out of the corner of his eye as people chatted with her as she started putting away the equipment. He did a few slow laps until everyone had cleared out except for her.

“Your stroke is looking better, John. How’s the shoulder feel?”

“A lot better. Thanks for asking. And for the class.” He added hurriedly.

“Judging by the colour on your face it’s not just for old ladies, huh?”

He laughed and made his way to the ladder. Enjoying the lazy glide of the water over his body.

“No, not just for old ladies.”

“So, see you next class?” She asked as he dripped water onto the pool deck.

“I think so.”

“Good.” She went back to putting the last of the equipment away but the gentle smile on her face as she worked didn’t escape John’s notice.

---------------

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#John x Helen Wick #john wick fanfic #John wick fan fiction #Helen Wick

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tsaritsa · 5 years ago

Photo

THE KING AND QUEEN OF AMESTRIS – AN EXCLUSIVE LOOK INTO THE WEDDING OF THE YEAR

by Violet Whittaker and Laura Richter for PRIMA Magazine (photographs supplied by Wolffe Photography)

“We never thought this day would happen.” It’s the event Amestris has been waiting for with feverish anticipation – the wedding of Führer Roy Mustang to Lieutenant-Colonel Riza Hawkeye. Violet Whittaker and Laura Richter follow the pair on their wedding day and gain some insight into the private lives of the most talked-about people in the country.

It is a new experience for the leader of the nation, after a frantic year of picking up the mantle left in his wake by a country transformed almost overnight into a democracy. Nobody could say that the transition, led by the former Führer President, George Grumman, was not without its issues. But even as then-General Roy Mustang was sworn in after a historical vote that saw the Amestrian public having a say in their future for the very first time, nobody could have expected this new presidency to usher in such a feeling of hope and anticipation for what lies ahead. Mustang’s views, well-articulated from his campaign and debates, resonated deeply with the country – resulting in a landslide victory that proved the man and his vision for the future were unparalleled.

But it seems he’s met his match in his bride, the woman who has been one step behind him for almost his entire career in the military and politics. Riza Hawkeye, is a force to be reckoned with in her own right, with a much-decorated military career spanning back to her tender years as a teenager. An ever-present shadow in the background of many a press photo, Lieutenant-Colonel Hawkeye oversees her fiancé’s security detail – a job, she admits, that never seems to stop even when she’s off the clock.

On a quiet Thursday morning, the craggy, snow-dusted tops of the Cremil Ranges provide an unforgettable backdrop to today’s event. The blushing bride and groom are radiant since tying the knot in a gorgeous, relaxed and deeply personal ceremony overlooking Lake Mély, the place where they became engaged just over a year ago. It’s a sentimental moment to reflect on their romantic – and emotional – exchange of vows.

“When I saw her for the first time I choked up a bit,” the Führer confesses to PRIMA, never taking eyes off the now First Lady. “I was blown away. I knew I would be, but more so than I thought. She was beautiful.”

There is no pomp, no circumstance and none of the stiff formalities one might expect with such a high-profile wedding. Instead, it is a ceremony filled with laughter and joy, influenced by the couple’s own down-to-earth, understated and old-fashioned romance.

Flanked by his groomsmen, a beaming Roy is positioned under an arch that was created especially for this event. The groom waits patiently as the guests take their seats. But nerves that never made themselves known on the political ground seem to take over Roy, looking exceptionally clean-cut in his Mikhail Abel suit, keeps sneaking glances at the point where Riza will emerge.

The groom has spent the morning with his old military buddies at a friend’s house in the idyllic town of Lyford, East Province, while Riza, 32, gets ready with her small contingency of bridesmaids at the nearby Watkin Lodge, where the reception will be held afterwards. In high spirits, she manages to laugh about the less-than-favourable weather forecast as the radio plays in the background. Between each song, you can hear the messages of congratulations from the public being passed along by the radio hosts.

“We’re unbelievably humbled by all the support,” she says, fiddling with her earrings – which are, in a nod to tradition, her ‘something old’. Her veil has been borrowed from her maid of honour, a modest piece with delicate lacing detailing the edges. Her new wedding dress follows in a similar fashion – a simplistic A-line design that allows the bride’s beauty to shine through. The high neck and long sleeves are a choice that will undoubtedly be imitated by other brides, despite her protests that she is nothing of a ‘fashion icon’. Her simple, uncluttered approach has quickly made an impression with the public, with garments being sold out within days after she’s pictured wearing them.

However, Riza admits that she found herself a little stumped by the ‘something blue’.

“Honestly, I should’ve just worn the dress uniform – that would’ve covered it nicely.” The pragmatism is a refreshing change that reflects not only on Riza’s character, but the overall direction in which the Mustang’s wish to guide the country towards. In the end, her bouquet has been threaded with forget-me-nots, with bright yellow splashes of coronella and pink peonies.

Before long, cars are arriving, and last-minute adjustments are being made before the bridal party sets off for Lake Mély. The freshly-woven crown of clover is the last accessory to be added, pinned into her hair with care.

As he sees his bride finally appear, Roy’s eyes light up and that familiar, dazzling grin plays across his face – though this time it is a lot softer and meant for only his bride. Guests beam, and in some cases, shed tears as Riza walks past. But the real waterworks come out when their vows are spoken, small speeches that can only scrape the surface of a relationship that has gone back decades. There is large whooping from the guests when Roy calls Riza ‘his queen’, and similar cheering when Riza takes a moment to compose herself mid-speech, blinking furiously and promising in no uncertain terms that she will follow him anywhere.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve felt butterflies in my stomach,” Riza tells after the ceremony, smoothing down the silk of her dress. “But it wasn’t nervousness. Why would it be?” Here, she shoots a rare smile to her new husband. “It’s like you’ve been imagining this insurmountable obstacle and then you actually see it and realise it’s not as bad as you thought. I remember seeing you standing there and all I could think was – ‘oh, there you are. I’ve been waiting for you’.”

Both openly admit that marriage was never on the cards for them originally – with their positions as superior and subordinate for so long during their careers in the military, working together meant that any feelings the couple had for one another had to be buried deep, and never explored. “To say that there was a day when I didn’t love Riza Hawkeye, and then a day where I did is completely wrong,” Roy says. “Ever since I met her, I knew she would be a person who would have a monumental impact on my life. But we both knew that there were more important things to do than complain about where our choices left us.”

The two of them share a long and complicated history, most notably marred by the Ishvallan Civil War. Both served during the conflict, and the pair have always remained tight-lipped about their experiences there. But the choice to share their wedding with the public was not an easy one to make.

“We appreciated that there was a lot of interest,” Roy says diplomatically. “And we wanted to acknowledge the widespread support we’ve received following the announcement of our engagement.”

The following reception is rumoured to be legendary, but strictly a private affair. For the guests invited, it is sure to be a party filled with plenty of laughs and stories (both inspiring and embarrassing) about the couple. For the rest of us? Perhaps a reminder that love can be found and expressed in unassuming ways, and that you don’t need big flashy displays to reflect the years of quiet devotion that all of us can only dream of one day having.

The entire team at PRIMA Magazine wishes the newlyweds all the best in their new marriage.

(this piece was originally written for @royaizine and i finally remembered to upload it here! this is in the same fashion as my ‘hawk’s eye: definitive interview’ piece. please go and check out what everyone else did in the zine! there’s some truly spectacular writing and art created bc of it <3)

#royai #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #fullmetal alchemist #fma fanfiction #my fanfic #honestly i think this interview series will become a trilogy at this point #and the 3rd piece is roy after getting the job #similar in style to how ardern's guardian article was (tho with less tragedy)#i hope u guys enjoy this!!

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zwiezraczek · 5 years ago

Text

The Perks of Being Roger's Girl... [Chapter 1]

SUMMARY: Anna is Brian’s friend, his childhood best friend. They were separated for a long time, but when Smile performs at the Royal Albert Hall, Anna is here, invited by Brian. There, she meets Roger, the dentist drummer, a loverboy.

CHAPTER 1: Begining - CHAPTER 2

WORDS: 6.4k

Anna walked into the concert hall. It was hot in there, she could almost feel herself sweat as she entered the place. She thanked herself for wearing only a long coat above her red dotted white shirt and her brown fabric bell-bottoms. She touched nervously her afro, before going towards the bar to have a beer. It was exciting to see Brian, her friend, playing on stage. It was something she missed a lot. She heard that he was playing in a band, she even went to some of his early concerts. But, sadly, her studies disabled her from coming to see her friend, she only wrote letters to him while being in Cambridge as a broke student for several years. But now, she was back home, to work and study – that she could now afford, not being too busy at University. She could even afford a small flat, nothing too cozy, but nothing in too bad shape; after all she wasn't paying much.

When she heard some agitation near the stage, after her first beer, she looked in that direction. The band was there, Smile. She immediately recognized Brian's luxurious hair, she missed her long-lost hair twin during the years they were apart. She was extremely happy to see him embracing his natural hair, because she remembered the times when he used to straighten it. Real massacre.

Anna rose from her seat at the bar to go see them clearer. She tried to catch Brian's gaze while he was adjusting his guitar, the Red Special as he used to call her. She waved at him, he saw her – who wouldn't recognize this afro in a crowd? – and shyly waved back before the beginning of the show.

Introductions were made. She swore that Brian spoke about four members, not three; but somehow, during that night at the Royal Albert Hall, only three of them were here, on stage. Tim, the lead vocalist and bassist, Roger the blond drummer and Brian, her friend, no Chris. Something must have happened, but for now it wasn't important.

They began to play. People around her seemed to know their music by heart, sharing their energy with the band which was exciting and beautiful. On her side, she was mesmerized by their performance. They were in such symbiosis that everything around her – cigarettes scents, alcohol, the crowd – seemed to fade away. Brian was absolutely amazing, she definitely knew it before but this performance brought it on another level – she had to admit that the last time she saw Brian perform was a few years ago. The other members of the band were mesmerizing too, Tim seemed so passionate about his singing, and so concentrated while playing bass and on the other hand, Roger looked so carefree, so wild while playing the drums. Everything looked so perfect, everything was enchanting.

When the magic ended she could go backstage to join Brian and the band. She had to make her way through the crowd towards the stage and to almost fight with the guards around the scene while explaining to them that she was invited by one of the members of the band, no she wasn't a groupie, no fuck off. Finally, Brian had to come and tell the guards that it was okay for her, that she was indeed his friend and she was invited backstage. Anna felt relieved, she had a haughty expression while getting there before it faded when she was alone with Brian, almost alone. She was so happy to see her old friend that she hugged him, a little more than usual. He was still taller than her, something that she always found irritating because she was used to be the tallest around. This was how they began their friendship, height and hair. He was doing well, he was still studying astrophysics, still playing music, and still full of talent. She always admired how versatile he was, it was one of his biggest qualities. Anna on the other hand was just studying English literature, nothing big, but she was good at it. She used to write with Brian when they were in high school, he had such a way with words. Anna only added some touches when he was writing, telling him what sounded better in her opinion, and he listened to what she had to say; they could discuss about the text for hours. Good old days.

Brian showed her around, leading her to the band's small space backstage. The question about not being four burned her lips and finally the fire started, Brian put an end to it by explaining why Chris had to leave them – argument, Chris Smith was out now, ugly argument really. Brian didn't give names, but something told her that Roger, this troublesome friend of his, the dentist, was the cause. She referred to Roger like that in their letters, which amused Brian a lot. When he pushed the curtain a bit, Anna and Brian came across the room dedicated to the band. Everything was blurry from smoke, heat, groupies. A lot of groupies on the couch, three groupies, for a small space three too much. She first met Tim, sitting on one of the chairs while discussing with a man with a peculiar face, but peculiar in a good way, it was something about his teeth... Tim shook her hand with a smile on his face, bringing her back to reality. She told him that she really enjoyed the show they put on tonight and he thanked her, he seemed genuinely relieved that she enjoyed the show. And then, Anna saw this blond head with this little smile, looking at the girls gathered around him on the couch, both hands spread on the headrest. The dentist. Yes, she now remembered that Brian told her about his “attractiveness”, which on the one hand brought them fans but on the other was a pain in the ass, Brian's words. But Roger seemed to enjoy the mess he made around him, if we believed the smile displayed on his pretty face. A loverboy. He smirked when he saw Anna. A dentist loverboy. Great. She wasn't sure if it was their coming or their hair that caught the drummer's attention when they entered the small space. Brian sat in front of Roger, on an armrest while Anna made herself comfortable in the same chair.

“Hey, Rog, this is Anna. You remember, my friend, the one I invited tonight,” Brian precised while pointing at Anna who waved shyly. Brian quickly looked at the three girls gathered around Roger, all having a good laugh with the drummer.

“How could I forget mate,” Roger replied, Anna and Brian had his full attention now. It was quite spectacular to see two persons with such hair in the same room, near each other. “I'm Roger Taylor, nice to meet you Anna”, he said looking at her. “Damn, you two look like twins, even the look and stuff. Brian, you didn't tell me you had a beautiful sister!”

“Rog, please”, Brian seemed to have enough of all of this, he only sighed and looked at Anna with an apologetic smile. She wasn't upset, she liked the idea of them looking alike, it always was fun to be taken for siblings. Especially with Brian. Hilarious situations came to her mind at that moment. Like the time they tried to convince a man while entering a bar that Brian was Anna's twin, the guy was slightly drunk but he saw most of the trick, but let them in anyway. Good time.

“Yeah, nice to meet you too,” she replied, with a kind expression which reassured Brian. “Great show, great drum work and all,” she wasn't really a specialist, she knew it, but she found the performance really interesting, and her compliments were absolutely genuine. Even if they were not totally important, at the end, who was she to judge their performance? A mere mortal.

“Oh you know, these hands can do wonders”, he answered with a cocky smile making the girls around him burst into laughter and cuddling up a bit more against him. Anna just looked up at Brian, a little confused, a little amused. Brian wasn't surprised at all.

“As you can see, I didn't lie to you when describing Roger in my letters to you,” Brian said with a little smile on his face, just to tease the blond. Anna absolutely knew that little smile of his. Classic Brian.

“Described me? What letters?”, Roger asked, loosening the cuddling position he was in. A wave of incomprehension crossed his face, he seemed to be processing every information he heard, slowly, without understanding everything, what Anna found quite funny.

“Oh, the dentist things, he only described the dentist things”, Anna playfully answered, then casting a knowing look at Brian. “Only dentist things, right?”

“Brian, for the love of God I won't become a dentist,” one could hear determination in Roger's voice. He became petty, pretty petty, and this blond hair was only enhancing his childish look which made him look so innocent, even if, from what Anna could read and see, he wasn't at all.

“If you say so, Rog.”

Roger processed the information, he had the whole process of thinking on his face, his eyes slightly shut, his mouth open a little and a gaze into nowhere. Anna didn't really know how to react to that... Absence. Brian elbowed her, as if everything was alright, and then started to ask how Cambridge was. They had so much to catch up, she had so much to tell him, she had so much to hear. Everybody in the room had their occupation, beer in hand, Anna having a great time speaking with Brian about the crazy stuff she did while in Cambridge while laughing, cross-legged in the chair, Brian laughing wile leaning closer to her to hear what she actually said to him because of Roger's girls laughing at his jokes. It was getting later and later, darker and darker outside and Anna had to go back home, into her small flat. Something she didn't enjoy much, she was having a great time there, with Brian, just like in the good old days. But everything had to come to an end. Sadly. Brian offered to walk her home, just in case and she gladly accepted that offer. Brian took his guitar, excused himself for not helping with the instruments tonight but he had to walk her home, safety first. Roger smiled, a knowing smile.

“Roger, she is my friend.”

“Yeah, for sure mate,” he winked at her, while hugging on of the girls more against him.

“Have a very, very pleasant night,” Anna commented while smiling at him. He pissed her off a bit, but nothing to serious, it was all in fun.

“You too girl, tell me if Brian was nice enough then,” he commented and Anna's attempt to reply was covered by one of the girl's laugh. Great.

And while Anna a Brian left the room, Roger was still thinking about Anna.

~~~~

Seeing Anna around during their gigs was something absolutely normal by now. She came back to London four months ago, and for the past two months she was going to see them perform as much as she could. In London, at home, everything was easier.

She finally became a huge fan of the group, it was inevitable with Brian's texts. He had some talent, no doubts. She was very fond of Doin' Alright, she always enjoyed when it was played during gigs. Something soothing the atmosphere, dulling the rumble of the crowd, making everything blurry when she was sitting legs crossed at the bar, a beer in hand and watching the stage from afar. And obviously then, she went backstage with them. There, she met Freddie, Tim's friend, the one she saw the first time she came, a talented art student. Shy and exceptional. He had extra teeth, something that made Roger laugh at first, but when he heard Freddie's singing voice, he, and his falsettos, got their jaws dropped. Anna herself was amazed. His performances, she guessed, will be bomb.

Tonight, Roger came in long after Anna – Anna was usually the last one to come into the band's space, knowing how much they needed a bit of rest after a gig – something that became normal, usual with the bringing girls ban Brian and Tim established especially for Roger. So now, Roger came in late. Everybody knew why, nobody wanted to hear it. But Freddie was always teasing him about it. When he showed up with a sheepish smile, some lipstick on his neck and a napkin with numbers on it, Freddie couldn't resist the urge to comment.

“Darling, you're always playing the perverted part after gigs,” and Roger just rose his shoulders, innocently, a dazzled look, a flirtatious smirk for Anna and a reply.

“You know, somebody has to play that part, I don't really see Brian playing it, nor Tim,” he explained, it sounded as a self-sacrifice for the greater good of the band. So dramatic. So Roger.

“Sure Rog, I could definitely not be as perverted as you are,” Brian replied and the looked at Anna, smiling. He once told her a Roger's adventure, when two girls showed up after their gig, claiming they were his girlfriends. He had an immense pleasure watching Roger hiding in closets while the girls were chasing him. Anna made a funny face, and could only nod in order to not burst into laughter while thinking about it.

“What “sure Rog”, mate? And you, what was that nod for, huh?” Roger looked at both of them, suspicious, straightening himself on the couch, scrutinizing them and their chemistry.

“Nothing Roger,” she replied amused, “nothing in particular. I mean, Brian could never be as good as you are at this kind of games.”

“You're on tight rope, Anna,” he warned her with dark yet smiling eyes, pointing right at her. He wanted to know why he was the butt of the joke, right now.

“Literature students are always on tight rope, Roger, I'm used to it. Plus, when you have Brian's hair because you're half black, being on tight rope is your destiny,” her answer was full of sarcasm, but full of truth too. She had difficult times with her hair, really difficult ones. But now, with her hair pal, everything seemed lighter, more joyful.

“Be careful Roger, she's taller than you,” Brian warned him changing the subject.

“And? What does that change exactly, mate?”

“She's taller, that's the joke,” Tim insisted encouraged by Freddie's laugh.

“Fuck you”, Roger replied, arms crossed on his chest, looking from time to time to see if Anna was looking at him. And she was. This dentist was a funny guy after all.~

~~~~

Smile was dead. God save the Queen.

Smile had to fade to let Queen rise. This was how Brian explained Anna that Tim wasn't playing with them now, they separated after a few more gigs together, but remained friends. Funnily enough, the one replacing Tim was Freddie. The Freddie that Roger first called a “dental freak” to what Freddie replied that a drummer dentist shouldn't give any opinion on his teeth, especially when he couldn't sing properly. Roger was red, and Brian and Anna were only laughing, covering their mouths while doing it. But then, they became friends, even when Freddie called him a perverted little brat. Even then, Roger could only be more bitchy than ever and cock-fight with Freddie about who had more sass. Anna secretly loved these small challenges.

As Tim left the band, they needed a bassist. Freddie wasn't really suited for the bass, and God knew they tried to make him play – it was a disaster that Anna never wanted to forget, seeing Brian's absolutely jaded expression while Roger was screaming at Freddie for not playing it alright, a priceless moment – but this never really worked, and they needed a bassist. Quickly. And there he came, John Richard Deacon, born on August 19th 1951. He was studying electric engineering, nothing too fancy, he looked like a shy person who had nothing to do on stage – Roger's words when he came in, according to Brian – but he shortly proved that they absolutely needed him in the band while softly playing the bass, with such passion, yet stiffly but they could work on that. And when Anna saw the whole band for the first time, during one of their rehearsals, as Mary, Freddie's friend was sitting next to her on the couch, she immediately saw, and said to Mary, that these guys were going to go places. Mary agreed. Both of them thrilled by the aura the group made.

Anna was already in bed, her hair in a a blue turban, thick socks on and under a huge blanket when somebody knocked at her door. She wondered who could bother her at that hour. First, she thought that something happened to her parents, so she rushed towards the door, but instead of gloom and doom she found Freddie, mist coming from his rosy lips as he smiled when he finally saw her open the door. It was cold outside, and Anna asked herself how Freddie was not freezing his ass out there.

“Freddie,” she yawned. Then, she rubbed her shoulder in order to heat herself up a bit. “Come inside, it's so damn cold outside. I'll make some tea and you'll explain to me what's happening to you.”

“Oh, nobody's dead, darling,” he playfully said while sitting on one of the chairs around the small round wooden table. “Not yet.”

If this sentences was meant to reassure her in any way, it failed its purpose. Truly. Anna turned around to face Freddie, the water was boiling behind her, two cups with jasmine tea were ready to be used. Her expression was perplexed, she was still sleepy, and didn't get the joke nor any other information.

“Nobody's going to die, darling, I swear,” Freddie said after a small chuckle as he looked at this sleepy-head. “I just need another genius to help me with a song, nothing more, darling,” he finally told her as he put a small notebook on the table. It once was a small notebook, but now it was composed of hundred different papers flying around and some brown pages. All Freddie's works. Every one of them better than the previous one. And Anna was supposed to... Help him? She heard the boiling water and poured it into the cups before serving them on the table. She sat in front of Freddie, thoughtful.

“I don't know how I could help you,” she admitted and drank a sip from her cup after the water became brown, “ I mean, Brian is a better specialist than...”

“Darling,” he interrupted her abruptly, “here lays the whole the fun. Brian won't know anything about it because we will rewrite Keep Yourself Alive together before Queen's first performance! Isn't that fantastic?” he frantically asked her, absolutely thrilled about the idea of creating something new out of this song.

Anna wasn't sure about what was going on. She wanted to help Freddie, so badly, but at the same time Brian should know about the changes before their first concert which was in a few days... But everything was so exciting, adrenaline ran through her veins at the thought of being part off a secret project like that. And Anna liked surprises, she liked to surprise Brian a lot, he always made funny faces when something unusual happened around him, and she secretly enjoyed these funny faces and these moments when he lost his composure, just for a second.

“Show me these lyrics, Freddie,” she said and drank some of the tea from her cup, “we'll work this out and this will be the best song ever I swear!”

“Your enthusiasm is so divine, I love it Anna!”

They both smiled before beginning to look at the pieces of paper. And so was the song, divine.

Anna and Mary were in the crowd in the small bar Queen performed in, standing along strangers, standing close to one another, waiting for them to begin their performance. She then felt a presence, some guy tried to touch her hair in the back, drunk as hell, she absolutely told him to fuck off while Mary just put her arm around Anna's shoulders to keep her closer and to – somehow – avoid another unwanted contact. When Anna rose her eyes on the stage, she saw Roger's expression. It was a true mixture of rage, incomprehension and anxiety. She could ready each one of these emotions from where she was. She was curious to know why he had such expressions imprinted on his pretty face, why he had to experience these feelings all together. Suddenly, Freddie's voice broke the hubbub in the room after Brian's introductions and some cheers for Roger, who wasn't clearly paying attention to whoever shouted his name in the crowd.

“Hello beautiful people,” Freddie cheered the audience as a voice rose asking where Tim was and who this “Paki” was.

Anna and Mary looked back at the man and almost killed him with their eyes; but as soon as they turned back to face the stage, they saw Freddie struggling with the microphone during the beginning of the song. Nearly hitting John, nearly killing John on his first performance, with the microphone. Yet, he still managed to catch audience's attention while singing so perfectly the song they all knew, or thought they knew. As soon as the lyrics began to change, Freddie winked at Anna and the grin on his face grew.

Brian's expression went funny. Anna could kill – metaphorically speaking – to see this expression on Brian's face; she could almost hear him saying “Wrong lyric, Fred” while continuing to play on his guitar, which was absolutely hilarious when you were aware of the little trick Freddie had prepared.

The band's meeting just after this gig was the best one Anna assisted to so far. When Mary and her entered the space, Freddie almost ran to hug Anna tight. She hugged him almost as tight as he did.

“Thank you darling, thank you for helping me,” he exclaimed after breaking the hug a while after and fondly looking at Mary then. “Anna's the other genius who wrote this song.”

“The other what?!” Anna could hear irritation in Roger's voice. She wasn't sure what it was about. Was it about what happened just before they came on stage, when his expression was a monstrous medley of emotions or because of the change of the lyrics?

“Anna you didn't,” Brian interrupted while looking at Anna, somehow disappointed, or just maybe weary.

“We worked all night long,” she admitted as she sat on the armrest of the couch, playing nervously with her afro, “and the result isn't as bad as I thought it could actually be.”

“I feel betrayed,” Brian said, looking like a sad puppy at Anna who just sent him a kiss across the room. “No kiss will heal the betray of a friend, Anna.”

“Soothe the pain maybe then?”

“I can go for a kiss as an apologize,” Roger said while looking at Anna from across the room with a playful smile on his face. “I'm all for negotiations.” She blew him a kiss, jokingly and then began to laugh. Roger's face became paler than usual, he went silent for a long moment, maybe for a too long moment.

“You got Roger but not me,” Brian continued, and Roger internally thanked him for his intervention at that particular moment, when he felt maybe too much, when he remembered how pissed Anna looked when that guy touched her hair while he was on stage, not able to tell him to fuck off and when he remembered that she blew him a kiss, jokingly. Softly. He got shivers down his spine, body relaxed, his mind being somewhere else for a long moment as he lost himself into her blue eyes.

~~~~

As Queen was rising, Anna became a regular in their rehearsing room along with Mary. The two girls were always sitting somewhere in the room, doing their things as the boys were playing music. Anna found it absolutely calming, even when they were trying to rip their heads off – when Roger tried to rip Freddie's head off mostly – because the music they made right after was divine. Especially when The Night Comes Down was performed next to them, the two girls caught themselves moving their heads in rhythm with Roger's drums while listening to the song. One of Brian's masterpieces, and Anna, as an English major, went crazy when she heard it for the first time. She had already read the lyrics and found them particularly beautiful, but hearing these in Freddie's mouth was another experience, an experience worth living for. She immediately stopped writing whatever she was writing and endlessly looked at them playing, Freddie sitting on the chair next to the piano and Brian carelessly touching the strings of his guitar while John was in the back, playing softly, stiffly. And Roger, Roger never seemed so calm and focused. Anna remarked how glowy his porcelain face was when he was playing, making kissy faces unknowingly as he played. His hair was smoothly moving along with his sharp and precise movements, and sometimes, she managed to catch his eye. His glistening eyes looking at her, and for a second, his confused face became a smiling one: he winked. She chuckled, shaking her head still in rhythm.

On other days, while Mary and Freddie were speaking, Brian in the small kitchen space drinking another tea and Roger somewhere, over the rainbow probably, John and Anna found themselves in the room, each of them sitting on a chair, in perfect silence. Anna would lie if she told that she found this silence awkward, it was, indeed, a great silence. Mostly, John was scribbling something on a notepad, Freddie gave it to him a few months after he joined the band, as a gift and John felt really happy about it, genuinely happy, and Anna would sit an try to write an essay about another lecture she had or about another poet's feature. The would look up, lock their eyes, smile and finally, go back to their activity. It was strangely relieving. John wasn't talkative, and Anna usually neither and somehow this kind of relationship brought them close. It became a ritual, nobody – except Roger, – would disturb them.

“What are you doing,” Roger finally asked, after making so much noise that Anna could hear John sigh while writing something, so she rose her eyes and smiled. He smiled to. Roger smiled too and came nearer. She hoped that he wouldn't ask questions, vain hopes.

“Magic as you can see,” she sarcastically answered as Roger was peeking over her shoulder, “trying to cast a spell to maybe become rich and famous someday and to have a good grade. But the grade part is optional actually,” she admitted while looking up. She saw his beautiful eyes looking down at her, nearly veiled by his fringe. He had a halo made of light-bub light above his head.

“Want some help?” he offered.

“You're a dentist, Roger.”

“Fuck off Anna,” he replied visibly annoyed. But this comment didn't prevent him from sitting next to her in the couch. “I may be a dentist, but that doesn't mean I don't know shit about literature and whatever you're doing here.”

“Oh really? Wow, Mr. Taylor will help me with my essay,” she teased him as he looked at her. “Okay, let's see what you've got then. See?” she asked while pointing at the line she was actually studying, “I need to find the exact definition of the term, so I'll be able to...”

They spent an hour and a half trying to understand what exactly the author meant in this poem, what could be useful to comment upon this Nightingale. Roger was smart, smarter than Anna thought and she was ashamed to admit it. He frowned when he couldn't get the point of the author, trying to analyze the structure of the line as well as he could, while Anna was analyzing the stress pattern of the line, iambic pentameter, fade away... They didn't even notice when Freddie's voice could be heard from the other side of the room, complaining about Roger being “so involved” that Brian had to seriously talk to him, for his own sanity. And maybe John's.

“Rog, Freddie will rip your head off if you don't get up and come banging your drums,” he said, as both Roger and Anna looked up at him, in great confusion. “You're late Roger, and you're lucky that I'm the one coming and not Freddie.”

“I heard that darling,” Freddie commented.

“Shit, sorry!” Roger said, understanding finally what was going around him. The bubble burst, and the moment he was sharing with Anna was over. “I was helping Anna with this analysis and then...”

“Freddie, I'm absolutely sorry,” Anna said looking at Freddie across the room, “it won't happen again! I won't steal your drummer any longer I promise!”

“He wasn't bothering you?” Brian asked, a bit off and confused as he got a nasty look from Roger.

“Hey, I'm not the botherer here, mate!” Roger commented, with or without innuendo.

“He was actually quite helpful, Brian! Who knew something was under this blond wig!” she joked.

“First of all, fuck you Anna and second of all, don't you give me that look Brian I can be helpful!”

“If you say so, Rog,” Brian commented , a smile on his lips after Anna's comment.

“Yes darlings, be all lovey dovey while John and I are dying out here because we can't rehearse,” Freddie remarked, striking a dramatic pose that made Mary chuckle as John just rose his shoulder, having his bass hanging on one side.

“I'm ready Freddie, let's do your thing,” Roger said while getting up, before turning again to look at Anna. “Mr. Taylor was pleased to help you, Mrs. Anna,” he winked at her, with a teasing smile. Anna could hear Brian sigh and catch a glimpse of his deary expression. The poor guy had to deal with this group – Freddie and Roger – all day long, courageous man. “So, we're playing what now?”

“Liar,” Freddie answered, his look full of surprises, Mary standing next to him.

“Very funny Fred,” Roger remarked as he reached his drum set and sat, waiting for them to begin.

John and Anna were sitting in silence, each one of them trying to focus on their work, on anything while the band took a small break. Strangely, Roger was nowhere to be seen, no shouting, no talking, no peeking, nothing. When both of them heard light footsteps next to them, they rose their heads to find Roger: Anna gave John a knowing look as the man just nodded before heading back into his work. Russian roulette: who Roger wanted to bother today? Anna already felt that her essay's conclusion was to be forgotten, not done here, not today actually but how wrong she was. Roger sat on the couch where she was, on the opposite side with a pen and a small notebook. He curled one leg up on the couch, as he put the notebook on his lap and began to think, deeply think as he frowned. He then began to scribble on his paper. John and her exchanged a curious look, as Roger sat silently and began to tap his fingers on the hard cover of the notebook. Curiosity killed the cat. Anna approached his side of the couch, leaving the conclusion of her essay, and began to peek over his shoulder, as he always did either to John or her.

“What are you doing here, Roger,” she playfully asked, as he always did when he came in the room to bother John or her.

“Magic,” he sarcastically replied mocking her as her eyes opened a bit wider in confusion, “trying to cast a spell in order to have a great song, the great part is actually optional.” She chuckled as she remembered saying the exact same thing to him the other day.

“I guess you could use some English major help then,” she offered as Roger always did.

“You're implying that I can't write all by myself?”

“I'm implying that you came here because you wanted either John's”, she began to say before noticing that John was already on the other side of the room, speaking with Freddie, “or my help. But it seems that I'll be the only one offering help here,” she suggested. “What's the title of the song?”

“Modern Times Rock'n Roll,” he proudly answered looking at her.

“Very evocative of... Rock'n roll?” She had a little smile on her face as she wasn't really sure what to say about the song.

“You're so perceptive it hurts Anna, I'm impressed,” he admitted nodding slowly.

“Show me that thing, I want to see the lyrics Mr.Taylor!”

He put the notebook on her lap and she looked at the lyrics with great attention. It wasn't Brian's fondness and delicateness put on page, but something more... Effective? She knew absolutely nothing about rock compared to Roger who was following every trend, many bands, reading, writing about it... And these lyrics weren't made to sound only “pretty” – these actually weren't what Anna could call “pretty” but “accurate” and “well chosen” for this subject – but to state something: the changes in the rock world. So, it didn't require a lot of metaphors, no love interest, no Kings nor Queens, but only words, raw words arguing about the new rock facing the old one. And Anna would lie if she didn't admit that it was pretty interesting to see lyrics under this perspective. She laid her eyes on him, on this porcelain face framed by blond strands of hair and asked if he could sing it. Bloody yes, was his only answer. He looked as excited as a child on Christmas Eve. He closed his eyes for a moment, began to tap his fingers on the couch they were sitting on and sang. So he did. His raw and raspy voice was everything the lyrics needed. Anna could not imagine Freddie singing this song, not with as much passion as Roger did with his own song, with the knowledge, the wisdom. Freddie was amazing, but this was Roger's turn to show off – besides his falsettos that they once discovered when the man saw a spider and began to cry his lungs out, a marvelous moment as Freddie recalls. Anna's mind was dazzled, impressed.

“So?” he finally asked, looking at her a bit longer than he should, making her realize that she went silent for a moment.

“So?”

Nothing to say?”

“You want compliments or real judgment?” she said joining her hands around her knee and leaning back.

“Do I look like somebody craving for compliments?”

“Kind of,” she joked as he frowned before she continued. “It was really good, I'm pretty impressed,” Roger's ego was puffing in front of Anna as a mating pigeon.“But”, she continued as his enthusiasm faded immediately away, “I have a problem with this line, let me show you...” She looked at the paper, searching with her finger for the line that didn't sound good to her ear, not as good as the rest of the song. “Here! And my musical's life lookin' // Like a long Sunday School cruise, the idea is good but... It doesn't sound well actually... It lacks something...”

“Lacks something?” he asked, astonished by her remarks as she began to bit her thumb while thinking about something better. The verb “lookin'” was really bothering her, there was an alliteration in “l” which should be nice, but as a matter of fact it gave a heavy tone to the line...

“It seems a bit off, you know what I mean?”, he frowned even more, but now in incomprehension. She remained silent for a while, thinking about what could replace this verb to make it more airy, a sunny afternoon, a light afternoon... “What about changing lookin' into feelin'?”

“This was the only thing bugging you, like really?” his voice was almost full of reproach, but more full of relief. He thought that his song was absolutely off, lacking something more essential, but here, she was just going into details. Which was good. Actually really good.

“Shut up Roger!” she said as she straightened on the couch and pointed at the lyrics. “The alliteration in “f” will be more effective here, it will give a lighter effect than the one in “l” which is basically heavier... Try with feelin' then.”

“You became a musicologist or what?” he joked as she elbowed him with a small chuckle.

“Poetic studies specialist would be more accurate,” she corrected him, “I want to hear it, try it please!”

Her excitement was remarkable. Roger sang the lines as she requested, and it felt lighter, gave some air into the structure of the song. But this wasn't Anna's only remark, the real work only began here. They finally sat there, for a few hours, figuring out ways to make the text as light in sounds to contrast with the heaviness of the thoughts. At one point, their shoulders brushed against each other. They were so close to each other, invading the other's personal space a lot, Anna putting sometimes her hand on Roger's shoulder while he was singing again to give birth to the text again. When she leaned closer, her hair tickled his nose making him sneeze and Anna could only laugh. Roger joining the fun right after. Sometimes one could see some blushing faces when both of them realized how close they were.

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