#Finally drew him in this era! Tensions are high and so is he | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

everafterkeiji · 3 years

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Song: Easy to Forget Me by Cimorelli

Pairings: Tobio Kageyama x fem! reader

Word count: 2.8k

Summary: When the king's queen was out of his grasp before he can realize

Warning/Genre: angst, toxic friendship, anxiety attack

Symbols: Italics=flashbacks

A/N: um- im very much hurt

Kageyama pants as he runs, pushing his limit with his eyes scanning the street ahead of him. His chest heavily coming up and down with sweat dripping down his skin. Mind empty but theres a certain feeling in his chest that was urging him to come back to a certain period in his life or a certain someone.

As he passes by a certain store, he suddenly stops. The feeling of his legs as if it they were holding him back, restraining his every move along with a voice lingering in his head like a broken record.

"She wasn't there."

Like a rock thrown to glass, his heart shatters, the sharpness of it scattering around his body making him weak to his knees as he stares at the shop that brought back memories he should've cherished. Maybe he should've gone with you when you asked him, maybe he should've took interest in your stories that had you smiling for days.

Maybe he should've chosen to remember.

"Tobio! Please don't push me away." Y/N begs, as Tobio disregards your words as he locks the door, slamming it in front of you. It was right after the match of Kitagawa, where his teammates claimed him the King, leaving him stranded.

"Please.. I'm here. I'll stay with you, I promise." Y/N says, head leaned on the door as she desperately tries to talk to the boy who've built such high walls a person like her can never reach. Kageyama can hear her pleas through the door but only one scene was repeating in his head-the moment the ball dropped, not even a soul was willing to save it for him.

"Kageyama.." she whispers sliding down with tears in her innocent eyes, scared for the condition of the boy, even more scared of what was bound to happen to their closeness.

The door creaks open slightly, and she was off her feet wiping away her tears as she turns around to see the broken boy clutching his shirt. He collapses into her arms and she gladly takes him, both sat on the ground with her hands running through his dark locks. Tears in each of their eyes, Y/N holding onto him while he questions himself. All the words that slipped through her mouth was nothing but sweet whispers and promises, reassuring him that he was no king.

Just a prince surrounded in a kingdom he didn't deserve.

"T-thank you for yesterday. You're the only one I can..count on." He says through the phone and you immediately smile at his words, surprised he believed in your promise. You let your hand rest on top of your heart, gripping on your shirt feeling that your heart was too big to fit into your body with how your emotions were overwhelming you just because of one boy. You wonder how long it'll take for you to break under him, under the kings command.

"It's nothing, Tobio. I'll be here whenever you need me."

"Kageyama! Good morning!" You say as you gladly bring him his usual choice of milk. He nods to you as a sign of thank you, and you smile at him. You walk with him silently, admiring the pleasant air between you two. It was a coincidence you two entered the same school, or was it really just your instinct and you chose it to protect the boy?

"I heard about this new store. Do you wanna come with me? I've seen photos of it everywhere!" She rambles on yet it fell on deaf ears as Kageyama was only delighted about being back on the gym, able to play his passion. When he turned to her, even if she was talking, his slightest care couldn't be given to her. He'd only nod every once in a while to make it seem like he'd understood.

If your heart knew that he didn't care, maybe then you would've realized.

We're in the same town

But you're nowhere to be found

"She hasn't been around for days. Do you think she'll make it to our game?" Hinata asks as Tanaka hands him another ball. Tanaka sighs as he looks over to the empty bench. It was funny how they were all concerned yet one boy couldn't care less. The second year looks over to Kageyama who spiked the ball perfectly, seeing him cheer at his success.

"Worry less about Y/N, she probably has her own problems. We all know that she could never miss our game, especially when Kageyama is playing." Daichi says, looking over to the younger boy. Daichi can feel how cold the atmosphere was with just a glance. He tries not to interfere with whatever happened between you two but after the match no one saw you again. Yet he sees Kageyama, perfectly back in his mindset and not an ounce of suspense as to why you weren't present.

"Plus we missed her birthday! Can't we buy some gifts for her? She doesn't really seem okay to me." Sugawara say and Nishinoya jumps at the idea agreeing completely.

"Seems like he shouldn't be invited." Tsukishima says, pointing at their other setter. Hinata sighs beside him, before shaking his head, in denial of the tension.

"Let's just go after practice!"

He walks inside the record store, seeing a variety of albums and vinyls. He lets his slim fingers run over the texture of each album, wondering which drew his attention. The atmosphere of the store was enough to leave a weight on his shoulders.

It's you, isn't it?

He eyes a poster on his left, enjoying how the colors were spotlighted by the sunlight that was peeking through the window. All the soft hues, having a dark gradient at the bottom he couldn't help but feel how familiar everything was. He carefully listens to the song that was playing, concentrating on every lyric as if he was trying to find a connection.

This is her world.

He watches how everyone in the store was occupied in conversations. Conversing about their interests, debating about different eras, even singing in different aisles. He can only feel sympathy, alone in her world he didn't bother to acknowledge. He should know by now what music you like, what album you first bought, which band poster was hung on your wall, but when he tried he could only hear murmurs and whispers.

I wish I listened.

Do you ever miss me?

You wonder as you sat in your room, knees to your chest in the far corner, listening to the song playing in your earphones. You stood up, walking to your window and opening it, greeted by the cold air. You let you hands dangle from the window while your eyes landing on the night sky creeping a smile on your face at how comforting it was.

The moon stares down on you, feeling helpless for the girl who thought numbness was the right choice. She couldn't even mask the way her world was slowly loosing color. To her, music would always paint her skies with color. All she can do now is envision the colors but in reality they were all desaturating with every passing day. There's pretty smile set on her lips yet feels like a tug of force knowing it was hard to act civil when her heart lost the battle.

"This place is so cool!" Hinata exclaims, eyes sparkling at the sight of the vivid posters and overall aesthetic and aura of the store. Nishinoya joins him on the excitement. Daichi turn to Kageyama who looked like a lost puppy, eyes wandering everywhere. Sugawara taps Daichis shoulder quite cutely holding up a vinyl in his hands.

"This looks like something she'd like!" He says with a smile and Nishinoya joins the conversation, holding out his own album waving it in the air claiming it was more her type. Asahi laughs at the two while he continues to view the albums that were in front of him.

Kageyama glances at his seniors along with the second years. He sees the genuine care they have for her but why is that he feels empty? Like he was numb to any feeling. He did miss her birthday, not even bothering to greet her, focusing on doing better for the next matches.

Hinata notices the dismay from the boy but his lips form a thin line, knowing exactly why Kageyamas clueless. He wonders about the feeling of neglecting a person that's been by your side for years. Kageyama seemed like he was a pro for such things. He always took notice of how Y/N would look whenever he's decline her offers, the way she walks to class disheartened but when she sees the setter, she instantly lights up at the sight.

Seeing her cry that day was enough for him to keep a distance.

How can he even comfort her? The moment she turned her back to Kageyama, she had a hopeless smile on her lips, tears continuously rolling down her puffy cheeks. He could see the way she collapsed that way. How the queen finally let go of her duties from the king.

Kageyama laid on his bed with earphones in, hands to his chest focused on the melodies. It was ironic how he wanted to badly catch up on what he's lost. He was badly trying to find the trail back to you but he was unfortunate. It seemed like he was the one that changed everyone's destination.

The moment she stepped in the gym, so bewildered at the different personalities they had. Hinata was the first one to approach her, asking her questions about their "friendship." The following months went by and Hinata found comfort in her and so did the rest of the team, favoring her for her endless support, always hearing her cheers at each game. After every match, she'd always encourage the others, being the brightest sun to cast upon the team who was discouraged.

Yet he found this unnecessary?

He bites his lip at his old thought. He hated himself for thinking how useless of a habit that was for you. He believed that Daichi was enough to lift up the spirits of his teammates so the team really didn't need you. It's opposite for the others though. They truly appreciated each of your compliments, each pat on the shoulder or head. Even if you wanted to do the same for him, he'd always walk away before you could even reach him. Hinata and Yamaguchi would always try to make you forget how harsh the boy was.

He lets his eyes close for a while. For a second, he was at peace but then words started resurfacing.

"How could you just walk away?"

He tries to ignore the tone of her voice, trying to drown it out by increasing the volume, but his heart was panicking at the memory. Even if he tightly shuts his eyes, all he can imagine was the sight of the last time he saw her. He wanted to sit up, to avoid the anxiousness that was crawling under his skin, but his back remained on the bed, struggling to escape the encounter.

"Is it that easy to forget me?"

Y/N.

(TW! Anxiety attack. Do not proceed if this makes you uncomfortable)

He calls out to her like a whisper, clutching his pillow as he stares wide eyed at the ceiling. He feels the room swirl around him, the walls caving on him as every insult and memory came to him. He sits up and desperately tries to walk but he collapses on the floor, hands quickly reaching the hem of his shirt bringing it over his shoulders. Panting incredibly with his sweat covering his forehead as he tried to calm himself down but each second he was reminded of a moment in his life he could never change.

"Hey..Kageyama it's okay." Y/N tries to reach for his shoulder but he harshly grabs a hold of her hand, gripping it tightly in his as he stares her down with his dark eyes, locking on her terrified ones.

"We fucking lost! To Aoba! To Oikawa! How can you act like this when we lost?!" Kageyama shouts at her and she winces at the volume but she lets her other hand rest on top of his, trying to make sure her eye contact reminded him that everything was going to be okay.

"Tobio- Karasuno will come back and win again.. You have to trust that everything isn't set in stone. Failure-"

"FAILURE? I don't have any fucking time for more failures Y/N! You simply don't know what that feels cause all you've been doing is tagging along and being useless." He spat and you felt your smile crumble at his words. He removes your hands from his as he frustratedly runs his hands to his hair, feeling as if pins went through his hands, blaming it for their loss.

"Kageyama..you don't m-mean that. Stop. I know you're angry-"

"I'm disappointed Y/N for fucks sake! I could've done better! We could've won if I didn't slip up. Stop acting like you can fucking solve everything and leave!" She takes a step forward to him as he extends out a hand, blocking her from moving any further. The gesture completely draining the life out of her, her heart growing more and more in her chest, the admiration for the boy trying to erase his negativity.

"K-kageyama-"

"Fuck Y/N! Can't I have a day without you talking to me? Or even being around me? I don't need you. The team doesn't need you. No one else does.. so please just leave already."

He stares at her for a while before rushing off, annoyance and pride feeding his heart and mind. She sees him getting more and more distant as she lets her last smile fall on her lips. All the love and joy was erased from her heart, feeling how shallow and dark the atmosphere was inside it. It began to feel like every heartbeat was slowing down as her tears painted her a trail as she walked. The tears continuously flooded her cheeks as every function of her body was weakening with every action.

She feels the tension that there was in the bus, while she was stuck in the corner, silent.

Silent but the Kings poison consumed her.

Happy birthday to me then. She thinks bitterly.

She looks at the scenery beside her, appealing dull. She allows her heart to cry at the sharp pieces that went through it, as if it was like a balloon being popped or like the light from a fire was blown out.

There was a certain part of her that died that day. She wonders if it was her entirely, or just her ability to feel anything apart from the harsh reality. It was the mere feeling of hearing him say the exact opposite of the words you were badly used to. As the person who he counted on even back at Kitagawa, you should've believed it. But every word he threw were all words that should've never been brought to light. You were back to zero to say the least, back at the darkest corner of your mind. Touching in with your negative emotions drowning you with every replay of of his words.

Then she glances at him.

She lets her eyes linger on him for the last time before she sighs, hands forming a ball, nails digging through her skin.

I don't know you anymore.

Kageyama opens his eyes slowly, hands reaching for his phone as he dials a forgotten number. He was panting furiously, desperate to hear the sound of your voice he was late to miss. He dreaded the silence the surrounded him, he wished the silence would be killed by your voice, assuring him that all was forgiven and you were ready to come back to him so he can apologize for everything he's done.

On the other end of the line, you sighed sadly. You the see way your phone lit up the dark room, seeing a name you've yet to see in months. You carefully place the phone in your hands, trying to find the feeling in your chest when he was around. The feeling of excitement to see or hear him has vanished yet you wished that you had the ability to feel for him again.

Love has faded, no evidence, not even a trace.

So you put the phone down, done waiting to be found.

Kageyama hears the way the sound of the phone stopped, seeing his wallpaper flash in front of him. He lets the tears fall from his eyes as he calls out to you one more time, even if you broke your promise, still holding on to it but there wasn't a chance for him anymore.

And the queen left the kingdom, leaving the king to rule by himself.

#kegayama tobio #haikyu x reader #haikyuu sugawara #hinata shouyou #hinata x reader #nishinoya x reader #sugawara x y/n #tsukishima fluff #tsukishima hcs #tsukishima x reader #haikyuu!!#kageyama x reader #yamaguchi fluff #haikyuu yamaguchi #haikyuu asahi #tobio x you #daichi sawamura x reader

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weasleydream · 4 years

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A thousand time stronger

Here is the famous Narnia imagine! I had this idea when I watched The Prince Caspian and, as some of you asked me to post it... It’s finally there!

If you have some Narnia requests, don’t hesitate to send them (and if it’s angsty then thank you so much because who doesn’t like some angst?)

Anyway, enjoy!

Masterlist

(gif not mine)

Our story takes place in a world none of us know. It was a fantastical world, a world most of children would want to visit, or would have wanted to visit during its brightest period. Now, Narnia was nothing more than the shadow of what it used to be, an apparently lifeless world invaded by heartless people. Its Golden Age had ended so many years before, its happy days disappeared in a blow of wind in the same time as the most loved Kings and Queens Narnia ever knew.

Still unaware of what their beloved Narnia had become, in fact, still unaware they even were in Narnia, five kids were playing in the clear water of the sea after a unique experience with Magic. The oldest was Peter, it was a kind boy who wanted nothing more than to protect his siblings, even though he could be a bit strict with them, or some of them to be more precise. The oldest girl was Susan, she was soft and had the irritating habit to talk like their mother. Then came Edmund and Y/N, the twins of the family. During their childhood, they couldn’t have been more different - Edmund was as mocking and vicious as Y/N was introvert and unsure of herself. However, they were now like the two sides of a coin, they knew each other perfectly and were inseparable. The youngest was Lucy, a little girl with a big heart and a contagious smile. Together, they had reigned on Narnia during fifteen years, known as Peter the Magnificent, Susan the Gentle, Edmund the Just, Y/N the Brave and Lucy the Valiant, before being thrown again in the house of Professor Kirke.

After a year of dreaming of it, and even if our heroes didn’t know it yet, they were back at Narnia. But if they hadn’t changed a lot - they were only a bit taller and the girls’ hair were longer - their beloved land wasn’t the same. In fact, it was so different that they didn’t recognized the beach they had contemplated during fifteen years.

“Where do you think we are?” finally asked Edmund with his hand above his eyes to protect himself from the burning sun.

“I thought you were more intelligent than that, Ed.” laughed Y/N. “Where do you think we can possibly be?”

“It’s Narnia, you silly.” replied Peter.

“I didn’t remember these ruins…” muttered Edmund.

And indeed, when they looked up, his siblings saw ruins at the top of the cliff in front of them. It was the first witness of the past splendor of the place, only a few stones carrying the wealth of their history. All intrigued by this mystery, they ventured in the woods that led to the old castle and, enjoying the shadow provided by the trees that were definitely calm, they began to explore. Suddenly, and as usual in these situations in which her elders lacked of imagination, Lucy understood where they were. She placed her siblings in front of the little piles of rocks that had once been thrones.

“Imagine columns, and a roof made of glass.” she said. “This is Cair Paravel!”

The joy had been quite short, because this realization was accompanied by another one, much more worrying and even sad.

“It can’t have been that long.” murmured Y/N.

“It can, remember the time isn’t the same in here.” replied Susan.

“You know what it means?” If her smile was contagious, Lucy’s tears were too. “All our friends… Mr Tumnus, Mr and Mrs Beaver… They are gone.”

After a few minutes of silence, the time for the Pevensies to process these news, these decided to continue their exploration. Now that they knew where they were, it was much easier to get their bearings.

“Oh, I didn’t remember this corridor!” said Lucy as she walked between two stone lines.

“Look, this is the orchard!” exclaimed Edmund.

“Come here!” shouted Peter. “Remember this door?”

“The Treasure Room?” asked Susan. “I hope it’s intact!”

And intact it was, with all the treasures they remembered and the ones they had forgotten. At the end of the room aligned five massive trunks. Lucy precipitately opened hers to find her dagger and her Cordial. She also showed Susan a dress she had worn when she was an adult. She was amazed at the size. After the most adult answer Susan could have given her (“That’s because you were taller!”), Edmund and Y/N exchanged an amused look and opened theirs in the same movement. The first thing Y/N saw in her trunk was her sword. She grabbed it, not fearing a second the rust, and drew it. The blade was still as perfect as the last time she had seen it, with all the engravings retracing all the battles she had won alongside Edmund, Peter and sometimes Lucy. A nostalgic sigh escaped her lips when she gently passed her thumb on the oldest engraving. Battle of Beruna. She could remember it as perfectly as if it had happened the day before, the blood rushing in her head, the adrenaline when the two sides had met, the sickening fear when Edmund had been injured, the anger and desire of revenge she had felt just after. It had marked the beginning of the happiest era of her life, for sure.

During the following hours, all the Pevensie siblings began to feel more like the Kings and Queens they had been, and less like the children that had just left England. And with that, the tensions between Y/N and Peter became more and more present. For a long time, Peter had been really hard with the twins, always reprimanding them as soon as he had the occasion. Susan was also like this. Things had changed with Edmund after the Battle of Beruna, when he had been hurt and Peter had thought he would lose him. Since this day, he had been less on his nerves with him, and slightly less with Y/N too, but it was nothing comparable. When they had come back in England and left for school, they hadn’t seen each other a lot and it hadn’t been a problem. But as they were walking in the woods to find Prince Caspian, Y/N was feeling like she would scream just to get this out of her. The way Peter was giving orders around, the way he was holding his head a bit higher than needed, it was really irritating and not really respectful for Trumpkin the dwarf.

The little group finally reached the camp where Caspian was with the Old Narnians. After the presentations, Y/N decided to explore the surroundings and left Edmund and Peter to their council to follow Lucy and Susan. Together, they wandered between fauns, dwarfs and all types of animals. They were sharpening blades or chatting, but it gave the girls all sort of memories.

“What three girls like you are doing here?”

It was a little faun, apparently really young.

“We’re just walking around.” said Lucy.

“Oh, Lucy, look!” exclaimed Y/N, who hadn’t really paid attention to the faun. “Are they mice?”

Indeed, twelve mice were proudly walking toward the mound.

“Lucy?” repeated the faun. “Are you… Are you the Queens? Queen Lucy, Queen Susan and Queen Y/N?”

“Absolutely.” approved Y/N.

The little faun’s eyes became round, and he didn’t lose a second before rushing to the first friend of his he saw, exclaiming with big moves the Old Kings and Queens were here. Soon, a crowd formed around the girls and Y/N, who hated all this royal attention, managed to escape and joined Edmund, Peter and Caspian in the mound.

The ambience was way more tensed in there, and soon, Y/N learned that the actual king, Miraz, was Caspian’s uncle and an usurpator. His army was here, ready to defeat Caspian’s and kill his nephew. They knew Aslan was the only one that could offer them a victory, but they needed time.

“A duel.” finally proposed Peter. “A duel that will end with the death of one of us. Either Miraz or me.”

No one found a better idea and an order was immediately written. Peter handed it to Edmund, and Y/N followed him outside. The twins joined the camp of the enemy and the crowd of Telmarine soldiers opened in front of them. They glared at the two Narnians and whispered on their passage.

“Are they the famous twins? The ones deemed to be invincible if they fight together?”

“I had never seen a girl with a sword…”

“They don’t seem that dangerous.”

“You kidding?”

To be fair, seeing them walking that calmly in the middle of the enemies, shining in their armours perfectly polished, was simply impressive. Edmund was slightly in front of Y/N, one of his hands holding the parchment and the other firmly gripping his belt. Y/N had grabbed casually the guard of her sword. Their faces matched with a determined look visible only in times of war, and the only thing that disturbed the calmness they had imposed themselves was the nervous habit Y/N had always had: her jaw clenched compulsively.

Edmund and Y/N didn’t answer the whispers around them, they only straightened a bit their back and kept walking at a steady pace toward the tent in the middle of the camp. The fabric was richly embroidered with gold thread, which didn’t leave a doubt about the comfort Miraz used to live in. The twins eventually reached the entrance of the tent and the two guards in front of them stepped aside after an order coming from Miraz himself.

After all she had heard about him, Y/N had imagined a terrible man, intimidating with a royal stature which would have helped him keeping the throne of Narnia despite him not being legitime. But in fact, he looked like an usurpator in her opinion. Each of his features showed how perfidious and contemptuous he was. Even Peter didn’t lift his head that high - Miraz seemed to be an arrogant man.

After the usual presentations, which caused the nobles around Miraz to look at Edmund and Y/N both in amusement and disbelief, the discussion eventually came to the duel. Miraz listened to Edmund as he read the order while Y/N watched carefully at each person present in the tent. None of them inspired her trust and she had the unpleasant impression that no matter which arrangement was adopted, it wouldn’t be respected by the Telmarines.

After a sign of the usurpator, Edmund and Y/N left the tent to let him the time to think about his decision.

“Tell me again, why do we think they’ll respect our engagement?” asked Y/N.

“I know.” replied Edmund. “I don’t trust them either. But we need time, we need to keep them busy until-”

“Until Aslan is ready to help us, I know.”

A silence followed, during which both imagined how bad things could go if they were betrayed. Of course, none of them would have said it out loud, and that for two reasons. The first was that they didn’t need words to communicate. One look, one gesture was enough for them to understand the other. The second reason was that they were too worried and didn’t want to worry more the other. It had always been kinda like this, but this overprotectiveness had reached its peaks during their first time in Narnia, when Edmund had left alone to find the White Witch. Y/N knew something was wrong, and she knew her twin wouldn’t have let her alone like this without a good reason. She had defended him in front of Peter and Susan, Lucy being too kind and too young to blame him, and it was from this moment that her relation with Peter had become worse. When Edmund had finally been rescued, when he had seen by himself how worried Y/N had been, he had sworn he would do anything for her not to be worried anymore. When she had seen how distraught her dear Ed was, Y/N had sworn the same thing. Of course, they had forgotten they could read each other like an open book, and they just lost the habit to formulate their fears with words.

Maybe seeing the twins silent had given the Telmarines the courage to approach, fact is that they began to laugh just under their nose.

“I’ve always said that a lady with something cutting in the hands is the most stupid thing that can happen.”

The soldier who had said that was a tall man with a mocking grin. Apparently proud of his intervention, he elbowed the man next to him who laughed. The Pevensies couldn’t know that, but the second man had a painful memory of his wife threatening him with a knife while she was slicing the meat for the diner and tripping at his feet, cutting his arm in passage.

“Or the most dangerous.” replicated Edmund, who was particularly proud of his sister.

“Is it true that you’re two of the best swordsmen of your time?” asked a young soldier. He seemed more impressed than the others.

“Maybe you can show us!” It was the first soldier. Y/N rolled her eyes and Edmund shook his head.

“No offense boy, but I really would like to see your sister in action.”

Maybe he had heard enough stories to know Y/N was easy to provoke, fact is that the solder touched the reckless part of her and despite Edmund muttering it wasn’t a good idea, Y/N got up and drew her sword.

“You want to see me fight?” she asked. “Fine. Attack me.”

The three men were less proud now that a crowd was forming around them.

“Come on Y/N, don’t play with them and do it quick, we don’t have all day!” shouted Edmund.

No sooner said than done, in only a few movements no one saw precisely, except Edmund who had seen her fight a thousand times, Y/N had won the fight. The three soldiers were on the ground with their mouths wide open. Edmund snickered and shook his head when his twin complained about how easy it had been. However, his attitude changed immediately when one of the soldiers, the one who had provoked Y/N, got up silently and readied to attack her by behind. One look at his brother warned her and she turned around at the speed of light to grab the collar of his chainmail and position his own sword under his chin.

“Don’t ever do that again.” she hissed.

The soldier was simply terrified, and that was understandable: he had in front of him Y/N Pevensie, a dangerous girl whose reputation had traveled the ages, who was known by every Narnian like the most skilled swordswoman of history, and who formed with Edmund (who was now standing behind her) an invincible duo. Y/N eventually let go of him and tiptoed to watch him in the eyes.

“If I were you, I would pray to not cross me during a battle, or else you’re dead.”

And she gave him her back to sit back on the tree stump she was initially on. The crowd quickly dispersed, and no one noticed the humiliated soldier rushing in the tent. Roughly five minutes later, Miraz got out and walked directly toward Edmund and Y/N who stood up even though they didn’t respect this man at all.

“Does it amuse you to play with my soldiers?”

This question full of contempt was for Y/N, and the girl felt her blood boiling. She could practically feel Edmund’s warning radiating behind her and, at the cost of a great effort, she relaxed.

“Your soldiers wanted to see me fight.” she replied. “I couldn’t deny them this honour.”

This was maybe her biggest flaw. Y/N, in the very same way as Edmund, was someone very sarcastic and was simply unable to measure when sarcasm was allowed and when it wasn’t. Useless to precise right now, it absolutely wasn’t.

“I don’t think they’ve all had the opportunity to see you,” began Miraz, “and I didn’t have either. I accept the duel against your brother with the condition that you fight against twenty of my best soldiers. If you win, the duel will take place. If you lose, your brothers, sisters and Caspian will die. If you don’t accept, my army will attack yours when the Sun will be at its zenith. Now, if you need me, I’ll be in my tent.”

And Miraz left, persuaded he had found the way to get rid of all of his enemies. A long silence took place between Edmund and Y/N, the first one fearing his sister’s decision and the latter regretting bitterly her behavior. Unconsciously, they had both glanced at the Sun, but they knew it was still early in the morning. Now, all that they had to do was take a decision, and Y/N was on the verge of accepting, after all she was the responsible of this situation, but Edmund took the lead.

“We go back to our camp. Peter will decide what to do.”

“The decision is already taken.” groaned Y/N.

She wasn’t angry at Edmund, of course. She was mentally scolding herself for having been so pretentious and, even though she would never admit it, she was pretty afraid too.

“There’s no way you’ll fight them, Y/N.” said Edmund. “I won’t let you.”

And he left at a quick pace, obliging Y/N to follow him. They gained back their camp in a total silence, where they found Peter and Caspian discussing strategies with Trumpkin and Cornelius. When he saw his siblings’ expressions, both matching in a mix of fear and anger, Peter immediately understood something had gone wrong.

“Where are Susan and Lucy?” asked Y/N.

“Gone.” replied Peter. “What happened? He didn’t accept?”

Edmund glared at Y/N, and even though Peter knew it wasn’t actual anger, it still was so unusual that he began to imagine the worst things that could happen. Above all, Edmund seemed decided to let his twin talk on her own.

“No! He accepted… Well, kinda.” muttered Y/N.

“Kinda? Tell me what happened.” Now, Peter was beginning to worry too.

“He’ll fight with you if I beat his twenty best soldiers in a round.”

She had talked so low that Peter wasn’t sure he had heard correctly. Y/N explained how it had happened, how the three soldiers had provoked her and how she had effortlessly beaten them. Then she added in a small voice that all of their lives were on her. At this point, Peter was pacing and, if Y/N had had the same connexion with him that she had with Edmund, she would have seen he wasn’t angry either but worried sick. But she didn’t know, and the shame made her keep her head down.

“You won’t let her fight, right?” asked Edmund.

Peter stayed silent, trying his best to imagine how things could go if they were attacked a few hours later. Of course he didn’t want to let his little sister fight, but he had a big responsibility on him and feelings couldn’t be good.

“You can’t forbid me.”

Y/N had gained her courage back and was decided to assume her mistake. There was no way everyone would be thrown in a battle lost in advance if she could prevent it. And at this moment, she was sure she could beat these soldiers and she wasn’t worried for her siblings’ life, along with Caspian’s one.

“Everyone, out.” said Peter with his autoritary voice.

Everyone left, the last being Edmund who refused to let this decision be taken without him and had to be dragged by Caspian.

“Peter I swear you better take the good decision!” he screamed just before disappearing after a particularly violent push from Caspian.

A long silence took place in the mound. Peter was still pacing and Y/N, waiting not so patiently for his decision. After a few minutes, Peter felt observed and he glanced at his sister.

“Don’t look at me like this Y/N. You won’t fight.”

“You can’t-”

“Yes I can!” shouted Peter. “And if I really need to use this argument; then I’ll do it: I am the High King and you have to obey me.”

It was all he shouldn’t have said, because it put Y/N in such an anger that she rushed toward him and stopped a few centimeters only from him.

“You may have been the High King,” she hissed, “but I have been a Queen. I have never let anyone give me orders and I won’t start today. Whether Ed likes it or not, whether you like it or not, I will fight. I made a mistake and I have to make up for it, that’s all.”

“And if you’re killed?” Peter was getting crazy. How could he make her understand how much he wanted her to be safe?

“Then I hope you’ll be smart enough to not be killed on the spot.” For a split second, her voice shook and Y/N prayed for Peter not to have heard it. But he had, and it had made his heart sting. “But it doesn’t matter. I won’t lose.”

“You can’t know that!” he exclaimed. “You see, you’re not mature enough to be involved in all of this! You never think, you-”

“It’s not a question of maturity Peter! I do not have the choice, it’s different. Don’t think one second I’ll let you die…” she added with a lowest voice.

“And you don’t have to die either. If we let him attack-”

“That’s exactly what we wanted to avoid! If we let Miraz attack, then we’re dead. All of us. You said it yourself. We can’t count on Aslan, that’s why we need to gain time. And this time, I’ll gain it for you.”

With that, Y/N left without waiting for his answer. The fact is that Peter knew she was right, but he wasn’t ready to let her risk her life. He had always been especially hard on her, but he loved her with every fiber of his heart. If only he could have taken her place, he would have done it without any hesitation, but Miraz had been clear. If Y/N didn’t fight, they were attacked. However, he gained back his senses soon enough to yell “You stay on the camp!” just before murmuring “That’s an order you better follow.”

Of course, Y/N didn’t have any intention to follow this order, not this one after all the ones she had ignored and especially coming from Peter. She was looking for a horse when Edmund grabbed her arm.

“Can I know where you think you’re going?”

“Looking for you.” she lied. “Peter wants to talk to you.”

She had always been unable to lie to Edmund, and the latter saw perfectly through it. He narrowed his eyes, probably ready to tie her in order to keep her safe when, by an exceptional coincidence, Peter’s voice echoed. He was calling for Edmund. The boy reluctantly let go of Y/N’s arm and gave her his back. She knew he would take apart the first faun or minotaur he would see to tell him to watch her, which was why she didn’t have a lot of time. She innocently walked toward the nearest horse and, when she was just next to the animal, she jumped on its back. Unfortunately, Edmund had seen her and immediately shouted her name.

That didn’t stop Y/N and she exhorted her horse to go faster. If all her blood hadn’t rushed in her head blocking every sound around her, she would have heard him screaming her name with a desperation he had never shown or even felt. All she could think was that she had to fight, even if she had to lose her life. It was for her siblings, who she loved more than anything. It was for Caspian, who had proven to be an excellent prince and friend. It was for Narnia, which was her second home.

Y/N reached the enemies’ camp way faster than the first time. She rushed in Miraz’ tent, pushing aside the two guards at its entrance in passing, and only stopped when she was in front of the wooden table. She extended an arm, her eyes fixing the usurpator.

“My brother agreed.”

And they shook hands at the very moment Edmund entered the tent, hit by a wave of pure terror when he couldn’t help but think it could be one of the last times he saw her alive.

The grass under her body was soft, as it had always been in Narnia. It was way more comfortable than the grass of our world, and it gave Y/N the feeling she was lying on a cloud. She was far enough from the camp to only hear the lapping of water that flowed lazily somewhere on her right. She was used of the woods, used of listening carefully each noise, and she immediately heard the steps that came closer and closer to her. She didn’t try to hide, though, because she knew it was Edmund and she wanted nothing more than to see him.

“You should eat something.”

She didn’t answer, not because she wasn’t hungry but because the restraint in his voice was something she had never heard, and for the very first time, she couldn’t understand if Edmund was angry or not.

“Y/N, the meat is cooling down.”

“I’m not hungry.” she said with the most calm voice she could.

“You should-”

“I told you no, Ed!”

Y/N had shouted and immediately regretted it. Edmund sighed and stepped closer. Until then, he had waited standing a few meters away. He let himself fall on the ground and laid just next to Y/N.

“Are you afraid?” he finally asked. Y/N could feel his eyes on her.

“No…” she lied. “Not for me, anyway.” It was a bit more true.

“I am.” Saying Y/N was surprised would be an understatement, and she looked at her twin in disbelief to meet his teary eyes. “I’m afraid to lose you and... and so is Peter.”

“It won’t be the first time I risk my life.”

“It’s different, Y/N.”

She didn’t find anything to reply, and Edmund stayed silent. He had closed his eyes too, and his thought were monopolized by only one thought, or more precisely, one memory: the day, so many years before, when he had been rescued from the Witch’s camp.

Edmund was walking next to Aslan. He had been afraid of the big Lion, afraid that he would think he was the worst traitor he had ever met, and the worst was that Edmund thought he would have been right. The sun was getting down, and illuminated all the camp in a delicate golden colour. Aslan was silent, and all of sudden, a kind of purr could be heard; it was like if it came right from his heart.

“Tell me what you are fearing, Son of Adam.”

Edmund didn’t know what to answer and stayed silent. He feared so much things that he didn’t know which one the Lion wanted to hear, plus, he didn’t want to be seen as a coward.

“Your brother and your sisters won’t blame you forever, don’t worry.” At this moment, Edmund knew Aslan had guessed his worst fear. “You should go and see them.”

Indeed, Y/N, Peter, Susan and Lucy were waiting for him in front of a big tent. Edmund slowly approached them, not completely reassured by the Lion’s words, but Y/N didn’t wait and ran toward him. She threw her arms around him and tightened him almost painfully. She was muttering something under her breath, something only Edmund could have heard if only he wasn’t murmuring himself.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry…”

When, after what felt like hours, the twins eventually pulled apart, their eyes met and Edmund’s heart broke a bit when he saw the tears in Y/N’s eyes. At this instant, he swore to himself he would always protect her, whatever the cost.

And protect her he had always tried his best to do. Y/N had become his absolute priority, he wanted to make up for all the tears she had shed because of him. That’s why he had always stayed by her side, in parties and during battles, he had always been there for her and had never really shared his own worries, wanting to take care of Y/N’s first.

The problem was that Y/N had done the exact same thing. From this day when he had finally come back, when she had seen the desperation and infinite shame in his eyes, she had understood Edmund wouldn’t be truly happy until he would finally be able to understand it wasn’t completely his fault, and that no one would hate him for that. She had made a point to always show him she was here no matter what. She had done everything to hide her own problems, considering Edmund’s ones were way more important.

That’s why, without even knowing it, they had developed a silent language between them, one that would reveal each of their fears, each of their wounds, a language that reversed all the efforts they had made to erase themselves.

They stayed silent like this during a quite long time, maybe an hour, and only moved when the sound of a horn echoed. Two short sounds followed by a longer one. It was time.

Y/N found herself like paralyzed, unable to make any move, not even when Edmund got up. He gently grabbed her hand and that helped her getting out of her trance. She got up.

“You still have time to refuse.” he murmured.

“You know I won’t.”

Edmund wanted to roll his eyes but he decided against it, not wanting to do anything that could possibly upset Y/N.

“Yeah, I know. Foolish hope, when you hold us… Come on,” he said while passing an arm around her shoulders, “I will help you to get ready. You will let me help you right?”

“Of course.”

Since the moment she had hurriedly left the camp to go to Miraz’s, Y/N hadn’t seen Peter once. Edmund led her in her tent and helped her putting on her armor, which she had taken off before hiding in the woods. Then he grabbed her sword and give it to her.

“Don’t wanna force you to be violent,” he said with his famous smirk, “but I hope you’ll slice them all.”

He was only pretending to not be terrified, of course.

Outside, both camps were reunited around a square delimited by ropes. To get there, Edmund and Y/N crossed the crowd of old Narnians who solemnly stepped aside on their passage. By now, they all knew what kind of agreement had been done, and they all thought Y/N couldn’t possibly win this.

Peter was waiting for them next to the improvised arena. His jaw was clenched and his arms crossed, but his nervous steps as he paced along the rope showed how worried he was. The twins finally joined him, and Y/N found herself regretting bitterly Lucy and Susan’s absence. She didn’t feel that confident anymore, and she would have wanted to tell them goodbye. On the other hand, if she lost, her sisters would be far enough to hide.

“Ed,” she murmured. Edmund immediately turned his head to look at her. “Can you send someone warn Lucy and Susan?”

Edmund’s jaw clenched and he looked away. After a second, Y/N understood it was because asking him that was like admitting she would lose.

“Please Ed, I just want to be sure they are safe.”

He finally nodded weakly, and both his and Y/N’s gazes followed Peter’s one. Their elder was looking at the twenty men aligned in front of them, most of them tall and broad. Miraz was slowly walking in front of them, giving his back to the Narnians and probably giving his soldiers advices or orders. The usurpator had put on his shiniest armor for the occasion. Suddenly, Peter placed himself in front of Y/N and grabbed her shoulders.

“Listen to me.” He was whispering so that Y/N and Edmund, who had moved closer, were the only one that heard what he was saying. “Miraz thinks brutal strength will be enough to beat you, but you have the advantage of the speed. The best you can do is tiring them until they get slow enough for you to attack without being touched. Okay?”

Y/N nodded and put all her bravery in this small movement. However, all her courage was certainly not a lot as she began to slightly shake. She had a bad feeling about this, something she felt on her blood and her bones. Peter, when he saw how distraught his little sister was, did something he had never done before: he engulfed her in a strong embrace, a bone-crushing hug quite uncomfortable with the armors but oh so warming in their hearts. Y/N wrapped her arms around her brother and tightened him as firmly as she could and, even though none of them said anything, they knew something was definitely different between them. If Susan had been here, she would have smiled tenderly, savouring the first demonstration of love Peter and Y/N had shown to each other in years.

Peter eventually let go of her and softly ruffled her hair.

“You can do that Y/N. I believe in you.”

Then Peter took a few steps backwards and Edmund practically jumped at her neck. He almost choked her to death, but she didn’t say anything because these signs of affection were rare with Edmund and she wanted to enjoy it as long as she could. She expected to see the same look as in the forest, but the determination burning in his eyes almost burnt her too and she felt as ready as she could ever be.

“You can win Y/N.” said Edmund. “You’re the best, you can beat them all without any difficulty.”

Y/N nodded, more firmly this time, and entered the arena. The encouragements of her brothers echoed in her ears, and she felt like she could move mountains.

The first man took a step forward. The fight began.

Y/N was whirling like a dancer, her gestures full of grace as she stroke powerful blows. Her sword shone under the sun, along with her polished armor, her black hair flying around her and forming an aura. Everyone, Narnian or Telmarine, understood Y/N’s reputation in the stories: it seemed like it wasn’t a girl in front of them, but a demon.

The first five guys were beaten rather quickly. Y/N hadn’t been seriously injured, except after the third soldier had hit her head violently; she had staggered a bit but had gained back her senses soon enough to send his head flying. She did as Peter had said: her strategy was to provoke them, forcing them to attack while she just jumped out of their league. However, this strategy had two flaws: first, it was hard for her too, and the fifth soldier had understood. From this point, she didn’t have any other choice than to always take the first attack, and the fights became more fierce and violent than before. The seventh soldier brought her her first serious injury, a long cut at the base of the neck.

When his sword had cut her flesh, Edmund’s heart had almost stopped. YN had taken a few steps back, just the time to evaluate the damages, before jumping on him with a renewed vigour. He had sighed, thanking Aslan she was still alive, and glanced at Peter’s pale face. A scream in the crowd had made him focus again on the fight to see his twin killing the seventh soldier.

Y/N had thought maybe she had a chance. The first soldiers hadn’t been too hard to beat, and she had truly hoped she could get through this. But this hope had vanished a long time ago: the more injuries she got, the closer she saw her death. Her body was aching, every fiber was protesting against her movements. Her muscles were burning, her head was painful both because of the blows and the sun. She was sweating so much that she had to grip her sword harder to not let it fall. Her lungs seemed to be unable to continue bringing air in her body, and after a desperate assault during which she pierced her enemy’s stomach, she fell on her knees and noticed absentmindedly a dagger hidden in his belt.

The fourteenth soldier had already taken a step forward, but in spite of killing her on the spot, he offered her a helpful hand.

“You need some time?”

“Five minutes.” she whispered.

The soldier nodded and helped her getting up. Immediately, she felt two pairs of arms behind her, and when she turned around she met Edmund and Peter’s worried faces. Without losing a second, they half dragged her to their side of the arena and sat her on bench that had been brought here for her. Peter examined her head, constantly rambling about how great she had been and how she could win, while Edmund cleaned the cut of her neck without a word. She noticed his hands were slightly shaking and for a second she felt bad.

“Let me alone, please.” she murmured.

Peter stopped, glanced worriedly at her and left. Edmund hadn’t made a move, yet Y/N had grabbed his wrist to make sure he would stay.

“I wasn’t going to let you.” he said.

“I know.”

They stayed silent a few seconds during which both of them tried to find something to say.

“Ed, I wanted to tell you in case I…” Finishing this sentence was too hard.

“In case you nothing Y/N. You can do it, I know you can.” Edmund looked like he was trying to convince himself. “You won’t die, you hear me? I told you Y/N, I can’t lose you.”

And he hugged her tighter than before, and she hugged him weaker than before because her strength was missing.

“I’m sorry…”

It came in a broken breath, a weak and pathetic sound that yet broke Edmund’s heart. All of sudden, and for the very first time, he was crying, bitter tears rolling on his cheeks as his twin, his second half, gave up on her shell and showed how terrified she was.

“Don’t do that… Don’t do that Y/N, I don’t want…”

“Ed, I need to tell you-”

“No!” he exclaimed. “Why don’t you tell Peter? Why don’t you want to see him? Why do I have to be the only one to hear your apologies? Why do I have to be the only one you say farewell to?”

Y/N wiped a tear from her face. Now, it was clear: the both of them knew she would lose and die.

“Because it will be easier for him that way.” she replied in a whisper.

“And me? Did you- did you think about me? Why don’t you make it easier for me too?”

“I don’t know how to do that, Ed!” cried out Y/N. “But I can’t… Without you, I just- I can’t do that, Ed! If you don’t help me, I won’t be able to go back there and to fight; if you-”

She had stopped so brutally because Edmund had hugged her once more, one last desperate embrace to show her how much he loved her and why she couldn’t possibly lose.

“I love you Y/N.” He murmured in her hair. “You have to come victorious, you don’t have the choice, okay? Promise me.”

“I promise.”

And she got up, a new strength in her, something that felt like desperation but that gave her the impression she could swim beyond the biggest ocean and climb the highest mountain. She walked toward the last seven soldiers but after only a few steps, she vivaciously turned around and ran directly toward Peter. She jumped on him, making him stumble a bit before gaining back his balance and holding tightly his little sister.

“I’m sorry Peter,” she murmured, “so sorry… Please, if I lose, please, don’t let yourself get killed. Protect Ed, Lucy and Susan, and Caspian, and Narnia, Peter, please…”

“Of course Y/N, of course.” he replied. “But you have to promise me you’ll do your best to win, promise you’ll fight like the lioness you are.”

Y/N smiled and nodded.

“Peter, I…” She had never said it to him, but she needed him to know. If she couldn’t keep her promise, Peter had to hear it at least once. “I love you, big brother.”

And Peter, with the heart heavier than it had ever been, kissed lightly her hair.

“I love you too, little sister.”

Y/N eventually let go of Peter, exchanged a last glance with Edmund, and gained back her place in the middle of the arena. The last seven soldiers were in front of her, all of them looking more impressive than the others. The girl had the terrible impression to be in one of these apocalyptic scenes you can see in the movies. She was facing her enemy, all alone and looking so insignifiant, surrounded by thirteen lifeless bodies, her steps in blood rivers printed on the ground.

She was ready to attack as soon as the signal would be given, but she certainly didn’t expect Miraz to slowly walk toward her. He lifted an hand, probably to say that Peter and Edmund had to stay where they were, and murmured something in Y/N’s ear.

“Each of these soldiers are stronger than the first thirteen reunited. Good luck,dear Queen.”

He left with a little smile, placed himself between his big chair and the wooden table he had put his helmet, sword and shield on, and gave the signal.

Y/N had hoped Miraz had just tried to discourage her, but it was clear that he was right. The soldiers were way stronger, each of their blows hitting like a rock with the speed of light. Y/N was running on empty, her breathing became more and more rapid and her moves slower and slower. The weight on her heart, knowing that Peter and Edmund hoped she would get out of this alive, was almost too much for her to bear.

However, against all odds for Miraz and the Telmarines, like they had expected for Edmund, Peter and the Narnians, Y/N fought incredibly well. She had turned her desperation into a force and, like each person that doesn’t have anything to lose, she had become simply dangerous. She took risks, she got hurt, but she killed several soldiers. One, two, three, four. Only three left. The victory had never been closer and, for the first time since the beginning, she seriously considered the thought that she could win.

She should have known. The last three soldiers walked simultaneously toward her, drawing their sword in the same movement, two of them stepping aside to surround her. Of course, it was Miraz’s order. If by miracle, she beats seventeen of you, you three, you fight together against her. She can’t win, understood?

The true fight began. From the corner of the eye, she saw the first man attempting to hit her. She dodged and attacked another. A sword touched her leg, another her arm. She dived to the ground. Rolled, jumped. She fell, bled, screamed, attacked. One hit her straight in the jaw, and she fell backward. She rolled and striked a body. Two swords threatened to finish her. Her eyes fell on the hidden dagger. No time to think. She grabbed the dagger, threw it on a man’s face, pierced the other’s body, rolled to dodge the last.

It took all her strength to get up and look at the man in front of her. Her knees were shaking, threatening to give up on her at every moment. She was giving her back to her family, and she couldn’t see their broken expression.

Because Edmund knew when she was exhausted. He knew when Y/N couldn’t move anymore, and he knew she felt like that at this very moment. Peter still hoped she would find the energy to kill the last one, he hoped she could get him by surprise if she attacked quickly enough. Both screamed when she fell back on her knees while letting go of her sword, and when she looked down, as if she was accepting her fate. As if she was ready to die.

“Y/N!” screamed Peter.

“No! Y/N, NO!”

Edmund tried to join his twin to protect her, but Peter had grabbed him, himself being held by Caspian. They didn’t notice Y/N slightly jumping when she heard them. The sword of the Telmarine seemed to fell on her in slow motion, and Peter and Edmund saw it hit her back. At the same moment, the soldier fell backward, Y/N on the top of him.

The following seconds seemed to last hours, everyone looking in disbelief at the two immobile bodies. Then, slowly, very slowly, her groans covered by the cheers of the Narnians, Y/N got up. Her chainmail had protected her, and in a desperate attempt, she had jumped on the solder to tackle him on the ground, her arm extended and her sword ready to kill.

Peter and Edmund rushed toward her. Y/N turned around and fell in Edmund’s arms.

“You did it! Y/N you did it!” Edmund had never felt so relieved in his life. “You scared me, don’t ever do anything like this anymore!”

“I can’t promise…” she smiled weakly. “Wait, I’ve got something to do.”

Y/N dragged her exhausted body toward a soldier. She ripped the dagger from his bloodied face and walked slowly and solemnly to Miraz. With a thud, she planted the dagger in the wooden table, and the weapon shook a bit. A puddle of blood was forming around it, soaking Miraz’s weapons. He seemed infuriated and looked up to Y/N as if he could kill her on the spot.

“Peter is a thousand time stronger than me.” She said with the most royal voice she had ever used. “If you want to stand a chance against my brother, I hope for you you’re a thousand time stronger than all these soldiers.”

And she left without adding anything, stumbling toward her brothers. Edmund wrapped an arm around her waist, Peter around her shoulders, and they slowly joined the mound under the Narnians’ cheerings.

#this is what happens when i binge watch Narnia #the chronicles of narnia #narnia imagine #edmund pevensie #peter pevensie #edmund x twin reader #edmund x twin #sister reader #peter x sister reader

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aion-rsa · 3 years

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5 underrated Richard Donner movies you need to see

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Richard Donner will forever be remembered as the filmmaker who created the blueprint for the modern superhero blockbuster with 1978’s Superman starring Christopher Reeve.

Yet that doesn’t tell even half the story of the Bronx-born filmmaker’s brilliant filmography.

Donner was in his late 40s by the time Superman came along, having made a name for himself in Hollywood two years earlier, with 1976’s suitably terrifying The Omen.

Prior to that, he was a budding director making the transition from the small screen to the world of cinema. Donner worked on everything from Gilligan’s Island to The Twilight Zone. Even then, it was clear he was destined for bigger things though, as anyone who saw “Nightmare at 20,000 Feet”, the iconic episode of The Twilight Zone he directed, starring William Shatner, can attest.

While a disagreement with producers ultimately saw him walk away from Superman II, the 1980s saw Donner establish himself as an incredibly versatile big budget director capable of handling everything from the epic family adventure fun of The Goonies to the balancing act of action and comedy found within the buddy cop antics of Lethal Weapon.

It was a skillset that drew admiration from the very best in the movie industry, including Steven Spielberg who was among the first to pay tribute to Donner after learning he had passed away, aged 91.

“Dick had such a powerful command of his movies, and was so gifted across so many genres,” Spielberg, who worked with Donner on The Goonies, said.

“Being in his circle was akin to hanging out with your favourite coach, smartest professor, fiercest motivator, most endearing friend, staunchest ally, and – of course – the greatest Goonie of all.”

Donner may not have had the same impact in the 1990s and early 2000s but he still enjoyed major success with the Lethal Weapon franchise and as a producer with movies like Free Willy and X-Men.

More importantly, the other films he made during that period and in the years between some of his biggest hits remain well worth revisiting or seeking out for the first time – starting with these five.

Ladyhawke

Coming hot on the heels of The Goonies and two years prior to Lethal Weapon, Ladyhawke represented another major departure for Donner. A dark medieval fantasy, it centred on Rutger Hauer’s mysterious Captain Etienne Navarre and his female companion Lady Isabeau (Michelle Pfeiffer), a pair of star-crossed lovers on the run from a vengeful bishop who has placed a demonic curse on their heads. While Navarre transforms into a wolf by night, Isabeau exists as a Hawk by day. Teaming up with petty thief Philippe Gaston (Matthew Broderick) they embark on a quest to overthrow the evil bishop and break the spell.

Something of a passion project, Donner had attempted to get Ladyhawke off the ground several times before finally getting the green light from Warner Bros and 20th Century Fox in the mid ’80s. The film then suffered another setback when Kurt Russell, originally cast as Navarre, dropped out during rehearsals.

That ultimately proved a blessing in disguise with Hauer going on to deliver arguably his best performance since Blade Runner. Not everything about Ladyhawke works – Broderick’s character feels a little too close to Ferris Bueller while the runtime could be trimmed down – but it remains a beautifully realised fantasy epic, full of memorable action set pieces, stunning cinematography and a spellbinding turn from Pfeiffer.

A box office bomb upon release, Ladyhawke has stood the test of time too, garnering a cult following as an authentic and fresh take on the sword and sorcery formula.

Maverick

Maverick is the film Will Smith must have hoped Wild Wild West would be; a funny, clever action comedy based on a classic TV show. Coming in an era when most westerns were deadly serious, Donner’s film also felt like a breath of fresh air and benefited hugely from a masterful William Goldman script that was both witty and unpredictable.

The latest in a series of films featuring Donner’s muse-of-sorts, Mel Gibson, this time out Mel plays Bret Maverick, a brilliant card player and equally impressive con artist trying to collect enough money to earn a seat at a high-stakes poker game. Along the way he is forced to contend with a fellow scammer in the form of Jodie Foster’s Annabelle Bransford as well as lawman Marshal Zane Cooper, played by James Garner, who starred in the original TV series.

While the glut of cameos from country music stars and the likes of Danny Glover can be a little distracting, there’s something wonderfully charming about Maverick with Gibson, Foster and Garner all on top form and boasting an undeniable chemistry that helps keep things entertaining.

The climactic poker game which sees Maverick face off against Alfred Molina’s psychopathic Angel is also expertly handled by Donner, who cranks up the tension as Maverick reveals his final, decisive, hand with a slow-motion toss of the final card towards the camera. A critical and financial success, Maverick has been largely lost in the shuffle since its release but should be sought out.

Conspiracy Theory

There’s something strangely prescient about Conspiracy Theory given the current predilection for such thinking on the internet at large. One of Donner’s most inventive and intelligent outings alongside Gibson, this time out Mel plays Jerry Fletcher, a New York City cab driver with a penchant for paranoid conspiracy theories.

Jerry’s life takes a turn for the strange when he finds himself being targeted by a set of shady government goons led by Patrick Stewart’s Dr Jonas. He quickly realises one of the conspiracies he has been promoting in his weekly newsletter (this was the ‘90s) is based more in reality than he thought. The question is: which one?

An engrossing thriller featuring Donner’s trademark dashes of witty humour, Conspiracy Theory is bolstered significantly by the presence of the ever-reliable Julia Roberts as a government lawyer with a soft spot for Jerry. Despite a lengthy run time, Donner also keeps the action moving along at an engaging pace while Gibson’s performance is just the right side of manic to keep you rooting for him.

A first foray into the kind of deep state conspiracy thrillers that were commonplace in Hollywood at the time, the film also boasts some genuinely striking moments, not least the sequence where Jerry undergoes “psychotic testing” at the hands of Dr Jonas, which wouldn’t have looked out of place in A Clockwork Orange.

Though it was a hit with audiences, Conspiracy Theory earned mixed reviews but appears increasingly worthy of reappraisal.

Timeline

Some movies are big, dumb but lots of fun. Timeline sits firmly in that category despite what many naysayers would have you believe. It’s a brash, simplistic sci-fi flick to rival the likes of The Core and Geostorm and thoroughly entertaining to boot.

The fact that it features Gerard Butler, as well as the late, great, Paul Walker only adds to that sentiment.

Walker plays Chris Johnston who, along with Butler’s Andre Marek and a team of fellow archaeologists travel back in time through a wormhole to 14th century France to rescue their professor, Dr Edward Johnston (Billy Connolly), who just happens to be Walker’s character’s dad too.

Based on a book by Michael Crichton, Donner had been in the running to direct Jurassic Park a decade earlier and jumped at the chance to adapt Timeline for the big screen. While filming went off without a hitch, Donner repeatedly clashed with Paramount Pictures in post-production and was forced to re-cut the film three times in a development that saw the release date pushed by nearly a year. The resulting edit did not sit well with Crichton either, who disliked it so intensely he stopped licensing his work for a few years after.

Whether Donner’s original cut would have earned better reviews or Crichton’s approval remains to be seen but what remains of Timeline is still a well shot, enjoyable sci-fi yarn with some neat medieval action flourishes.

16 Blocks

Donner’s final film also ranks among his most unappreciated. On the surface, 16 Blocks sounds like the perfect fodder for a game of buddy cop movie bingo.

It stars Bruce Willis as Jack Mosley, a worn-out NYPD Detective with a drinking problem tasked with transporting Mos Def’s trial witness Eddie Bunker to court. Problems arise when some of Jack’s fellow officers arrive to kill Eddie and prevent him from testifying. Eager for redemption, Jack decides to take the would-be assassins on and get Eddie to court on time.

A formulaic enough premise, 16 Blocks is emboldened by the fact it plays out in real-time with Eddie required at the courthouse by no later than 10am. In this sense, Donner found himself in new territory with an action thriller that thrives on a unique sense of urgency.

While the filmmaker is no stranger to the action formula, this setup sees him imbue events with a renewed sense of chaos, as Jack and Eddie fight their way through armed adversaries, busy crowds and bustling traffic, all against a cacophony of shouts, car horns and gun blasts.

Ostensibly a chase movie on foot rather than four wheels, the action traverses 16 blocks in 118 minutes and rarely lets up for a second with Donner proving a dab hand at balancing the action with the engaging back-and-forth between Willis and Def who are both understated yet effective throughout.

cnx.cmd.push(function() { cnx({ playerId: "106e33c0-3911-473c-b599-b1426db57530", }).render("0270c398a82f44f49c23c16122516796"); });

Throw in the ever-watchable David Morse as the leader of the shady cops baying for Eddie’s blood and you have arguably one of the most underrated action thrillers of the early 2000s

The post 5 underrated Richard Donner movies you need to see appeared first on Den of Geek.

from Den of Geek https://ift.tt/3AA61tK

#aion-rsa #Den of Geek

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fire-the-headcanons · 3 years

Text

Follow the Beacon Summer—Special Request

[Link to Masterpost]

[Apparently I didn’t post the last few chapters on Tumblr? Use the masterpost to make sure you don’t miss anything]

"Years ago, an unprecedented era of peace began on Remnant. Never before had the kingdoms of the world been so united. The Vytal Festival was created with two goals in mind: first, as a celebration of our peace and unity, sharing in one another's cultures. Second, as a time to contemplate the ongoing struggle to continue that peace.

"Students— …Future protectors of Remnant. As you head out into the world this week to work as Huntsmen-and-Huntresses-in-training, I implore you to remember that peace is in your hands."

"All right, guys, it's go time," Summer said, whirling to face her team. "What kind of mission are we doing?"

"I vote search and destroy," Tai said. "It'll get us out of the Kingdom, at least."

The twins chorused their agreement, and Summer nodded. "All right. Out of the Kingdom it is." She turned toward the mission boards, and stopped short.

Ozpin smiled. "Good morning, Team STRQ."

"…Good morning, Professor," Summer squeaked, painfully aware that the last time she had been this close to the headmaster was the night she broke into his office. The others repeated her greeting just as warily.

"I'm happy to inform you that a Huntsman working just outside of Vale has heard of your prodigious tracking abilities and requested to work with your team specifically." He beamed down at them.

"It's not Professor Mesánychta, is—ow."

Ozpin chuckled. "No, he doesn't teach at this Academy. Would you like to meet with him?"

"Um, yeah!" Summer said. A Huntsman had requested them? A team of first years? Had that ever happened before?!

They followed Ozpin to the small door right of the stage, and Summer spared the twins a quick glance. Qrow looked as excited as she felt, but Raven's eyes burned nervous holes in Ozpin's shoes. After a moment she seemed to sense Summer's gaze and met her eye. Summer returned what she hoped was a reassuring smile.

"Dad? What are you doing here?!"

Tai's cry of dismay instantly drew her attention back to the door, and the Huntsman standing on the other side of it.

Huang smiled brightly as the rest of them filed into the hall. "Well, your friends were busy over break, so we thought this would be a nice time to meet them." He offered his hand to Qrow. "It's good to finally meet you! Huang Xiao Long."

"Uh, you too," Qrow took it, slightly awed. "I'm Qrow."

"And you must be Raven," he continued, offering his hand again.

Stiffly, she shook it, avoiding eye contact. "Yes, sir."

"No need for sir, just call me Huang." He stepped back again, resting his hands on his hips. "What do you say, kids? Want to come to Patch for the week?"

"Come on, Dad, we've already trained on Patch for years," Tai pleaded. "We wanted to… y'know… try a challenge…"

"It would mean a lot to us, Tai. Particularly if they'll be staying over for the summer! Don't you think it would make everyone more comfortable?"

The unspoken words were easy to hear. The twins need time to get used to us. And he was right, as much as Summer hated to abandon the idea of training in the wilds this week. It had to be why they refused to commit to staying.

Tai sighed, glancing at her, and they both looked at Qrow, who looked at Raven.

"Okay," she squeaked, clearly petrified.

"Great!" Huang said with genuine warmth. "If you're ready to go, Balt's waiting for us at the docks."

Summer bit back a sigh, falling in line behind him. Back to Patch? This wasn't a mission—this was a vacation.

For Qrow and Raven. They need it, we'll make it work.

***

Balt wasn't the only one at the docks.

"…Mom?" Summer faltered. "What are you doing here?"

"Accompanying my partner to pick up our students," she replied, all business for about two seconds before dragging her into a hug, made slightly awkward by the duffel bag. "I'm not putting my feet up all week just because you two are coming home." Releasing Summer, she turned to the twins and offered her hand with exaggerated formality. "Claret Rose."

"Qrow Taupe." He stepped forward to take it, and the smile froze on her face, hesitating a moment. He didn't seem to notice, but then, Summer knew her better.

"You're in luck, kids, because this is the only nonstop flight to Patch," Balt said with an overly elaborate gesture at the airship doors. Raven shrank back, glad for the excuse to avoid getting too close to the strangers.

"It's the only flight to Patch," Tai elaborated. "Balt is the island's only pilot. There's a sea ferry too but it takes more than an hour."

"I'm more than just a ferry pilot." Balt pretended to be hurt as they filed aboard. "I help with high-altitude landing classes at the school. And the odd flying Grimm." The door closed with a hiss and he dropped into his seat.

"He's the best." Summer gave Raven a reassuring smile—she perched next to her brother in the back of the airship, tension coiled in her posture until Balt eased them into the air with barely a wobble. It was hard not to smile as glared at the back of his head with something like begrudging respect.

"So… what are we going to be working on this week?" Tai asked.

"The North cliffs need clearing." Huang ignored their groans of protest, focusing on the twins. "Not all Huntsman work is high-profile targets and glamorous fights. Summer said you got interested because of comics?" Qrow turned scarlet and nodded silently, earning a laugh. "You're not the first, and you won't be the last—but they show an… er… idealized version of the job."

Their bewildered expressions asked everything for them, and he continued. "Most of our time is spent wiping out smaller Grimm before they get big enough to be a problem. It may not be exciting, but routine extermination keeps smaller settlements like Patch habitable." He glanced at Summer and her mother. "…Anything to add, Claret?"

"Uh—" she shook herself slightly. "Small Nevermores roost on the northern cliffs near the school. The terrain is a bit treacherous, so clearing them out generally falls on the teachers and local Huntresses."

"But… you've done it before?" Qrow asked, shifting his gaze to Summer.

"Well, I've always been pretty good at cliffs," Summer said, patting the rifle clipped to her belt. "And we'd usually clear them when it's warm and there's no ice. What gives?"

Her mother didn't respond, and Huang quickly jumped back in. "We won't be doing a deep clean until spring, but they've been getting a bit agitated lately. We'll pick off the largest ones, and anything else within easy reach, and then there's plenty of patrolling to do."

This'll be okay. The twins hung on to every word, Qrow with nervous excitement and Raven with pure, unfiltered anxiety. Summer bit her lip, trying to push down the disappointment. This is how I can help them. The new mission can wait for next year. The feeling wouldn't go away, like a weight glued to her heart. Not too heavy but impossible to budge.

She glanced at her mother—her gaze fixed on the floor, scowling. …Huang had been doing an unusual amount of the talking, too.

"Mom?"

She glanced up, coming back down to Remnant again. "Hmm?"

"What's wrong?"

"Noth—" the lie died halfway out of her mouth, and she sighed. "…I'm just worrying and being overprotective."

"What do you—" Summer nearly missed her mother's half-glance at Huang and the twins. The island lay below now, and he pointed down at the village and the school on the northeast side as he spoke about the natural barriers presented by the island's geography.

She turned back, lowering her voice. Hopefully they'd be distracted enough by Huang's lesson to not notice. "Mom, you said yourself. They're not spies."

"I—I know," she whispered, pained. "Just… promise me you'll be careful."

"They're not bad people, either." Raven and Qrow had done plenty of strange and… maybe a bit threatening things, but… "They're just scared."

Her mother's eyes squeezed shut. "I know, I know. I'm sorry."

"Just be normal," she teased, elbowing her in the ribs.

"—but Azraq had to leave for a mission in a hurry," Huang said. The others were staring. "It was a bit of a rush to get him going before meeting you. We had a long morning."

"Aw, Uncle Az won't get to meet Qrow and Raven?" Tai complained.

"This summer, for sure," Balt said, almost unnoticeably beginning the descent. Raven didn't even flinch. "And he said to tell you he's very sorry."

"Not his fault," Summer mumbled.

The lighthouse swept silently past the window and the bullhead touched down on the landing pad with a small bump.

"Thanks for the lift, Balt." Huang punched him lightly on the arm on his way to open the door.

"Hey, I wanted to meet 'em too." He winked at the twins with a grin. "See you all at dinner."

The rest of them said their goodbyes and gathered up their bags before climbing down to the platform. Everyone's auras glowed faintly for a moment as the chill hit, shielding them from the sea air.

"This is where you went to school?" Qrow asked, staring around at the fort before settling on the clump of little first years huddled in the courtyard. Most of them clutched bits of pipe—gods, learning to handle metal in the cold was the worst—and stared up at the bullhead. A little boy in the middle pointed up at them and screamed, "I WANT A CAPE!"

Summer's hands flew to her mouth, but as soon as she glanced at Raven the laughter was too much to hold back. It only took a second for the boys to join in.

"This is your fault," she complained half-heartedly, glaring at her brother.

Her mother brushed past without stopping. "Come on, kids, if you want to see the island before it gets dark we need to get moving." Summer frowned at her back.

"So why's the school pointy?" Qrow asked, staring at the next arm of the star. Facing out to sea, it had a large gun instead of a landing pad fixed to it.

"It was a fort, before the Great War," Huang said. "This is the only spot where it's deep enough for ships or big Grimm to get into the harbor. Patch has been an important strategic location for hundreds of years. Back when the earthworks were solid, the shape helped deflect cannonballs. They had more than Grimm to worry about in those days."

Tai rolled his eyes. "It's also pretty much the only thing here." His voice echoed off the stone arch of the front gate. "Still too shallow near the island for anything bigger than a fishing boat."

"There's the King of Vale's house," Summer said.

Raven didn't bother to hide her incredulity, eyes darting between the little village buildings. "A king lived here?"

"Not while he was king, after he retired. …And then retired as Beacon Headmaster."

The streets of bustled, the first day of the Vytal Festival well underway. Nothing compared to the fanfare at Beacon or Vale, but it was still the biggest celebration of the year. "The fort was mostly destroyed during the Great War, and was half-rebuilt before the treaty was signed," Huang continued, leading them down the hill away from it. "They dug out the remaining earthworks, added windows, and converted it into a school."

"Then when the communication towers were finished, they just slapped the island's relay onto the lighthouse," Summer added, pointing up at the large communications dishes bolted just below the light.

Claret turned and called over her shoulder. "Let's start at the docks, you should see the defenses there."

"Okay." She returned a small smile, took a deep breath, and raised her voice back to normal. " It shouldn't take more than a day to clear the cliff near the school. We'll stay in the house tonight, and then tomorrow we'll head out to the cabin for the rest of the week. …I suppose we better figure out where everyone's going to sleep. We only have one guest room… Summer could stay with me, Tai and Huang could double up, and the twins could take Summer's room. If that's okay with ev—"

"What? No!" Summer blurted, and everyone turned to stare. Oh. "Uh… I mean, you can use my room if you want. But I'm not sleeping in my mom's room on the first night of my first mission!"

"Oh?" Her mom raised an eyebrow, this time with significantly more sass.

"…I love you. Just, no."

"What she said," Tai agreed.

"All right," Claret said, amused now, "the twins can sleep where they want, and you two can have a slumber party in the living room "

"Mooooooommmm!"

"Would you two like to join them or sleep in her room?"

"…What is a slumber party?" Raven asked.

"Hmm. Mostly staying up too late and eating too many cookies, if I remember correctly."

Summer sighed as the twins' faces lit up with cautious greed. Too normal, Mom.

Next Chapter: Raven—Quiet

#rwby #rwby fanfiction #strq #team strq #summer rose #taiyang xiao long #qrow branwen #raven branwen #ozpin #huang xiao long #claret rose #follow the beacon balt #dang i still don't have a last name for balt gotta fix that #follow the beacon

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captainkurosolaire · 4 years

Text

Re: Vital

A bristling light cast of the purest form luminescence broke throughout the psyche after the dealing with the Tormentor had been resolved. Calling the Captain by name repeatedly to attain attention. His fist still sizzled from how much he had left his ‘Undeserving’ side as curb roadkill and disfigured the disgusting three-piece suit bastard that represented everything he opposed against; in himself. The scoundrels pocketed in his overcoat as he strolled inward. An eye refracting off that which was positively enchantingly… “Well, I b’ a Red-District Whore... “ Revelations came matching thumping in rhythmic audibility. A finding and discovery of oneself would be uncovered here. However, It’d be cut-short from rejoicing in this recreational discovery. As the Trip -- was about to end! -----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Now if anyone ever suggested you take psychedelics or anything that may influence your reasoning, never, ever. Do it alone or least be responsible. Unfortunately. The Captain on the other hand didn’t realize this being, his virginity speaking for drugs or ‘product goods’ he merely smugged, so while his visage almost had a fished-shroomed out expression and he was zonked. Many events had unfolded in reality! He had gotten himself hitched with a small rowboat named Delilah! The lipstick had seemingly been smeared throughout over, possibly from a making out. Roped and collared her and he found himself in the midst of the Shrouds lent against a tree. “...Ugh…” He’d say while constantly hearing the nagging or was that just common-tongue? He couldn’t be clear, his vision blurred. Boots slowly began focusing on viewed vision. “Get up.” “Get up.” Constantly a stern voice with authoritarian pitch rattled out of a caged chamber. The Captain in haze snarked back, ‘Five more minutes.” Attempting to rehash himself into a doze before a hot-fist would be felt against his cheek making him face-plant into soils. It finally made him react back with a propping, “Alrighte what’s th’--” He’d be in the presence of his recent advisory in The First or better known Captain Parabellum formerly recognized as yet a switch-knife being juggling between his fingertip’s imposingly.

“You know why I’ve come. It’s time for an end. Don’t you agree?” Tension began to stir while he was implored to begin his ascension up the bark as his bare-back shredding against. “Like mate, can’t you buy me dinner before you kill me? But if that’s what you want.” He’d say nonchalantly before his face settled from relaxed to his own intensity fired-up. Reaching for his scimitars but recognizing they were no longer in his possession… Wait, did he even get dressed before this whole shenanigans? His mind-circulating trying to place catch-up within that headspace. The Midlander intimidatingly now points his knife towards the direction. Was this to be just another mindless battle? How many of these did this pirate have to get himself into? He couldn’t have foreseen what came after his discovery, was that the discovery itself was beginning to unravel itself for the Captain. Almost like responsible aetherial energies that had come into Captain’s existence would begin shaping and molding themselves into materialization's. This was but the journey the chapter dubbed one. The tension felt as Captain loosened and accepted his fate. Well, he was bested. If he was worthy enough to be somehow tracked and scoured through all this stuff he couldn’t even remember or repeat. He wouldn’t oppose it. The former First loosely drew an ilm closer threatening and imposing as he paced. Before discarding more knives and tossing them towards the sides of the tree’s trunk diagonally in corners of the Seeker’s hue. He didn’t flinch there was resolve or sheer admittance towards a no-win situation. But a duel seemed to have been given in equalization. Given room to move. He noticed around them this meadow had become a battlefield or a one-sided one. As poachers remained arse high and stacked all unconscious all the Captain’s belongings scattered throughout the flowery meadows. What was the meaning of that? His thought surfaced internally. Interruption in harsh gravel voice, “Captain Kuro Solaire… You’re a dead man. At-least so is rumored. It doesn’t answer how you stand before me though... I understand why you tracked me down but to leave yourself exposed this vulnerable. It’s foolish. To spare me when you’ve reclaimed your vengeance? Your thoughts are unsettling.” For piracy, the Midlander spoke clean and fluent Eorzean despite being a sailor himself. A sign of diplomacy and strategic it was no-wonder this man became the Captain’s First. Tension surfaced throughout the atmosphere. It caused imaginative humidity in the Shrouds. As if they were scorching. This was the result of separated and broken strings that once connected. Unspoken messages of impossible love for their era. Hatred festered but yet… Love was it’s counter shadow. Weight of arrayed emotions that are felt is dictating how deeply in depth’s someone is carried to your heart. “I see my beating didn’t jog your memory, perhaps, I failed. Or maybe you need to search th’ truth.” Parabellum’s hand quivered afraid. “Aye. You spoke with want.” He glossed softly. “Want?” Captain questioned, “Try need.” The scoundrel gave a dispatch to his equipped arms into fearlessness a startle broke through. As an embrace clutched and wrapped tightly around the Midlanders. A hug that broke and transcended and sealed a past wound.

Acceptance quaked the foundations. This was no longer a pirate who steered blindly or without unspoken. In losing and attaining the strength and beauty of a world clutched in those dastardly palms. He had seen unlike ever before. To act under frightening convictions. …. Silence broke out. The Switchblade was still held by the handle as they came to the bareback of the Captain. Would the Betrayer or the snake take a bite of Lion’s head remaining in breathless revelations, The Seeker muffled everything and grinned goldenly as was taught as his chin cupped over the broad shoulder. The hurt, pain, screeching of the Midlander traveled throughout impulsive streams to end what harmed. Nothing hurt this man more than betraying someone who was held, dear. Who he defended for his dreams when the Captain couldn’t do it for himself. He could end the Seeker right here. But it’d go unheard. And why he tread would remain. This… Captain proved even in losing the parley to being cast out, exiled, to being scarred, he could stand against the test of time. He was a difference. One that if pride’s skin was shed. This may be the beginning path. On the owner of this heathen Midlander was a man of many reasons and weights but when he donned the mantle and became his own Captain he was only scavenging to stay afloat. Even unfortunately slowly resulting in a decline by becoming just another atypical slave trader. But who embraced him here, was the opposite. Even unfortunate was replaced for making his wealth. He was unrelenting and daunting, free, vast. Did he rumble, did he swallow to despair? Of course. Plunges were necessary to uncover troves. This was no longer a dreaming young man anymore. Whoever touched the Captain in their parting had forged this man into stone. That didn’t break to the Void. That didn’t flinch to the unparalleled Depths of Empires. That survived curses and being of Living Death. What was the Crimson vessel merely by the Founding Captain he transformed into a Phoenix that was remarked and recognized until it’s last rising death, however, in the ashes… Came this of holding. His grip was lost as his own weapons disengaged from his person. As he retorted in the brace. “Never again.” Was only uttered suspiciously. “If we do this again, you can’t be the person who loses. I won’t let you. I’d rather stab you in the front myself than see you give another monster, that victory. You can’t go on and act as the main character to a story, you can’t do this without your crew. If we embark… You have to become reliable.” Autumn fell between them.“...Aye. Never again. Shall I ever stray from course, and if I do, I’ll supply you the knife to do me, n’.” Here in this unmarked location. The Golden Crosses reunited. To be empowered to prevail, to truly understand harsh compassion. To overcome true tyrants, from juggernauts that were unbeatable that pirates were more warmongers, pirate’s that shaped existences, to one’s that crossed every murk seas, sand, sky, space, time. This joining had to take place. A bond that together could puncture the past of regrets, slip-ups. This was daylight. “...From now on I return to my following with my new lease and name. Judas Caesar.” As their brace ended, “Sounds edgy and ominous, mate. But It’s got a ring. I take it yer whole Betrayer Mates won’t be any form ov’ happy, eh?” A firm nod stiffened from the Lander, “Aye. They’ll not take kindly to the disappearance and me erasing myself. It’s but another enemy against us if ever found out. Which I believe leads us to think we should return to the cabin and prepare accordingly what sort of dangers and threats are out there. Which conflicts we can quell, avoid, or outright exterminated.” The Seeker smirked as the situation resolved, “Hmm, I concur. Don’t remove yer authoritative leading cap’ just yet…” As plans on a cog steered as the Miqo’te revealed somewhat an inkling he gambled and put everything at stake to this arising. Still playing with the wenches of close-calls. A more serious question caught the attention of Judas, “Uhm, You should change first though, Cap’n. As well, those bands of poachers nearly held all your belongings. I’d refrain from ever going on some sort of loose trip or whatever you were under as well, least if you do it, ensure someone is watching you. I take it you had yer reasoning's behind actually getting into ‘shipments’, I strongly know you’ve disagreed beforehand to those dire motions.” “Aye. I found everything possible I could ever need t’ uncover and resolve. Let’s chew th’ rag elsewhere.” Feeling completely fine and unnervingly comfortable in the get-up that was donned over him ever striking a pose. For these confrontations in briefness taught him, never again, never again... Would he ever have to halt from expression. This was it, the signed /glimmer/ that could change the tides direction, despite, the grim current and challenges it foretold!

(Previous) — References — ♫ ‘Hold your Heart’ — (Next Page)

#Pirate #The First #Wheels were meant to turn #Don't just leave the closet #Break that b@tch down #The most rewarding discovery of all treasures #Resides from the labyrinth of yourself.#Once you find you.#All the rest follows #'True Free'#The Road to HoE #Seeker of the Sun #Miqo'te #FFXIV #Final Fantasy XIV #creative writing

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years

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Hey Millie, congrats again :D It's Sunday, you know what that means? Cake-time :D So as your celebration, could I please ask for 💛 - because I need me some love, also 🍎 - If you were in an alternate universe and you had to chose between Draco Malfoy and your books, which one would you chose and why? 😘 - FMK: Draco, Blaise, Cedric ⚓️ - Both era if you could, Male, Gryffindor, DADA and Charms, Quidditch and aurors and also Fluff please! Congrats, hun again.

Hey Gina! Thank you! My cake did come!! They got me a sticky toffee cake covered in fudge pieces, it looks and smells amazing and I’m just waiting to stick a fork in it! Your answers are below the cut, my dear!

OHHHHH I AM SO READY TO GIVE YOU ALL THE LOVE!

Firstly, let me begin by talking about how much I appreciate you. I don’t talk to very many people on here so I took a chance when I joined the discord chat and I’m so happy I did because I got to speak to you and you’re so so lovely and helpful especially if I have trouble with my tenses and you’re so supportive of my chapter for Journey to Hogwarts so thank you!

Secondly - you are so bloody talented. SO BLOODY TALENTED. Your fics are always wonderful to read and thanks to you, I'm harbouring a crush on Oliver Wood which I didn't think would happen but here we are. You manage to capture characters so well and I know I always hark on about your angst BUT GINA YOU WRITE IT SO WELL!

Thirdly, I just love the vibes your blog gives off. It’s so organised; your masterlist is a dream!!

All in all Gina, I am just very thankful to have you in my life.

******

omg that is such a hard question bc everyone knows how much I love Draco - my own mother calls him ‘that little blonde boy’ but everyone knows how much I love my books... but I’m gonna have to pick Draco (no surprise really) for the fact that I can get him to write the books and I could have him all to myself and set up the proper redemption arc!

*****

Fuck - Cedric - man I've killed him once, but I'm still curious ;)

Marry - Draco - ALWAYS BBY I LOVE YOU

Kill - Blaise - if anyone needs me I'm going into hiding

********

MARAUDERS ERA:

Sirius Black: (I know how much you love Ben Barnes)

You run your hand through your hair in frustration; it didn't matter how many times you read aloud the incantation, it simply wasn’t working.

You glare at the spell book that’s settled on the lectern, internally cursing each one of its pages.

You’re close to tears at this point, thinking of how much time you had spent on this one spell. Repeating it over and over again, following the wand movement as directed in the book. You bite your lip, blinking the tears away, deciding firmly that you would not let this spell get the better of you.

Taking a deep breath, you repeat the incantation - letting the latin roll off your tongue. At the same time, you swish your wand in the direction shown.

Nothing happens.

You scream out of anger; glaring at the book.

A cough sounding from behind has you turning around with your wand at the ready. You relax when you see it’s Sirius leaning against the doorframe.

His smile turns into a frown when he sees your harried expression, “What’s wrong?”

Your lips begins to wobble; feeling slightly foolish that you had let a spell get the better of you, “It’s this one spell - doesn't matter what I do, I just can’t do it.”

Sirius rushes to your side, pulling you in for a needed hug. You hold onto his white shirt tightly; inhaling the smell that had become so familiar to you over the last year - cloves, myrrh and tobacco.

Sirius hands rub comforting patterns on your back and you feel the tension leech from your body. “Is that better?” He asks.

You nod, pulling away from him. He doesn't let you step very far, folding your hand into his. “I’m still worried about not having this spell down though; exams are in a few weeks.”

“Why don’t I help?”

“You will?”

He nods, “What sort of boyfriend would I be if I didn't help my girlfriend in her time of need?”

You laugh lightly before proceeding to explain the difficulties you were having. The rest of evening is spent with Sirius being a warm presence behind you as he holds onto your wand arm, directing the movements with his own. You lean back into his chest, any and all worries having faded to nothing.

LIGHTNING ERA:

Oliver Wood:

“Babe! Did you see that?”

You grin at Oliver, unable to ignore the excitement in his voice, “I did, I’m stood right next to you, love.”

He claps his hands, “The Wronski Feint! So early into the game as well!”

He leans over to you, quickly pressing a kiss to your cheek, “Thank you for this, love.”

You chuckle, “My pleasure.”

You had surprised him with tickets to the Quidditch World Cup two weeks ago. Oliver had promptly began to lose his mind; he had tried for hours to get tickets but was unsuccessful and now you had surprised him with tickets. Once he had finished his celebrating, he drew you to him for a long kiss that may have finished in the bedroom.

There was no denying Oliver’s love for Quidditch. He had been the most passionate captain the Gryffindor team had seen in decades; pushing the team to victory multiple times over his school career - a fact he was still very proud of, thank you very much.

However, he did love you just as much as he loved Quidditch. You had met him at a Puddlemere United match where a rogue bludger had made its way into the crowd, knocking out a few fans on its way. Oliver had noticed you in the crowd, luckily out of the way for the bludger, and had come up to speak to you after the match. His excuse being to check in on you and your welfare.

Oliver had asked you on a date by the end of the conversation.

You had said yes not a moment later.

You’re pulled from your reminiscing by Oliver shouting again; his hands on his head as he takes in the defeat of his favourite team. He’s entirely crushed; had such high hopes but the opposing teams’ seeker was just too good.

“Don’t worry, babe. There’s always next time.”

“I suppose,” he says, sulking.

You bite your lip to keep the smile from growing, “How about this? We head home, have some food and then we can go outside and you can show me how you would have made that final play.”

Oliver noticeably perks up, “You’d do that?”

You nod, “You’ve been wanting to tell me since we left the stadium, haven't you?”

He grins, blushing, “You know me too well.”

“As I should,” You say, hooking your arm through his, “Now, tell me how you would have done it.”

#millies1ksleepover

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camillemontespan · 5 years

Text

i don’t believe in fairytales [drake x camille]

Just a one shot. So much angst! This is taken from the first book but with a twist. Thanks for the prompt @moonlightgem7

Warnings: None.

@fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @burnsoslow @pug-bitch @emichelle @jovialyouthmusic @dcbbw @notoriouscs @saivilo @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @ibldw-main @mskaneko @katedrakeohd @pedudley @sirbeepsalot @star-spangled-eyes @drakewalkerisreal @iplaydrake

*******************************************************************************

Drake let out a ragged breath as he slammed the door on Tariq. Turning slowly, his eyes found Camille’s.

She was staring at him in complete shock, her brown eyes wide. ‘Drake..’ she whispered.

Drake held up a hand, silencing her. 'It’s okay, Montespan.’

He had come to blows with Tariq over her. The weasel of a man had come into her room, tried to lay his hands on her and she had been screaming. Drake had heard her down the corridor and he had bolted to her door, out for blood.

Drake’s ribs hurt from Tariq’s self defense but he didn’t care. What mattered was keeping Camille safe. That was all that mattered. Everything else paled into significance.

Camille had forgotten that she was clad in only her underwear. Drake averted his eyes and cleared his throat. Camille looked down at herself and turned beetroot red. Quickly, she pulled on her dressing gown and wrapped it tightly around her.

'I’m sorry you got involved with that,’ she murmured.

Drake shook his head. 'Don’t you dare apologise, Montespan. If anything had happened to you..’

Her eyes bore into his and the unspoken words between them lay heavy. They both knew something was there.

'Nothing did because of you,’ she replied. 'Thank you.’

Drake smiled weakly and moved to open the door. He grimaced at the pain he could feel but didn’t want to show her that he had sustained injuries. But this was Camille and she could read him like he was her favourite novel.

'You’re hurt,’ she said.

'I’m okay -’

She was over to him in a moment. 'Let me decide that.’

Drake touched his rib cage and Camille’s eyes darted down. 'Have you got bruises?’ she asked.

Drake lifted his shirt and they both studied the purple bruise that had bloomed on his skin. Camille whispered, 'Oh no..’ and gently reached out to touch it. Drake thought her fingertips felt like fire.

'I’ll live,’ he told her.

'You need that seen to,’ she said. 'Let me help.’

'I’m fine -’

'Walker!’ she burst out. Her eyes filled with tears. 'Please, let me fucking help you.’

Drake sighed and sat down on her bed. She moved to the champagne cooler and took out some ice. Drake unbuttoned his denim shirt and watched as she sat beside him.

A flush appeared on her cheeks as she accidentally studied his torso. His body was solid, muscled and broad.

Drake blushed too. He watched in silence as Camille placed an ice cube on his rib.

'Ah fuck!’ he cursed.

Camille drew her hand back quickly. 'Will whiskey help?’

Drake chuckled. 'Whiskey always helps.’

'Then let’s have whiskey,’ she decided.

She brought out a bottle and poured them both two glasses. Drake watched she brought her glass to her lips and tried his best to push away thoughts about what she would be like to kiss.

As Drake sipped the whiskey - a very good choice by Camille, he had obviously taught her well - Camille pressed the ice cube onto his bruise.

'You’d make a very good nurse,’ Drake joked. 'Whiskey and attention, you’d be employee of the month.’

Camille giggled, keeping her eyes on his bruise. 'Hopefully you won’t get into any more scrapes.’

Drake leaned back and Camille swallowed, watching as his muscles flexed.

'If he tries anything again,’ Drake muttered, 'you fucking tell me.’

Camille’s eyes met his. 'Are you my Knight in shining armour? All you need is a noble steed and a sword with magical powers that defeats the evil dragon.’

Drake smirked. 'Don’t believe in fairytales, Montespan. No such thing.’

'You live in a Palace,’ Camille teased. 'Surrounded by Dukes and Duchesses, your whole life is a fairytale world.’

Drake’s expression turned dark and he looked away, his jaw set. 'If my life was a fairytale, I’d be the fucking kitchen boy being tossed scraps by the courtiers.’

Camille drew back, turning pale. 'Drake I didn’t mean -’

'It’s okay,’ he whispered. 'Sorry. I just wish things were different.’

Camille’s thumb brushed against his clenched fist. Drake unfurled his own thumb and let it cover hers.

Drake spoke haltingly. 'Camille.. If we had just met in New York, no competition, just us in a dive bar.. Would things be different? With us, I mean.’

He didn’t know why he had asked this stupid question. What was he expecting her to do? Say yes, if course they would be, to hell with the suitor competition, let’s ride off into the sunset, fairytales be damned?

Camille let out a shaking breath. 'Yes,’ she answered quietly. 'Things would be different.’

Drake held in his anger and frustration. He had finally met a woman who he cared about and she was involved in a competition for the hand of his best friend. Nothing could be more twisted than that.

'Liam can give you the fairytale you want,’ Drake whispered, putting aside his feelings. 'So let’s not waste our time talking about if things were different because you, Camille, are on the right path.’

She looked up at him abruptly now, her eyes filled with fury. 'Maybe I don’t want to be on this path,’ she told him, her voice steady. 'Maybe I want the unmade one. The path less travelled.’

Drake shook his head. He stood up and bit back everything he wanted to tell her.

He wanted to tell her that he dreamt about her all the time, dreaming about a life with her that he would never have. Dating, marriage, babies. They would keep him awake until he had to drink whiskey to keep her locked out of his head.

He wanted to tell her that he loved talking to her and hearing about her day.

He wanted to tell her that he loved her throaty laugh that she reserved for moments when something truly tickled her.

He wanted to tell her that she made court a brighter place for him and that she had changed his life without even knowing it.

But he didn’t. That wasn’t her burden to bear, it was his.

'Thank you for rescuing me,’ Camille said, standing up too. 'You may not believe it but you’re a knight in shining armour, Drake.’

Drake chuckled, their tension gone. 'Call me Duke Walker.’

Camille smiled and leaned up to give him a hug. She could feel his heart hammering against his chest. Drake closed his eyes and wrapped his strong arms around her, holding her tightly.

They had never hugged before.

Her hair smelled of coconut. He loved it.

Without meaning to, Drake nestled his face in the crook of her neck. She didn’t push him away. They stayed like this for a long charged moment.

They were interrupted by the sound of clicking. Camille turned, confused, but she couldn’t see anything. Drake shrugged. 'Crickets,’ he said.

Camille let him go and Drake put his shirt back on.

'Thanks for being my nurse,’ he joked.

Camille curtseyed. 'My pleasure, Duke Walker.’

*********************************************

That night, Drake dreamt fairytales. He dreamt of rose tinted images showing him waltzing with her around the ballroom and everyone called him Duke Walker and she was the Duchess.

Not the Queen.

They danced around the room, dressed in clothes from another era, and everyone bowed to them and gasped at how beautiful a couple they were.

Drake woke up with a start. The dream was still vivid in his mind. He reached for the whiskey bottle, wanting to stay in a hazy drunken coma from which nobody could wake him, hopefully for the next one hundred years or more.

**********************************************

Camille dreamt nightmares disguised as fairytales. She was in a ballroom watching the courtiers dance. The man she wanted to dance with wasn’t there. He never was.

In the centre, walking towards her, was Liam bathed in gold.

Camille turned on her heel and ran out of the ballroom, hearing the chime of a clock signalling the hour.

She raced down the stairs, eager to get away from the palace, but she tripped over her ankle and her shoe fell off.

Turning, she could see Liam running after her. He was begging her to wait.

Camille lifted her other foot and pulled the second shoe off before taking off at a faster speed, now that she was no longer wearing the high heels that slowed her down.

********************************************

Two days later, Drake was asked to go to Liam’s study. When he reached the door, he saw Camille standing outside wringing her hands.

'You okay, Montespan?’ he asked, his eyebrows furrowed.

Camille bit her lip. 'I have no idea why he’s asked to see me.’

'Same.’

Camille’s eyes widened when she realised that Drake had been called in for a meeting too. 'Do you think it’s about Tariq?’ she asked.

Drake shrugged. 'We won’t know until you knock on the door, Montespan.’

'I’m nervous.’

Drake smirked. 'It’s not like you’re in trouble at school,’ he told her. 'He’s not the head teacher.’

Camille smiled. 'I have no experience of that because I was the perfect student.’

Drake chuckled and ran a hand through his hair. 'Wish I could say the same.’

The door opened suddenly and Camille jumped back; Drake’s fingers gently caught her wrist, keeping her steady.

Liam was at the door and he looked extremely irritated. 'Are you both going to gossip outside the whole time or are you coming in?’ he asked bluntly.

Camille reddened and Drake gently pushed her forward. She slowly entered the study and sat down one of the chairs in front of Liam’s desk. Drake sat down on the other and they both waited with bated breath.

Liam sat opposite them and slowly pushed a piece of paper across the table surface. It was turned over. Camille reached out to turn it and Drake could see her hands were trembling. He wished he could take her hand and reassure her, but something told him that doing that in from of the man who may choose her to be his wife was not a clever idea.

There was a picture on the other side. It showed Drake and Camille.

Drake shirtless.

Camille hugging him.

His face nestled in the crook of her neck.

They looked like lovers.

'What’s the meaning of this?’ Liam asked with a razor edge to his voice.

Camille began to stammer but was saved by Drake who answered quickly. 'It’s not what it looks like. She had been sexually harassed by Tariq and I defended her. She was hugging me as a thank you.’

Even to Drake’s ears, the truth sounded pathetic.

'I didn’t realise you two were close,’ Liam said, tenting his long fingers. 'You’re her knight in shining armour then?’

His voice was sarcastic and devoid of warmth.

'If it hadn’t been for Drake, who knows what would have happened..’ Camille spoke up quietly, her eyes meeting Liam’s. 'I’m really grateful.’

'Grateful enough to get him topless,’ Liam said dryly. 'You sure show your thanks, Camille.’

Drake clenched the table edge. 'I got injured! That’s why I’m topless, she was tending to my bruises -’

'Jesus it just gets better!’ Liam cried, his eyes wide. 'Do you both realise what this is? This is a picture that is about to be published in the newspaper.’

Drake and Camille stared at the King in horror. Liam nodded slowly.

'Lightbulb,’ he continued sarcastically. 'How do you think this looks? One of my suitors caught embracing my best friend in an unguarded moment -’

'it didn’t mean anything!’ Drake lied. 'I promise, it was innocent.-’

'YOU ARE NOT WEARING A SHIRT, DRAKE!’ Liam shouted. 'She is holding you! It looks like you two are together!’

Tears were coursing down Camille’s cheeks. Drake had bo choice but to keep arguing.

'She was thanking me! Liam, she is here for you! She wants to win the competition and be your wife-’

He kept defending her, regardless of the fact he knew the brutal truth. He knew she didn’t want Liam. She had hinted at it. Now, he could see it, clear as day, as Camille began to sob. She wasn’t crying because she had upset Liam. She was crying because everything that Drake was arguing on her behalf for wasn’t true. Every thing he was saying felt like a knife twisting in her stomach.

Liam studied both of them. 'You had both better get your story straight,’ he finally said.

'When does it get published?’ Drake asked. 'Can we stop it?’

Liam raised an eyebrow. 'If this was innocent, you wouldn’t care how it looks.’

'I want her to be spared the humiliation,’ Drake ground out. Camille looked at him as if she wanted to protest.

Being with Drake would never be a humiliation.

Liam closed his eyes. 'Lucky for you both, I have put a stop to it. I threatened to sue and the paper dropped the story.’

Camille stared at him in disbelief. 'So this whole time, there wasn’t a threat?! You lied to us?’

He looked back at her cooly. 'I’m not the one who is lying.’

Drake opened his mouth to argue but Liam held up a hand, silencing him.

'Work out your story,’ Liam told them softly. 'Decide what you want, Camille. I won’t be humiliated. I can’t promise the same for you.’

Drake stood up in anger. ’“How dare you threaten her?’

Liam looked at his best friend with sadness in his eyes.

'I’m not. I’m telling the truth. Something you both aren’t familiar with.’

#drake walker x mc #drake walker #trr fanfic

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corellianangel · 5 years

Text

For @otterandterrier Scoundress Saturdays prompts - “I’m trying so hard not to kiss you right now” and One character adjusting the other’s jewelry/necktie/ etc.

A/N: So the last scoundress saturdays for awhile. :( This isn’t much. But this little bit of Han x Leia lurking in my docs was the closest thing I had to done for today. No plot, just mood, and a bit of HanLeia love.

Rating: T

Timeline: Star Wars rebellion era, Return of the Jedi. 4ABY Rebel Fleet Command Ship - Home One

===========================

She’d gone from ecstatic and proud, to somewhat betrayed and left out. Even though it wasn’t really Han that she should be angry with... Well, she couldn’t be angry with High Command, she wasn’t allowed to be. Especially not at this stage of the upcoming major military operation. And so, Leia was angry with him. Angry with him because she could be. He not only allowed it, he encouraged it. To get it all out. Out of her system. No one else could allow her to vent and rage like Han could. He just took it all, redirected her negative energy, absorbing it when he had to, transforming it when he could, and – certainly– often in their pre-relationship past – he would hurl it back at her. Challenging and humbling her in a way no one else dared.

Nerfherder, Leia’s wordless, scalding ire was squarely directed at the lanky, dark haired man she shoved out of the elevator doors. Gods, she was kriffing angry! She’d just got him back, and he throws himself into an insanely dangerous mission for the Rebellion without even telling her? Not one word or peep from him until it was announced at the briefing?

What was he thinking?

“When were you planning on letting me know? When they bring your carcass back?” Leia’s eyes were red rimmed, and flashing angrily as she pushed at Han once more. The lift behind, closed on the stoic but bemused witnesses to their argument.

“You’re supposed to be happy, I joined finally.” Han snapped back at the petite ball of fury fuming before him. Shifting a long coat he’d thrown over his left shoulder, along with a bundle that contained both their kit for the strike team, Han walked backwards in front of Leia with his arms outstretched for a few paces.

“You were supposed to remain with me on the command ship while you recovered from being encased in carbonite!” Leia snapped.

Smirking, Han waved off her argument. “Nah. And let these other kids have all the fun? No way, Princess. Boring.”

Two personnel mutely redirected their paths around the couple to skirt the opposite side of the hall. A third, engrossed in his datapad, nearly plowed into the edge of Han’s shoulder, then stopped dead, a little bewildered at the public spectacle. Han and Leia shot him a look, and he hastened down the corridor. After a moment Leia decisively twisted her head, to fix her anger on Solo once more.

She glared at him, waiting for him to quail. He almost never did. Today was no exception. His lazy grin was a sin in itself. No excuse, apology or regret lurked there, only those two hazel orbs with a glint of mischievousness.

“You should have told me.” Leia skewered his shoulder with her forefinger. Han winced, drew his head up and squared his jaw, looking at her out of the corner of his eye.

“Thought you’d be happy I joined,” growled the Corellian once again.

Leia’s right finger dropped to trace out the square metal plate of coloured rank lozenges on the dark tan of Han’s new Alliance issued jacket. They’d just returned from the supply officer with their kit for the Endor forest moon mission. Han had grudgingly agreed to wear his rank, as long as it stayed only on that jacket, and only if that jacket was the only piece of official uniform he wore. His ubiquitous black vest and new camouflage duster, along with a rucksack were in a bundle, slung over his left shoulder. Shifting his load, Han lifted a brow at her curiously, awaiting her answer.

Her throat constricted, “I- I’m just trying so hard not to kiss you right now. You half-witted…” She shook her head, “I want to hit you. I want to punch you so hard, that you stay in that bed in the medicenter.”

Leaning her forehead against his chest, Leia quietly explained, “Now that I have what I want, I don’t want to lose it.”

Han’s free hand traced her cheek, “You won’t. Until you say otherwise, I’m with you for the long haul, Princess.”

Leia fidgeted with the rank tab on Han’s jacket for just a second longer.

A General. My General.

Swallowing a hard lump that suddenly coalesced in her throat, Leia gave Han another small push against the doorframe, then pointed a stern finger at him, indicating he should remain. Meanwhile, she dialed in her access code to her assigned quarters with her free hand.

The door hissed open. Leia turned to incline her head at Han, and gestured come in with a roll of her wrist.

When the newly minted Rebel General hesitated, his deep set eyes following the bustle of personnel in the hall, Leia grabbed the bundle off Han’s shoulder and dramatically tossed it in the chamber entrance-way with an outstretched arm. Then she shrugged off her rucksack and roll with her poncho, and dropped it on the pile.

Han made to open his mouth to say something. Whatever it was, didn’t matter anymore. He’d barely squeaked out a, “Hey!” when Leia stood on his boot tips and stretched up to plant a very unexpected and passionate kiss on his lips. And the tension that had been building in the set of his jaw and shoulders since they’d left the command meeting dissipated. Leia held him there at the threshold of the doorway, her hands on the collar of his jacket tugging his head down to her.

Han’s eyes remained wide open as Leia relaxed into him. When they finally disengaged from the kiss, she drew out his lower lip between her teeth, until she stepped back down onto the floor. Han nearly bent double as he followed her on down to her level.

A chorus of murmurs followed whistles and catcalls from the hall, heralded their break. Both their eyes dropped, embarrassed by the reaction of their comrades to their display. Traffic continued in the corridor, with a renewed sense of confidence and guarded hope amongst their number. No-one spoke directly to the couple. Though there were a few asides and mutterings.

“About time.”

“Took you two long enough.”

“Nice catch, Highness.”

#scoundressaturdays #han x leia #HanLeia #star wars #Princess Leia #han solo #star wars fanfiction #return of the jedi #leia organa #no plot here #unbeta'd #sw #sw fanfiction #fanfiction

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lady-plantagenet · 4 years

Text

A Bygone Era - Chapter 1

A fictionalised account of Isabel Neville’s life from the point of view of her and those close to her.

So far told through the points of view of: Anne Beauchamp 16th Countess of Warwick.

5th September 1451

As each gust of wind veered and swooped around the pointed turrets of Warwick castle, it would not surrender its strength before first claiming a tawny leaf from the hazel trees. The emerald blush of the castle grounds: the summer green that made the tableaux of the landscape ever more poignant just a few months ago, was now fading into a browner more lifeless hue.

Having seen twenty-five summers, the countess was hardly a young lass at the cusp of womanhood. Her half-sister Margaret was six years younger than she when she bore her first child, Elizabeth even more so. Labour was harder for those years past their first flowering. The pain in her back and hips seemed to sting her everytime she drew breath, her head felt uneasy on her shoulders as the exertion of the birth seemed to have pushed all the air out of her. However, there were none to pity her or lay at her feet praising her for the beautiful daughter she had just provided - the Earl of Warwick needed a son.

Even my wretched ladies seem less eager to attend to me. Especially Martha. She thinks herself above me now, for the whelp she bore her minor knight of a husband was a boy.

‘Jesus wept’ snapped Anne ‘may I not be washed and given a morsel of food or even the child?’

A tremble hit Martha and Agnes before they bound down the castle stairs, one with a washbasin nestled under an arm and the other clutching at a gilded platter. Not since she was a little girl had Anne raised her voice beyond a ladylike drone. Those two did not know that, hence the agitation.

‘Begging your pardon milady’ said a breathless Agnes while handing her some bread and salt and Isabel, rosy and clean from the nursemaid’s scrubbing.

Anne tilted her head letting her long auburn tresses fall over into the silver washbowl that Martha brought. While the labour of childbirth was scrubbed off her, she looked at the babe before her. Isabel slowly opened her eyes with a lack of enthusiasm so uncommon to a newborn babe. They were the phantasmagorical green of the turbulent sea.

A beauty that would rally the men of the field to pick up swords and fight god himself it was not.

Though not even an hour unto this world, Isabel’s fair face had no suggestion of roundness, but was a slender oval. The small mouth had a suggestion of full lips and the thin tuft of hair on her head appeared flaxen - though Anne knew it would darken to Richard’s chestnut brown in little time.

A beauty of ice instead maybe. A Despenser, Montacute, Beauchamp and Neville fit for a king or at least a duke who would be immensely drawn to those features, so like those of a statue. Let the golden haired, sky-eyed buxom jezebels catch the eyes of peasant boys and mercenaries. My Isabel shall rouse the very rose of Plantagenet with a face that only generations of careful breeding since the age of the conquest could produce. Because with these she shows herself a daughter of Warwick - and what man would not rally behind that?

At first Anne thought she could hear the pitter-patter of raindrops, but the sound grew sharper resembling a thundercloud heralding a Warwickshire late summer storm.

As the sound of the bailey’s gravel amplified the countess’ entire body shot up so fast that she could feel a surging pain through her spine. The kingmaker had arrived.

The years have proven that the lack of a heir did nothing to dull the earl’s affections for his wife. As he leaped from his horse in one refined movement and took Anne into his arms, she once more felt like a newly wed bride greeting her betrothed outside Bisham Abbey.

She winced as he roughly pulled her into a arduous kiss marvelling at how deliciously crude this gesture was in contrast to his previous elegant one. He may be an earl but he is also a soldier, and above that a man quenching his thirst after months on dry land. And how could he not? At just a couple of inches below his height and still lithe and thin after just moments of childbirth, Anne had the elegance of a water nymph. As Richard was stroking her cheeks he could not help but gaze in awe at the bonny eyes whose colour so much resembled the burnished emerald of her ancestral land.

‘My son how fare he?’ He asked with impatient excitement ‘A strong lad is he not?’

Anne’s chest tightened as if the gusts of wind from a few hours ago were filling her lungs like saltwater would a drowning sailor’s. It is my entire fault. I should never have told him I knew I was carrying a son. All mothers share the same musings about their firstborn, they can not all be right.

‘My Lord husband’ she began adopting a more formal tone ‘It is a girl and I have decided to call her Isabel after mother’

To her relief his smile reappeared. ‘How fitting. The second Lady Isabel Neville’

Anne looked noticeably confused.

‘Ah you do not know then? Isabel de Neville was the daughter and sole heiress of the Norman Geoffrey de Neville and wife of Robert Ritzmaldred a son of the Earls of Northumbria and Etheldred II’ he grinned ‘By the time Lionheart was crowned and fighting his wars in the foreign lands of the east, no one could then gainsay the Plantagenet dynasty so Geoffrey took the Neville name as his own to sit at the high tables of the Norman nobility’

Her husband was so taken up with his tales of Saxon princes and Gospatric of Northumbria that she had to lead him through the great hall and up the winding staircase like a mother hen guiding a sleep-heavy child to its bed. I have done this before she started to remember I was nine and he seven, and we were right here on those stairs. If truth be told my mother had invited Lady Alice to introduce her son as my betrothed in guise of a St Crispin’s day luncheon invitation. By then I have perfected my curtsey and broke the nasty habit of handling my skirts, so I was finally considered worthy of social presentation. They bid me go show him all around the castle grounds and I played hostess thinking I had merely gained another playmate - though he might not have been so easily duped. To think where we are now.

In her apartments Isabel lay satisfied in her cot having just received her milk and with Margaret and the nursemaid hovering over her dotingly.

‘Ah dear wife’ proclaimed Richard ‘it seems her and Margaret would make splendid companions - she had always wanted a sister’. With one small step he picks her up and kisses her on the forehead. The little girl giggled at that, her wide smile squeezing her cornflower blue eyes in satisfied lines.

Ah yes the bastard daughter. Richard’s little indiscretion. The newborn girl that greeted me at Middleham where we first appeared as man and wife, before all our sisters, John and dear Henry- could it really have been eight years past? It feels like just yesterday I buried my dear brother.

Anne became a stone statue as Agnes was at work binding her straight auburn strands into a china blue crespine whose cauls were covered in wide copper netting to complement her Burgundian gown. The dress’ saffron skirts were piercing beams of summer against the burnished autumn hue of the kirtle that latched tightly against her pert chest. The image of his darling wife rushing past the stony keep and into the courtyard seeming more woman than countess with her hair tumbling about her, must have made the earl’s heart wrench with delight for this sun goddess of a woman that he now possessed. I chose his favourite dress, but for that remark I shall choose the most matronly headdress - the one he hates. I shall take it off when he begs my pardon for all this inappropriate cooing over the bastard.

With the classic lack of concern customary of a pre-occupied magnate, Richard did not notice his wife’s minuscule act of defiance. Ever since the death of little Anne two years past, one of England’s greatest earldoms had burdened her husband with its great expectations. Ever since parliament declared her sole heiress over her half-sisters, Richard’s mind was constantly operating in tandem between the world before him and the world next morrow.

Thankfully he eventually sensed the tension surrounding him soon enough to act swiftly and pick up Isabel. The baby’s eyes that only moments ago seemed to lay frozen in her face, lit up with an excitement spreading throughout her whole expression, culminating in a joyful squirm as her father cradled her. Anne started to worry that the disappointment surrounding her sex had started to be rescepted by Isabel. She was now relieved to see the prevention of that.

‘Dear god Anne’ said Richard not tearing his eyes off Isabel ‘What a jewel you have given me’

The heartfelt display thawed the ice that previously had a hold over Anne’s heart as she let out a smiling sigh of relief that after months enraptured in the gripping power plays and intrigues of a royal court, Isabel did not disappoint.

‘As beautiful as her lady mother’ he continued before flashing a knight’s dazzling smile. A smile devoid of vulgarity and void of mummery. A smile so chivalrous that it belonged in Camelot.

He knows to appeal to my vanity the wicked man. Shame on him and his courtier’s tricks.

Before she could damn him further he gently tugged at the hem of her sleeves, bringing her close enough to folder her in his arms with Isabel. She made her peace. ‘Remind me, my sweet, what is the meaning of her Christian name?’ He asked

‘Pledged to God’ Anne smiled ‘As we all are’

‘As we all must be. The war against France has weakened our king. That shrew of a maid of Orleans has marked the demise of any chance we may ever have to hold true power in France’ he started complaining vociferously. And now he recommences. I find it passing incredible how nearly everything I say he takes as a prompt to indulge himself into one of his soliloquies. Today he bemoans England’s fortunes in “the useless war.” ‘... with any luck our recapturing of Bordeaux would at least render this war not a complete loss.’

‘I hear Talbot shall be leading the command. If Gascony were taken back that would bring glory to-’

‘The glory of the Lancastrian rose is of no concern to me Anne’ Richard interrupted suddenly ‘I need this wasteful war to cease so that my father may regain his men and deal with Percy once and for all.’

‘For shame my Lord husband! You mean to tell me you’re heart does not yearn for the chivalry of defeating the lily of France?’ teased Anne playfully ‘Does your heart not beat red for Lancaster and the quest of justice to fulfill their ancestral claims?’

Any other day Richard would respond to Anne’s coyness the way she liked. It was one of their oldest customs. A couple of japes would be passed back and forth always leading to him jokingly proclaiming her a disobedient woman while slowly lifting her skirts and punishing her as if she were an unruly wench eagerly accepting what punishment her lord sees fit. Today something was different and Anne admittedly felt a little more than hurt.

‘Nay wife. Red for the bear and ragged staff. The only cause I believe in. My father was right; this simpleton of a King is incapable of responding to our petitions. We are of royal blood and wardenship of the West March does make us far more capable of keeping Percy tenants in good support. If the Lancastrians of Westminster choose to preoccupy themselves with the lost cause which is the French crown I see no reason to continue blindly serving this line of usurpers.’

Anne froze. Though far from an emotional man, Richard usually delighted in being the cause of his own flights of fury. She would sit on the ledge by the solar windowpanes attentively as he would in his lectures damn half a dozen men and complain endlessly about anything between Beaufort’s incompetence and the treacherous Percys. The series after the Scottish wars was the most heartfelt.

Today’s sermon was delivered in a frigid manner devoid of any of the four humours nor spite. It was the discourse of a man already deep in planning

Choleric or not, Richard was ravenous, downing one slice of capon dipped in melted spiced butter after the other. His return was especially rejoiced by Cook Royce whose pregnant mistress’ cravings for the mundane poussin and squab had left him with no opportunity for great culinary creative expression.

The Goyart tapestries on the soot grey walls of the great hall have been changed for the richer and more sombre Flemish tapestries. Her favourite depicted a fair haired maiden lying sombrely on the juniper grass guarded by maned lions. She pointed her mirror towards the unicorn as if to reveal to him his own magic, though his horn did not reflect in the mirror like the rest of his comely face. Ah the scintillating nature of magic. God reveals himself in ways that elude most. She thought back to all the miracles she thought she had witnessed in her girlhood. Blue roses appearing in winter, the butterfly with transparent wings, even the draft and light from the glass window working in conjunction, turning her to the appropriate page and shining blue light upon the bible passage so her governess would not realise she was not attentive...

‘Ah yes, do you like them Anne? They were part of the Dowager Duchess of Bedford’s dowry, given to the crown in part payment for the dishonour that was her illicit marriage’ Richard said after finally lifting his head from the plate

‘The lady Jacquetta led quite a scandal’ started Anne ‘How is she fareing shacked up with her squire?’

‘Last I heard he was made Baron Rivers’

‘A fanciful title’

‘Still not one a mere country squire merits. I highly doubt it will ever bring in the income to sufficiently maintain the widow of Prince John in the luxury to which she grew accustomed.’

‘The luxury she grew accustomed to as the daughter of Peter of Luxembourg would prove to be the more insurmountable standard for Woodville to reach.’

‘What are you trying to say my lady?’ Richard began teasing ‘Do our English comforts no longer satisfy yours or the Duchess’ lofty needs?’

‘I only say, husband, that just as the Italian duchies are rife with classical art, bards singing dulcet tones and those technologies - whatever they would be, Duke Philip has his own cohort of artists and inventors. The ‘Burgundian School’ is so accomplished our very own John Dunstaple has joined their ranks...’ Richard’s fatigue was waning his attention until his wife stood up from the oak long table and spun around. The flashes of the yellow silk at the skirts extending out with each movement and encircling the amber coloured kirtle as if she were the sun itself come down from the heavens to grace and bring calm to her particularly agitated earl. ‘...and this.’ Anne finished referring to the Burgundian fashions. For dramatic effect she pointed her elbows high to present the same pomegranate pattern adornishing the trimmings of the long jagged sleeves - and as he later noticed - the lining of the deep v-neckline of the dress.

‘Jesus wept’ Richard exclaimed ‘What could have possibly possessed me and drawn me away from noticing the beauty of your gown, for so long?’

By then all the food was dispensed with and the hall was clear of servants. In the privacy of the ancient great hall and enraptured with the smell of fresh rushes the Earl of Warwick drew his wife onto his lap. Anne happily obliged as eagerly as a moth to a flame and threw her arms around his neck tangling her long fingers in his shoulder-length woodland brown hair as she kissed him. Improper public displays like this were a rarity and almost never passed between the Earl and Countess of Warwick, but betwixt the lengthy separation, a wife’s adoration and splendid supper neither could help themselves.

I see Isabel’s birth has not made him wroth at me. Perchance he will one day grow to love her as much as I do.

As if capable of reading her mind Richard drew her in even closer for a longer more ardent kiss. Not the polite type a knight would give his elusive ladylove.

‘No verbalisation of mine could ever express my gratitude for your birthing of such a perfect babe, I shall love Isabel as dearly as others love their sons’

‘God will give us a son soon my love, I promise you that....’ Anne started

‘Even if he does not, lest we forget the running tradition of female heiresses in both our lines’ Richard gently said while his fingers traced the hem marking the end of Anne’s kirtle and the tender skin above her breasts. It was no secret that her vast inheritance served as a point of pride for her husband; few knew it was also an aphrodisiac. ‘The finest men in the kingdom will vie for her hand in marriage’.

Anne nestled her weary head in the crook of his neck adjusting so the sharp corners of her caul do not dig into his neck before saying ‘She is too young to even contemplate such a thing.’ She was playing the doting mother. I would not admit to anyone that just hours after her birth I had been lining up a list of names in my head. Most women would think that only shrews and wicked mothers work in that way. But these women were not born to be heiresses like I was and Isabel is. Her and I are of a different breed.

‘Margaret of Anjou is taking very young girls into her service nowadays. Jacquetta Rivers’ eldest Elizabeth had been appointed lady-in-Waiting since she was just ten and three’

‘It never ceases to amaze me how many lives those Woodvilles have’ Anne chortled ‘not even the biggest scandal of Christendom could bar them from the court or king’s favour.’

‘For all of Lady Rivers’ ambitions this is the highest her or any of her brats could ever rise to. For all her fabled beauty, last I heard Elizabeth is pre-contracted to marry a modest Leicester knight like her father. Now just imagine the great marriages Isabel will have to choose from, when the time comes for her to be brought to court’ said Richard

‘Just imagine’ replied Anne wistfully ‘the greatest lady of the land - second only to the Rose of Anjou herself.’

Read the other 4 Chapters here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22268239/chapters/53175664

#isabel neville #george duke of clarence #wars of the roses #the white queen #the kingmaker #anne beauchamp #fanfic #richard neville earl of warwick #anne neville #fanfiction #house of york #please r and r :)

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flyaway-33 · 5 years

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Yesterday-- Part 2

Story summary: Pre-Smile Era. You and Roger are best friends with benefits after having met at a dorm meeting the first night at university. The two of you navigate the newfound freedom of life away from home and learn more about each other and yourselves than you ever expected.

Part 1 here

[Sorry for the shit quality but this is what I picture Roger as for this story, but feel free to picture him however you want!]

Part 2 Summary: Roger and reader have a mischievous weekend adventure so that Roger can show reader his talent. 5k words.

Warnings: 18+, heavy petting smut, language, fluff, slight humiliation.

Disclaimer: This is only a work of fiction. Song lyrics— I Got You by James Brown

A/N: This chapter was so much fun to write! I hope you all like it. Just a comment can really make my day.

The morning you and Roger had spent together had turned into afternoon before you’d finally come back to your own room to get showered and changed for the day, and you left Roger to his own devices for the time being. You knew whoever was ready for the day first would be knocking on the other’s door in no time. Your roommate Amy was starting to get tired of his many visits both at night and during the day, just as his roommate Dale was already sick of you to the point where he’d started making himself sparse. His parents lived in London after all and Roger had told you the only reason he had a dorm room was because his parents were trying to kick their little bird out of the nest. Tensions were growing high between roommates as the end of the semester drew near and neither of you cared what either of them thought thought, as Amy had a different boy over every week and Dale was messy as could be and it drove Roger crazy.

Meeting Roger you’d never guess that he was such a clean freak. He was all boy through and through, and the first impression a person would get from him was that he was rough and tumble and probably the stereotypical, messy college boy with a room that looked like ground zero for World War three. He wouldn’t strike anyone as particular in any way about his space when in reality he was the cleanest person you’d ever met. You discovered early on that he couldn’t stand being dirty. He took two or three showers every day depending on how he felt, and whenever Dale left a mess in their room you thought Roger would go off the deep end.

The end-of-semester tensions only pushed you and Roger closer as the idea of him going home to Cornwall and you to Surrey frightened you both. You wanted to get away from the university environment but you couldn’t imagine being away from him for a whole month. Neither of you were prepared, and you were cherishing the three weeks you had left until then.

You were out of the shower, clad in a camisole and pajama pants as you brushed through your wet hair. The familiar, rhythmic knocking pattern sounded on the door and you quickly let him in. You didn’t know what the plan was for this fine, lazy Sunday afternoon but you really didn’t care as long as it was spent with your best friend.

“Hello, love. Long time no see.” He sighed in his light, airy voice, leaning over to kiss your cheek before plopping down on your messy bed. You never made it and you knew it drove him nuts. He was in pajamas as well and burrowed under your light pink duvet making you giggle at the way he looked peeking out of it, his hair in his face and his big blue eyes peering up at you in innocence.

“Tired already? We just got up!” You set your hairbrush down on the dresser and climbed on top of him, purposefully covering as much of him as you could and putting all your weight on him.

“Get off!” He laugh-wined, shoving at you halfheartedly. “I can’t breath!”

“Maybe it’s all those cigarettes, Rog.” You laughed, starting to tickle him.

“No fair! Quit it!” He shoved you a little harder and you rolled to the side, allowing for him to take charge, and he returned fire two-fold. You doubled over from laughter and he fell back onto the bed beside you, the two of you out of breath.

“You’ll be the death of me, Taylor.” You panted.

“Not if you get me first,” he scoffed.

“What do you want to do anyway?”

“I dunno.” He said flippantly. “I’m comfy right here, to be honest.” He snuggled back into the duvet with a content sigh.

“I have a question.” You stated out of the blue, propping yourself up on your elbows. This was a question you knew would catch him off guard and you were a little afraid to ask, but you needed to know. “We’ve been friends with benefits for a while…”

“Yeah? And?” His curious eyes met yours and you fell back, hiding your face behind your hands.

“Ahh I can’t ask it.”

“Oh come off it we tell each other everything. What could possibly be so bad you can’t ask me?”

You sighed, collecting yourself. “Fine. I want to know, Rog… what’s your body count? I mean we probably should’ve talked about this before we started this arrangement…”

“Oh.” His face was confused and concerned, and you worried you’d overstepped.

“You don’t have to answer—“

“No, love. I’ll answer. Including you? Two.”

“Two?” That was an unexpected answer. You hadn’t put your finger on just how many you expected because he acted like such a ladies man sometimes, but that answer did surprise you.

“What, do you think I’m some kind of man-whore?” He looked genuinely offended at your surprised reaction, and he went to get off the bed.

“Wait, Rog, I don’t—“ you grabbed his arm, making him sit back down. “Its just, you’re so confident and act so comfortable with girls. I figured it would be higher, you know? That’s not really a bad thing.”

“Well if you must know, I was with my girlfriend for the past four years until we parted ways for university.” He spat, looking away and crossing his arms over his chest, clearly hurt.

“I’m sorry, Roger, I didn’t mean to react that way. Um, our agreement isn’t just rebound sex, is it?”

“What?” His eyes snapped back to yours, “No, of course not. I loved her but it was time. I’m not hung up on her. What I have with you is different.”

“You loved her?”

“Yes. She was my first love. But we were growing apart. She had her plans and I had mine. That’s just how it went.” There was a sad shadow that clouded his eyes momentarily, but he quickly shook it off. “What about you? What’s your count?”

“Um.” You’d forgotten that asking him would also require you to give up the same information. “Including you, one.”

“One?” You could see the cogs turning in his head as he processed. “You were a virgin?” He asked, his voice hitching with a hint of panic.

You nodded.

“What? Why didn’t you tell me?!” He sat up on his knees and his hands came up to grip his hair.

“What’s the big deal, Rog?”

“You were a virgin!” His hands dropped from his hair and one of them fell to his neck, slipping under the collar of his t-shirt to scratch nervously at his shoulder. “God, I’m so sorry, Y/N, had I known—“

“Hey, quit it. What would you have possibly done differently had you known?” You placed your hands on his tense shoulders and pulled him back down to sit beside you once more.

“I— I don’t know, I would’ve gone slower, been more attentive, asked you how you felt.” His big blue eyes were glassy and filled with worry. It was sweet to see how concerned he was.

“In that case I’m glad you didn’t know. You would’ve ruined it.” You chuckled, reaching up and smoothing his hair affectionately. “Really, it was fine how it was.”

“Fine? Did it hurt? I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

“No, Rog. It was more than fine, it was lovely. I told you that then, and I was being honest. It was really quite lovely and it has been every time since.”

He visibly relaxed at your words but still eyed you with caution. “These kinds of things… we need to talk about them more. I feel blind sided.”

“I’m sorry, I honestly didn’t realize it was such a big deal to you.”

“Well I just feel like I should’ve known. And you should’ve known my body count before, too. We need to communicate better if we’re going to keep doing this.”

It shook you to see how hurt he seemed from this whole conversation. “You’re right. We’ll work on communicating better.” You studied his expression as he looked down at his lap, his hand still massaging his shoulder under his shirt. “Come on, Rog. Relax, darling. I have an idea.” You reached up and took his hand from his shirt and held both of his in yours. His eyes met yours once more with a spark of curiosity. “I want you to play your drums for me.”

His eyes lit up momentarily, but it quickly faded as he thought it through. “I would love that, but they’re too loud to play here.”

“Oh come on! I bet Dale isn’t even back yet!”

“No, not that. I mean they are loud, Y/N. Like the whole building would be able to hear them. Not a lot of people realize just how loud they are until they’ve heard them up close.”

“I want to hear them.”

“You might but the whole building won’t.” He scoffed and crossed his arms again. “Trust me I would love to have the opportunity to play. Pencils on a desk just aren’t the same.”

During your study sessions he would often get distracted and drum on his desk and notebook with two pencils. It never bothered you because his rhythm was impeccable, but there was only so much pitch he could get from a battered notebook and an old table. You wanted so badly to hear the real thing, and began to mull over ideas in your head. Suddenly you remembered a key detail.

“Oh! There’s a set in the art building! The music room is there, I pass it every day, Rog, you could use those!”

“Is it open on Sundays?” He asked, doubt clouding his narrowed eyes as he studied you.

You smirked, a feeling of mischief exciting you. “No, but I know of a certain ground floor window that’s aways open. The lock is broken.”

“You’re amazing.” He stated, jumping off the bed and bolting toward the door. “I’m going to change, meet me at my room.” And with that he was gone.

You laughed to yourself as you got up to change. You slipped on a navy blue sweatshirt that happened to be Roger’s and replaced your pajama pants with light wash bell bottom jeans. At the door you paused to slip on your white converse, and then headed down to Roger’s room on the first floor. You let yourself into his unlocked room to find him pulling on his jeans.

His smile of excitement made your heart swell. He was like a little boy getting ready to open presents on Christmas morning, and you watched him fondly as he pulled on his favorite Marlboro Red jacket and black converse. He once again bolted for the door, beckoning for you to follow. He held the door for you and you grabbed his monochrome polaroid camera off his dresser on your way out.

“What’s that for?” He asked, following you out the door and locking it behind him.

“I have a project I need to do and this might just be the perfect opportunity to start it.” You smiled to yourself as you slipped the camera strap over your neck, thinking of the prompt your professor had given you.

“What’s the project on?” Roger asked, falling into step beside you as you exited the dorm building and started up the sidewalk.

“Oh my professor just told us to use any one medium and create a collage— yes photographs are a medium.” You left out the fact that the collage was supposed to be on your favorite things, and you planned for him to be the sole subject.

“I knew that.” He grumbled, looking away. “Sounds like fun.”

“Oh it is. Creative things like this are my favorites.”

“I thought you were a painter?”

“Well I am but I’m going to be an art teacher, so I need to broaden my horizons. I have to know about different kinds of art to teach them.”

“That’s cool.” A smile came to play at his lips as he looked ahead, and you couldn’t help but smile as well.

You continued on your way to the art building which loomed over you up ahead, and you chuckled to yourself when you reached the intersection where you and Roger would normally part ways when heading to class. You lead him up to the building and took his hand in yours as you walked around the back of it, searching for the window you knew would let you in.

As you felt his hand in yours you noticed how soft they had become since he hadn’t been drumming, and it made you feel sad, knowing that he hadn’t had the opportunity to do what he loved in months. You’d never seen him really drum before and your heart beat quickened as you thought about the fact that you were about to hear him play for the first time.

“Here it is!” You exclaimed, pointing up to a window that was ever so slightly cracked. It was just over your height and you frowned, realizing that this mission could be a challenge after all.

“How the bloody hell are we going to get in?” Roger responded, gazing up at the window with despair dripping from his voice.

“Hey, it’s alright. We’ll figure it out.”

He didn’t look convinced but rather sat down on the ground with a huff as you paced trying to think.

“I know! You could lift me in—“

“But how does that help me get in?”

“Then I can find a step stool or something to stick out the window for you.” You crossed your arms over your chest and surveyed his expression.

“Well, I guess it’ll have to do.” He admitted with a shrug, getting to his feet once more. “Alright, hop up.” He knelt on one knee and held his hands out for your foot, which you placed in them lightly. With a groan he hoisted you up and you grabbed onto the windowsill for dear life. You struggled momentarily as you tried to push the window open further, and you could feel Roger beginning to shake under your weight. Finally you had it open wide enough to fit and kicked off his hands to push yourself through.

You landed on the art table below the window in the dark classroom and could hear Roger cursing outside. “A little warning would’ve been nice!”

Getting to your feet, you brushed off the dust your sweatshirt had gathered from the windowsill and you returned to peer out at Roger. He was sprawled out on his back looking like something the cat dragged in and you realized you had kicked him over when you’d launched yourself through the window. A laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it.

“It’s not funny!” He yelled from the ground, finally pushing himself to his feet.

You rolled your eyes and disappeared from the window again in search of something he could use as a step. There was a closet full of random supplies in the back of the classroom, and you knew if there was anything in the room that wouldn’t be missed it would be in there. When you opened the closet you wanted to shout with relief, as right there in the middle of the clutter sat a wooden milk crate. You wasted no time grabbing it and bringing it back to the window. As the window was in the back of the building you figured you could easily leave it there for future use. It was perfect.

Roger smiled when he saw what you brought for him and reached up to take it from you. It was a little short but gave him the boost he needed to get in the window enough for you to grab onto him and pull. The both of you landed once more in a heap on the table you’d been standing on, laughing your asses off.

“Alright, alright,” you laughed, sliding out from under Roger and gaining your footing on the floor, “lets go find those drums before we break something.”

He followed you quickly and you could see the excitement returning to his face. The childlike joy he felt at the idea of getting to do what he loved warmed your heart and you loved that you were the one to find a way to make him so happy.

At last you reached the room and you opened the heavy wooden door to reveal the enormous, cavernous band room. It had soundproofing panels all around and lockers along one wall that held instruments for the music majors to borrow. There was a small conducting podium at the front of the room before several rows of chairs, set up for an orchestra. To the far end of the room sat a mini stage with a drum kit upstage, ready and waiting with Roger’s name all over it.

The kit was the first thing Roger saw, and before you could say a word he was jogging over to it. You watched him plop down on the stool and give the bass drum a light tap with its pedal. He looked around for drum sticks and snatched them when he spotted them laying on one of the floor toms. Immediately he began some kind of ritual with the drums, focus taking over his face, turning it stony as he doubled over and listened to the sounds each drum made as he tapped them. You didn’t dare disturb him, as you’d never seen such concentration take him before, and you perched yourself on a nearby amplifier to observe. The polaroid camera bumped your chest as you adjusted yourself and you immediately picked it up, a smile growing on your face as you brought it up to your eye. You watched him through the viewfinder, waiting for the perfect moment, then, snap, you had him. The film slid from the front and you placed it beside you to develop. This was going to be fun.

“Whatcha doing, Roggie?” You asked as you watched him pause to readjust himself on the stool.

“Oh, I’m tuning them.” He stated, looking up. “Would you like a play-by-play?” A smirk played at his lips as he raised an eyebrow.

You brought the camera back up to your eye and wasted no time. Snap. “Yes please.”

“Well they’re ready. What would you like to hear? I might be a bit rusty.” He twirled one of the drumsticks in his fingers, already humming and bobbing his head to whatever song was playing in his mind.

“Whatever you’re thinking of.”

“Right on.”

You were caught off guard by the loud “Wow!” he shouted to start off the song but as he continued and you recognized what he was playing you felt like melting. It was ‘I Got You’ by James Brown and he sounded absolutely amazing. Though the recording of the song had other instruments, they weren’t missed one bit with the fulfilling combination of Roger’s talents. But Roger was right, the drums were loud and the sound of them consumed all the space in the room and covered you like a heavy blanket. You were mesmerized by the way he moved as he hit each drum with perfect timing and sung along with a voice that was worthy of fame. You’d never noticed or appreciated just how physical the art of drumming was, but watching his movements you had no idea how he did it, not to mention how his voice was perfect, completely unaffected by the activity.

“I feel good, so good

I got-a you!”

He pointed a drumstick at you on that line and you just wanted to soak up the moment as his eyes bore into yours. Sitting there, dazed on the amp, you took him in, feeling the bass drum and basking in the feelings his voice and the song stirred inside you. It was perfect, and you nearly forgot to capture the moment on camera. You hurriedly put your eye back to the viewfinder and snapped the stutter button again before placing the little square soon-to-be photo face down beside you. As you listened, you prepared for the chorus this time and snapped a picture on the word “you” as he pointed to you once more, this time with a wink. You knew you’d got it and hurried to put the picture down to develop, praying it would come out right.

Tears pricked at your eyes as he drew the song to a close, as you didn’t want it to end, it was just such a wonderful experience.

He was breathing heavy as he hit the final note and set his drumsticks down to catch his breath. “Wow I really am out of shape.” He panted, his eyes meeting yours with a playful raise of his eyebrows.

“Roger, that was beautiful.” You stated. It wasn’t the right word for such an up-tempo song but you were at a loss for words, completely dumbfounded to discover just how talented your best friend was.

“Well, thanks.” He said hesitantly. “Would you like to hear something else?”

You nodded fervently, wracking your brain for any one request, but you didn’t care what he played, you just wanted to hear him. He sat still for a moment, letting you think and still trying to catch his breath. His eyes were downcast as he studied the skin of the snare drum, and you admired him from your perch on the amp. You couldn’t help but slowly slide off of it onto your feet and slowly approach him. He didn’t hear you and he jumped slightly when your hand landed on his shoulder. His deep blue eyes met yours once more and his lips parted slightly in curiosity, waiting for you to say something, but instead you just lowered yourself to straddle his lap, and wrapped you arms over his shoulders, your hands connecting at the back of his neck. Gazing into his eyes you reflected on how amazing he was to you, and how seeing him put his heart and soul into drumming had been such a turn on. His hands moved up to the small of your back to steady you on his lap and a small smile touched his lips as he studied your expression.

“You’re amazing,” you whispered, resting your forehead against his.

His smile turned into a smirk as he took in your praise, and his hands moved to grip your hips. “I’m pretty great with my hands if I do say so myself,” he joked as he trailed his fingers down your thigh, reaching the bend of your knee and hitching your leg up, causing you to move further up on his lap.

“Show me,” you breathed, pulling off the obnoxious sweatshirt that was keeping you from him and tossing it aside and feeling his stare burning through your camisole with no bra beneath it.

He rans his hands up and down your thighs teasingly before moving one hand behind your neck to support it as he pressed his mouth to it. His other hand worked on the button of your tight, low rise jeans, fumbling momentarily but successfully undoing it. He slipped his fingers under the thin elastic waistband of your panties and he very lightly traced your slit as his mouth sucked gently on the soft, sensitive skin of your collarbone, evoking a soft moan from your lips, and sure to leave a mark. You could tell he was going to make you beg for it. Well, two could play at that game.

You ground your hips lightly against his hand, causing friction on his lap as you inched even further up on him, your bellies touching from your closeness. You could feel your work paying off as his jeans began to strain, and you made quick work of undoing the button and plunging your hand into his boxers. Gently, you brushed the tips of your fingers ever so lightly along his member, and he groaned under your touch.

At your advances he allowed his fingers to explore your warm folds, and he traced you with painful slowness. You ground into his fingers, but he pulled them away as you tried to get more friction.

“Ah ah ah,” he scolded as he brought his fingers up to your lips. “You’re going to be patient,” he teased, licking you off his fingers before returning them to their previous position on either side of your clit, now slick and warm with his saliva.

You groaned at your limitation and tried your hardest to stay still as he began to move his fingers once more, and as you began to stroke him with your hand. “No, sir,” you scolded when you felt his hips buck beneath you. “If I have to be patient then so do you.” You trailed kisses up his neck and nibbled on his ear playfully, and he gave in, moving his fingers to exactly where you wanted them. “Atta boy,” you breathed in his ear.

“Lets make this quick,” he grunted, and you nodded in agreement, quickening your pace with him as he did the same to you. He allowed you to move against him again and you took full advantage, taking special care to reward him as well. You quickly came undone on his fingers and he followed suit seconds later, his head falling onto your shoulder as you rode out the wave of ecstasy together.

Both of you took slow, deep breaths together calm yourselves as you gently removed your hand from his boxers and wiped it messily on your camisole. He gently removed his fingers from your panties as he fought back a giddy smile. You scooted back on his lap a few inches to give him some space and something on his jeans caught your eye.

“Oh my God,” you gasped, covering your uncontrollable smile with both hands. “We did not think this through.” He had a very obvious, dark wet spot on the front of his light wash jeans caused from your activities.

He swore loudly as his eyes caught the offending sight. “Shit! How am I going to get out of here? I can’t go out like this.”

“Hey hey hey, its okay love. Everyone cums in their pants every now and then,” you couldn’t help but snicker as you looked up at him, mischief in your eyes at your sarcastic comment. “Haha, you came in your pants!”

“That’s not how it went and you know it!” He shouted as his cheeks reddened, his eyes wide like a deer in headlights.

“Roger came in his pants, Roger came in his pants!” You chanted in a sing-song voice as you slid off his lap and twirled around.

“Come off it.”

“Oh come on, Rog, just admit I was too much for you,” you let your jeans slip lower on your hips for him as you danced over to pick up your sweatshirt, bending over to tease him.

“Oh really?” He raised an eyebrow, his expression calming. “I seem to recall you quite literally melting in my hands.”

“Well, my proof ain’t all over the front of my pants now is it?!” You laughed, spinning around to pick the camera up off where you’d left it on the amp and turned it on him before he could react. The resulting photo you knew would develop with his eyes wide and his mouth open in protest— a beautiful sight. “Don’t worry, Love, that one’s just for me.”

“Seriously though. My jacket won’t cover it, I don’t know what to do. I’m not leaving like this.” Roger stood up and played with the hem of his t-shirt as if he could stretch it far enough to stay covered.

“Well, how about you play me another song and I’ll think about it. Okay, drummer boy?”

He shot you a glare and sat back on the drum stool, grabbing and twirling a drumstick between his fingers. The rhythm he began to bang out of the drums captivated you immediately, and this time you walked around him to get pictures, snapping a painfully attractive one from the back that displayed his messy hair splayed around his head perfectly. Whatever song he was playing either didn’t have words or he wasn’t in the mood to sing. He ignored you as you paced around the drum kit, taking pictures, and he continued to play song after song, sometimes singing along, sometimes just moving his mouth to the count of the beat. You quickly realized that he had retreated into his own little world and seemingly had forgotten about you. He didn’t notice when you stooped back down to pick up the abandoned sweatshirt off the floor and held it up to you to see if it might be long enough to solve Roger’s problem. It would be, so you folded it and set in on the amp, glad to have found a solution to his way too obvious predicament. You sat down on the floor and began sorting through your polaroids, admiring Roger in his natural habitat. These were gold and you were hesitant to ruin them by putting them in a collage, but you knew you had to or you’d fail the assignment, having no other ideas.

Your only solution was to take more but you only had three photos left in the camera and had to photograph wisely. Observing him was an experience like no other. He was putting all his heart and soul into the rhythms he beat out, and your heart would leap every time he would throw his head back in passion. He was beautiful, you’d never seen such a perfect human before and it was all enhanced by the ray of setting sunlight that filtered through the high windows, framing his hair like a halo. You waited, watching him through the viewfinder and found the perfect angle sitting on the floor beside him, though being so close made the sounds reverberate through your head and started to make it hurt you didn’t care: you had the best seat in the house.

#roger taylor fic #roger taylor #roger x reader #queen fic

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crazy-little-cool-cat · 5 years

Text

Hand In Glove - Chapter 3 | Ben Hardy x OFC

A/N: Hi, hello, so I guess that when I'm sick and my house is falling apart I'm at my most creative? I know I just posted the sneak peek but I mean, come on. If it's done, it's done, why wait? Right? Yeah? Cool. Italics are Ben's POV

Word Count: 3,205. Sorry, not sorry.

Warnings: TOOTH ROTTING FLUFF. Chaotic Joe. Swearing. Again, not even sorry.

Chapter 1 , Chapter 2

"Hey. Yo. You're in my seat." Joe towered over Annabelle, who occupied his favourite chair in Gwil's flat, looking very unamused.

"Am I?" Annabelle didn't even look at him. She just stared straight at the big TV screen and took a sip from her bottle of beer, "oops."

"Annie, move!"

"No."

"No?" Joe was incredulous, his brows shooting so high they almost merged with his hairline, "no?!"

"No. As in, no," Annabelle finally glanced up at him, "I'm not moving."

"Oh, you're cute," Joe shook his head and licked his upper lip, biting his tongue and letting it stick out while he thought of a proper reaction, "seriously, get your butt out of my chair."

"It's not your chair, it's Gwil's."

"You're so annoying!"

"Have we never met before?" Annabelle smirked, "Hi, My name is Annabelle Lee, I'm annoying!"

"Ben?" Joe looked at his best friend with hopeful eyes, "control your woman?"

"No can do, mate," Ben shrugged and winked at Annie, "and she's no man's woman. I learnt that the hard way."

"Lover's tiff?" Gwil's ears seemed to perk up at the new information revealed, "already?"

"Shut up, Gwil," Annie and Ben said at the same time.

"No, no!" Rami hopped on the bandwagon, "I want to know too!"

"Annabelle, I'm serious, get the fuck up." Joe ignored the change of subject.

"Make me."

"My mom taught me not to hit girls, now get up."

"Ben was just very vocally jealous of Jamie, no big deal," Annie leaned to the side and looked at Rami, "it's water under the bridge."

"Annie!" Ben hissed.

"What?" Annie shrugged, "they would have found out eventually."

"Guys, stay focused," Joe clapped to gather everyone's attention, "Annie is ruining movie night!"

"Is it okay to finally say you're in a relationship, then?" Lucy blatantly ignored Joe's pleas and cries.

"No!" Ben and Annie groaned.

"Oh, come on!" Lucy looked at Rami for help, "what is wrong with these two!?"

"You know what?" Joe raised his arms up in defeat, "fine. Don't get up."

"Finally!" Annie sighed when Joe turned around and yelped when he threw himself on her, landing right in her lap, "What the bloody hell?!"

"Ah, I love my chair!

"Get off me!"

"Kids, stop fighting!" Gwil came back with two huge bowls of popcorn, "I leave the room for five minutes and this is what happens?"

"Tell him to get off, Gwil!"

"Nope, you brought this on yourself," Gwil went back to the kitchen for another bowl of popcorn and more drinks, "Oh, Jesus fucking Christ."

He looked at the chair Joe and Annie were fighting over just seconds ago, but now they sat together in perfect harmony, with Annie perched on Joe's lap, happily munching on a shared bowl of popcorn.

"What, you're okay with this?" Gwil gestured with his hand at the two while looking at Ben pointedly.

"Better him than Jamie," Ben shrugged, "sorry, mate."

"Damn girl, you smell nice!" Joe praised as he tickled Annie's ribs, making her giggle.

"Huh," Ben grabbed Annie's hand and pulled her over to him, making her spill some of the popcorn on the rug and squeal with laughter as she practically flew onto him, her body stretched over his lap with her feet kicking in the air, "that's better."

"Hey, I wasn't done playing with that!" Joe pouted at Ben and earned himself a smack on the back of his head from the angelic looking blond, "hey!!!"

"Hel-" my greeting was interrupted by a very eager kiss, "-lo."

"Hi."

"I missed you, too," I pulled Annabelle inside and kicked the door closed, taking her backpack from her and placing it on the floor, "hungry?"

"I could eat," she shrugged and knelt down to pick Frankie up in her arms, "hi, baby!"

"Pasta okay?" with a hand on the small of her back, I led her into the kitchen, "we can order in if you want."

"Tomato sauce?" her eyes brightened up.

"Yeah."

"Then it's perfect!"

"I have to warn you," I said as I took a plate out of the cupboard and lifted the lid off the pot, "once you've had some of my pasta, you'll be hooked."

"I'm willing to risk that," she put Frankie back down on the floor and walked over, leaning on the counter next to me, "smells delicious."

Annabelle looked absolutely knackered. Her cheeks weren't as rosy as they normally are, her skin looked paler than usual, her eyes were heavy and her shoulders slumped as she stifled a yawn.

"Long day?"

"Long week, you mean," she closed her eyes, "We're going to have to re-shoot three episodes. Not one," she poked three fingers up in the air with one hand and shoveled pasta in her mouth with the other, "three!"

"Yikes."

"And the producers chose the three most draining episodes, too!" she continued her rant after swallowing her mouthful and stuffed her face full of pasta yet again, chewing angrily and swallowing hard, "because they're all a bunch of morons."

"I'm sorry," I stroked her hair as she ate and felt her relax into my touch, "well, it's over now, yeah?"

"Not really, no," she sighed, "and I fucking missed you and I hated it."

"Really? I don't think mentioning you did about ten times a day in angry tests carried the message," I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from laughing at her exasperation, "but it's good that you did."

"No, it's not," she frowned, pushing her pasta around on her plate, "I just really wanted to see you, you know?"

"I wanted to see you, too," I massaged the back of her next with one hand, "and you're here, now."

"How was your day?" she turned to face me, "are the boys still teasing you?"

"Joe and Rami stopped, actually," she smiled at me and I could feel my heartbeat pick up, "Gwil is having a hard time accepting that this is happening."

"He'll get over it, eventually," she giggled.

"He told me some very, very interesting stories about you and some of his mates from way back," her eyes widened, and her cheeks flushed, "quite the handful, aren't you?"

"I regret nothing."

"Can you at least try to focus on me right now?" Jamie muttered as Annabelle and him ran their dance routine during one final rehearsal, in full costume, right before they had to shoot a scene, "I know you miss your new boyfriend -"

"He's not my boyfriend," Annabelle stopped moving, her turquoise eyes glaring into Jamie's baby blues as he towered over her, "and let me remind you, neither are you."

"Alright, I see you two have had just about enough of this," the choreographer snapped them out of their staring contest, "go get some touch-ups. I'll let everyone know you're ready."

Annabelle sighed and turned to her hair and make-up artists, the satin and silks on her dress rustling as they brushed the floor. As her make-up artist made small talk and her hairdresser fussed with the headdress that she had intricately woven into Annie's brown hair, the studio door opened, and Annie could hear her favourite boys' loud raucous flooding in.

"Well, that's a good-looking bunch!" Lilly, the hairdresser mumbled with a sly smile, "are they here for you?"

"Indeed, they are," Annie stuck out her chest proudly, "that's my cousin and his friends."

"That's the kid from East Enders!" Melissa, the make-up artist gushed as she finished her work, "Oh my gosh!"

"I'll introduce you if you want," Annie shrugged and chuckled when Melissa shook her head to fast, her glasses flew right off.

Annabelle turned to face Gwil, Joe and Ben, her face falling when she saw Rami and Lucy hadn't come along. She walked over to them, her smile lighting up the studio, smoothing down the front of her dress.

"Wow," Joe said, his eyes wide, "wow."

"You like it?" Annabelle smiled and twirled, looking over her shoulder to catch Ben's reaction.

"Understatement of the year," he smirked as his eyes raked her body from head to do, "you look amazing."

"Can you even breathe in that?" Gwil tilted his head, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "it looks tight."

"It is," Annabelle shrugged, making her already ample cleavage more prominent with the movement and eliciting a gulp from Joe, "and I can."

"Places!" the director's booming voice drew Annabelle's attention back towards the set, "we have a job to do here!"

"Well, enjoy," Annabelle curtsied awkwardly, flashed Ben her lopsided smile and turned, lifting her skirts from the floor and running carefully to take her place.

All the of tension between Jamie and Annabelle seemed to dissipate as they got into their characters, seemingly at the flip of a switch.

"Roll camera... Action!"

The soft renaissance era music started, and Jamie and Annabelle, who stood on opposite sides of the ballroom, locked eyes, making the music stop at once. As if pulled by an unnatural force, they slowly stepped towards one another.

"Mark," Jamie turned to the violinist, his voice commanding, "play a Volta."

Annabelle quirked an eyebrow and smiled seductively at Jamie, batting her eyelashes. As the tune started playing, Jamie bowed gracefully to Annie, who curtsied deeply. He extended a hand for Annabelle, who placed her dainty palm in his big hand with a flourish. He then pulled her towards him, his hands gliding down her arms as he stepped behind her, leaning down to smell her hair.

Releasing her hand, she twirled around him, her skirts billowing with the movement, and surrounded him, their eyes rarely breaking contact. With a quick step, she collided with him as he placed one hand on her hip and gently wrapped his fingers around her neck with the other, leading them in dance steps back and to the side, their eyes fixated on one another, Annie's mouth slightly open with desire.

His hands snaked lower on her hips and he picked her up, lifting her high, looking up at her as he spun around with her in his arms. Spinning, pulling, pushing, the two moved in perfect sync. Another turn, another pull, another step - and she was back in his arms, high up in the air, running her fingers through his hair as the music died down.

"Cut!" The director's voice woke everyone from the spell, "Again!"

As the royal court watched from the sidelines (and the boys from behind the monitor screens), Jamie and Annabelle did what they do best - they teased each other, and everyone else watching, mercilessly.

Ben stood with his arms crossed over his chest, clenching his jaw tighter and tighter as the director demanded more and more takes.

My mind was racing as we kissed. Her hands were everywhere. One second they were playing with my hair, gently tugging, the next they were tracing shapes up and down my back, or holding my face in between them, or grasping at my biceps. Her lips were so incredibly soft and warm, so sweet to taste. Her scent. My God, that smell.

"What're you smiling at?" she mumbled against my lips before taking my bottom lip between her teeth, nibbling and tugging on it gently.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" I smirked.

"I'd love to know," Annabelle gently bit my cheek as I leaned down to attack her neck, making me grunt at the sensation, "tell me?"

"Can't," I shrugged and started kissing along the underside of her jawline, "that's extremely confidential information."

"I can keep a secret!" she squirmed as my lips tickled her neck.

"I know for a fact that what you've just said was a blatant lie."

"Fucking Gwilym."

"Sorry, love," I licked a line from her neck to her lips, "can't reveal my sources."

"Oh, sod off." She groaned and pushed me off of her, only to roll and climb on top of me, her legs on either side of me as she sat right on my groin.

We stared at each other, each daring the other to break and make the first move. Annabelle rolled her hips ever so slightly and raised an eyebrow, waiting for a reaction. I crossed my arms over my head, letting it rest in my hands, and flashed her the toothiest smile I possibly could. She only huffed in response.

"Problem?" I chuckled.

"I can do this all night, Ben."

"So can I."

"That was bloody incredible," Gwil hugged Annabelle so tight her arms flailed theatrically, as the cast and crew members filed out of the set for a much needed break, "I have no words!"

"Air, please!" Annabelle groaned and gasped for air when Gwil finally let her out of his grasp, "thank you!"

"It really was intense," Joe said, his eyes fixed on Annabelle's chest, "I mean, wow."

"Up here, mate," Annabelle snapped her fingers in front of her face, huffing impatiently, "you're acting like these are the first boobs you've ever seen."

"They are one of a kind," Joe retorted, "I'm not even sorry."

"Aw," Annabelle swayed from side to side with a sweet smile, "that's creepy but flattering!"

"Joe, that's my cousin."

"Yeah, I know."

"Stop gawking at her chest then!"

"Tell her chest to stop gawking at me!"

Annabelle only half-listened to their discussion, however. Her eyes searched Ben's face for a reaction, but he kept it even and cool as he looked up and around at the set, scratching the back of his neck.

"Ben?" Annabelle bit the inside of her cheek, "thoughts?"

"You were beautiful," he gave her a sideways glance.

"Right," Annabelle frowned, "but about the scene?"

"I can do it better," he shrugged.

"What?"

"You heard me," he glanced at her sideways again, "I said I can do it better."

An awkward silence engulfed the group at Ben's remark. Looking from Ben to Annabelle and back again, Joe poked his elbow at Gwil's side and gestured towards the door with his head.

"Well, uh," Joe rolled on his toes and back to his heels, stuffing his hands in his pockets, "we'll leave you two to it, then."

"What do you mean, you can do it better?" Annabelle's face was scrunched up in confusion.

"Teach me," He finally turned to face her, "I'll show you."

"The dance?" she barked out a laugh, "you meant the dance?"

"No," he said, rolling his eyes and licking his lips, his hands firmly placed on his hips, "I meant the craftsmanship of Renaissance dressmaking. Of course I meant the dance!"

"First of all, fuck off," Annabelle scoffed, "second - if you wanted to dance you could have just asked, you know."

"Just shut up and teach me the bloody dance, okay?"

"Fine," she sighed and took his hand to the middle of the floor, "bow."

"Excuse me?"

"Bow," she commanded him, tapping her foot impatiently, "bow down."

"At least buy me dinner before you boss me around..." he muttered but did as he was told.

"Good, that was one." Annabelle sank in a low curtsy, glancing up through her lashes to see Ben lick his lips, sneaking a peek at her, "two. Give me your hand," she said and as he extended his hand to her, she placed hers in his, "three. Now, pull me to you on," Ben tugged at her hand and she came flying to him, clinging to his chest, "four..."

As they went through the motions, Annabelle found that Ben wasn't only an excellent student, but a pretty decent dancer, as well. Other than a few corrections, he hit the nail on the head almost effortlessly.

"Ready to do the whole thing?" she panted, her hands on her hips, smiling at Ben encouragingly.

"Let's see what you've got, love," he teased her and took his place.

At the count of one, Ben took the lead as if it was second nature to him, guiding Annabelle through the steps easily. Ben's mouth was agape in awe as she moved so gracefully around him, his hands gentle but firm on her body as they moved.

"... Eight." He finished counting for them, looking up into her eyes. The light shone into his green eyes, making them sparkle.

Annabelle felt herself slipping down slowly in his arms, her skirts riding up uncomfortably. Just before the tips of her toes touched the floor, she wrapped her arms around Ben's neck, pressing her lips to his softly at first, before he leaned down into her kiss.

"See," he said as they broke apart, "told you, I can do it better."

I watched Annie as she picked up her belongings from around my flat. Every time she came over it's like her bag explodes and its' contents come flying out, landing everywhere. No room is safe. She spotted me following her around and smiled sadly.

"C'mere..." I held my arms out for her to step into and hugged her.

"It's getting late, Ben," she looked up at me, "I really should go."

"What if you didn't?" I asked and bit the inside of my cheek as I waited for her answer.

"What do you mean?"

"You're not as daft as you'd like people to think, Annie," I leaned away from our hug to look into her eyes, "what if you spent the night?"

"Well," she stammered, stumbling over her own words, "I'd love to..."

"But?"

"But not tonight."

"Annie, you're pooped," I reminded her, "you've been up since practically yesterday, you've had a long day... I mean, look at you!"

"Thanks," she sneered, "you always know just what to say to make a girl feel special."

"You can be as cheeky as you want," I retorted, "but you can't drive like this."

"You can't tell me -"

"For fuck's sake, Annabelle," I stepped back and pointed at her feet, "your bloody socks don't even match!"

She looked down and tilted her head, her lips puckered with curiosity.

"Hm," she nodded slowly, "but you said we were taking it slow."

"I know," I shrugged, "and I still stand behind what I said."

"I don't have a toothbrush."

"I'll give you one," I shrugged, "I have plenty."

"I don't have any clean clothes -"

"I'll let you borrow mine and I do own a washer and drier, you know."

"But I don't have any clean knickers!"

"Go commando. Problem solved." I chuckled, making her blush.

"Ben!"

"I'll wash your dirty knickers for you," I cupped her cheeks in my hands and bent my knees, catching her gaze with mine, "stay."

"Ben, believe me, I want to," she looked up at me, her big eyes changing colour from green to blue to a mixture of both like a mood ring, "but I just don't think it's a good idea if we're doing the whole 'taking-it-slow' shebang."

"I promise I'll keep my hands to myself."

"And if I don't want you to?" her breathy voice sent my head reeling with thoughts of the things I could do to her if she'd let me, "and if I can't keep my hands to myself?"

"Then don't."

Taglist: @xgoingdownx @clara-who @violetpond @sweeterthancheese @drummerqueenrmt @westansstuff @rogerinamainbitch @justgivemethekeys @BoRhapRogerina

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honeylikewords · 5 years

Note

That was perfect!! I love Vampire Eddie. How about Santi or Poe moves into a haunted house and they can see ghosts?

I am so glad you enjoy Vampire Eddie! He’s a real sweetheart! For this prompt, I decided to go with Santi being able to see ghosts, and this one took FOREVER to write, for some reason, and I’m still not perfectly content with it. It is kinda hard to write a ghost-human romance, after all, but I hope this is a good opener; I feel like it’ll be a fun AU to explore once I have more of the groundwork in place!

So, without further ado, please enjoy!

Something most people don’t know about Santi is that he is, in fact, very into architecture. He always has been. In fact, before signing up for the military, he’d considered becoming an architect himself, when he was young and in love with reading books about great works of architecture. But no one who had served with him would know this about him; after all, most of Santi’s military friends didn’t especially care about things like architecture, so he never brought it up.

He let his friends dominate the conversation with blabber about which celebrity they’d rather take to bed or about what guns they liked most or about what beer was best, and was fine to just nod along, keeping his interests to himself. He knew there was a time and a place to talk about his hobbies, and that his friends, while close to him, wouldn’t really care that much, so he didn’t feel like wasting his breath.

Still, after all he’d gone through in the service and after, he was tired of living an incomplete life. Once he got back to the States, he wanted to be more himself, so he did what he’d always dreamed of doing: he bought a beautiful old Victorian mansion, one he’d seen online as being for sale out in Connecticut. He loved the architecture of these older homes, and had always dreamed of living in one for himself; master of a home with swooping, graceful staircases, high, vaulted ceilings, and wide, lovely windows. He’d researched the house online and fallen in love with its gingerbread beauty: the laced windows, the cupolas and spanning porches, the skillful carving of the lattice. It was a dream of intricate little details that made architecture such a fascination of his, and it was elegant and beautiful, a home steeped in history.

After placing a few calls to local realtors about the place, he set aside a portion of his money from the work he’d done and bought the house, packed up all his things, and moved to a quiet, sleepy little town in Connecticut.

The day he arrived, moving trucks parked all around the massive driveway, he stood in the foyer of his new home, hands on his hips, grinning into the massive space before him. Sure, it was a touch dusty-- he’d been told no one had lived personally in the home for many years, but that it was well-maintained and fully up to code-- but he was nothing if not a hard worker, and he’d have the place ship-shape in no time.

As he stood in the foyer, surveying his estate, he could swear that he thought he heard... humming. A woman’s voice, humming a tune he didn’t know but felt he’d heard somewhere before. Santi looked around; there were no female movers on the team. He tried to hear the voice again, but when he listened closer, he heard nothing but the clatter and grunt of the movers.

Shrugging the anomaly off as outside noise, possibly from a passerby on the street, Santi went out to help the movers unload the trucks and bring the goods into his home, and spend the rest of the day bringing in boxes. His help meant the work was over faster, and, soon enough, after the final boxes had been set inside and all the tips had been dispersed to the workers, Santi was alone and free to look around the house.

The home had come fully furnished, still stocked with original furniture from its heyday in the Victorian era. Gramophones, high-backed chairs, tortoiseshell lamps, shelves of books, butterflies pinned under glass; a beautiful museum of treasures, all for him to explore. He wondered to himself about who the owners had been to leave this all behind, but he found himself more intrigued by just the exploration itself than by getting bogged down in too many details.

Santi moved from room to room, running his hands over the dark, wooden paneling, his eyes traveling from object to object. On the wall hung little samplers and embroidery hoops with delicate designs sewn in, alongside oil paintings; landscapes, portraits of firm-looking men adorned in military regalia and of stern-seeming women in tight-laced dresses, all pallid and austere. There were tables crowded with books and glass-domed clocks, cloche-covered specimens of taxidermy. There were rooms with doors that stuck in their frames, pushing open with a pop, a creak, and a flume of dust, revealing to him beds and chairs draped in white cloth. He marveled at the oddness of it all, and wondered where he would fit into it, now that it was his to have.

As Santi was about to try and pry open the door to the kitchen, he heard something. A familiar, faint sound, wafting to him from a different room. It was the humming from before, but it sounded nearer, clearer. It was unmuffled by the chaos of the movers, and Santi furrowed his brow, listening to it.

He was certain it was a woman’s voice, and felt a chill run through him at the thought that there was someone in his home without his knowledge or permission. He tried to brush off the thought; perhaps there was another one of those gramophones elsewhere in the house, and it had been bumped by a mover, and was now playing a recording of a woman’s hums. Santi attempted to comfort himself with the thought as he began to walk towards the place he heard the song issuing from, but the nearer he drew, the more certain he was that the voice was not recorded, but live, present, and close to him.

He came up to the door he heard the song coming from and pressed his ear to it, holding in his breath. Indeed, he could hear the music, the humming, coming from directly behind it. Swallowing, Santi gathered his courage, and pushed the door open.

Stepping into a room he quickly concluded was the house’s attached solarium Santi found something he was entirely unprepared for. It was no stuffed fox, no dour portrait, no dusty old grand piano. No, it was something Santi would never have imagined he’d discover waiting for him in these walls.

It was a woman.

She was sitting on a chaise lounge, on the far side of the solarium, near the window, sewing an embroidery hoop. The woman, who seemed to be somewhere around his own age, was wearing a very odd, full-length, heavy-looking dress, her hair pushed up into a bun. When the door closed behind him, she looked up from her hoop, humming stopped, startling him.

Santi felt the instincts of a soldier pass over him, tension rising inside him, threat assessment thoughts running through his head, but he tried to calm down; she seemed harmless, right? She was just sewing, which was not all that threatening, despite the oddness of her being a stranger who was sitting in his supposedly vacant house.

The two stared at each other for a few seconds. Santi broke the silence first.

“Can I... help you?,” he offered modestly.

She squinted at him, then set her hoop aside, looking left and right. Seeing no one else in the room, she pointed at herself, silently asking him if he was talking to her. Santi nodded and pointed at her, too.

“Yes, you, miss,” Santi clarified. “I believe you’re in my house.”

“You can see me?”

At this, Santi was puzzled. Of course he could see her; it wasn’t like she was invisible, or at all attempting to hide. She was being quite obvious, between the relaxed posture, the sewing, and the large, atypical dress, and, of course, the humming. He wondered if she was ill in some way or if he’d need to call someone; perhaps a local theatre troupe had lost a member.

In this moment of musing, she stood up from the lounge, setting aside the hoop, and wandered over to him, circling him and eyeing him curiously. He followed her gaze, turning in time with her, as if locked in a dance. As she studied him, he studied her; she was beautiful, he found. Her skin seemed to glow, trapping light in it, and her features were lovely, complemented by the color of dress she wore. As she moved, she seemed to float, and Santi found himself entranced. He was taken aback by the unexpected beauty of this unexpected intruder. When she stopped circling him, the woman met his eye firmly and frowned, breaking his reverie.

“You don’t look like a spiritualist,” she spoke.

“I... excuse me?”

“Nor do you look especially psychic,” she added, stepping further towards him, almost within the circle of what Santi considered his personal space. Naturally, he stepped backward, and she frowned further.

He attempted to make an offer to her.

“I don’t know who you are, but if you need me to call someone for you--”

“And you’re certainly not a shade yourself,” the woman interrupted, reaching out a hand to touch him. Santi tried to recoil, but her hand brushed his shoulder--

And passed right through.

Chilled to the bone, Santi was frozen in place.

His blood froze in place. His eyes stared at her, pointed and yet blank, his mind spinning around violently to try and reconcile what he’d seen and felt with what he had known all his life to be true.

People don’t just faze through people. This he knew to be true.

He didn’t understand.

“Hm. No, you’re all in one piece,” concluded the woman, retracting her hand and crossing her arms. “And you can see me? Odd.”

“You--”

Santi stammered, blinking rapidly. Words failed to bridge the gap between his brain and his mouth, and he merely dumbly gaped, face clenching as it tried to find the right expression. Anger? Confusion? Pain? He had no idea.

“Mm. Oh, yes.” She seemed to realize he was in shock and gave him a gentle smile, eyes sympathetic. “I see. You didn’t realize the house is haunted.”

“...Ghosts aren’t real,” he blurted out heavily.

“Afraid we are.”

Part of Santi desperately wanted to faint. He thought it’d be only appropriate-- isn’t that what people did when confronted with ghosts?-- but, sadly, he had too strong a constitution. Instead, he swallowed thickly, then wandered over the chaise lounge he’d seen her on, collapsing onto the seat and tiredly resting his face in his hands. It was the closest he could come to fainting.

He groaned miserably.

“I realize this must be stressful,” started the woman, who knelt in front of him and looked up with concern. “But there’s really nothing to be afraid of.”

After a few seconds of processing, Santi’s mind latched on to a memory, to a thread of logic, of something, anything, and forced out a response: Goddamnit, his mind hissed. Of all the houses in all the world...

“I’m not afraid,” Santi mumbled. “I’m annoyed.”

“...Pardon?”

“I am annoyed,” he repeated.

“...Why?”

“Because when I was fifteen I told my abuela that ghosts aren’t real, and it made her cry, and now I’m the jackass that made my abuela cry and I wasn’t even right about what I said!”

There was a pause.

He didn’t know why his mind had gone there. But it had. And this was all his brain had been able to remember on the topic of ghosts, so that was where he was at, emotionally.

“I’m...sorry?”

The woman’s voice came out tinny, as if she wasn’t sure if she should be sympathetic, confused, or amused.

Santi just continued to hold his head in his hands.

This silent, oxymoronic moment stretched for a good few more seconds before Santi drew in a deep breath and sat up slightly, meeting the woman’s gaze with steely, exhausted eyes.

“Are you some sort of...” Santi trailed off, circling the air with his finger loosely to convey something he’d lost the words for. “Hallucination? Maybe a mover dropped a box on my head and I’m in a coma, dreaming this.”

“Well... that’d be hard to verify, wouldn’t it?” The woman said, standing up before sitting by his side on the chaise lounge.

At his side, she looked down at her hands and fidgeted with her fingers, seemingly deep in thought. When she looked back over at Santi, she shrugged.

“What would help you prove I’m real?”

Santi thought for a moment, shifting in his seat to sit up straighter. He cast a glance at the almost-not-quite-semi-transparent-if-he-squinted woman at his side, then raised his hand, pushing it, palm outward, towards her.

She understood what he wanted without him saying it, and extended her own hand. Their digits hovered near one another for a moment, and then each of them, of their own accord, moved forward the final inch, their palms meeting.

The palms did not rest on top of one another, but hers rather passed through his, fusing into one mass. Her fingers passed through his wrist, and the sight of it sent him shivering, anticipating pain, but receiving only a brush of chill. Santi stared at the unity of their hands, feeling the strange, unearthly sensation of touching her.

His hand felt frigid, like it was submerged in ice water, yet like it was being kissed by a gentle spring breeze, both warm and cool, damp with the promise of rain, dry with the assurance of sun. Somehow, deep in the cold, he also felt a warmth; fleeting, but still there. She was not at all solid, but passing through her was like passing through a deep fog or fine mist, gaseous and permeable. Santi had never felt anything like it.

After a few heartbeats, the woman removed her hand from his, and though the cold had felt sharp, he hadn’t felt any physical pain, and he found that the loss of contact felt, somehow, painfully lonely.

Once they parted, the two sat looking at each other for a long span of seconds, each seeming to silently measure the other, to interpret what had just passed between them. He noticed that she had lovely eyes, unclouded and clear. He didn’t know how to feel about that, nor about how to feel that he definitely thought she was very, very beautiful.

Part of his mind wondered what it would be like to kiss a ghost.

Suddenly embarrassed and uncomfortable, Santi stood up, breaking their eye contact, which made the woman at his side jump a little. As he began to walk away, she called after him.

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going to make a phone call.”

Stopping in the doorway, he turned back to look at her, a distant, tentative smile hovering on his lips.

“I’m going to apologize to my abuela. Even if this is all a dream, I think it’d be nice to talk to her.”

As he entered the foyer and pulled out his phone, sitting on the steps, he saw the spectral woman walk into the hallway and stand a respectful distance from him. She gave him a kind smile, one that reached all the way into her eyes, and it strangely comforted him as he listened to the dial tone, waiting for his grandmother to pick up.

Santi watched the woman, a mire of emotions swirling around his tired head. She watched him back. Somehow, he did not feel particularly afraid, which surprised Santi; he always believed that meeting a ghost would be terrifying. Yet, here one was, and instead, he found her rather... sweet-seeming.

When Santi’s grandmother picked up, excitedly greeting him in rapid Spanish, the woman took her cue and left the room, giving Santi a last wave as she faded into a darkened parlor. He watched her go, curious and confused, and then turned his attention to speaking to his grandmother, smiling to himself at the sound of her warm, familiar voice.

“Tuve el sueño más extraño, abuela,” Santi murmured, smiling distantly.

Santi could not predict the future. He had no idea what would happen next. But, somehow, sitting on those stairs, listening to his grandmother’s happy voice asking him about his dream, he felt like he’d be alright. He’d learn to live with this ghost, or this dream, and he’d be alright.

Maybe he’d even learn to like it.

Or love it.

Who knew?

He’d just have to wait and see.

Besides, he thought to himself, even if the box had dropped on him and he was in a coma, Santi suspected there were worse places to be than in a beautiful house with a very beautiful ghostly roommate.

#some notes: 1. this is terrible #2. i agonized over it for too long #3. it's just too long and tells nothing of anything #4. i saw someone else write a poe/ghost person fic and was like 'oh shit theyre gonna think im copying'#even though i only saw that post TODAY and ive been attempting to write this since this anon arrived #which was daaaays ago #also this just SUCKS and im annoyed by how poorly it came out #long post #gif warning #santiago garcia #Do Not Read This If You Know What's Good For You #messages

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solecize · 5 years

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REPLY 2009 ⠀ ⠀⠀.⠀⠀.⠀⠀.⠀(OR: 2009, YEAR OF US) — 004.

now playing: y.o.u (year of us) by shinee

summary: ten years ago, we found ourselves at a turning point in pop culture as the decade began to close. this was the year that brought the world obama, the death of michael jackson, and the highest grossing film of all time, avatar. however, in south korea, something big was brewing as well and it started off with infectious lyrics, colourful costumes, and sensational dance moves: kpop. the korean wave that started to build several years ago begins to find its footing in the international limelight in 2009. this was the golden era of kpop. this was the time of sorry, sorry. the debut of quite possibly the most different and groundbreaking girl group in korean entertainment, 2NE1. the rise of shinee, one of the most consistent boy bands of this era and beyond. the throne of bigbang would remain steady with their ventures into japan. and of course. . . snsd's gee that would solidify their place as the nation’s girl group and overtake their male counterparts. nothing can touch this legendary age.meanwhile, in the very city that milled and churned out these stars, eight teenagers were also coming to a certain close in 2009. youth was suddenly running out like grains of a darkened hourglass, as everything and everyone brought tension into their lives. where was the next step on their path? high school is nothing more than a cruel halfway point between childhood and adulthood, but this group of friends made the most out of it. after all, this is the youngest that they'll ever be. this age is the time where hopes rise higher than ever, where love burns the most passionately, and the desire for freedom expands the furthest. in 2009, we follow these teenagers' stories to the background music of the opening chapters of kpop's greatest legacies.but, ten years later at their high school reunion, where do we find them.

or: highschool!got7, dancecrew!got7, coming of age, school reunion angst, reader x ?

PRESENT DAY (08)

“Hey, what song is this?” Bambam was in the middle of drowning a champagne glass as soon as it was offered to him by red bow tied waiters with trays. The stereo system had been blasting the ever iconic ‘Poker Face’ by Lady Gaga before switching abruptly to a much more mellow tune led by a heavy drum and piano. The sound of the song filled the old gymnasium all around and generated many different reactions from attendees, from sighs to cheers.

Faces, both familiar and unfamiliar, began to slowly trickle into Haerin’s varnished gymnasium. Bambam and I remained at our assigned table in the back, but many rushed there, mostly for the attention of the famous actor. Half of these people didn’t even talk to either of us during high school, while the others were faces unrecognizable due to age or plastic. I bit back a smile upon encountering some that used to make my blood boil—I needed to let past prejudice die.

One of those faces happened to be Bae Suji, strutting in with as much poise as she had all those years ago.

I looked away, hoping that she wouldn’t notice me. “Sounds like SHINee. . .?” I said, unsure of myself.

“It’s Year of Us, isn’t it?”

Jinyoung appeared from behind me, settling into a seat at the table. He slid a shimmering CD case across the table towards us. I raised an eyebrow at him, wondering why he went back to the car for it, but then, I took a closer glance at the item. Scribbled with eight different signatures, I realized that it was one of the many mixes that the dance crew used over the course of senior year. I slipped it into my purse for later on, catching the look in his eyes.

Bambam snapped a finger. “Yeah! Hey,” he tilted his head at my brother, “how’d you know that?”

“They played it at our graduation. You guys don’t remember?” he said. The melody felt familiar, but the memory was so fuzzy that I couldn’t place my finger on it. Graduation was a day full of whirlwind experiences that it was hard to even pinpoint a singular one.

At that moment, the lights in the gym began to darken. The party was really about to get started and a round of cheers flared up, as the attendees raised their glasses. I felt a little bit out of place, watching others greet their old friends and exchange pleasantries. Maybe it was the inner hatred I had for other people, but I had yet to go out of my way to say hello to anyone.

Bambam seemed to notice this, as he nudged my side. “Oh, look who’s right there. Call her over!” He was referring to Suji and at that moment, I wanted nothing more than to fling myself into the sun.

“No!”

“Come on!” The Thailand native began to whine.

Jinyoung seemed to agree with him on this one. “Yeah, just this once. It’s not going to hurt.”

I wanted to retort a yes it will, but then she suddenly turned around. Our eyes met and it took a second for her face to contour into what I believed was faux enthusiasm, eyes wide and mouth formed into an ‘O’. I did the same, only my smile was spread thinner. I could hear her heels clicking even through the belting out of Lee Jinki.

It was as if she naturally drew attention like it was nothing. I noticed how people started to squint through the flashing neon lights from above, trying to make out everyone’s favourite Prom Queen. At her side towered a man with fair skin and blonde hair, sunglasses perched upon his face. The material of his all black suit shone under the light and seeing the way Suji dug her long fingernails into his sleeve, he appeared to be her date for the night.

“Suji! I can’t believe it’s really you!” I exclaimed, mustering up as much fervor that my body had.

Looking at her up close, it was evident that she had no ability to age. She still looked the same way she did when I first met her at the end of middle school, minus some baby fat in her cheeks. Suji’s face was fresh and glowing, free of makeup sans a swipe of peach lip gloss, and her light brown hair flowed in a curl to below her shoulders. Gorgeous, as she’d always been.

She squealed my name in response, pulling me in an all-too-tight embrace. “Wow, look at you! Oh. My. Gosh.” Suji started to shrill again and I attempted to echo her. People were beginning to stare.

“You look so much different! Did you lose weight?” Suji took my wrist and raised up my arm. “And your hair! I love the long bob, it’s so chic. You’ve gotten so much prettier since high school!” At the last statement, I was sure that I was going to lose it with her.

I looked around for help from my brother and Bambam, noticing the way Jinyoung was trying to hold in his laugh. “It’s nice to see you again, Suji.”

“Oh!” she said. “Right, it’s so wonderful you see you, too, Jaehyung—”

“—Jinyoung.”

The former cheerleader walked right past him and up to Bambam. Jinyoung and I exchanged looks, as I smirked at him. He polished off a glass of whatever drink he could get his hands on immediately.

“Bambam! Wow!” Suji pulled him into a similar hug, only it seemed like he actually didn’t mind. This was, after all, his senior year crush. “Noah and I absolutely adored you in The Shuttle!”

It took him a second to process that, looking between Suji and the tall man waiting behind her. “Noah?”

She giggled, as if she were waiting for that. “Guys—” she pulled the man closer by the wrist, “—this is Noah! My husband.”

There it was, her gloating point for the night. I couldn’t help but stare at the enormous rock that sat on her left hand, wrapped around the equally enormous bicep of her husband. A princess cut diamond ring with a rose gold band and smaller pink diamonds adorning the sides. No matter what she did, even the slightest bit of movement allowed for a beautiful luminescence.

“Noah. . .are you Noah Ward? The director?” Bambam gaped when the man removed his sunglasses. His face was tight and his body went completely frozen, as he was trying his very hardest to contain his emotions.

The other man nodded in response, a pearly white smile playing on his lips. “That’s me alright.” He held out his hand.

“I’M A HUGE FAN!” Bambam finally sputtered out and immediately took his hand in for a shake—or, several rapid shakes.

Showing no interest in watching him fangirl, I returned to my seat at our table, where Jinyoung already retreated to. He held his cellphone to his ear, appearing to be giving instructions to get through traffic to the person on the other line. I hoped it was who I thought it was, as our table of eight was barely full. As the evening progressed, I found myself growing anxious for the appearance of my old friends.

Suji followed me, sitting across with a glass of wine suddenly appearing at her hand.

“Oh, how adorable are they?” she cooed, looking over at Bambam and her husband talk about their careers.

“Just so sweet,” I murmured, not bothering to look as I rummaged through my purse for my phone. For whatever reason, that elected a gasp out of Suji and she squealed my name. “What? What is it?”

She grabbed my hand and brought it closer to her face for inspection. “How could you not mention it?”

My engagement ring wasn’t as colossal as Suji’s and it didn’t twinkle as easily as hers did, but the light glint couldn’t be missed. Sometimes, I even forgot that I wore it, since I never bothered taking it off when sleeping or showering. I didn’t plan on announcing it to anyone outside of the seven, so I remained nonchalant for the most part.

“Oh, well, yeah. . “ I trailed off. “We’ve been engaged for a while, but none of the wedding plans have really started. Busy lives.” The first part was true, while the latter bit I tried to exaggerate so that she wouldn’t feel bad about not hearing any word about it.

The story was that the two of us got engaged on a whim last summer without any idea of where and when it was going to happen. I explained that carefully to Suji, who thought it was just so cute how I was so spontaenous. It was just like us to do something like that. As of late, people were starting to bug us about the wedding, so we were trying to at least settle on a date. However, things were hard with our careers and especially with the news I was going to deliver tonight.

“Ooh, a ruby ring! It looks so, um, vintage.” She began to inspect my yellow gold ring, highlighted by a not-too-big, not-too-small blood stone.

“It was my fiancee’s mother’s ring.”

“Oh.” Suji cleared her throat at that and clapped her hands together. “Where did you guys meet?”

“Here.”

“Here?!” she exclaimed so loud that even Jinyoung’s eyes cut towards us in curiosity. “Wait! Do I know him? Is he coming tonight?”

Suji was surprisingly excited once hearing of the news, considering how little we got along in high school. I was taken aback by the fact that she even bothered with a conversation longer than a simple greeting, but she seemed genuinely interested in what was currently going on in my life.

A chair screeched and I looked over to see Jinyoung standing up.

“Guess who’s here?” he said.

MARCH 2009 (09)

Dad was almost always working the night patrol, so Jinyoung and I couldn’t see him during the day when he would be catching up on his sleep. This week, his entire shift schedule was temporarily changed, so the family had him during regular hours. We were sitting at our mahogany dining table one day with Infinite Challenge on in the background, while Jinyoung and I did our school work. Our father was tending to our dinner and mother was going through the bills that came in the mail earlier that day.

“Honey, where did you put the soy sauce?” he called out. He never got to make dinner for us and jumped at the chance to do so this week.

My mother replied, eyes fixated on the envelopes, “On the top shelf of the counter above the dish rack!”

With a sudden slam, Jinyoung shut his Korean textbook closed. He started to collect his notes and other books. I looked at my own sprawled out work, then back to him. We both started working at the same time, as soon as we got home, and yet, he managed to finish miles ahead of me.

“You’re done?” I gawked.

Jinyoung responded casually, “Yeah. So?” He noticed that I was still on the second question of my Calculus homework.

“You’re a whole freak of nature with that brain of yours, you know that?” I scoffed at him, not believing that we could possibly be related. Perhaps I should have been used to it by that point, considering his far more pristine report. There was also the fact that he was too many ranks ahead of me in school than I was willing to admit.

He pointed his black pen towards me. “Maybe it has to do with you taking, like, six breaks since we started.” I should’ve been used to it by now, considering in school, Jinyoung was too many ranks ahead of me than I was willing to say out loud.

“Like four, stop exaggerating! I needed to use the bathroom and check up on Facebook,” I quickly riposted and sent him a glare. Dad suddenly seemed to snap out of the trance that was watching his stew cook and poked his head out of the kitchen. I closed my eyes, bracing for the impact.

“I had to use the bathroom!” I countered.

“And check up on Facebook?”

The ruckus captured the attention of my father, pulling him away from his stew. He exited the kitchen, ladle at hand. A groan left my mouth. I could already feel the reprimand coming, something always being nitpicked at by my parents. I learned to tune them out, but it only backfired against me when they would realize that I wasn’t listening.

He narrowed his eyes at the two of us. “What are you two bickering about?” Dad noticed the way my school stuff was still messily spread out. “Are you having trouble with your work?”

“No,” I replied, a little too quickly.

Jinyoung cut in, “She takes a break every time she can’t figure something out to avoid it.”

He wasn’t wrong, but I continued to make sounds of disagreement. I could never figure out calculus no matter what I did. Math was never my strong suit and I knew that, so attempting the work felt extra discouraging because I knew failure was more likely. That, and my fan group on Facebook depended on my activity.

My mother peered at me through her circle glasses from across the table. “Cram school hasn’t ever helped you,” she said, “maybe you need a tutor, sweetheart.”

It took a lot of willpower to not slam my head onto the dining table. My bad, Jinyoung mouthed to me. This sparked a quieted discussion between our parents, while I watched the Ha & Su segment on the television. While it was true that cram school did nothing for my grades—most likely attributed to the fact that I often skipped or flat out didn’t pay attention—the idea of a tutor was not a fun one.

“It’s fine, I don’t need a tutor! I have Jinyoung,” I insisted.

“You’d sooner rake his eyes out than manage to learn something,” Mom scoffed.

Jinyoung and I did get along, as well as any siblings would, especially twins. However, we’d gone through this route before and quickly realized that my attention span was the same size as his patience, which led to arguments and insults galore. We were one in the same, except when it came to school.

Both of our parents looked at me, then at each other, then to Jinyoung as if he held the answers to the universe’s mysteries.

He started, “Well. . .” Jinyoung slumped in his seat and a ran a hand through his immaculate hair. “I know a few people. Hyoseop?”

“Ew.” I scrunched my nose at the name of the school playboy. Sure, he was quite smart, but there was no way I was putting myself in a closed space with just himself and I for any longer than twenty minutes.

“Jihyo?”

“She’s in my calc class and is definitely worse than me!”

Jinyoung didn’t look convinced, but continued on. “What about Yugyeom?” He raised an eyebrow at me.

That made my face curl up in distaste. “Yugyeom? Like, your friend Yugyeom?” I scoffed. “He’s a whole year younger than me!” Asking for help from a second year was nothing less than embarrassing and my pride weighed more than my need to pass my test.

He countered, “Yugyeom is also ranked second in his year! Even I ask him for help sometimes. He’s a genius and he’s a relatively nice guy.” If I hadn’t known better, I would have assumed that Jinyoung was just praising him because they were friends, but I’ve heard the same things said about him from other people.

That seemed to catch the attention of Dad. “Kim Yugyeom, right?” He chuckled. “The really tall kid from the dance academy?”

The memories of the dance academy were so blurry after leaving, but it wasn’t too long ago that it was completely forgotten. Mom heard about the academy from a client and immediately enrolled the two of us in after realizing that neither of us had a gift for the piano. I was convinced that she would do anything to keep us out of her hair.

We were probably around twelve at the time, when I was still taller than Jinyoung and wearing jeans underneath a skirt was considered fashionable.

OCTOBER 2003 (10)

Beyonce repeating over and over again about just how crazy in love she is was getting old. For the most part, I had no trouble keeping up with the choreography, but I didn’t want to be here at all. When the dance teacher called for a five minute break, I let out the biggest sigh of my life. That meant just another thirty minutes after and soon, I could go home.

Jinyoung quickly made friends with other participants in class and I saw how he interacted with one of them so easily in one corner. I made small talk with some other girls, too, but I didn’t particularly care enough to get to know them.

“I get that our class got cancelled and we got put in the beginner’s lessons, but stop looking so grouchy.” My brother tossed me a water bottle when he saw me approaching.

The male beside him flashed his pearly whites. “Hey! You were really great out there.”

It took me a while to search my memory, trying to figuring out if I’d seen this guy before. He was around our age and was taller than Jinyoung, but shorter than me, and wore all Nike on his body. Shaggy hair in the boyish and purposefully messy kind of way, he was cute. Cute enough for me to take note of him if he were in the intermediate dance class with Jinyoung and I, but I couldn’t recognize him at all.

“Thanks. Are you a beginner dancer?” I asked.

That seemed to make my brother burst out loud into laughter, while the other male just awkwardly chuckled.

Jinyoung replied, “Yugyeom’s in the advanced class with the teenagers.” He gave me the are you an idiot face, so I responded swiftly with a punch to the shoulder.

The assistant choreographer, Yeeun, announced from across the room that we had two minutes left to relax and catch our breaths. I took a swig of my water bottle. Yugyeom must’ve been dancing in the back, as I didn’t even notice him during the session.

“Uh, yeah, I am,” he said bashfully and swiped at sweat on his eyebrow. “I just started at the school early.”

“And Kyesang said that I can join the class soon, too,” Jinyoung added with a smug smile on his face.

I furrowed my eyebrows. “He didn’t say anything to me.” Kyesang was the head of the advanced class and constantly praised both Jinyoung and I. There was no way that Jinyoung got the offer to move up in levels before I did.

Yugyeom said, “You’re a great dancer, too. I bet you’d be able to join with a little bit more confidence!”

Before, I was rummaging through my backpack to find my second water bottle. My head slowly moved, my eyes raised to meet his. Did he really just say that? I wasn’t sure what exactly that was supposed to mean, but I saw the smile on his face and it seemed like he wasn’t joking at all.

“What, I don’t dance confidently?” Something about my stare seemed to wipe the grins from both of their expressions.

Yugyeom was beginning to stammer, then finally spit out, “No! I mean, yes! You dance fine!”

“Alright, back to your places everyone!”

Shoes began to squeak, signalling that the others were walking back onto the main floor. I raised an eyebrow at him, waiting for further explanation, but Jinyoung just dragged him away. That was Kim Yugyeom at age eleven, happy-go-lucky and playful like he was meant to be. Jinyoung lacked the stress placed upon his shoulders because of school. And, for me? I felt on top of the world, actually being able to be good at something.

MARCH 2009 (11)

Tracking down someone like Yugyeom at school proved to be more difficult than expected. For someone who was said to possess an abundance of brainpower, he was not in the library. He wasn’t normally found with the rest of Jinyoung’s dance crew for whatever reason. I didn’t have any classes with him, so that was out of the question. After needing to use Jinyoung as a middle man to get to the younger male, I figured out that Yugyeom came to school extremely early in the morning and that was the only time before the end of the day that he could be found easily.

I tended to be early myself, since I left home whenever Jinyoung did. However, the fact that Kim Yugyeom arrived an hour earlier than that was mind boggling to me. I didn’t even realize that the school gates opened at such an hour.

Jinyoung came with me, claiming that he needed to check up on some things for the upcoming Spring Festival as apart of his student council duties. That was code for ‘I guess I’ll be a good brother and not let you walk alone in the dark morning.’ He also probably felt bad for me, since he was the one who redirected me to Yugyeom in the first place, knowing full well how difficult it was to locate him.

Entering the school’s main foyer, I took notice of how it looked when it was so empty. The main administrative office was darkened and nobody was inside. There were no loud students blocking off the entrance, no nagging teachers—not counting the two first years off to the side playing on their Ninento DSis. They probably got dropped off by their parents on their way to work. Other than that, the floor was absolutely sparkling and the air felt peaceful without so many bodies.

Each time I ran into a teacher and wished them a good morning, they appeared startled at my appearance.

“Oh my goodness, I thought you were a ghost! Nobody is here this early!” My homeroom teacher exclaimed when I bowed to her out of nowhere.

Yugyeom was sitting cross legged on the floor in between blocks of lockers. I could hear the Chris Brown blasting from his headphones and he was bopping along to the rhythm. There was a chemistry textbook opened up in front of him and on his lap was a notebook that he was scrawling information onto. It seemed awkward having to just suddenly appear in front of him and I didn’t want to scare him like I had with the teachers.

I tentatively called out his name at first, but to no avail. I said it louder at least two more times, before his eyes flickered my way. A small, polite smile formed on his face and he took off his headphones promptly.

“Oh, hey there. Jinyoung said that you’d meet me.” Yugyeom gave a wave.

Approaching him, it felt odd having to talk and look down at him, so I leaned against the wall opposite from him and slid down until my bottom hit the ground. “Does that mean that you’re willing to help me out?” I crossed my fingers behind my back; if he rejected me, that meant I’d have to go to Hyoseop and I really did not want to do that.

“Yeah, of course I would!” That allowed for a relieved sigh. “But, uh, when’s this test?”

“. . . Three days.”

He widened his eyes. “Three days? That’s not a lot of time.”

I responded, “Oh, yeah. I totally understand! I’ll just find someone else—” He cut me off and I’d never felt so happy in my entire life.

“—No, no, no! Don’t worry about it. It’s just a little surprising that’s all.” Yugyeom scratched the back of his nape. “I’m just a little busy this week—but, not that busy. I, I mean not busy enough to help you.”

I nodded slowly, watching him flip through his notebook. He stopped on an empty page and ripped out a piece of the paper. I wondered what he was doing, but then he handed the paper to me after scribbling something down on it.

“Are you free today after school? I can help you out then.”

That was what changed everything.

#—— REPLY 2009.#got7 fanfic #got7 series #got7 #got7 scenarios #got7 imagine #got7 imagines #got7 x reader #got7 x you #got7 fluff #got7 au #kpop fanfic #kpop series

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