#England managed to avoid this whole mess
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Les Misérables is written about three or four different time periods depending on the given chapter and the level on which you're reading it (literally versus historically versus philosophically, etc.). I don't think I appreciated until episode 7.13 of Mike Duncan's Revolutions podcast when he broke down how intensely all of the political factions involved in the 1848 revolutions were influenced by their opinions of the French Revolution, however, how much Les Mis talks about 1848.
I'm gonna be making a post later with a theory about Hugo's characters and structure they pertain to this history and these factions and most especially Cosette's future, but in the meantime, I've transcribed from around 13:10 to nearly the end of the episode so that you all can also appreciate how many levels were involved and have it in writing to refer to and research as you like, because I think it also summarizes pretty well the non-Bonapartist political forces in play at any point in the bricc.
(I also cannot recommend this podcast highly enough for jumping into not just the world of French Revolutions but also Western Revolutions in general.)
So at one end of the spectrum, we have those who looked back at the French Revolution with nothing but horror and disgust and who believed that above all and no matter what the cost, Europe must be kept free of the menace of revolution. But this category of anti-revolutionaries divided up into three broad groups who agreed on practically nothing but the fact that revolution was abhorrent.
First and most obviously, we had the conservative absolutists who returned to power after the Congress of Vienna. The chief leading light of this group was Metternich, and the spectre of the French Revolution haunted no man so much as Metternich. Men like Metternich were so opposed to revolution that they were even opposed to reform. King Louis XVI had invited reform in 1789, and look what had happened to him. So across Europe in 1848 there were conservative writers and members of the clergy and major landowners who believed that you could not even let three guys sit down for a drink or they'd start plotting revolution. You certainly couldn't have a free press. You had to be stubborn, unfair, and ruthless. It was simply too dangerous to be anything less. And this extended to things even as seemingly banal as allowing a kingdom to have a nominal constitution, because in the conservative mind, once you granted the premise that rights came up from the people, rather than down from God through the king, you could just kiss the whole thing goodbye. These conservatives still pined for the days before 1789, and they hated the memory of even the most moderate of French revolutionaries, whose seemingly innocent and earnest appeals for reform had simply been the thin end of the wedge.
But absolutist conservatives were not the only ones who recoiled at the memory of the French Revolution and who wanted to do everything in their power from ever letting it happen again. So this second group of anti-revolutionaries were constitutional liberals who worshiped the rule of law and for whom revolution was anathema to everything they held dear. In France, we would put both Louis Philippe and François Guizot into this category, even if they had oh-so-ironically come to power thanks to the July Revolution [of 1830]. Both men admired the principles that had animated the men of 1789 but who had nonetheless concluded, no less than Metternich, that acquiescing to reform was only the beginning of a very slippery slope. Guizot himself had written a history of France and believed that the king's concessions in the early days of the Estates-General had led directly to the Reign of Terror — and remember, Guizot's father had perished in the Terror, as had King Louis Philippe's [Louis Philippe II, Philippe Égalité]. By the mid-1840s, both men had become stubbornly convinced that everything that needed to be achieved had been achieved and that any further reform would invite that slip into radicalism and the return of Madame la Guillotine. This kind of thinking could also be detected in the minds of rulers over in [modern-day] Germany, where we've discussed that there were these constitutional regimes — Ludwig in Bavaria, Leopold of Baden, and Frederick Augustus in Saxony. Those constitutions existed more as a stopper to prevent revolution than any kind of liberal expressionism.
Finally, there was a third group that cringed at the idea of the French Revolution but who drew the opposite conclusion from Guizot and Metternich: where Guizot and Metternich thought that reform was an invitation to revolution, they felt that reform was a necessary release valve to prevent revolution. So in this category you would find Odilon Barrot and the dynastic left in France who wanted to save the monarchy by reforming the monarchy. You would also find in here a guy like Alexis de Tocqueville, who would go on to write his own book on the French Revolution where he would argue that all of the quote-unquote “gains” of the French Revolution had already started under the Ancien Régime and that basically you didn’t need revolution to change society, you just needed continuous, gradual improvement. We’ve also discussed so far two massively influential reformers in [modern-day] Italy and Hungary who fit this same basic mold. In Italy, we talked about the Count of Cavour in episode 7.09, and in episode 7.08 I introduced István Széchenyi. Both of these guys have broad, sweeping visions for the futures of their respective countries. They believed in liberal constitutional government, economic modernization and social improvement, they simply did not believe revolution was the means of achieving their ends; in fact, this was the very lesson they had drawn from the French Revolution, that the ends had been just, but the means counterproductive. The attempt to cram a century’s worth of work into a single year had not just had disastrous consequences, but they had upset the whole project of reform. I would also throw into this group of anti-revolutionary reformers all of the Austrian liberals in Vienna, who we also talked about in episode 7.08. They believed that the stubborn brittleness of Metternich’s government was inviting a revolutionary upheaval that could be headed off by intelligent and necessary reform.
So those are the guys who desperately wanted to avoid another French Revolution, who instantly shuddered at the idea of ever having something like that happen again. But is that how everyone felt? Oh my goodness, no. There were those who had picked up the thesis of Adolphe Thiers and believed that the revolution of 1789 had been a good thing, a project launched for noble reasons and in fact launched because the existing regime was simply too stubborn to change without revolutionary energy. In this telling, men like Lafayette and Mirabeau were heroes to be emulated while you kept on constant guard against villains like Robespierre and Saint-Just. As you can imagine, this was a very attractive thesis among liberals in Germany and the Austrian empire who saw their own situation as analogous to the Ancien Régime of 1789. Their kingdoms were reeling from an economic crisis, their governments were financially shaky, their natural rights were trampled on by tyrants. So the French Revolutionary project that unfolded between 1789 and 1792 was absolutely a model to be emulated. Bring the liberal, educated intellectuals of the country together and force the kings to grant them a constitution and to guarantee basic civil rights. If they were going to be denied a constitutional place in government, if their local assemblies were going to be neutered, if they were not allowed to vote, if the government was unresponsive, then it was perfectly acceptable to look to 1789 and say, “Yes, we want that too. A moment when men of good will and conscience join together to define the rights of man and the citizen.” Now of course, these neo-1789ers knew the lesson of history well, and they knew that they would need to guard against the villains of 1792, but they did not believe that the Reign of Terror was necessarily inevitable. It had simply happened that way in France thanks to a variety of coincidences, mistakes, and bad luck, so liberals across Europe believed that they could forge constitutional governments that defined civil rights and popular sovereignty without falling prey to the Reign of Terror. Thus, the spectre of the French Revolution would loom very large indeed in the minds of these liberal revolutionaries as the course of 1848 rapidly progressed faster than they could keep up with. As we will see, they will all hit a moment of truth where they have to decide whether to keep pushing and join with more radical forces or quit the whole project, reconcile with the old conservative order, and fight against those radical forces that might lead to the new Reign of Terror.
But there were also those who rejected this whole contrived moralizing of the “good” revolution of 1789 and the “bad” revolution of 1792. They did not recoil from the insurrection of August the 10th, the First French Republic, or the Jacobin Committee of Public Safety. They idolized not the buffoon Lafayette and hypocritical traitor Mirabeau, but rather, the steely resolve of men like Danton and Robespierre and Saint-Just and Marat. These had been men who saw the tyrants of Europe for what they were and knew that one must stand up when the going got tough, not go hide in the corner. These more radical republicans further believed that there was just as much injustice perpetrated by comfortable liberals as conservative absolutists, so they saw the Revolution of 1789 as merely the precursor for the much more important, much more glorious, and much more necessary Revolution of 1792. So though they were enemies of each other, these radicals actually agreed with Metternich that reform really was just the thin edge of the wedge, that it would lead to a greater revolution that would overthrow the despotic monarchies of Europe. In their minds, the widespread slandering of the First French Republic and even the portrayal of the Reign of Terror as the most terrible crime in the history of the world was the nefarious propaganda of the comfortable classes, whether of conservative or liberal stripe. Their propaganda emphasized the dramatic horror of the guillotine in order to cover up the horrors the common people of Europe lived with every day, and the best summation of this argument actually comes from A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, Mark Twain.
Now the book wasn’t published until 1889, but in it, Twain writes a passage that would have had a lot of radicals nodding their heads in 1848. He wrote, “There were two reigns of terror, if we would but remember and consider it. The one wrought murder in hot passion, the other in heartless cold blood. The one lasted mere months, the other had lasted a thousand years. The one inflicted death upon ten thousand persons; the other, upon a hundred million. But our shudders are all for the horrors of the minor terror, the momentary terror so to speak; whereas, what is the horror of the swift ax compared with lifelong death from cold, hunger, insult, cruelty, and heartbreak? What is swift death by lightning compared with death by slow fire at the stake? A city cemetery could contain the coffins filled by that brief terror, which we have all been so diligently taught to shiver at and mourn over. But all France could hardly contain the coffins filled by that older and real terror, that unspeakably bitter and awful terror, which none of us has been taught to see in its vastness or pity as it deserves.”
(Sounds an awful lot like like a certain conversation our favorite bishop has with a certain conventionist, no?)
Now granted, I don’t think many of these radicals were actively pursuing a new Reign of Terror, but they were also not planning to settle for a constitutional monarchy bought by and for the richest families of their country. And as we’ve already seen in France, these guys were not going to let the blood of patriots be spilled simply so they could swap one Bourbon for another and give another hundred thousand bankers and industrialists the right to vote. What in that represented the nation? Where in that were the people? Where was liberty leading the people? Oh right, that painting was locked now in the attic so it did not offend the forces of order. In Italy, these radical republican forces who celebrated 1792 rallied around Giuseppe Mazzini and later Garibaldi; in Hungary they would rally around Lajos Kossuth, and when I get back from the book tour, I will introduce you to the radical leaders in Germany, who would not be satisfied by the mere token reforms promised by men who celebrated 1789 but feared 1792, men like Friedrich Hecker, Robert Blum, and Gustav Struve. Everywhere, they would find their support not solely in the salons and cafés but among artisans and workers and students. Those who would mount the barricades not just for the right to publish an article or to mildly criticize the government or the right to vote if you made a gargantuan amount of money: they fought to topple the king and to bring power to the people — all of the people.
So, so far we have men who idolize the conservatives of 1788, men who idolize the liberal nobles of 1789, and men who idolize the Jacobin republicans of 1792. Well, there was also in 1848 also [sic] now emerging a small clique of men for whom even 1792 was not enough. These guys believed that 1789 had been merely a step to 1792, but also believed that 1792 was simply a step to something greater. So where did these guys look? That’s right: they looked to 1796. “1796?” you say. “ What are you talking about? The Directory? Surely not. Nobody says, ‘Ah, yes, the good old days of the French Directory, let’s definitely go back to that.’” And no, of course I’m not talking about the directory, I’m talking about Gracchus Babeuf and the Conspiracy of Equals. With the small but ever-growing, increasingly influential spirit of socialism and communism beginning to take root, men like Louis Blanc and Karl Marx looked to Babeuf and his gang as the first example of what the force of history was aiming to make of humanity. Communities and nations that shared not just political rights but the wealth of the nation. How indeed are you going to sit back and say, “Ah, yes, the declaration of the rights of man and the citizen, and one citizen should have one vote,” and then call it a day when so few had so much and so many had so little? The vote was nothing to an entire family — dad, mom, children, who were all stuck working eighteen hours a day for starvation wages. It was thus not the spirit of 1789 or the spirit of ‘92 that moved them, but the spirit of 1796; and it was not the name Robespierre that got their hearts thumping, but rather Babeuf. Babeuf had been among the very first of the socialist revolutionaries who had not stopped short at merely answering the political question, but who wanted to answer the social question as well. And as we’ll see as we move further down the road on 1848, that the memory of Gracchus Babeuf was not simply a matter of picking some obscure hero out of the historical record: there was actually a direct line of revolutionary succession, because one of Babeuf’s fellow conspirators in the Conspiracy of Equals was an Italian revolutionary socialist named Phillipe Buonarroti [Filippo Buonarroti]. Buonarroti was in prison but later released and would then go onto a long and active career inside the revolutionary secret societies that sprang up after the Congress of Vienna, and we’re gonna talk more about the role that Buonarroti played in kindling and spreading this revolutionary socialism, but for his small cadre of disciples, the revolutions of 1848 would be a chance not to complete the work of Lafayette in 1789 or Robespierre in 1792, but the work of Babeuf in 1796.
#shitposting @ me#revolutions podcast#les mis#1848 revolutions#yes that's plural revolutions were breaking out fucking everywhere#Christ this took forever to transcribe and link#but also I found it to be such a profoundly helpful summary that I really wanted to make it available to everyone#although I was reminded of exactly how annoyed I was when I first discovered that Mr. Duncan doesn't even type out the names#much less release transcripts of his episodes#Sir I Know You Have Them#You Read From Them For Every Episode It Is Scripted#I Can't Remember Names Without Seeing Them Written#SIR#Italy and Germany didn't exist yet but they sure wanted to#Elisabeth of musical fame was about to make a big splash#the Austrian Empire was crumbling#and France was doing as France does ig#new emperor new me#England managed to avoid this whole mess#which is how in this our Lord's year 2022 they still have a monarchy#(for now)
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Enemies to lovers
Part 1 part 2 part 3
Jude Bellingham x baller!reader
Taglist now open
Wc: 2k
Warning: past flashback, swearing
⚠️ A/n: PLS STOP SPAMMING ME! I beg man 😭 i will post parts as soon as i can and people spamming me everywhere only puts me off this. If you wanna be apart of the taglist comment down below<3 THANK YOU FOR 900 FOLLOWERS <3
"A favor?"
You repeat, the words feeling thick and heavy on your tongue. A part of you suspects that he's about to pull a fast one and make some belittling joke at your expense.
Or he's going to ask you to do something completely impossible for him, just so he can prove his point that, haha, you fucked up!
Because there's really no conceivable reason that he would-
"You need me to act as your boyfriend for the wedding thing. Fine. But I need you to..."
He trails off, and you stare in awe as a light pink hue dusts his cheeks. Is Jude... blushing? You'd seen him blush out of rage before, many times actually, but never... shyness? Is that what this even is?
"...It'll be easier if I just explain it first."
Nodding, you feel like you're stuck in some kind of trance as he sits down on top of the desk next to yours. He sighs again, and then those blood-red eyes are focused on you.
"My parents are... fuckin' nutcases. I don't know if you've heard much about them, but they're kinda well- respected in England. Not like your aunt, just pretty influential in politics n' shit."
You openly stare at him, head tilted.
"I, uh, don't follow."
A glare. "So let me fucking finish then, eh?"
Bristling, you bite your tongue and grit out a strained apology. He just rolls his eyes in response and continues on.
"Anyways, my mom's been creepily invested in like, making sure I have a girlfriend so I can 'continue the family lineage.' I'm still 19 so it doesn't make much sense, but it's just for her to show it off I guess."
He makes air quotes with his fingers as he speaks, and you almost want to laugh a bit because the idea of Jude having a wife and kids is just... unrealistic. He looks away, eyes hardening as his tone shifts into something more somber. "So then I had a girlfriend, but we uh, broke up a few months ago."
Hold the fucking phone. Jude had a girlfriend? Like, as in living breathing girl? Who was interested in actually dating him?
Your attempt to conceal the look of shock clearly written across on your face utterly fails, because Jude instantly notices before you can even try to correct yourself. The look he gives you makes your spine go rigid.
"The fuck you looking like that for?"
"Nothing," you say a bit too quickly. "so then what about the rest of the favor?" He scowls for a few moments longer, as if he's wondering if he really wants to pursue an argument right now, then thankfully drops the issue altogether and continues talking. You let out a breath you weren't even aware you'd been holding, feeling slightly victorious at the fact that for once you've managed to avoid a giant mess. It's a nice change of pace.
"As I was saying, we broke up, but my mom doesn't know that. Hell, she didn't even meet my girlfriend to begin with. Was just happy to know I had one, and then bragged about it to all her friends or whatever."
Your fingers begin to drum wildly against your desk. You've got a feeling you know where this is going, and it does not appeal to you.
"But you're single now, so she doesn't know?"
"Yeah. Which is where you come in."
Yep. Laughing nervously, you stand from your seat and grab your bag, slinging it over your shoulder.
"Yeah, look... I know I fucked up with the whole phone call thing, and I'm sorry about that, but I am NOT going to be your pretend girlfriend for god knows how long just because your mom-"
He makes a face, appearing as if you've just gravely offended him.
"What? Why the fuck would I ever want that? Idiot, it's only going to be for one night, not a year."
A short laugh escapes his lips, curt and blunt. “You think I'd enjoy having you of all people as my girlfriend?"
You wince, because ouch, but at the same time, you'd probably reply with the exact same thing had he been the one to insinuate that. So it's fair, you suppose. "Only one night?" Is your hesitant response. "My mom's got a stupid party with her fellow political snobs coming up in a week," he grumbles, leg swinging impatiently.
"I just need you to pose as my girlfriend for the party. That's all."
Mulling over your options, you bite your lip and give him a skeptical glance.
"So that's it? And then you'll- you'll do the wedding thing with me?"
Jude nods. You then start to feel slightly bad, because here he is only requiring you to act as his significant other for one night, whereas you'll be having him act for a week... "Are you sure it's a fair exchange?" You mumble, nervously picking at the seams of your shorts. Rolling his eyes for the billionth time, he hops off of the desk and snorts.
"I get out of having my mom scream at me and get a free vacation to fucking Malibu?"
"The Bahamas," you correct him.
Another eye roll. You silently hope that they stay stuck in the back of his head someday.
"Whatever, same difference. So yeah, it's a pretty fair exchange.
I mean, we just fake "break up" after the wedding or whatever." He hums to himself a bit, before grimacing slightly. His next words are nothing more but a mumble, and you strain to hear them.
"But, if anything, we're both kinda getting fucked over here." You narrow your eyes suspiciously. "Hey, hold on, I never explicitly agreed to all of this. What do you mean by that?"
A sort of realization dawns on him. He slowly faces you before flashing a sarcastic grin in response, his sharp canines now visible at the corners of his mouth.
"Come on, you didn't think this was gonna be as easy as just saying we're dating and expecting people to believe it, did you?"
Heat rises to your cheeks. "I- I don't follow." "It means," he says, taking a few slow steps towards you. "that you and I are gonna have to actually play the part. I mean if we're both all stiff-shouldered and awkward, ya think your aunt is really be convinced that we're actually dating?"
"I mean, it- it doesn't matter too much, right?"
God, you hope your face isn't as red as it feels. And then Jude is directly in front of you, both of his hands squarely planted on the desk as he looms over you. You're now certain that it is as red as it feels. It's unclear to you if you're more flustered over the blatant invasion of your personal space, or... no, you're not finishing that thought.
"Here's the thing, 'babe,' " he growls, his voice strained. "you can try and convince your aunt about whatever the fuck you want. I'm definitely not complaining if I don't have to bring the whole romance shtick along on the trip. That would be ideal, actually, cause there's no way I'm trying to shack up with you."
His face is now only inches from yours, hot breath slightly fanning across your cheeks. You think your heart has leapt straight into your throat. Since when has it been this hard to breathe?
"But with my family, you're not getting away with any of that half-assed crap. So whether you like it or not - and I can assure you that I for one don't -we're gonna have to get used to acting like a real couple. Otherwise, this isn't gonna work. Understand?"
You physically cannot move, only offering a blank stare in response. He smirks in a patronizing sort of way, seemingly mistaking your bewildered reaction for one of fear. As if he expected you to react this way all along.
"Unless, of course, princess prude here can't do that. So make your choice."
Hold on, is he trying to scare you off?
Oh, he definitely is.
He takes your momentary silence as an answer and chuckles.
"That's what I thought."
You've been described as a lot of things that you can agree with. Easily flustered, hard-headed, passionate... the list goes on. You've also been described as incredibly stubborn. Petty, too. And those statements are just as factual.
"Well, if you change your mind, I'll probably have until tomorrow before I go looking for a stand-in" Jude shrugs, finally backing up from your desk and turning toward the door.
"but otherwise, if you can't do it, we're probably done here-"
All things considered, you're guessing that he probably didn't expect you to stand from your seat and grab him roughly by the back of his shirt. He lets out a startled noise as you yank him towards you, forcing him to face you as your fist bunches in his collar. Pulling him down to meet you eye-to-eye, your response is forced from your lips with a ferocity that surprises even you.
"Try me." You regret the words the momont they leave your mouth. But you're too busy relishing in Jude startled expression to really care. He stares at you for a few moments longer, seemingly dumbfounded, before abruptly prying your hand off of him with a look of disdain. He smoothes out his shirt with a smile.
"Damn, didn't know princess prude had some balls on her."
Trying to maintain your false facade of confidence, you cross your arms stubbornly.
"The joke's only funny once. Don't call me that." And for a moment you swear he smirks, a smirk that's not full of hatred or sarcasm for once, but it's quickly replaced with his normal resting bitch face that you've seen so frequently over the course of the past semester. "Alright," he grumbles.
"Let me give you my number so we can plan shit out." You hand him your phone, and he quickly punches in his contact before carelessly tossing it back to you. It almost slips from your grasp, and you glare daggers at him as you fumble to recover it.
"Watch it, asshole." He just sniggers.
"Yeah, whatever. Anyways I'm blasting this dump. Later, princess prude." "I said, don't fucking call me that!"
You shout after him as he exits the room, fists trembling with anger.
"Whatever the princess commands."
"You're not funny!"
"Don't care." It's the last thing you hear before he disappears out of the room and down the hallway, leaving you to stand in place, furious, and process what exactly you just agreed to. Jude is your fake boyfriend. What the fuck?
It feels taboo to even think about. An even scarier realization that hits you with the speed of a freight train is that to everyone else, Jude is now your real boyfriend.
Crouching down, you wrap your arms around your knees and resist the urge to scream. By the time you make it through the rest of your classes and back to your apartment, you think you're about to drop dead on your feet. You'd been too focused on what had happened back in the empty room with Jude to really pay attention to any of your lectures, instead debating whether or not you should just call the whole thing off and stick to trying to pay your aunt back, or roll with it and move onto the next set of problems that would arise from sticking with it. Is he still going to tell people you two aren't actually dating? Are you still going to be outed as a liar?
God, you hope not. Hell, you'd even written out a whole pros and cons list during your last class, which you were now reviewing from the privacy and comfort of your bed.
PROS: No Tom (Jude is somehow more bearable, cause at least he's not a creep) Aunt + Mom are happy (no guilt-tripping) Don't have to pay aunt Sylvie back VACATION TO BAHAMAS??? Maybe won't be outed for "lying" (did I lie tho) Not permanent I'm technically doing something nice for someone else at
I'm technically doing something nice for someone else at the same time :))))
(kind of, fuck you Jude)
CONS: He's not Tom but he's also still Jude and that means that I have to deal with the asshole for basically a month
Family is gonna ask questions Prep stuff for the fake dating I guess Oh god do I have to kiss him??
Might still have to deal with the Rice thing and being called a liar Have to deal with HIS family asking questions And... that's about it.
At first glance, you try to convince yourself that both sides are semi-even, but... the cons are mostly superficial or just plain uncertain, now that you look at them. And the pros are stupidly strong and... shit.... The only big thing you'll be sacrificing is your dignity. And your time and patience. No, no. That's still worth something right? Maybe not. Are you seriously about to go along with this? And as if on cue, your phone buzzes with a text from Jude.
From: Jude
6:17 PM
Hey, I told Rice the rumors are true. Might be easier for you and I to keep our story straight. We can just tell him we broke up
You stare quizzically at the message for a few moments, sort of in awe. He still sounds as harsh as ever but this is... oddly considerate of him.
Did someone steal his phone or something?
From: Jude
6:19 PM
Your name in my phone is Princess Prude, just thought you should know.
Never mind.
Definitely the same guy.
From: You
6:20 PM
Why
From: Jude
6:20 PM
Cause it pisses you off
From: you
6:21 PM
was about to thank you for what I thought was a really nice gesture but now all I have to say is fuck you
You make a new contact name for him and send a screenshot.
From: Judyhoe
6:22 PM
The fuck? "Judyhoe?" You've got some meedy insults yk. And the feeling is mutual btw
He sends a middle finger emoji with nothing else, and you suppose that's the end of the conversation.
But despite all the insults, his infuriating personality, and the shit you're probably going to have to put up with...
At least he's not Tom
-
Naturally, Mason had been the first in your admittedly small social circle to know the truth; he was probably your closest friend on camp at this point. And considering the fact that you had kind of ghosted her since the end of training, you supposed it was only right to fill him in on what was going on.
That, and you weren't sure if you'd remain mentally stable enough if you'd kept all of this a secret.
"Are you shitting me?" Was the first thing he'd said when you'd finally picked up her calls. The whole ordeal had been explained over text - a tedious process, looking back.
But you'd just been too embarrassed to recount everything out loud.
"No," you mumble, rolling over in your bed so you can stare at the ceiling. "I swear I'm not."
You hear him inhale sharply, before he starts laughing like a maniac. Reddening, you clench your fists as you sit up in bed, shouting words of indignation into the speaker as he continues to cackle at your expense.
"You and Jude-" he seems to be almost laughing through tears.
"You guys are faking... This can't be real. You guys are like Arsenal and spurs!" Grumbling, you slouch.
"I know, and yes, it is real."
"Are- are you two sharing a fucking BED on your vacation?" He howls, trying to catch his breath, and you try your damndest not to hang up right then and there as your face goes aflame at his suggestion.
"No!" Comes your high-pitched squeal.
"Me? Share a bed with that asshole? He would probably suffocate me in my sleep!"
"I dunno, maybe it's the perfect time to figure out if one of you has a degrading kink-" Grinding your teeth, you glare down at your phone.
"If you don't shut up, I'm going to end the call." he half-heartedly apologizes as his laughter dissolves into giggles.
You just sigh, one hand rubbing at your temples. This is going to be a painfully long month.
"So..." he starts. "how do you honestly feel about it?" his tone is genuinely curious this time.
Humming, you search for an answer. "I don't know," is your honest reply. "I'm relieved, because it kinda solved three problems all at once but... I'm also really dreading the whole thing. I'm scared something's gonna get fucked up along the way."
A short laugh. "Fair enough. I'll be surprised if you two don't kill each other before the whole party thing." You silently agree.
"So like, to convince his parents, is he gonna have to practice kissing you or something?"
The sound that leaves your mouth is nothing short of a squeak. Oh, you can practically hear him grinning over the phone.
"Oh? Looks like someone isn't prepared. What if he pulls you onto his lap, huh? Wraps his arms around your waist..."
"That's not- Shut up!" is your garbled reply, throat constricting at the thought. "If I didn't know any better, you sound flustered~" he purrs.
No, you protest very firmly. You aren't flustered. You're just grossed out. The thought is appalling to you. One hundred percent. He can tell that you're lying. And shit, why the fuck is it making you flustered? He's a fucking dickhead. And you genuinely do hate him. But he's a hot dickhead, a voice in the back of your head whispers, and you try to beat it over the head with an imaginary baseball bat. Ok. Fine. He's attractive. You'll admit it. And you hate it, because otherwise, you wouldn't be nearly as flushed thinking about all of this.
And why do all the assholes get to be attractive??
You don't realize you've said all of this aloud to Mason until he bursts out laughing again, much to your embarrassment, and then you have to spend a whole five minutes shutting him up. He's not going to let you live this down. Not for a long while. The two of you continue to talk about the logistics of the arrangement for about an hour longer - you pointedly ignore a few of the sly jokes he slips in here and there - before he has to leave for his family dinner
And when the call finally ends, you can't help but feel a tiny bit relieved that this isn't a secret you need to carry alone anymore.
Your phone buzzes with a text.
From: money mase
8:49 PM Just always remember the importance of condoms and good ol birth control
You should've just kept your mouth shut. From: You
8:50 PM I have no idea why you're so convinced that we're going to do anything. This is literally a contract out of convenience.
From: money mase
8:51 PM That's what they all say, mate
From: You
8:52 PM The day I fuck Jude is the day you finally confess to Declan
He doesn't respond to that one. The rest of the night passes without much of a hitch. You do get a few curious messages on your social media asking about Jude, but you elect to ignore them for now, favoring the sweet embrace of sleep.
And when you finally manage to drift off to sleep after what feels like ages of constant tossing and turning, your dreams are filled with brown eyes that burn through your body over and over, until nothing of you remains but charred ash.
From: Judyhoe
8:15 AM Meet me today at my apartment after lunch so we can plan shit out for the party. I've only got one massage class, so I'll be here all day. And don't keep me waiting
Waking up to a text from Jude feels like whiplash. (a/n referenced the best movie to exist;)
And waking up to a text from Jude demanding you to come to his apartment, of all places, more so. And what does he mean by "plan shit out?" You mull over whether or not you should fake sick and bail, gingerly sipping at your coffee. But then comes the reminder that all of this technically counts as an obligation now, thanks to your poor critical thinking skills that are permanently coupled with your big fat mouth
You told him to send his adress. He does, and you can't help but gawk when you recognize the location because holy shit, it's in a really nice area in London. You always seemed to forget that some on the team lives by themselves rather than on camp like you. Simply out of convenience. Your cat rubs against your ankles with a purr, and you pick her up, scratching behind her ears as you silently pray that today won't be a complete disaster on your end.
Unfortunately, things are already looking glum. The stares are even more prominent today. Probably a result of Jude's confirmation with Declan about it all. You even overhear a huddled group of girls whispering as you pass, shooting you a few glares. You try your best to ignore it all, but by the time you slide into your seat at lunch, you want to do nothing but hide.
It'll pass, you think to yourself, desperate for consolation. He's basically a high class celebrity, so of course it's a hot topic. But it'll pass soon. Old news. Despite your anxiety about, well, everything, everything pass by far too quickly.
It's 4 PM before you even realize it. Wait, why are you so worked up over this? It's just a stupid meeting. Nothing weird is going to happen. It's just a result of everything Mason said last night. And even if you have to practice being... being a couple, it's not like he's going to do anything
Right? You should bail. But as you pull up his messages and start typing out an excuse to remain hiding at home with your cat, you can practically envision Jude calling you "princess prude" again, and it's all the conviction you need to erase the stupid message, grab your bag, and stride as you confidently head for his apartment.
The confidence lasts for a whole twenty minutes, until you reach the lobby of the apartment building. You're not sure if it can even be classified as a lobby, it looks more like a resort. There's even a bar to the right.
You instantly feel out of place, suddenly hyper-aware of your admittedly plain looking clothing in contrast to the other walking around in designer brands. Not because you couldn't afford them but because it wouldn't fit you.
Shit, maybe you should've worn something your aunt gifted you... You catch a few people giving you sideways glances, some hostile, others curious. Probably recognizing who you were. Pulling out your phone, you retreat to a corner and quickly send a text to Jude.
From: You
4:25 PM I'm here please come down idk how this place works and the posh people are staring at me
From: Judyhoe
4:25 PM are you serious
You wait for a few more minutes, idly shuffling your feet as you try your best to stay out of everyone's direct line of sight.
Not just because you definitely look out of place, but also because the people living here probably know Jude. Which means they also probably know about Jude.
Which means they also probably know about you. And there seems to be very mixed reception to that. And then you spot him coming into the lobby, adorning a plain black tank top and matching black sweats. And for a second, you want to laugh, because he looks just as out of place as you do.
But he very obviously isn't, judging from the way that everyone greets him as he passes.
He offers nothing more than a nod of acknowledgement in response, even to the two glammed up girls that try to rest their hands on his arms in an attempt to stop him long enough for a brief conversation.
He just shrugs them off and keeps walking, narrowed eyes scanning the room in search of you. Stepping out of your little hiding place, you try to nonchalantly raise a hand to catch his attention, hoping that no one takes much notice of you.
Jude spots you, and his eyes narrow even more as he storms over to where you awkwardly stand.
"Why didn't you just come up?" He hisses, stopping right in front of you. People are staring. "I- What do you mean?" His voice drops an octave, and hushes to nearly a whisper. "Do you know how this looks? How much attention we're drawing to ourselves?
"Shit, I told Mason to tell everyone it was true, but I didn't want it to be a fucking spectacle."
Trying to keep your expression neutral, you respond through gritted teeth.
"I'm sorry that I don't know how to navigate your huge apartment lobby. There's so many stupid hallways and rooms down here, why does it all look so fucking fancy and expensive?"
"What?you're literally a fotballer you are loaded."
"Yeah, but not posh loaded, everything is in the bank you i do not show it off dickhead," you huff indignantly, eyes darting around nervously. Jude looks like he wants to say more, but it quickly comes to his attention that the two of you are on the verge of causing a scene.
There's quite a few people watching the two of you, some more obviously than others. The two girls that tried to hit on him are muttering something to themselves and "subtly" pointing at you, something the both of you are quick to notice.
You can't help but shrink in on yourself, feeling exposed and more than a bit humiliated. Why the fuck couldn't he just act normal and wait until you were in private to tell you this? Jude's eyes flicker from them, then back to you. Then, with a scowl, he grabs your hand - not your wrist this time and pulls you along behind him to the other end of the lobby where he first appeared from. You can't fight the blush that works its way onto your cheeks as his calloused palm envelops your own. Since when is hand-holding this embarrassing? You feel as if you're committing an act of public indecency.
Thankfully, your previous anger helps to combat the unwelcome feelings, and you silently fume as he pulls you into one of the several elevators lined up along either side of the hallway. Punching the button to one of the highest floors, he finally lets go of your hand, and you can't help but sigh out of relief.
There's an awkward moment of silence as the elevator begins to rise. You stare at the excessive amount of decor. It's a fucking elevator, why does it need a mini- chandelier?
"I... thought you'd come earlier." Jude breaks the silence first. "London traffic ," you muttered. More silence. The silence lasts for the rest of the elevator ride. The doors ding open with a merry chime. and Jude steps doors ding open with a merry chime, and Jude steps out, hesitating briefly to ensure that you're following before striding down the hallway.
You trail behind, marveling at how your shoes slightly sink into the plush carpeting. The whole place is impressive to look at, actually, and you get lost in the painted gold embellishments on the light blue wallpaper.
So lost, in fact, that you don't notice when Jude abruptly stops in front of a door, turning to face you. You look back just in time to face plant into his chest.
Letting out a startled yelp, you quickly jerk back and lose your balance, falling straight onto your ass. He just stares down at you, dumbfounded, as you rub at your nose with a wince. Why the fuck is his chest rock solid? You think to yourself, groaning.
"Look where you're fucking walking," Jude mutters with a glare, extending a hand for you to take. Prick. You bat it away, stubbornly standing on your own with only a tiny bit of struggle. He just rolls his eyes and turns to unlock the door, cursing as he fumbles with the key. It jingles a few times, and then the tell tale click of the lock gives way. When the door is open, you can't help but eagerly follow him inside, admittedly curious to see what a rich boy's apartment looks like. Does he have a master bathroom? TV's everywhere? Maybe some gold bars lying around? It's just a whole lot of nothing, much to your disappointment. He throws his keys on the kitchen counter as you take in your surroundings with a raised eyebrow.
The whole place is... minimalist, to say the least. Save for a few dumbbells lying around, a couch in the living area, and a clean and tidy kitchen, the rest of the space is bare. There's obviously appliances and a large flatscreen TV, but you'd really expected... more. Maybe some gold curtains, a regal throne even. Jude walks over to the living room and throws himself on the couch.
"Is your nose ok?" He asks, kicking his feet up on the ottoman in front of him with his arms folded behind his head.
You're not sure if it's the sudden privacy, the recent memory of colliding face first with his chest, or the fact that his pose just really... accentuates everything, but it's then that you really realize just how tight his tank top is, how clearly it defines every dip and curve of his muscles underneath and... no wonder you busted your nose.
Shut the fuck up shut the fuck up shut the fuck up
Forcing a nod, you swallow thickly.
"Uh- yeah." He grunts in response, then finally hunches over to rest his elbows on his knees - much to your relief - before sending an apathetic glance your way.
"So."
"So," you mimic uncertainly, finally taking a seat as far away from him as possible.
"The party is in six days," he says.
"And let me tell you, there's gonna be a lot more to it than just acting like you're obsessed with me and... vice versa or whatever. You're gonna be around more..."
He trails off, scrunching his eyebrows. "How did you put it? "posh" people, innit. So yeah, you're gonna need to learn how to act proper and, y'know, when to finally shut the fuck up."
He says that last sentence with a smirk, and you glower at him from your position on the couch.
"Are you serious? 'Act proper?' What, you think I'm some kind of barbarian?"
A wolfish grin stretches across his face. "You? A barbarian? Nah, you're too ditzy to be a barbarian."
Ditzy. Your father's eyes darken as he leers down at you, teeth grit together. You try not to cry, ignoring the way your eyes water as the broken plate trembles from within your grasp. "Fucking brain-dead," he slurs, breath reeking of alcohol. "That's what you are. You gonna grow up to be as ditzy as your mother? Huh?"
"Don't say that." You can feel anger rising, reddening your cheeks, but you do your best to remain calm. He shrugs, your serious tone going unnoticed.
"Ditzy. There, I said it. I mean, you probably don't know shit about the customs, so-"
You stand, still trying to maintain your composure but everything feels a bit fuzzy now.
"I said, don't call me that." And the fucker just laughs, glaring at you like he's challenging you.
"Why shouldn't I?"
"Because. I don't give a shit about the other nicknames, but that is something I don't want you calling me." Jude glowers at you for a few moments, before relenting with an eye roll.
"Fine. Jesus." And then he's blabbing off stuff about fancy customs, and you're finally starting to calm down, trying to tune in on what he's saying.
"My dad's kinda seen as the authority of the household, even though that's really my mom, but if you see him, you need to address him with respect."
You couldn't help but giggle a bit.
"Is that funny to you?"Jude's voice cuts through your thoughts, and when you turn to look at through your thoughts, and when you turn to look at him, he seems pretty pissed.
You just shrug, not really sure what to say. And Judd does not like that. "Hey, you might think all of this is a joke and that's fine, but my dad's cool. So just be respectful, asshole."
"I never said I wasn't going to be!"
"Then don't laugh when I tell you to be respectful!" You don't have a response to that, you'll admit. "Bitch," he mutters under his breath.
"Dick wad," you respond just as quietly.
"The fuck did you say?"
"Nothing, you stuck-up asshole." And the tension's back, thick in the air and hanging onto every spoken word. You stare each other down for what feels like an eternity, before you finally fold. This is all so exhausting.
"Ok, we can't do this anymore." He wrinkles his nose. "What?"
"This!" You gesture to him and then yourself. "We keep going for each other's throats and it's like, how are we supposed to pretend to be in love, when everything feels like a constant fight?"
"Not my fault."
"It's both of our faults!"
"You basically insulted my father," he growls. "You got pissy when I told you not to call me 'ditzy!' It was a simple request!" Jude groans, flopping back onto the couch to pinch his brow.
"Fine. What are you suggesting?"
Folding your hands together, you give him a stern look. "A truce."
He raises an eyebrow. "Which means...? Cause let's get one thing straight. I refuse to act like your little buddy buddy. We aren't friends." Sighing, you rub at your eyes.
"Ouch. That's not what I was aiming for, but thanks for the confirmation."
He just grunts, crossing his arms like a petulant child. "Ok, so then what?"
"No more fighting. No more trying to rile each other up every second of the damn day. That's what it means."
You stick out your hand.
"Just until the vacation is over. Alright? I'm not asking you to be friends." Jude looks at your outstretched hand suspiciously.
"So you're gonna actually listen to what I have to say about the party? The shit you're gonna have to learn?" You nod. "And you're gonna need to listen when I tell you not to call me something."
He thinks on it for only a second longer before grabbing your hand to shake it.
"Fine." And when the both of you let go, you almost want to celebrate because, score! Your fake-boyfriend maybe doesn't totally hate your guts anymore. Jude just scoffs, reaching into his pocket to fish out his phone.
Taglist: @valerysimps @like3dbypierregasly @enjoymyloves @capriaura @neymarssideboo @mad-die45
#jude bellingham#jude bellingham imagine#jude bellingham smut#jude bellingham x reader#trent alexander arnold x reader#football imagine#jude bellingham blurb#jude bellingham fic#jude bellingham fluff#jude bellingham x fotballer reader
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starts wildly tap dancing w excitement HLO EVERYONE!!!!!! wow i am barbarically excited to rp with u all, below is a wee bit abt my first bebe rosa....... my sun my moon my stars......... give this a like if u wld Love to Plot!!
TW’S FOR CANCER, DEATH, AND GRIEF BELOW!
◜ * : maya hawke . ciswoman & she/her . everywhere by fleetwood mac . ━━ the legend surrounding london’s l’academiae furorum would not be complete without ROSALIND SAMUELS . the academy's TWENTY - FOUR year old ASSISTANT STAGE MANAGER has been with furore for TWO YEARS , oft described as OBDURATE , MAGNILOQUENT , COGNIZANT , AUSTERE & has proved utterly indispensable to the company. in passing , they’ve come to be associated with ORGANIC WATERMELON AND MINT SHAMPOO , FRESH LAUNDRY THAT DOESN'T QUITE COVER THE SMELL OF THE SIX COFFEES YOU DRANK TODAY & scoffing in a man's face - how dare he speak to you ? toughest crybaby on the block , with perfection on the brain . hands shaking from caffeine and lips pursed with determination , constantly donning a turtleneck and jeans , even under the heat of the summer sun . still finding out who you are all these years later - mirrors still intimidate you . whether this will be their final curtain call is anyone's guess & the company’s worst nightmare .
background.
rosa is the daughter of a pastor in new york so…………… Fun Times was had throughout her childhood!
she’s also the younger sibling of twins who were super close growing up so she always felt like a bit of an outsider……… but they loved her n she loves them even tho they’re . super weird about it
she was always a bit of a . Harsh child…….. fr no reason rly she jst didnt kno how to interact with kids but there was one (1) kid named sylvie who was rosa’s closest friend for a bit and she grew so attached they did??? everything together like they had sleepovers every night they were Obsessed
CANCER TW - rosa hadn’t made friends other than sylvie so when she had to leave school bc she was diagnosed with leukemia it was fkin devastating fr rosa she didnt kno how to exist without sylvie
DEATH/GRIEF TW - lo n behold sylvie unfortunately passed away……… n it rly messed rosa up she was extremely selective w her friends fr most of her childhood (n still is frankly) - CANCER TW END
just when she was getting over it one of the twins?? passed away and the whole family was in shambles once again and rosa for a while was really messed up over it she stayed home for a semester before going away to uni bc it reminded her of losing sylvie again n she didnt kno how to function
she eventually sort of?? forced herself to get over it in a way where like . she’s almost trying to pretend like it never happened?? just refuses to talk abt it rly :/ - DEATH/GRIEF TW END
SUPER keeps to herself rly, she has a decent amount of friends bt nothing crazy n frankly has no desire to meet anyone new or talk to anyone new, jst has trust issues n doesnt wanna lose anyone else
decided to go Global fr her schooling and found herself in england, where an opportunity arose fr her to become an assistant stage manager n the rest is history!!!!
details.
avoids sexual advances if she can/exploring her sensuality fr the most part………. still a wee virgin (not tht i believe in the concept of virginity bt rosa does #catholicupbringing)
can b kinda temperamental n will blow up in someones face
strictly wears long sleeves and pants (mostly overalls) its rare shes in short sleeves and/or shorts even in hot weather
u will RARELY ever catch her in a skirt/dress its jst not her thing
a total tomboy she grew up doing 1000 sports
very dry humour…………
is tough as nails yet simultaneously? cries at anything and everything. #girlboss
hates men and she’s right for it.
connections.
someone she has a crush on bt refuses to face it so she bullies them bc of it
someone who has a crush on her?? bc tht wld b cute considering she wld b oblivious
a few friends who managed to weasel their way into her life
or ppl she’s rubbed the wrong way/enemies tbh
frankly???? anything this isnt much to go off of bt i am also beyond down. to go by vibes smiles at u all
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Relief
It’s my favorite non-holiday today - Ron’s birthday! Happy 41st to my favorite fictional person 🧡
also on AO3
***
The beam of light pierces the room, straight into Hermione’s eyes and through to what feels like the back of her brain. With a wince, she rolls and tries to bury her face in the pillow, seeking the respite of cool linens and darkness, but it’s no use. The headache that had eased in her sleep, though never fully subsided, is back with a vengeance.
England has no business being this sunny this time of year. It’s March; isn’t it meant to be cold and rainy and grey for days on end? Instead, to her great distaste, spring has arrived early.
She tries to sit up, but her limbs are like lead, and for a moment, as the pulsing behind her eyes intensifies, she takes a deep breath and wonders if she should even bother. She’s just in for yet another miserable day, one of struggling to raise her arms enough to wash her hair in the shower, of forcing down dry biscuits to quell the roiling in her stomach, of averting her eyes to avoid the pity in everyone’s gaze. It’s been six straight days of this, and all she wants is to feel better, to be better, and yet she knows that might not happen. She thinks of the Longbottoms in the Janus Thickey Ward, unable to speak or recognize their own child. She knows she’s not that poorly off, not even close. She’s still got her voice, hoarse though it may be, and her mind, and she’s grateful - but what good is her mind if she’s in too much pain to think?
What finally compels her from the bed is basic, simple thirst. She pulls on a dressing gown, some flimsy, silky thing that Fleur has loaned to her, and creeps silently out the door. Stairs are daunting lately: if she moves slowly, her ravaged muscles ache and burn, but if she hurries, the drop between each step sends a jolt right up her spine into her brain. Today, with her head pounding so intensely that it makes her dizzy, she has no choice but to guide herself slowly down the steps, gripping the guardrail the whole way down, and hope her legs don’t give way.
But she makes it eventually, and when she reaches the kitchen, she finds that she isn’t the only one awake. A tea kettle sits in the center of the worktop, beside a jar of sugar with a spoon plunged into the crystals. There’s only one person in the house who takes his tea with sugar, and the very thought imbues Hermione with enough energy to fix her own cup and walk down to the sitting room.
Ron’s nestled into one of the larger armchairs in the room, feet tangled in the rumpled mess of his sleeping bag on the floor in front of him, with a book open in one hand and his mug of tea in the other. With the exception of Harry and Dean’s muffled snores and the waves crashing outside, all is quiet and peaceful. Right there, in that room, is exactly what she needs.
“You’re up early,” she says, just loudly enough for her voice to carry across the room.
Ron turns at the sound and the corners of his lips curve into a smile. “A little less surprise would be nice.”
Hermione takes a few steps towards him. Everything hurts, still, but it’s lessened somehow with the warmth of his voice, the way his features soften at the sight of her and the knowledge that whatever she’s going through, he’s there with her.
“And you’re reading.”
Ron quirks an eyebrow. “Again, a little less surprise-” His words break off, and he tilts his head. “D’you feel all right?”
Hermione sidesteps Harry’s rucksack and shrugs. “About the same.”
With a sympathetic wince, Ron pats the narrow stretch of cushion beside him. “Come and sit.”
Getting herself anywhere is a challenge, even within the walls of the cottage; only by the power of her desire to pay respects to Dobby and the knowledge that Ron would be there to support her did she make it down the garden walk last week. But he draws her to him now, like a magnet, and soon she’s nestling herself into the space between the arm of the chair and his leg. They fit, but very tightly, and it takes everything Hermione has not to swing her legs into his lap.
Instead, she asks, “what are you reading?”
Ron shows her the cover: A Life of Loyalty: The Unique Bond Between Wizards and Their House Elves. “I didn’t know you’d brought this,” he remarks. “Do you secretly read about house elves when the rest of us are sleeping?”
“Maybe,” replies Hermione, coy, which makes Ron chuckle. “Well, I did think it might be useful, Kreacher was involved with the locket, and that poor elf that belonged to Hepzibah Smith, she was the only witness-”
“I know, I know,” interrupts Ron, still smiling fondly at her.
“So why have you started reading it, anyway? Is it just the least boring of all my books?”
“Well, yeah, but no, I…” He takes a long sip of his tea, like he’s stalling for time. “I just wanted to see if it had anything, on, erm…” He swallows another mouthful. “Y’know… funerals.”
Hermione freezes with her teacup halfway to her mouth. “Oh.”
“Just, my family’s never had house elves, and Harry and Dean grew up with Muggles so they wouldn’t really know either. But I just keep thinking about Dobby, and if we did something wrong when we buried him, like…” He looks down at the cover of the book, lower lip sneaking between his teeth. “What if they have, y’know, customs or traditions or things that you’re supposed to do, that we didn’t do - maybe it’s stupid-”
“No, it’s not-”
“But I had to know.”
“Well,” Hermione begins, careful to keep her voice low to avoid waking the others in the room, “I happen to have done extensive research on house elves-”
“Oh, have you?” Ron feigns surprise. “You’ve really kept that quiet-”
“Do you want to hear this or not?”
“Sorry, sorry.” He reaches over and pats her knee. “Go ahead.”
“House elves live quite a long time, they can outlive the families they’re serving which is why they’re often written into wills, but when they don’t…” She pauses, her train of thought off-track, though not due to the ache behind her eyes; Ron is drawing tiny circles on her knee with his fingertips, and this simple touch fills all the space in her brain. “Erm, when they don’t, it’s up to the family they’ve served to decide what’s best. Dobby was free, but he was deeply loyal to Harry, so I expect that he would have wanted…” She stops and sips her tea to fight the lump building in her throat. “Whatever Harry chose for him.”
“Right.” Ron lifts his hand from her knee and rubs the back of his neck, further mussing his sleep-tousled hair. “Good. ‘Cause I just… I don’t want to mess up again.”
Hermione knows he’s thinking back on the past several months, and that he hasn’t stopped beating himself up for all that’s gone wrong. Even with things that aren’t his fault, he manages to find a way to blame himself. He can’t seem to see how much she needs him… so she decides to show him.
In the cramped space of the armchair, it takes just the slightest shift for her to lean against him and let her weary head drop against his shoulder.
“You haven’t messed up,” she says, craning her neck up to look at him. Normally this would hurt - her neck has been stiff and tense, just like every other bit of her - but when their eyes meet, she decides it isn’t so bad.
His arm eases slowly around her shoulder, and his elbow bends so that his hand rests against her hair.
“This all right?” he asks, words coming out in a breath. “I know your head’s been bothering you.”
“Yeah, it’s - it’s nice, actually.”
His fingertips move through her curls, just barely grazing her scalp, and when they brush over her temple, she can’t help but gasp in shock. She’s so accustomed to pain that she’s forgotten what pleasure is like.
“Sorry! Did that hurt? I’m so-“
Ron pulls his arm away, but Hermione grabs his hand and tugs it back into place.
“No, it felt good,” she assures him, nestling further into his side. “It’s helping, it’s - it’s the only thing that’s helped in days.”
“Yeah?”
“Please don’t stop.”
As he resumes his slow, soft movements, she closes her eyes, but not before catching a glimpse of the contentment on his face.
She’s not better yet… but she knows now that she will be.
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Axis + Prussia and Allies + Canada playing Sims with their lover who loves the Sims (I’m asking this cause I love Sims)
... I will not lie I have Sims and the fact I haven't made me and Russ is dissapointing at best. Going to have to fix that...
Allies and Axis (Prussia and Canada): Play Sims with their S/O!
Allies:
America:
His sims is immediately friends with everyone, especially that goth family.
Has more friendships with the children and is pretty much a babysitter.
Definitely cheated to get the most money because he didn't have patience to earn it.
SPACE CADET TIME! His sims room is space Everything, and an American flag if possible.
He made his Sim look like him, obviously.
Has a doggo named Pluto.
When he felt like he accomplished what he wanted he decided to go and murder the neighbors because he wanted their house, and couldn't have it.
He has split the house in two so his S/O can decorate the way they want! Always compliments them too!
Him and his S/O made a roulette wheel that usually causes chaos and breaks the game.
England:
He made both his S/O and him as sims and they share a file.
Was a mistake because his S/O filled his house with plants, and he couldn't figure out how to sell them all.
Had to restart.
His Sim works as a freelance writer.
The house is pretty much a mystery murder mansion, where he actively gets people killed only to play detective.
Doesn't ever go well.
Has kept a room specific for his S/Os plants.
France:
Spends most of his time decorating, and editing his sims.
His wall decorations consist of nothing but paintings his Sim painted.
Nothing else
He didn't really want his Sim to be so flirty with literally everyone.
Still laughs when his Sim gets slapped.
Has no clue how to build a second floor, and his S/O chose to let him suffer
His house changes theme every couple of weeks.
His S/O logged on one day to the whole house filled with books like a giant library with death casually eating a hot dog.
Confusion resumed.
China:
He had to choice the highest paying job, and has the prettiest house.
He made a whole family with his S/O.
The children are Panda 1 through 5.
They lost two of them the first couple days due to the amount of filth that piled up.
One child kind of just, left and didn't return?
As a joke, his S/O locked his Sim out of the bedroom and he couldn't figure out how to get back in.
He did know how to rebuild the house.
The goth child scares him.
Russia:
Absolutely loves the game.
They made themselves as sims, and after a week or two his S/O had to interview Russia as to why there was 3 kids in the house all of a sudden.
Was painfully upset there was no sunflowers.
But has a garden of deadly plants, and a single cow plant.
He has taken it upon himself to kill all the Sims, Despite his S/O protest
Thinks the goth family is cool, so they die last ^J^
Has an ungodly amount of cats.
One of them is named Kot.
Canada:
He's a major vanilla player.
Also just let's his sims do whatever they want, and it's funny to him.
Doesn't call it Sims. He kikes calling it the babysitter simulator.
His S/O showed him the cow plant.
He wants 5 and has named all of them.
Also has a dog named Bruce.
Axis:
Germany:
It's already cannon that he plays work simulators.
So his Sim does nothing but work, farm, and sleep
Accidentally killed his Sim because he managed to trap it in the bathroom, and forgot about it.
He likes walking away from his game so he can pick up after the messes the Sims make.
When his S/O plays with him, he Pretty much does what they want.
They share a sim, and he had a nice chuckle when he logged on to the whole house covered in pink.
Pranks consist between them now.
Japan:
Has way to many Mods.
Knows how to get away with murder and steals stuff rather than buying it.
He loves watching his S/O play, it makes him happy.
Knows how to play, but doesn't because he spends most of his time being a sneak and cheating the system.
Dogs. So many dogs.
He adopted a random child of the street and named it KawaiiKaiju as a joke.
Loves pranking his S/O on their shared file.
He turned the whole house into a maze and the both of them enjoy tormenting the Sims
Did I mention they have two sims who are the male and female versions of Hatsune Miku?
Also spent way too much time on that.
His S/O spent a month not knowing about the secret attic that he built for their sims wedding.
Italy:
Finds the game relaxing, and loves watching them be all chaotic.
He really wanted a child sim, and his S/O made an old sims.
The house is run by Italy's sim.
Was sad when his Sim grew up, but filled the void by flirting with the goth mom.
That's his wife now.
She actually killed him one week after marriage and he doesn't know why, neither does his S/O.
Loves the kitty cats in the game.
Has three cats.
His S/O has to take control very often to avoid him breaking the game.
They did make one of the prettiest gardens in the game though.
Prussia:
Made his Sim as evil as possible, but his S/O's sim is just as bad.
Neither him or his S/O have a plan, and it's just chaos.
His S/O made the mistake of letting him decorate the house
It's a mess and nothing makes sense.
And he's made it so it takes any sims trying to rob them virtually impossible.
Other than that he prefers to let his S/O take over
He loves seeing how their mind works, and enjoys seeing them happy.
He hits top level mechanic and moves on to mathematics for fun.
Their sims had a child and Prussia named it Awesome JR.
#hetalia#aph#hws#hetalia american#hetalia england#hetalia france#hetalia china#hetalia russia#hetalia canada#hetalia germany#hetalia Italy#hetalia japan#hetalia prussia
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An iconic duo sharing a moment while people IT'S TIME TO TALK ABOUT SEASON 3.
As many of you may assume, this is definitely a Quidditch stan account. I adore the storyline, the characters are liveable and funny, Orion & Murphy & Skye are the true definition of "iconic", the dialogues are catchy, definatly my gallery is going to kill me one of these days for that and even if it's not free from the infamous plot holes and (in)famous presence of questionable people inside I'm fine with the final product.
So fine that I decided to restart again just for the Quidditch.
Lies, I have four account. Felix won't kill me if I spend most of my time with the Slyterin route in a Quidditch camp instead of, you know, earning house points.
The first two seasons had their strong sides (such as the characters's structure, a genuine good plot and an impressive mature way to talk about really huge things) such as their weaks (Ethan Parkin, Ethan Parkin, Ethan Parkin, way too much drama, SKYE, Rath'a logic that sometimes went on a vacation on the Maldives, Murphy and the zoom, Orion and his murderous Orionism and of course Penny that is everywhere at anytime) but season 3 is a big interrogative.
Is it good or bad?
Well, let me tell you: well but not so well?
Starting from the fact that this was supposed to be the season in which it is essential to test yourself to achieve a purpose and how SKYE HAS STOPPED BEING THE MANIAC OF THE VILLAGE(SCREAM!)
There are some weird stuff (no sense could just be a good synonymous but it fits better "boring") and honestly they are making me turn up my nose.
A lot.
The premises were objectively excellent and I will tell you, although they recycled the mechanics of "atomic bombs did much less damage than Erika Rath's bludgers" it must be said that the plot pretext was used well (hitting the captain it surely is a best plot twist than Skye's rips, it gave me a better impact and surely is a practical way to showing at the player what you are going to focus this year) because when the poor Orion made a presumably fatal fall (but it's the magical world of Hogwarts Mystery so let's avoid serious considerations) we could see that yes, Skye's development was a little bit too fast (with that genre of father with a certain mentality clarly the matter deserved a more concrete action on the material level of events but Skye remains human and the way of managing all that emotional tangle that the dear daddy had kindly offered her is justifiable since the method with which things are lived changes from individual to individual. Whatsoever if we consider that a conversation like the same that MC had with both father in daughter it's the deus ex machina of the TLSQ, show must go on, staying another second hearing Skye's existentialism's crisis could have ruined the mental stability of the palyers and we needed to move on for delevelopments it's fine. Rushed but fine. For who is Skye it can work) but effective thus allowing a relaxation on his part both towards Erika (best girl since forever) and towards Orion (some of their interactions are pure GOLD, the scene of the infirmary is one of these).
Above all seeing the team falter was a touch of class.
Funny how for Orion's sake everyone was ready to murder someone from the Rath's team and dying for the motherland while when the same thing happened to Skye nobody cared.
AT LEAST WE KNOW WHO IS THE TEAM'S FAVOURITE.
Good also the disciplinary measure from Madame Hooch (GO AND DO THE RESPONSIBLE ADULT THAT IS MISSING IN THIS GAME YES), nice to see Erika and Skye in the Great Hall doing the chores for detention "cinderella's style", good the secret-not-secret (as everything in this game DUH) and good that MC has embarked in his journey to obtain the leadership with your favourite partner in crime.
They give me "Mark Antony & Octavian" vibes.
Speaking of Skye and MC and since only now Murphy is remembering having a spoken role, let's not forget the former absolute protagonist of the scenes!
ORION AMARI.
Although the season had started in tragedy Orion in the lower chapters was the same good looking guy with an Italian surname, the most piercing of eyes and an enigmatic aura.
But since "enigmatic" perfectly rhymes with "problematic" it's been 7/8 chapters yet he disappeared with his superpowers and comes back just for doing screen time and for the fandom with all of his mysteries.
What happened to him?
Now, THAT was sa good point to start. Because you know everything about Skye, Murphy isn't exactly a closed book and Erika speaks for herself, but Orion?
What we know about him expect the old "I'm parent free?".
The fact that he lost hus spark and that maybe this could be a new opportunity to discover something else it's intriguing. He was never an authoritarian leader BUT aware and responsible of his position. And this made him perfectly functional to his role. Because he was the original guide of a team that needed someone who would put some limit on Skye and managed well all the dynamics that have happened in the span of 2/3 years.
Guys, he faced Ethan Parkin (a little parenthesis but IS ALWAYS AT HOGWARTS? That is, sooner or later he will start to work or do they get stuck in the air and bludgers in the ribs?) he and Rath had had babysitting Skye for the whole second season while MC was there like "MIND MY OWN BUSINESS, MIND MY OWN BUSINESS, MIND MY OW- OH DAMMIT!" and now things are getting complicated because we don't have many chances to talk to him and his rather arcanic tone does not help to clarify.
How MC will arrive at the objective (presumably to be a captain) is important. It's personal grow and characters NEED this. But Orion too is growing in a completely new direction. Don't overshadow him for ANOTHER Skye' drama prototype please.
What happened to him is not up to us mortals but we can do some hypothesis.
Orion, dear, WHAT HAPPENED?
You have a crush for Skye and you're thinking to visit a doctor? Did Snape attacked you? Ethan Parkin is (sadly) real? They served you some pineapple pizza? Italy won the Euro 2020 but you cheered for England?
DID YOU NOT RECEIVE THE SALARY?
Hopefully the triology of "yeah let's make a deja-vu and let's show to the players that we remember the whole 'heart/mind' stuff and that we are COHERENT' will end soon and we'll move on. Again.
Sigh, for now they were two pretty boring chapters.
Or should I say, the training with Andre, MC under the guide of coach Erika that singed "I'L MAKE A MAN OUT OF YOUUU" between a near death from fatigue (as if we were in The Sims), Skye doing what Skye usually do so screaming at people for (YOU HEARD THIS SCOMING) reasons and MC trying the hero pose as he/she was in Miraculous Ladybug were nice sketches.
BUT.
IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE ORION'S CENTRIC.
Give me a joy JC, and I'll may forgive you about all the messes that YOU crated in ALMOST four years.
:'l
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The Great Ace Attorney Playthrough: The Adventure of the Great Departure (Part 2)
Last Time: I (Ryunosuke) was falsely accused of murdering John Watson Wilson, because the government’s trying to avoid an international incident and I am an expendable mug. Fortunately our best friend Kazuma of the fluttering headband stepped in to save us, but unfortunately Ryunosuke is a trusting idiot who decided to take his own defense because he didn’t want to jeopardize Kazuma’s studding abroad. In a breach of conduct for the first case in an Ace Attorney game there were multiple witnesses, none of whom committed the crime. Finally we managed to establish the presence of a woman who’s presence had been erased because she was English and the Japanese government didn’t want to cause an international incident, fortunately everyone decided fuck the government actually, and we’re bringing her in!
(Just a note before we start that because the game’s so new and I’m playing on my switch, my screenshots have really dropped in quality today (and probably for the foreseeable future). That’s also why there are less of them this time round.)
I would like to start off by reminding everyone that Kazuma’s the best.
I’m not exactly sure when I became desperate for Kazuma’s approval, but apparently I am.
If only we had ballistics - the fingerprints of the gun
Professor Mikotoba! The most innocent of men (probably)
Ryunosuke this man views us as chopped liver compared to Kazuma...
... Kazuma, Ryunosuke views himself as chopped liver compared to you...
Ok, so Professor Mikotoba was the one who invited Dr Watson Wilson over from England, and he’s sent Pink Lady to get “something we may need” from the university.
She spoke!
Why do I feel like an absolute shitstorm is heading our way...
‘I’ll save the thank-yous’ for after the trial’ Kazuma for no reason you have to stay handcuffed to me for the rest of this case and the start of the next one. I’m not having another Mia Fey incident.
Is anyone else getting big Dahlia Hawthorne vibes here?
Listen Hosonaga, I understand (from the fact that you look like this as the grand old age of 29) that life has not been kind to you, but you have to understand that Women, even if they are from England, do not naturally come in that shape. There are about 50 different places Jezaille Brett could have hidden a gun in that outfit.
Oh my god!
My favourite thing about Kazuma is how sometimes he pulls this face:
Ok so Jezaille removed one of the glasses of carbonated water from the scene of the crime, hoping to cover up the fact that she’d been there at all. Unfortunately for her I’m pretty sure that I can see the edge of a glass in the photograph of the victim, so something’s not adding up
Also she just admitted to having a handbag on her, so even if there’s not a gun stuffed inside that swan of hers, she had a way of carrying it out the scene that these idiots will recognise!
Hosonaga here, really choosing to threaten the goodwill he picked up at the end of Part 1.
Also, what’s that mark on the victims wrist? It looks like some sort of buffalo?
Also Hosonaga’s coughing feels really familiar, and while this is Ace Attorney (and therefor there could be a whole load of poison related explanations), I’m starting to wonder if he might have TB?
(For people who don’t know (which is most people) Cystic Fibrosis (what I have) and TB behave in an incredibly similar way, to the point where a lot of the people who had ‘TB’ back then might have actually had CF.)
Oh Ryunosuke...
It’s ok buddy, we’ve still got a new mystery mark and a picture glass I’m now only 80% sure I can see...
Kazuma! Not you too!
It’s so sad, he’s not even fluttering anymore
Kazuma’s now threatening the Ace Attorney games refusal to contain swear words.
OH SWEET JESUS THAT GAVLE’S MASSIVE!!!
We’re on the right track, Miss Brett is not happy about my pointing out the buffalo burn!
Lunch my ass Miss Brett! This is clearly a ploy to escape!
Oh... I was kind of hoping Pink Lady would come back with whatever the Thing was she was sent to get. And that that would help us out of this mess.
But I guess that’s not happening just yet...
(BTW, have I just been out of the game for a long time, or is this getting really challenging for a first case? I thought the buffalo burn would do it, but apparently not)
Ok Ryunosuke, lets fall back on the old tactic of closely examining everything we possess until we find something that sort of looks like what we’re looking for. In this case a buffalo
HOT DAMN!!!
Post-mortem burn! Post-mortem burn!
I’ve just remembered this country doesn’t do autopsies!
They only go by what the body looked like at the time of death!
So when you’re faced with a man who has a bullet wound in his chest, you’d assume that was the cause of death!
And you wouldn’t CHECK FOR POISON!!!
POISON MEDICAL STUDEN JEZAILLE BRETT WOULD HAVE HAD BOTH EASY ACCESS TO AND KNOWLEDGE OF!!!
THATS WHY SHE REMOVED HIS GLASS!!!
Oh no... she’s smiling... why is she smiling...
Yeah, you and me both Hosonaga
I feel like at this point the two of us have a relationship that goes up and down like a sea-saw.
“Why did you need a translator?” Because she’s been playing this court like a dammed fiddle, next question
And just like that I’m ready to kick Miss Brett into the sun.
Yep, that’s the appropriate face.
She says, like the man who hasn’t been needlessly translating her every word, and who jumped through hoops to remove her from a murder investigation isn’t standing right there.
With every word she says I find myself becoming rapidly more convinced that Satoru Hosonaga didn’t bring Miss Brett to us because it was the right thing to do, but rather because he remembered that she was a Massive Bitch, and decided to give her what was coming to her.
LETS TEAR THIS BITCH TO SHREDS!
I’m both terrified and curious to know how they’re going to one up this lady. We’re only on the first case and she is just so deeply unlikable. I haven’t seethed over a villain like this in ages, and she’s only the first one.
I’d also like to take this opportunity to apologies to one Dahlia Hawthorne, you may have been a manipulative, poisoning, monster Dahlia, but at least you had style.
IT’S TIME!!!
I think it was Hosonaga’s spirit finally snapping next to her.
Yeah, bet you wish you’d been less of an asshole now, huh?
GET HER ASS HOSONAGA!!
Fancy a drink Miss Brett?
Kazuma, you need to do something quick, your position as my favourite is being threatened by the coughing detective who has aged like milk!
I just examined the water bottle incase in had any suspicious markings on it, and when I asked Kazuma what the French on the bottle said he told me to ‘go to France and ask’!
Yeah that’ll do it!
You go Kazuma!
GET HER ASS RYUNOSUKE!!!
Ok, Pink Lady, we really need you to come in now!
Given how confident she was about the bottle not having poison in it, and the fact that she and the victim both drank from it, I’m going to guess that it was just put straight into the glass Dr Watson Wilson drank from. Meaning that it’s probably somewhere around the university, either still in Miss Brett’s handbag, or in a bin somewhere.
I just want to say again what an intense first case this is!
PINK LADY!!!
#tgaa spoilers#tgaa#the great ace attorney#the adventure of the great departure#ryunosuke naruhodo#kazuma asougi#john wilson#satoru hosonaga#jezaille brett
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Heartless - pt. 8
A/N: This is turning out so good.
XX
“Finally.” you breathed out, closing the door behind you as you threw your heels off your feet and felt the softness of the rug beneath you.
You were leaning on the door, quietly, just trying to wrap your head around Sirius, around Marcus, around your family, around your back that continued to scorch your whole spine after the fall. It was killing you- you barely even walked in your heels when you were with Marcus but now it was over. This night can finally be over.
“I’m home!” you shouted at the living room but it was empty... empty and quiet. “Hello?” you walked into the kitchen, looked through the window on the balcony and left upstairs. You checked your parent’s bedroom but nobody was there. “Where is everybody?” you asked yourself and left to James’ room, knocking on the door and opening it slightly. “James?”
You stopped when you saw him sitting next to Sirius, who was holding an ice pack on his eye, getting more blue and purple by the minute.
“What the hell?” you asked, taking a few more steps in.
Sirius looked at you with an empty look in his eyes; guilty? Remorseful? Sorry?
James was glaring at you, only you with resentment, with hate, with rage and with anything that would make him explode at you... and that made you scared.
It didn’t take you to put two and two together.
“You told him?” you looked at Sirius with disbelief, feeling shame and anger mix together in you.
“Of course, he told me!” James exploded, storming his way to you and stopping an inch away. “WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?!!”
“WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING?! HE KISSED ME!!”
“YOU’RE SMARTER THAN THAT! YOU KNEW THAT IF DAD AND MUM FOUND OUT THEY WOULD KICK HIM OUT!”
“THEY WOULDN’T FIND OUT! YOU WOULDN’T LET IT! I WOULDN’T!”
“THEY COULD! HE CAME UP TO ME WITH BLOODY HANDS! BLOODY KNUCKLES! WHAT DO THEY THINK IT WAS?! Oh, sure. Sirius just punched a bloody tree because you broke his heart-”
“Hey-” Sirius stood up but James turned sharply to him and pointed his finger at him.
“You shut up, you bloody traitor! She’s my sister! MY SISTER! MY TWIN SISTER and YOU couldn’t keep it in your pants!”
“It was not like that!” Sirius shouted back, whether that as from anger or guilt.
“You both fucking betrayed me-”
“Fuck you, James! If anyone here betrayed me, it was you!” you pushed your finger at him, once, twice, maybe a few more. “Constantly over the years! So what if I snogged your best friend!? What are you gonna do? Punch me too? Give me a blue eye?”
“I wish I could but you know I would never!”
“Can’t share your best friend, James? Huh? It’s not like I had to share you and my whole family and friends with him because of you?!”
“And I had to share my whole bloody life with you! I just wanted something mine! My life is mine! My best friend is mine! Sirius is mine and not your friend! I had to share Marcus and Nina and all of our childhood friends with you! I had to share my room, my toys, my food, everywhere we went as kids, you had to be there! It was annoying! When I met Sirius! He was mine! Remus and Peter are my friends! They are in my life and you don’t get to have that, (y/n)! I want at least a little bit of life that is mine and not ours! Is that so much to ask without you having to be jealous of it!”
“JEALOUS!?!” you scoffed. “Do you know how selfish you sound, right now?! They weren’t your friends, Marcus and Nina and the others! They were our friends! We met them together! We were friends together! And I’m sorry that I was sorted in your house! I’m sorry I was born one bloody second after you! I am sorry that all my bloody life I HAD TO SHARE MY LIFE WITH YOU TOO BUT THE DIFFERENCE IS JAMES THAT I LOVED SHARING MY LIFE WITH YOU!” your voice started to get raspy and loud by every word you spoke, tears filling your eyes. “You’re my fucking brother, James! Siblings are supposed to be there for each other but you left the moment you met that asshole and you pretended like I didn’t even exist- and the moment- THE MOMENT I MET LILY YOU HAD TO TAKE HER AWAY FROM ME! SO DON’T TELL ME YOU WANTED A LITTLE BIT OF LIFE THAT’S YOURS WHEN YOU TOOK MINE!” tears started to pour from your eyes as sobs escaped your mouth. You turned around because you didn’t want to face him after saying that, not when you looked such a mess and Merlin! The pain was so high in your lower back that you wanted to lay down but how could you lay down after such a heated argument.
“No. You don’t get to cry because of that. You risked Sirius with that- now I get Sirius to do this but you? You, (y/n)? I thought you were smarter than that.”
“I am smarter, you fucking twat.” you turned around, glaring at him. “I took care of your drunk arse when you came home last night! I cover for you, every single time meanwhile you don’t give me a single think in return. Because let’s be honest here, James. If it wasn’t Sirius, you’d snitch on me the moment mom and dad would come home!”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“Yes, you would!” you pointed your finger at him. “That’s why I don’t tell you stuff. That’s why I don’t trust you at all. That’s why none of you knew about me! I was like a ghost here! I was depressed for a year! A year of dark thoughts! A year of just wanting to end my life- you all didn’t even care to see! I slept throughout the day and you called me lazy! I ate too much and you all started insulting my weight. I didn’t eat at all and you didn’t even see. I cried every bloody night for a year because I hated my life and YOU WEREN’T THERE! YOU WEREN’T THERE JAMES BECAUSE YOU WERE TOO SELFISH BEING YOU!” you shouted again. “You didn’t help me when I needed you. When I asked you to help me with my grades that were dropping, you blew me off. When I asked you to help me- you didn’t even listen. You didn’t even give me the chance and then I stopped asking you! But Marcus was there-” you now looked at Sirius, glaring at him. “That summer Marcus noticed! He was the only one who noticed and to me he wasn’t just some guy! He was the person who saved me from myself! And he wasn’t some guy! He put an effort into writing me every week to check up on me and he made me happy-” you looked back at James, who was watching you with a questionable look.
“You weren’t depressed. I would notice.”
“Well, you didn’t. Just like you never do.” you let out a laugh. “You know, it was funny to me when Sirius fucking noticed that I was taking more pills than I should. He even noticed that I was getting to my bad habits of taking pills to numb not only my back pains but to sleep through the days because I didn’t want to live them- and then Marcus finally came to England and I was happy. I was so happy because he just knew and he took care of me when nobody else could.”
“You’re not a kid, (y/n)...” he tried to find more excuses but it all came out weaker and quieter.
“I was a kid.” you said, putting your hand into your purse and pulling out a pack of pills, throwing them at James and letting them spill on the floor. “I was a kid who ate those to fall asleep faster and harder but you didn’t notice. You didn’t know. Nobody knew. Nobody knew what was going on with me. You knew about Sirius though. You knew what was bugging him and Remus and Peter and half of the Quidditch team but you never bothered to to check on me.”
“You looked well! I never worried about you because I know you’re strong!”
“WELL, I WASN’T JAMES! Some days I just wasn’t strong! Some days I just wanted to die!
“Then why didn’t you tell me!”
“BECAUSE YOU AVOIDED ME! For your life that I was “stealing” away from you! The one that we had to share!”
“That isn’t fair.”
“No. It really isn’t, James. I listened to you whine all the time and I’m sick of it.” you felt another stabbing pain in your lower back, up your spine and to your head until you felt your head spin. “FUCK!” you let out a groan, holding to your hips.
“What’s wrong?” Sirius and James both tried to walk to you but you managed to keep yourself up and sober.
“Nothing.” you hissed at them. “Leave me alone- I’m going to Nina’s for tonight.” you said and left the room. You made your way to the bathroom, grabbed two of your dad’s painkillers and threw them into your mouth.
With that taken, you took a few more just in case and made your way out of the house.
You weren’t sad anymore. You weren’t angry either. You were just a storm of so many emotions in one small body. You forgot your jacket, you were in crocks with no socks and no purse- you were just storming away into the unknown. Not to Nina’s because Nina was in Cuba with her family, but you couldn’t go to Marcus either because of tonight, so instead you just walked with extreme back pain and cold wind on blowing against you.
“Hey, there pretty lady!” you heard someone behind you but you only started to walk faster.
Great. One more thing you needed was catcallers and men out on the pull.
“Oh, where are you going so angry so fast.” he ran to you but you sneaked away from him.
“Leave me alone.” you grumbled, your lips trembling from the cold.
“Ah- come on.” one pulled you by the arm, meanwhile his friend appeared next to him. But as he did pull you, you only slapped his cheek, hard.
“I said leave me alone, you freaks!” you shouted, shoving him away and trying to wriggle your wrist out of his hold.
“Oh, she’s a feisty one, John.” his friend smiled behind him.
“We like them feisty, don’t we Will?” the other, John, said pulling you closer to him, where you could smell his reeking breath.
“If you don’t let me go now, you will regret it.” you seethed, taking a hold of your wand and gripping it tight around its core.
The two men laughed hard and you could feel the man’s grip tighten around you but when you did, you immediately pulled out your wand and stupefied him- both of them until they were passed out on the ground.
Blowing out a strand of your hair that fell, you walked towards them and looked down on their pathetic passed out faces. “Only weak men pray on women.” you kicked one of them with your crock and made your way to where you were going.
By now, you already knew where to go. You would just make a round down the field until you would come back to the nets your dad hung a few days ago. You’d maybe sleep there for the night- not sleep. Just be there and think in peace, without anybody knowing or disturbing you. It would be just you and the sky and the tree. Maybe a few mosquitos to give you company.
Your back sent you another jolt of pain, up your spine to your head. You had to stop at the edge of the woods, holding yourself against the tree trunk. You grabbed the bottle of pills and tried to pull it out but jolt after jolt it kept entering your head, making the night go darker and blurrier. The next thing you knew, your hand slipped from the trunk and you were on the ground, falling, tumbling amongst the trees and the branches. One scratched your face, thorns dug deep into your stomach. You tried to stop but everything hurt and you couldn’t stop tumbling down. Lights, stars, trees and the last thing you saw was the tree trunk you were approaching with extreme force.
“No, no, no, no, no.” you dug your nails into the dirt, trying to stop yourself from colliding, pulling out the grass by its roots but it didn’t help because the next thing you knew was a strog force to your chest and then... it was dark.
#sirius black#sirius black imagine#sirius black imagines#sirius black x reader#james potter#james potter imagines#james potter imagine#marauders#marauders imagine#marauders imagines#marauders x reader#marauders era
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Silent Britain - Chapter 4
Tom Holland x Reader
Series Masterlist 🍒
Normal Masterlist 🧚🏻♀️
Summary: You’re pretty new to Hollywood, finally getting a role in a blockbuster Martin Scorsese film, working alongside some of the biggest actors in the game. To your surprise, Tom Holland is playing your love interest in the high-stakes British Gangster film. Eventually, you and Tom become love interests outside the film, but is it too difficult to keep a relationship in all your new found success? Or will you and Tom find your happy ever after?
"No." You shook your head. "Im afraid that we'll break each other's hearts."
"Y/n they need you on set." as if on cue an assistant called out and you apologized to him with your eyes before slipping away from his fingers.
A week had passed since that kiss you shared. Your fears of actually taking a step forward rising inside you each time you thought Tom would bring up the conversation. Or each time you slipped out of character while doing a scene with him.
That dance of feelings between you and Tom seemed to slowly affect your acting. Martin's comments that had gone from amazing, to try harder weren't making the situation any better.
Your feelings for Tom were getting in the way and you managed to channel them for scenes where you had to hate him, but for the ones where you had to love him, you would slip out of character in seconds. Too scared that it would create something even more awkward.
"How are you doing?" Anthony sat next to you with a cup of coffee in his hand. You handed him a tight smile and watched into the distance where Tom and Scorcese were talking.
"Good?" You blurted and looked over to Anthony's script that was full of notes and colorful highlights, feeling as though you were an awful actress compared to him.
"You don't have to lie to me." He smiled which warmed your heart. He didn't have to speak to you outside of filming, he was a renowned oscar winner and multiple times nominee actor. But he still did. He was sitting right next to you, telling you he was your friend and ready to listen.
"Im having a really hard time." You sighed liking how easy it was to be honest with him. The mentor relationship you had built up in your head becoming two-sided. "I think I'm having doubts about where to lead my character?" You placed your lips in a tight smile, speaking in half-truths. "I feel like she's letting herself fall in love too quickly." You pointed to your notes. "I didn't see her like that until now." You sighed as you looked over the words on your page.
"Well, how did you?" He wondered, watching you look at Tom who was standing in the distance.
"I saw her as this strong person, who wouldn't let her feelings get in the way of her career." You breathed out "like with helping her family business and things-" You blurted out to catch yourself and not making it sound obvious who you were truly talking about. "But now I think she's scared that her relationship will get in the way." You looked back to your script. "That once everything is resolved then their relationship will fade away..." You looked up again, this time trying to hold back the tears, almost forgetting that Anthony Hopkins was sitting next to you.
"Well, I think that their love is stronger than that." he folded his arms and looked back to Tom and then to you. "I think that your character might overthink things. I mean it's the first time she's been this in love isn't it?" He questioned and you nodded. "Well, I think she has found the love of her life. And isn't this whole story about them ending up together?" He wondered and you stayed quiet for a second, trying to unblur the lines between you and your character's story.
"I think she shouldn't let that love go, and stop being so scared." He smiled before Martin waved for the two of you to walk towards him. "I hope this helped. I mean Martin writes his characters and chooses his actors amazingly well, I think he paired you and Tom because he might have seen that sparks." He winked before patting your shoulder and waltzing up to the director, leaving you frozen behind him.
"He fucking knew I wasn't talking about my character" you whispered to yourself, Anthony laughing when he saw the look in your eyes after he turned back around and made eye contact with you.
You shook your head and quickly trotted to Martin, trying to avoid Tom as best as you could but Anthony's judging eyes seemed to pierce through you like swords.
"Here's some new lines you'll need to learn with Timothee."!He handed you the script before turning his stare to Anthony and then to Tom, and back to you. "We're leaving tomorrow, we've done our final scene on this set. And then after we've wrapped up there, we're headed to England." He nodded and you all nodded along. "And Y/n, you should work on your scenes with Hardy. Those are the first that are going to be shot after we land.”
"Ok I'll learn the new lines with Tim, and then pack my bags for tomorrow and talk with Hardy." You agreed, a large smile on your face, happy you were going to get to film at the beach for the next month or so.
See, the film took place in the popular '70s. The sunny location of Hawaii was quite a popular destination back then, and it felt like the perfect way to bring the action to a rise. So they were moving the sets to the beaches of the famous Hawaïan islands.
~
"But you don't understand!" Elizabeth screamed at her brother. "You have to help me, Joseph." Your character's desperate lines pierced through Timothee's character and he sent off a new line.
"I will."
"You will?" You stop quiet. "You're not mad?"
"No." Joseph gulped.
"That was good." You smiled as you broke the scene. "I like how he changed that whole top part." You pointed out.
"Maybe I could try with him changing his mind when he sees his sister really desperate after this line." He questioned you for help and you nodded. "Yeah! Maybe we could try?"
"Y/n, before we do this. I can see your head is somewhere else when you're acting with Tom." He sighed dropping his script on his coffee table. "Even in this scene when you talk about his character I see it in your eyes." He folded his arms and looked to you.
"Tim-"
"No. I'm your friend and you're talking to me about this."
"Im scared." You fell on his couch, desperate to let your feelings out. "Scared that we're both too in character and that's what this whole 'I got feelings for you' thing is" You looked away knowing your statement was plain stupid.
"Bullshit." You scoffed at his choice of language. "You're scared because you've never felt that way about anyone, and you're scared that you'll mess it up." He folded his arms and looked up to you. "Even Martin says it."
"Martin?" You raised an eyebrow.
"Yeah! I heard him talk with Hardy and Anthony about this!"
"That's why he talked to me." You realized. "Scorsese asked him too!" You jumped on your feet and madly pointed to Timothee.
"No, I was there. Anthony said he was going to try and talk to you about it. He wanted to do it-"
"You were there? You said you heard them!" You cut him, almost screaming at this point.
"Y/n-" He took a step closer to you.
"Why is everyone trying to play cupid! It's my life!" You screamed.
"Because it's affecting your acting!" He screamed back trying to get some sense into you "And Tom's! He's sad all the time can't you see it!?"
"Sad?" You calmed down and finally made eye contact with him.
"He wants to be with you! And you're pushing him away because you're scared!" He moved his arms around as he tried to explain and finally get some sense into you.
"I-" The words seemed to be stuck in the back of your throat and you looked everywhere but his eyes. "Let's rehearse Tim. We need to work on this scene."
"No! I won't do it until you admit to me that you love him and you're going to tell him." He folded his arms and stood in front of you like a tree.
"What if he rejects me? Because I did... Twice." You gulped, still looking at the floor where you had found a comforting pattern on the carpet.
"He loves you too much Y/n/n." Tim's voice got softer as he spotted the pain in your tone.
"How do you know that." You looked to your side, trying your best not to show him the tears that formed under your eyes.
"I see it in his eyes." Timothee placed a comforting hand on your shoulder and you turned your head to him, taking him into a hug as the tears finally fell.
"What if-" You sobbed onto his shoulder. "What if whatever we have fades away?" You folded your eyes as a sob escaped your lips. "I- I don't want this to just be a 'we're in our characters' thing." You cried again and Tim rubbed comforting circles on your back, trying his best to find the right words.
"It's going to be alright." He said and pulled you away so he could make eye contact with you. "I don't believe for one second that this is just a character thing. Did you see the way you interacted with each other at Martin's dinner?" He chuckled in disbelief. "The way he looked at you." He squeezed your shoulders. "Trust me, he puts his feelings for you in his performance as Jonathan- But it's not the other way around."
"Maybe I should talk to him then." You sniffed wiping your eyes with the back of your hand as you pulled away from his embrace.
"You should." He smiled before handing you a box of tissues that you gladly took. "Now onto those scenes." He chuckled as he took the thick scripts from the table and handed it to you.
The rest of the evening went on as normal. At least that's what you told yourself. Tom was busy on set, filming his last few scenes on that studio before he was ready to pack his bags and head to Hawaii. In the meanwhile, you had just finished rehearsing with Tim, the pressure of having to talk to Tom staying lodge at the bottom of your stomach.
"Alright, so you'll go? Promise?"
"Yes," You nodded as you held onto your script. "I'll go talk to him. I'll see you at dinner" You smiled before opening the door and leaving Timothee alone to pack his bags.
You walked onto the parking lot of the set, the sunset sky bringing a certain comfort to you as the only sounds that rang in your ears were the ones of your heart beating so fast you were scared it would take flight.
You walked on set, your script still lodged tight in your fingers smiling when you spotted Helena Bohem Carter carefully watching Tom act with Daniel Craig.
"Oh hey!" Martin's assistant whispered and suddenly took your shoulders, bringing you outside of the set to talk without bothering the actors or director. "Martin told me to give you this." She looked through her papers before slipping out a few thin pages. "He made some changed to the script on one of your scenes with Tom Hardy." She pressed her lips together as a smile. "I just need to find him and give you both the instructions." Her stare suddenly went from your eyes to behind your shoulder "Oh, there he is! Perfect! Tom!" She waved to him as she spotted his figure. "Martin asked me to bring you this." She smiled as she handed a double of what she had just handed you. "It's a new scene after Jules finds out about Elisabeth and Jonathan, Martin wanted your character to try and push Elizabeth out of love, instead of just making him angry." He chuckled as she read through her notes. "He thought this could add more intensity to the father/daughter relationship. He wants this scene for the first day we start shooting in Hawaii."
"Alright sounds good." Hardy nodded before turning to you. "Shall we start?"
~
"Hey Tim, do you know where Y/n is? I really need to talk to her, I feel like we've just been ignoring each other for the past week" Tom sighed as he walked across Tim right outside of set.
"Isn't she with you?" He wondered. "I thought she was going to talk to you? You didn't see her on set?"
"I think I spotted her but an assistant was talking with her and brought her out of the room." He shook his head as he began to wonder where in the world you could possibly be.
"Um, maybe she's working on something, I don't know." He looked around. "Martin called me in before dinner im really sorry." He bounced on his heels as he pointed to the set door. "I really have to go, but I'm sure she's around somewhere." He smiled before almost rushing out, catching himself as something came to his mind. "But she wanted to talk to you" He turned to face Tom. "She really wants to fix things." In one glance, Tom understood what was on Timothee's mind and he nodded, hope and happiness suddenly settling inside him.
Tom walked around like a lost soul, he knocked on your door but all the lights were out and no sign from you. He talked to Finn, who was as much in a rush as Tim; Martin must have needed the two brothers, Tom thought. He even managed to catch Helena who just said the same thing 'Haven't seen her since she came to the set'. He walked like a stray cat in the middle of the wagons, thinking of where you could possibly be. But suddenly, your soft voice came from a slightly opened trailer window and arrived to his ears.
He took a second before realizing it was your voice, smiling when he finally found you. He looked around that trailer and spotted 'Tom Hardy' in bulk letters on the front door, everything making sense. You were working on a scene with him; Martin had said the first scene that was shot in Hawaii was going to be between Jules and Elizabeth, that's why you were nowhere to be found.
But the next words that Tom heard brought a mix of furiousness and anger in him.
"But what about us?" Hardy replied with all joy stripped from his tone.
'That's not a line in the script' Tom thought as his fingers started bringing themselves into a fist.
"But, I love him-" You almost cried out, hope coming back in Tom, but sudden anger towards Hardy bubbling up, and jealousy rising.
"How is he more important than this?" Inside the trailer, you were working on the brand new scene Martin had given you.
The scene was set in a small bush of trees in Hawaii, where Jules; Tom Hardy's character was trying to get some sense back to his daughter when he had spotted Jonathan and her together two scenes prior.
"Im asking it again. How is he more important than this." He pointed around the room as though the rest of the mob family was standing a few meters away. And Tom who was still outside couldn't take another second of it, leaving in a fury.
"Dad, you don't understand." You cried out, bursting out all your feelings. Oh if Tom had heard the next sentence.
"I think I do." He stammered. "Do you realize that they've soiled an entire batch of cocaine?" He almost screamed at your face and you trembled as your character fully took over and the acting flew freely.
In the meanwhile, Tom had made his way back to his trailer, grumbling things in a language even he didn't recognize.
'How dare he come between us?' he wondered as the madness took over him, slamming his trailer door when he got there. It made sense. You were going to tell Tom how you felt, but Hardy was in the way. Right?
The first thing that he thought of doing was angrily grabbing his script and flipping the pages, desperate to find the similarity between the words that had been shared, but nothing. His worst nightmare was happening, someone was trying to come between you and him.
"Have you seen Tom?" You asked once you were all settled in the dining room.
"Hardy? He's right there." Finn pointed to behind your shoulder and you folded your eyes and shook your head. "No, Holland." You chuckled. "I can't find him anywhere and I really need to talk to him."
"Oh finally." Finn sighed in relief and you rolled your eyes at his comment. "And no I haven't seen him anywhere. Maybe check his trailer." He pointed out and as if on cue Tim entered the conversation.
"Whatcha talking about?" He pressed in with a large grin.
"She's going to go talk to Tom." Finn wiggled his eyebrows and Timothee's face lighted up with a smile.
"Oooooh you go girl." He winked and you rolled your eyes before slipping out of the room and into the quiet parking lot.
It took everything in you to finally knock on Tom's trailer door, bouncing up and down on your feet in anxiety.
"Hey! um-" You smiled once he opened the door, fumbling with your sleeves as you looked everywhere but his angry eyes.
Suddenly the door closed right on you, every fiber in your body freezing as you tried to understand what Tom had just done.
"Tom what the heck." You lightly punched the door with your fist, his actions slowly breaking your heart. "I want to talk to you."
"I don't." He blurted out like an angry toddler and you stood there like an idiot, tears about to fall.
"Please?" You rested your hand on his door. You sniffed waiting for an answer but nothing seemed to come. “I’m sorry."
You stood there for a few minutes, lost. Wondering what in the world could have gotten Tom so mad. Sure you blew him off twice, but he hadn’t been mad at you for it, and never so angry.
"Alright, well im going to go-" You choked on your words before wiping your tears with the back of your hand. "I'll see you tomorrow"
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Here it is friends. Part one of my Taylor-Swift-nostalgia induced carraville fic. I will be writing a short part two but I figured I’d get this up now and it could be read on its own at this point. I haven’t proof read it so please excuse any mistakes but I hope you enjoy!
Jamie undid his tie. It was a plaid tie, blue instead of red to suggest his neutrality. It was a good day or at least it should’ve been. Liverpool beat Everton two to one, he’d had a good show (no one was harassing him on Twitter yet and Gary had made a few mistakes, Jamie thought that qualified a pretty good show), and he had a date at eleven. He should be fucking buzzing but Jamie just feels the idle hum of numbness. Even the five-goal thriller that was their first game of the night hadn’t got his heart pumping like it used to.
Gary walked in silently, startling Jamie who quickly pulled on a jumper. Not that his state of dress mattered, Gary’s eyes stayed glued to the floor. He walked to the far corner of the dressing room to change out of his suit, as far away from Jamie as possible. He hadn’t said a word to Jamie all night when the cameras weren’t rolling. It hurt. Especially when Gary was so good at acting like everything was fine when the commercial break ended. He even fooled Jamie a few times.
Kelly knocked on the door, making sure they were both decent, before walking in to say goodnight. Jamie watched as Gary smiled at Kelly, as he laughed with her about something. Jamie used to do that: make Gary laugh. Kelly turns her attentions to Jamie. She compliments him on his interview tonight and asks him where he and Tom are going for their date.
“It’s quite late,” she comments, “you can’t really be going to dinner.” Jamie give her a fake laugh.
“I’ve got a reservation and everything Kells. We’re going to that new vegan place. He’s picking me up.” You heard that right: vegan. Because on top of everything, Tom fucking cared about animals and the environment. Jamie wasn’t complaining too much, though. He could suffer through some tofu if it meant not having to go to Gary and his old haunts.
“Ooh!” Kelly said, “do I get to meet him? Redknapp keeps talking about how lovely he is, I figure I could judge for myself.” Ah, yes, Redders. Running into Redders had been an accident. They managed to bump into him at the golf course the week before. Tom was good at golf, unlike Redders, as much as he tried to be. Tom gave him a few pointers, helping Redders fix his posture for his swings. They ended up playing a whole round together while Jamie played ping-pong with an eight-year-old girl in the clubhouse. Redders hadn’t shut up about how Tom’s wonderfulness and his perfect swing since. Jamie nodded at Kelly. He figured he couldn’t do any more damage.
The three of them stood in the parking lot waiting for Tom’s car to pull in. He wasn’t late of course, he never is, they just got out earlier than anticipated. Gary had tried to skitter off to his car but Kelly practically dragged him back up on the curb. Gary, despite trying to put on an agreeable face, looked about as miserable as Jamie felt. Jamie thought he was slightly better at hiding it though.
At 10:59 Tom’s blue Volkswagen pulled in. One minute early. He wore a nice checked shirt with the first few buttons undone. His hair and shirt were miraculously crisp and clean after a full day of work. He looked like a fucking god with his symmetrical face, sharp bone structure, and straight nose. Kelly certainly took note of that. “Our Carra is a lucky man!” She whispered before going over to Tom to introduce herself. Tom shook her hand and complimented her dress which, to be fair, was a very nice floral pattern.
Tom stuck his hand out for Gary to shake. “Hello Gary, my name’s Tom. It’s nice to meet you.” Gary takes a minute to collect himself and takes Tom’s outstretched hand giving it a firm shake.
“It’s nice to meet you as well.” It sounds remarkably fake, of course it does, but Tom doesn’t seem to notice. He just turns towards Jamie with a perfect smile.
“You have such lovely friends, Jamie. It was nice to meet you both.” Jamie wasn’t so sure about that but played along and let Tom walk him to the car. Tom opened Jamie’s door for him before walking around to get in himself. He saw Kelly sling an arm around Gary’s shoulders as they drove away. Jamie took a deep breath and remembered it was all for the best. He reminded himself that this was what he wanted: stability. He didn’t want to fight anymore. The words Gary had said that night still rung in his ears. He was sure his own snarls were not forgotten either.
It started to rain as they parked but Tom had an umbrella. Gary never had an umbrella. You’d think that living in Manchester he’d learn to at least keep one in his car. Instead, he resorted to sprinting away from the rain as fast as he could trying to avoid the rain, he wasn’t as fast as he used to be. But Tom was prepared, he always was. He held the umbrella for the both of them as they walked around to the front of the restaurant.
“James, try the torte it’s quite delicious.” Jamie hated being called James. Absolutely hated it. Not when Gary said it though. His stupid manc accent stretched the vowels into velvet. When Gary said it he felt special. Tom’s polished London accent made him feel posh, pretentious, and twatty. James. Ugh. It was like the word torte. It’s a fucking cake, just call it what it is. Jamie took a bite of the torte. It was good if you ignored the aftertaste of soya in the frosting, a little dry, but Jamie nodded his head like it was an orange mcflurry. He let Tom finish the dessert.
They’re in the car. Tom’s dropping Jamie off at his apartment. Tom must have noticed that Jamie had been quiet and switched the topic to something a little more in his wheelhouse: football. They were talking about England and possible squads for the upcoming international break. Tom started talking about moving Kyle Walker into midfield and Jamie couldn’t take it.
“That’s bollocks. Where is the one place on the field where we actually have players? Fucking midfield. Gareth’s drowning in defenders but not experienced ones. Playing Walker in midfield fucking undermines Henderson and leaves the young centrebacks overexposed.” Tom laughs for some reason. Jamie doesn’t find it funny.
“Well, you would certainly know.” This is what you want, he reminds himself again. Peace, calm, stability. This is happiness. But, fuck, Jamie missed Gary. He missed the challenge. He missed the little crease between Gary’s eyes. He missed Gary’s squeaky voice when he gets worked up. He missed fighting and bickering with Gary over things that didn’t matter. He missed screaming at Gary and Gary screaming back. He missed the really hot sex they’d have after such screaming matches, making Gary scream in a different, more satisfying way. He missed Gary’s laugh, his smile. It seemed to Jamie that neither of them have smiled much since that day. Jamie thought that smiling didn’t seem worth it if Gary wasn’t smiling back.
Jamie checked his phone. It was nearing 1 am. He had a handful of messages from Kelly. Jamie didn’t want to read about how great she thought Tom was, he fucking knew that Tom was great. On paper, he was fucking perfect. The perfect boyfriend. The dream guy. Not for Jamie though. He dreamed of an angry, passionate, crazy, wonderful manc. He opened his messages anyways though, figuring Tom would want to hear what Kelly thought about him.
Jamie. I know you’re on your date but we need to talk. Can you call me? It’s about Gaz. The first one read.
He’s at mine. Really upset. He said not to talk to you so I figure you know what’s going on. That sounded about right. Kelly caring more about Gary’s well being than Gary himself. Gary was too stubborn to care.
Call me please. The last one read. Fuck. They’d made a mess of things. Not only had they made a mess of themselves, but they’d also dragged the others into it.
“Can you pull into that park up there?” Jamie asked Tom. He nodded and turned down the radio, waiting for Jamie to say something more. He didn’t though. Not until he got out of the car and puked some partially digested salad in the grass. Tom came over to him and rested his palm on Jamie’s mid back. Gary used to pet his hair, carding his fingers through it, on those mornings after he’d had a little too much to drink.
Jamie laid on his back in the middle of the parking lot. The rain soaked through his thin shirt in seconds. Tom looked down at him concerned. “I can’t do this, Tom. You’re so lovely. I mean you’re so fucking lovely but I just can’t—”
“I get it, James. You’re still in love with him.” The bastard still looked perfect even drenched with rain. Jamie guessed that he probably looked like a drowned rat. Jamie must have been giving him a confused look because he laughed and explained further. “I saw the way you used to look at him on the tele like he’s the fucking sun. I saw the way you looked at him tonight like being around him was tearing you apart. Besides, I’m pretty sure half the nation knew there was something going on there.” Jamie laughed at that. They had been pretty obvious. And not just Gary, apparently. Apparently, he was just as open of a book. He needed to call Kelly.
She picked up after three rings. “Hi Carra,” she whispered, “needed to get out of the living room, Gaz’s sleeping on my couch.”
“Is he okay?” Jamie asked, not really wanting to hear the answer.
“He’s a wreck, Jamie. He misses you.” I miss him too, Jamie didn’t say, so much.
“Can I come round?” Jamie asked. Kelly said yes so long as Jamie can get Gary the hell out of her living room and gave Carra her address.
Thankfully, Kelly’s place was nearby, about a mile away. Jamie didn’t know where he got the energy considering he was dead on his feet a few minutes before, but he ran there as fast as he possibly could. His water-filled shoes squished loudly with every step. He got there in seven minutes and was panting heavily when he knocked on the door. Kelly let him in wordlessly.
Gary was still sleeping on the couch when he walked into the living room. Kelly gave him a nod and walked into the kitchen. Jamie kneeled next to Gary and cupped his cheek with his palm. Jamie hadn’t realized how much he’d missed that simple feeling. Gary’s forehead was still crinkled in his sleep. His eyes were dark like he hadn’t slept much. Jamie hadn’t either. It was hard to sleep alone, without Gary’s comforting weight on his chest. Jamie took Gary’s hand from where it was tucked under his chin and intertwined their fingers. The weight of Gary’s hand in his set relief running through Jamie’s body. Gary started to stir at that.
“James?” Jamie smiles at that. His stupid name sounds beautiful coming from Gary’s mouth. His eyes weren’t even open yet and Gary already knows it’s him. “What are you doing here?” He opened his eyes slightly but upon seeing Jamie they were wide open. Gary’s eyes were red and bloodshot. Jamie just wanted to yank him into his arms and hug him forever.
“What are you doing here, you muppet? Bothering Kelly at 2 am?” Jamie said playfully. Gary flushed slightly. “Come on, Gaz. Let’s get you home.” He grabbed Gary’s hand to pull him up. Gary stumbled when he tried to take a step. Carra looked down at the empty beer bottles and figured that was why. He grabbed Gary’s arm and slung it over his shoulder. Gary’s head rested in the crook of Jamie’s neck, his soft breathing tickling at the skin there.
“Kelly,” Jamie called softly into the kitchen, “we’re leaving.” She came out to stand in the doorway in her fluffy, pink bunny slippers that Jamie had somehow not noticed before. Jamie thought he should get Gary a pair.
“Set an alarm,” she said, “he wakes up early. Don’t let him bolt.” Jamie figured Gary wouldn’t be racing out of his apartment at 5 am with the hangover he was sure to have but it was still a good idea. Gary was an unpredictable, stubborn bastard at times. Jamie thanked her and helped Gary down to his car.
It was still pouring when they got out of the building because clearly the gods wanted Gary to either sober up or catch his death. Thankfully, in his upset Gary had forgotten to lock the car meaning Carra didn’t have to fumble around for his keys in the current weather. Except, that Gary wouldn’t get into the car. He sprawled his limbs over the door so Jamie couldn’t push him inside.
“Gary, if you don’t get your arse in that car, I’m going to leave you out here to drown.” Obviously, he wasn’t serious but he figured that Gary might be drunk enough not to know that. Gary just smiled up fondly at him and stayed put.
“I love you,” he said, looking like the most radiant, beautiful thing Jamie had ever seen in his life. His hair was a mess, stuck down to his forehead. His cheeks were bright red from a mix of alcohol and the cold. His eyes were still red but god they held all the love in the world. Jamie could see that somehow, after everything, Gary still loved him, truly loved him. After all the things he said, screamed, did, this man--this beautiful man--still loved Jamie every ounce as much as Jamie loved him. It didn’t matter what he should want, he wanted Gary and all of his adorable, infuriating flaws. His recipe to happiness was just that: his own. He didn’t need stability, calm, peace. He needed to feel something.
Jamie cupped his face for the second time that night. He ran his thumb over Gary’s wet, stubbly cheeks. Jamie couldn’t help himself. He kissed Gary with all of the kisses they’d missed in the past two months. The two months of pain, loneliness, desolation. He kissed Gary with all of the love he had in his cold, wet body and Gary did the same. Gary moved slower than Jamie, less frantically but no less enthusiastically. Gary clutched at his jacket like a vice, unwilling to let go. Jamie moved his hands around Gary’s body. He wanted to make sure that everything was still as he remembered it. And it was. Of course, it was. He had Gary in his arms, it didn’t matter that the rain had picked up. Though, he was sure he’d hear about the soggy interior of Gary’s car in the morning. He pulled away reluctantly for breath and rested his forehead against Gary’s.
#carraville#jamie carragher#gary neville#thank you taylor for the inspiration#very loosely inspired by the way I loved you#my fic
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86. “Don’t be scared I’m right here” prompt for sibling feels between Jonathan and Evie! Maybe when they’re kids and Jonathan is being a protective big brother?
I finally finished it! Hope you like :o)
The Chimera in the Attic
“Don’t be so loud,” whispers Jonathan, and Evelyn does her best to pin him with the most beady glare she can manage in the dark. It’s not so easy as it used to be. Jonathan has grown a lot in the past few months, and Evelyn remains somewhat on the small side for an eight-year-old girl.
He’s still skinny, though. The dressing gown Dad gave him for his birthday, saying he’d grow into it, is still too long and baggy for him.
“I’m not loud.”
“You are! I don’t even know how someone so small can be making so much noise while she walks! What are your slippers made of, solid lead?”
“Well, you’re the one who keeps talking!”
“Look, do you want my help or not?”
Evelyn glowers, but forces her voice down.
“Yes,” she mutters with a sigh – carefully, so she doesn’t blow her candle.
“Good show. Now – toes first, and then your heel. Mind the stairs, we’re almost there.”
It seemed a good idea to ask Jonathan for help – and, if she’s honest, it probably is – but she still doesn’t like it when her brother decides to be The Grown-up. It doesn’t suit him at all. But if she is to retrieve the books Mrs Pemberton, the housekeeper and household dragon, confiscated from her and locked up in the attic, then Jonathan and his baffling (and highly dubious) talent for opening doors is just the man for the job.
The fact that this ‘man’ is a thirteen and a half boy notwithstanding, of course.
And to be completely honest, creeping around the dark, silent house around midnight in his company feels much less daunting than it would on her own.
“Mum and Dad wouldn’t have taken my books away,” she mumbles while the both of them tiptoe up the stairs, careful to avoid the fifth step that always creaks.
Jonathan shoots her a look that has more than a little commiseration to it. But he doesn’t make a sarcastic comment like she half-thought he might. He also doesn’t point out that she’d need only wait till next Friday for Salwa and John Carnahan to come back from their trip. He knows few things are more important to her than her books.
“No,” he murmurs, “they wouldn’t have. But maybe you need a little more… I don’t know, subtlety?”
“What do you mean?”
“Next time, don’t leave the books lying around when you know Mrs Pemberton doesn’t approve of you reading treatises that would give any normal adult a headache, especially when you should be sleeping. You might want to keep them hidden.”
Evelyn concedes the point silently.
True to his word, Jonathan only needs a few minutes until the lock gives up. She probably shouldn’t be so impressed.
The South Wing attic is one of the few places in the house that still don’t have electricity – not even gaslight. It’s essentially a large lumber room filled with steamer trunks, some full, some empty, cabinets and bookshelves devoid of books but filled with bric-a-brac, and more generally everything that’s not too sensitive to light or dust. The windows have only had windowpanes for a few years, and that’s solely because Mum and Dad wanted to use the space to store their travel diaries, inconvenient heirlooms, and everything they couldn’t find room for downstairs.
At this hour of the night, it looks empty and huge, and dark, and utterly uninviting.
Evelyn and Jonathan remain frozen on the threshold for a few seconds. Then Evelyn takes a deep breath, hears Jonathan do the same, and they enter.
From there they split up to search, Evelyn hoping the dust won’t ruin her slippers, Jonathan swearing quietly every time he stubs his toe against something. For some reason it feels even more important to be silent here than it did downstairs, which is silly. This attic is not anywhere near sleeping quarters.
Evelyn lifts a pile of old almanacs, careful not to breathe in the dust that goes flying when she puts them down. Then an unexpected noise behind her makes her gasp.
“It’s just me,” whispers Jonathan, who somehow crept up on her. Evelyn is all the more miffed because for once it doesn’t appear he did it on purpose. “Did you find anything?”
“Just these.”
“Are you sure this is where Mrs Pemberton took your books? She could’ve hidden them in her lair with the rest of her hoard – ugly portraits, stuffed lizards, human remains –”
“Oh, shush.”
Mrs Pemberton came with the house, so to speak, and watched over their father’s childhood with a gimlet eye. She’s very fond of John Carnahan and respected Salwa al-Masri from the moment Dad brought his new wife to England, which is a lot more than can be said for the rest of his family and household staff then. But she is Proper and Traditional and rules the house with an iron hand when the master and mistress are away. Jonathan sometimes half-jokes that he doesn’t see much difference between home and school as far as caning and bleeding knuckles are concerned. Evelyn really hopes he’s exaggerating on both accounts; but the last time Mrs Pemberton caught him scaling the vines on the west façade to sneak into a room, he held himself oddly for a few hours, and that wasn’t because he’d fallen down. He also made Evelyn promise she wouldn’t say a word to their parents, so she kept mum, but she can’t help thinking it’s not right. Mum and Dad never hit Jonathan when he misbehaves.
In normal circumstances she wouldn’t pick at his language. But a dark, dusty attic in the middle of the night is the last place in which she wants to hear about human remains.
“I saw her climb the stairs with all three books and come back down without them,” she points out. “She must have left them here.”
Logic has always been her most trusted ally. Jonathan, knowing this, nods.
“All right, so they’re somewhere in this mess. Now. If I was a fire-breathing dragon who eats twelve naughty children for breakfast, lunch, dinner and supper every day, where would I hide forbidden but valuable books?”
Evelyn can’t help a silent chuckle. Then her eyes fall on a cabinet in a corner, standing in a pool of shadow.
She nudges her brother and they silently make their way towards the cabinet.
A rustling sound in the near distance makes them both freeze. The little candleholder trembles a little in her fist; with her other hand she instinctively searches for Jonathan’s.
“Don’t be scared,” she hears him whisper, “I’m right here.” But his hand is none too steady in hers as he grips back.
“I’m not scared.” Jonathan gives her a look before he bends to inspect the lock of the cabinet, so she insists, “I’m not! I was just startled.”
“Right,” he says with that small infuriating grin of his, like he hasn’t jumped as well at the sudden noise. “All right, then, let’s see…”
A minute later he manages to open the door just a sliver and peek inside.
“Well, good news, there’s your books. I can see the name of one of those dratted Bembridge fellows on the cover. Bad news: something’s blocking the door and I can’t get it open without forcing it – hang on –”
Jonathan pulls on the door, Evelyn steps closer to hear what he’s muttering, and that is when a few things seem to fall on their heads at the same time: something heavy, a cloud of dust, an angry screech, the flapping of wings brushing their skulls. Jonathan yelps, Evelyn cries out. Her candle falls to the floor, instantly snuffed out, but the light managed to give her a glimpse of teeth, feathers, and – scales?
A hand grasps hers and tugs her onwards. She runs along without hesitation, barely registering that they’re racing down the stairs and across the wing to Jonathan’s room, until they’re safe and secure behind the door, covered in dust, chests heaving, their hands on their knees.
“What the hell was that?” gasps Jonathan. Evelyn is too out of breath to answer right away. She’s too busy trying to shake the sensation of lightning coursing through her whole body, like her whole person is reduced to a small human-sized wire.
When she’s able to make sounds other than panting, she groans.
“My books! We forgot the books!”
“We were attacked by a monster and that’s the first thing you say?”
“But that was the entire reason we… We have to go back!”
“And we will, but in the morning, when we can see more than five inches in front of us. And won’t be set upon by nocturnal chimeras.”
“Well,” Evelyn declares mulishly, struggling against the remnants of the terror that made her fly down the stairs as fast as though the wings had been hers, “I’m going. I won’t be able to sleep for a while anyway, I might as well have something to do.”
“Evy.”
“You’re welcome to stay here if you’re afraid, of course.”
“Evy.”
“But you will not stop me from—”
Jonathan rolls his eyes. The next thing she knows he drops three heavy volumes into her arms, so covered in dirt one can hardly decipher the titles on the cover.
“Here are your blasted books, you lunatic! And the next time you need something retrieved from wherever it’s ended up then you’re welcome to—”
It’s not easy to embrace another person while holding books that might be a little more massive than one can safely hold with one arm. That doesn’t stop Evelyn from following her impulse and throwing herself in her brother’s arms before he can finish his sentence. Emotions race through her – retroactive fright, a remnant of righteous anger at being denied what she loves most to do, relief at the return of her favourite books – and she knows better than to fight them. Instead she burrows her nose into the front of Jonathan’s dressing gown and lets them run their course.
Jonathan sighs into her hair and wraps his arms around her. If she doesn’t grow taller quickly he’ll soon be able to put his chin on top of her head. Usually she’s tempted to be a little miffed about that. Right now, it doesn’t sound so bad.
“I don’t… I didn’t mean that.”
I know, she thinks, letting the familiarity of his voice and his wiry frame wash the rest of her nerves away. She was fully prepared to march back up those stairs and into the attic, and now she’s unspeakably grateful that she won’t have to.
Later, when they’ve dusted off their nightclothes, Evelyn hops into bed with her brother. She does it every now and then when she can’t sleep for this or that reason, more rarely since he has gone away to Eton and only comes back in the weekends. Even if he complains that her feet are cold he never turns her away. As always, their whispered conversation carries late into the night. Evelyn is drowsing already when she asks, “What do you think happened, exactly, back there?”
“I don’t know,” whispers Jonathan, eyes closed, “and I don’t care. Whatever it was, it won’t bother us now.”
Evelyn agrees and finally falls asleep, secure in the knowledge that she is safe and, perhaps more importantly, so are her books.
※ ※ ※ ※
The next morning, they wake up at an ungodly hour to retrieve Evy’s candleholder and erase all traces that suggest they recently set foot in the attic. They approach the cabinet cautiously, only to find a moth-eaten stuffed crocodile’s head on the floor covered in bird droppings and what looks like a little owl’s feathers. The ‘trophy’ – probably older than their parents – must have been left on top of the cabinet for ages, wedged against the top of the door, effectively preventing anyone from opening the door completely.
Jonathan looks down, then up, then down again, and says, “There’s our chimera. Looks like we survived a crocodile attack last night.”
Evelyn makes a face. The memory of their undignified rout stings, especially now that it’s obvious there was nothing to get so scared about. Startled, yes; scared, no.
“I wonder if we frightened that poor bird away for good,” she muses as they set everything to rights as silently as they can.
Jonathan, who wandered off looking for the point of entry, looks over his shoulder and says, “I hope so. I don’t fancy this attic becoming an aviary. There are too many interesting things here to leave them left for the birds, so to speak.” He plugs an owl-sized hole in a windowpane with a rag and adds with a grin, “The things you’ll do for books, I swear.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Evelyn counters, feeling a similar wide smile make its way on her face.
And Jonathan, who usually has a ready sarcastic retort on the tip of his tongue, only shakes his head with a snort.
Books – both their contents and their physical form – are important to Evelyn in a way they aren’t to Jonathan. Perhaps they’ll never really understand each other on this. But perhaps it doesn’t really matter, either.
After all, even if he isn’t up to standing up to a chimera in the dead of night any more than she is, her big brother still knows her well enough to know that Evelyn Carnahan will only leave a book behind in the direst of circumstances.
(There you go! Not my best prose, I’m sorry, but it’s the best I could hammer out into shape ^^’ I have a lot of feels about these two and I’m always glad for the chance to explore these feels, so thank you, dear anon 💜)
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Her Majesty. || 17
All For You.
A few months later
April
I walk the gardens, appreciating the crisp air and the morning fog, accompanied by the grounds’ quietness. For the first time since my father passed, the grounds are quiet, no civilians are waiting and paying their respects, the flowers have gradually decreased, and the palace is relatively untroubled— a little too quiet.
I haven’t seen Harry since he left my room at four this morning. Ever since Henry’s passing a few months ago, I haven’t seen much of Harry during the day. Harry has been pulled in one-hundred different directions and forced to balance everything.
He is handling things better than I ever could have. The Henry situation would have tipped me over the edge. Harry has been the one to deal with Pippa. She hasn’t had much to do with me; she seems to avoid me for the most part. I’m not sure why she would instead work with Harry, but she appears to be a fan of him.
Madeleine and Louis have stayed at the Palace, staying under the radar and staying out of the public eye. It’s probably the best option for now. I haven’t observed much of Madeleine; she has spent most of her time with Louis and walking the grounds, and finding various places to read and write quietly. Madeleine has always been the type to keep a journal, and when she gets stressed, she writes her thoughts down. I, on the other hand, let the ideas run wild until I break down and snap.
“Her Majesty?” Oliver breaks the silence.
“It’s Anna, Oliver,” I correct him.
Oliver nods his head. “Uh, sorry,” he nervously chuckles, “Are you ready to head inside?”
I nod my head, “I guess you and Harry don’t let me stay out long, huh?”
“It’s just protocol not to stay too long out here just because of how open it is, especially with people coming and going.”
“I know,” I sigh, understanding the reasoning behind things.
I’m hoping that come summertime. The restrictions won’t be as stringent. It would be delightful to be able to roam the gardens or sit outside with disturbances. If we were to move palaces, I would be able to have more freedom, but for right now, I don’t think Matthew will agree to travel, although I plan to ask Harry. A change of scenery would be nice, even if it’s to go to Kensington or the Palace of Holyroodhouse in Scotland, any of the crown estates would be pleasant.
A small smile forms on my lips the moment I recognise Harry marching closer to us, “Good morning,” I welcome him cheerfully, delighted to see him.
Harry kisses my cheek, “Morning… Did you give Pippa permission to announce our relationship to the staff?” Harry questions, his voice deep and far from impressed.
I shake my head, unsure of what he’s talking about, “No?”
“Well, she took it upon herself to announce things on our behalf. Since when does she have any say on what the fuck happens at the palace?” Harry’s voice sounds like bottled thunder, and his eyes are dark with fury.
“Harry, I do not know… She doesn’t, and she has no say at the Palace… When did this happen?”
“Just now, so if you don’t mind, I’m going to go strangle her,” Harry mutters, shoving his phone into his pocket before I grab his wrist and pull him back towards me.
“Calm down.”
Harry shakes his head, “I’ve had enough of her shit.”
“Harry, we had to tell them anyway. Let me handle this. Go back to the security room.”
Harry becomes speechless for a moment and takes a breath, “It wasn’t her business to tell. She doesn’t know if the staff will release it to the press. The press is always writing articles about us. One minute you’re dating Louis in the media, and the next minute you’re having an affair on him with me. I’ve had it.”
“You sound like you’re having a shitty morning. Just relax.”
“I am having a shit morning. I have shit to do. I love you,” Harry mutters, kissing my cheek before hurrying off.
“Pippa is about to get an earful,” I sigh, watching as Harry walks towards the palace. Oliver hums his response and continues to unobtrusively walk beside me, not giving me any queries, genuinely allowing me to wander the grounds at ease.
I am not sure who killed Henry, nor am I sure when the next attack will be or on whom it’ll be, but I do know that at some point, this will end. I can't point fingers on who’s to blame, and I wish I could. I wish I could say it’s Pippa or the government, but truth be told, I don’t know specifically who it is, and I don’t have much proof. For all I know, it could be one member of the staff who is in control of it all, one of the maids could be the mastermind of all the plans and running a circle of mass chaos. At this point, I’m starting to wonder if Harry and Matthew will ever figure it out, they’re not detectives, and all their leads seem to fail them, as do my own. I haven’t heard anything from Harry about the list of names I gave him. I don’t think he believes that it is anyone that works at the palace.
“Are Matthew and Harry working on who has killed everyone?” I ask Oliver, curious as to how much information he knows.
“Yes, Princess… That is why Harry has been hard to find lately.”
“Have they found anything?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss that with you. I’m sorry,” Oliver shakes his head. “Please don’t threaten my job,” Oliver quickly emphasises, referencing the morning I threatened his job if he didn’t allow me to go to the security chambers. In my defence, it was the morning of my fathers funeral, and I didn’t want to be alone.
I wanted the comfort of Harry, and Oliver was not comforting me the way I needed.
“I said I was sorry about that,” I grant him a soft smile, “I really just needed Harry, nothing personal.”
Oliver nods his head and chuckles, “I know, Harry told me, but I am not letting you live it down.”
“Go figure,” I roll my eyes before I chuckle to myself.
There are days where nobody can fix the void that you feel, and the morning I went on a rampage and threatened to fire Oliver if he didn’t take me to Harry was a morning where I just needed Harry. Nobody else would suffice.
“We need to go inside. It is time for you to get ready for your coronation.”
I stop in my tracks and look at Oliver, “You and I both know it isn’t mine.”
“Anastasia,” Oliver begins, “For what it is worth, you will make a great Queen.”
I lift my shoulders into a shrug, “I will not be crowned Queen. Pippa will not allow it,” I respond, dreading today.
I am not envious of Harry for him being crowned. I am somewhat delighted that he has to handle the mess of the monarchy. But, I am disappointed that the monarch is binding and controlling.
This wasn’t the life I envisioned for myself, nor is it the life I envisioned for Harry and me. I never thought the monarchy would control us to the extent it does. I knew it would have its ties, but I thought it would be imperceptibly more manageable. I never imagined my husband would take my crown and the problems that go with it. I applaud Harry for being capable of handling things with such strides. I don’t think I could— Hence why Pippa refuses to permit me to have the crown.
Harry’s pov.
As with all royal events, coronation day accompanies its own sets of rules and regulations. Westminster Abbey has been the environment for every Coronation since 1066, and today it will be no different. I succeeded to the Throne when Anastasia should have succeeded. She will be the first successor to have not succeeded as rightfully anticipated. What a strange read in history books this will be when the public finds out about it.
We were escorted from Buckingham Palace to Westminster Abbey in the Gold State Coach – drawn by eight grey horses, selected by Anastasia and myself. The public is anticipating a closed ceremony for Anastasia to become Queen. What they don’t know is the scandal behind it all and how they’re accepting a King.
Everything has been precisely placed and designated to accompany all coronation protocols for the day to be impeccable. The coronation Bouquet was made up of white flowers – comprising of orchids and lilies-of-the-valley from England, stephanotis from Scotland, orchids from Wales, and carnations from Northern Ireland and the Isle of Man. Every little detail is intricated for a specific reason. It has meaning— all of which I do not understand, but I am sure Anastasia knows the reasoning behind every painstaking detail. The only thing that is not a part of the royal queue is Anastaisa’s dress. On coronation day, most Queens wear neutral colours for a coronation. Anastasia, however, came down the stairs in red. She looked beautiful, but her attire was not what was expected of a royal. Buckingham Palace housemaids, chefs and gardeners gathered inside the Grand Hall at Buckingham Palace to see Anastasia. 129 nations and territories will be officially represented at the Coronation service, and I have been more concerned about Anastasia’s dress.
I smile at the members of parliament, eager to announce to them my first order as King. Pippa is intrigued and waiting for me to reveal what she had planned. She told me what my first executive order should be. To her disappointment, I’m about to cause her whole world to crumble.
I clear my throat and take my position, “As reigning King, my first executive order to be signed will be reinstating Anastasia’s title. Anastasia will, as a result of this be titled, Queen. She will be the reigning monarch,” I instruct, watching Pippa’s eyes grow wide and parliament members’ jaws drop at my words. I wander towards Anastasia and her mother, who is trying to conceal her smile. Her mother nods her head towards me, granting me her approval.
“Harry, what are you doing?” Anna softly challenges me as I take off the St. Edward's Crown and place it to rest on her head. This is rightfully hers.
I delicately take off the purple robe of estate before I move to place it over her shoulders, “I believe these belong to you, my darling,” I beam at her, honoured to be the one to crown her. I kiss her forehead before taking my place beside her, “I give you, your Queen.” I place my hands behind my back, watching as an undivided room of officials gazes at me in utter silence.
There’s absolutely nothing they can do— I played the monarchy and successfully so.
The Archbishop standing before us who administered the Coronation Oath to me, steps forward with a smile, handing Anastasia the same bible I was delivered, “Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the Peoples of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland, Australia, New Zealand, the Union of South Africa, Pakistan, and Ceylon, and of your Possessions and the other Territories to any of them belonging or pertaining, according to their respective laws and customs?”
Anastasia takes my hand and arranges it on the bible before placing her hand over mine, “We solemnly promise to do so.”
Anastasia continues her oath to the bitter disappointment of Pippa. I accompany Anna to the alter before stepping back, enabling her to independently take the Bible’s oath. “The things which I have here before promised, I will perform and keep. So help me, God.” Anastasia speaks the oath's last words, and I take a glance at her mother, who winks at me. I nod my head— our duty is fulfilled.
The Queen, having thus taken her Oath, smiles over at me before I return her to her Chair, and the Bible is handled by one of the martials to be surrendered to the Dean of Westminster.
Anastasia turns to the parliament members, “Members of both Houses of Parliament are required by law to take an oath of allegiance to the Crown. I require you to do so formally… Pippa, you’re first.” Anastasia takes me by surprise when she halts the coronation to force the parliamentary oath.
Pippa leisurely steps forward and Anastasia stands to her feet, “What are you doing?” Pippa whispers, not charmed that we have transformed the entire plan.
Anastasia sincerely smiles and gestures for the archbishop to walk closer. “Swear her in,” Anastasia commands, and the man does as he is told. He holds the Bible out and proceeds to request Pippa’s hand. “Say the oath,” Anastasia presses.
“I, Philippa Louise Westbrooke, swear by Almighty God that I will be faithful,” Pippa trails off with a stutter before she clears her throat and composes herself. “And bear true allegiance to Her Majesty, Queen, Anastasia, according to law. So help me, God.”
Anastasia shakes her head, “And bear true allegiance to Her Majesty Queen Anastasia, her heirs, husband and successors. So help me, God,” Anastasia changes the oath, adding the fact that Pippa is swearing under oath to be faithful not just to Anna as Queen but to our children and future successors.
I’m just as astonished as everyone else. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Anastasia has been planning this.
Pippa swallows hard and glances towards me for a saving grace— I view Anna with a first-class smile alternately. “And bear true allegiance to Her Majesty Queen Anastasia, her heirs, husband, and successors, according to law. So help me, God,” Pippa repeats the oath.
“You may take your seat now. We can get back to the coronation now,” Anastasia views everyone else.
“Do you have any other requests or announcements?” The archbishop questions, appearing intrigued and finding the coronation humerus. I don’t believe he thought this day would go as it has— I don’t think anyone did. Madeleine Noelle Veil even appears to be somewhat bewildered.
Anastasia nods her head, “If there is to be an intermittent King or Queen, the spouse of royal blood can rule on the conditions the royal spouse is unfit or unwell, but only the royal blood can make the decision on the stand-in ruler. While I reign, Harry can sign on my behalf if only I give him consent— We rule the monarch— not parliament. Do you need that in writing?” Anastasia questions, causing my eyes to grow wide. I had no clue that giving her an inch of power would turn out to become this. “May I sign the declaration after?”
“That would be best,” George, one of the members of parliament, speaks up, the same man who declared that Henry was the new King once Anna’s father passed. The Coronation ring, known as 'The Wedding Ring of England', makes an appearance, slowly becoming placed on The Queen's fourth finger of her right hand following tradition.
I’m not sure what Anastasia’s plans are for the nefarious parliament members, but something tells me that she has some sort of devised method to execute her dynamism and shift them out of office. I am not sure if she can overthrow Parliament as she wanted to destroy the monarch and abolish it, but I feel she will try. Anastasia will be one charismatic woman, and I would hate to be the one that has stepped on her toes. She is coming into her power a lot quicker and with more intensity than I ever imagined. I am not sure what changed in her, but she went from the grieving woman who couldn’t get herself out of bed to the woman who is about to govern the monarch with an iron fist.
*** ***
The day has been long and eventful. The return route was designed so that the procession could be seen by as many people in London as possible. The 7.2 km route took us two hours to complete. I’m exhausted, and I know Anastasia is, but she’s currently wound up on adrenaline and awe. Anastasia stepped into her power today, and she has been humble about it all, but I can see the twinkle of excitement in her eye.
She has won. We have won.
Although we have won this small battle, we have more to go through, and as much as Anastasia is thankful for taking control, I can tell she’s anxious and unsure of how or what to do. Anastasia has self-doubt, and she made the obvious on the car ride to the palace when she asked me if she would make a good Queen. She wanted assurance that this is the best decision for the monarch and her. Nothing I do or say will convince her that this is one-hundred percent a good idea. She will always have doubts. After all, look at the people who have pushed her down and doubted her. For months she has been told she is unfit to rule and doesn’t deserve her fathers legacy, she has been beaten down to the point I wasn’t sure she’d manage to get back up, but she has.
“Anna, darling,” I gesture for her to walk closer to me. At first, she’s hesitant, unsure of what I want, but begins to step closer with gleaming eyes and that winsome smile of hers, “This… this is what you need to remember any time you have doubts about being Queen,” I instruct before I shift to open the glass windows, enabling the crisp air to flow into the room, along with the sweetness of her people cheering, “God save the Queen,” applauding her coronation. “Parliament might want to see you fail, but the people don’t. This is all for you; they believe in you, you better bloody believe in yourself, too.” I show Anastasia the stance she has and how she has the backing and endorsement of her people.
Anastasia grins and nods her head, “Would the King join me to express my gratitude?” Anastasia questions, taking my hand and beginning to wander to the large glass doors with the gold trim that only opens on exceptional occurrences. Anastasia stands at the doors, and I reach towards the handles, pushing down on them before gingerly opening the doors that lead to the balcony. Anastasia takes a breath and peers at me, “It’s my pleasure to greet the people as Queen formally, even more so do it with you as King, will you?” Anastasia signals towards the balcony that overlooks the people below. I swallow hard and stare at her, unsure of what to do.
If I step on the balcony with her, that’s it. That’s the end of our secrecy; our relationship will be in the public eye. “Anna, there’s no going back if I do this.”
“I know… but if you don’t want to—“
“Baby, that’s not what I mean,” I shake my head, “This announces us as well as a couple.”
Anastasia nods her head, “I know, it’s what we want, right? To no longer hide?”
I grow withdrawn for a minute. We are finally getting what we want, and somehow I’m still nervous and fearful—going public concerns me for various reasons. We aren’t just dodging the bullets of parliament. We will now be avoiding the people’s bullets if they disapprove of me. I’m still nothing but a simple man who fell in love with a woman with a royal title. No matter what has transpired or what will follow, I will never be royal. I may honour the title dubbed upon me, but my blood is not royal. I’m a commoner.
I kiss her forehead before taking a step back, “After you, Queen,” I smile, motioning for her to step out on the balcony and address her supporters. Anastasia steps out wearing the Imperial State Crown and the Royal Robes to greet the cheering crowds. I move behind her, in awe at how the people applaud her the moment she is regarded. I do not doubt in my mind that Anna is going to go down in history as an astonishing Queen.
Anastasia glances over her shoulder, and I step closer to her, placing my arm around her as she does an honorary wave, “Your Dad always said that you could tell a lot by the way a royal greets their people— But I think you can tell a lot by the way the people greets the royal,” I comment, still in awe at how welcoming and pleasant the crowd is towards Anastasia. I have never witnessed such an event. They love her, absolutely love and adore her. They approve of her reign, and I think that’s something Anna didn’t realise would occur. Although Parliament is against her, the people are living proof of where true loyalty and power lies.
“You can tell a lot by the person standing next to the reigning ruler,” Anastasia answers, leaning up to kiss my cheek, sealing our fate of publicly expressing our relationship. “I love you, Harry. I love you today, and I’ll love you tomorrow and the day after. The monarch, the people and parliament do not define that. They do not control us– we reign,” Anastasia informs me, “As quickly as we have gained this monarch, I’ll gladly give it up in a heartbeat for you. You once asked me to surrender the crown for us to be together, and I denied you… standing here, with the crown, I’ll happily give it up if you have second thoughts about this.”
Even at her highest moment where she should be proud of herself and what we have contrived to do, and even after how hard I fought to not only keep her crown but to hand it back to her strategically, she’ll still selflessly give it up for me. I shake my head, “This is your fathers legacy to live on. I don’t want you to surrender for me.”
Anastasia does not know, but I have fought Pippa for weeks to let Anna take her crown back. I have contended and pleaded until I broke and spoke to Anastasia’s mother, where we devised the plan to double-cross Pippa. I allowed Pippa to believe I would support her dream and take the crown officially today; I allowed her to think that I recognised that Anastasia was unfit to rule and that it should be left to me. I kept the crown and what the King worked for safe. I protected the palace against the media and spread of false rumours, I defended the castle from the backlash of Victoria and Henry’s murders— I worked diligently to be able to give Anastasia her rightful crown— I worked hard to provide her with the right to choose to do as she wishes with the monarch. I will stand by her with whatever decision she executes if she rules; I will stand by Anna and proudly watch her govern the country. If she abolishes, I will stand beside Anna and hold her as she makes the hardest decision of her life. If she chooses to overthrow parliament, I will stand beside Anastasia and grin as she takes back the control they have taken from her family. I will honour Anastasia as my wife, and I will protect her as her husband and security detail. Still, most importantly, I will love her no matter what decision she chooses to make regarding the crown.
The crown has broken her, but it has also made her who she is. It has challenged her to no ends, but she has perpetually come out on top. She’s a fighter and doesn’t back down from a fight, and I don’t think she’s going to back down from the monarchy now.
“I love you,” Anastasia breathes out.
“I love you, too,” I respond, straightening her crown that has fallen a little too forward. No matter what occurs in this life of ours, I will always be here to adjust her crown, literally and metaphorically.
Anastasia presents the people one last wave before she turns on the 'Lights of London'. Lights cascade down the Mall, kindling the tremendous cypher on Admiralty Arch and transforming the fountains in Trafalgar Square into flowing silver until all the floodlights from the National Gallery to the Tower of London have been enkindled.
The lights illuminate, as does her reign. Anastasia wanders inside, and I follow her, relieved to support the people on our side. Parliament and the monarchy’s dictates may disagree with our marriage. Some of the staff may not even agree, but possessing the people’s blessing makes things a bit more permissive.
I close the doors behind us and concede the sheer curtains to slide across so the people cannot see in. As this may be the closing of a chapter, it’s just the beginning for us and our story.
#harry styles fanfic#harry styles imagines#harry styles fanfiction#imagine harry styles#harry styles prompts#harry styles blurbs#harry styles writing#fanfiction#harry styles fanfictions#Imagine harry styles#harry styles fic#harry styles one shots#harry styles preferences#1d imagine
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Papa
@drizzeltheraincat - Thank you for the idea!!
Russia sits back on the couch in the living room, surrounded by chaos. He smiles.
America had a private meeting and the states are staying for the holidays and had asked Russia to watch them. Russia had, of course, agreed. He'd grown close to the states, after all, and would do anything for Ame.
He hears the start of an argument in the dining room and stands up to separate it.
"Oklahoma! Give it back!" Arizona shrieks.
"NO!"
"My teddy bear!" Alaska cries.
Russia walks in and sees Oklahoma standing on the table with a small bear in hand. Arizona is screaming at her, standing on a nearby stool with her hair smoking. Alaska is trying to climb on the table, crying.
"Well, maybe Alaska shouldn't have drawn in my book!" Oklahoma shouts.
"Enough!" Russia shouts.
The three freeze and Alaska sniffles before running forward.
"She stole Miska!" Alaska cries, pointing at Oklahoma.
"Get off the table," Russia demands.
Oklahoma scrambles down and quickly hands the stuffed toy back to Alaska, who hugs it to her chest and scampers off. Russia gives Arizona and Oklahoma steely looks.
"Why were you screaming?" Russia asks.
"Oklahoma wasn't listening," Arizona says with crossed arms.
"I only took it because Alaska drew in my sketchbook that dad got for me and ruined it!" Oklahoma cries, tears in her eyes.
"Calm down," Russia soothes, "I'm sure you can fix it or ask your father for a new one. I will talk to Alaska."
"Sorry, Papa," Oklahoma mutters before her head whips up, fear in her eyes, and her face turns pink. She lowers her gaze.
Russia stares at where she had been, her words repeating in his mind.
'"Sorry, Papa."'
'"Papa"'
Russia feels his face burn and he covers it with his hands. His mind blue screens.
'Do they see me as a father figure??'
"...Russ?" Oklahoma asks experimentally,
"YORK!" Arizona shouts, "Oklahoma broke Russia!"
New York walks in and Russia's head snaps up, his head swimming with questions.
'Do they see me as a father?'
'Does America know?'
'How many of them do?'
"What the f*** just happened?"
"I may have called him 'Papa' by accident," Oklahoma admits, looking away and rubbing her arm.
New York scoffs before turning to look at Russia with a smirk.
"Jersey's going to love this," New York says before walking out and calling over his shoulder, "also, Dad's pulling up. He'll help."
~
Russia knocks on the door. The upcoming meeting would be the next day and America offered to house him, though warned him that the states are staying for the holidays. He tugs the extra luggage in behind him with a wide smile.
"Hi, Papa!"
"Dad! Papa's here!"
Russia blushes.
'I don't think I will get used to that.'
"Hi!" America exclaims, poking his head out from the kitchen.
Russia grins.
"Join me once you get your luggage up to your room. I'm sure the states would love to help," America calls before disappearing back behind the doorway.
Russia smiles and the states insist on helping bring the stuff upstairs. Russia scoops up a happily squealing Alaska and follows them up to make sure nothing got lost in the hallway and smiles.
Russia manages to get everything into his room with the states none the wiser of the gifts he'd brought with him. He smiles and walks back downstairs, Alaska in his arms. He walks into the kitchen to see America and Georgia coaching some of the younger states with cutting out sugar cookies and Louisiana mans the stove.
Alaska squirms out of his grip to go help and Russia walks up behind America, wrapping his arms around America's waist.
"Hello," Russia says.
America laughs and turns around, pecking him.
"Hey babe," America says, "Wanna help with the sugar cookies?"
Russia gives a shrug and sits down on the bench with the states, helping cut little snowflakes from the dough. The night is exciting, and the states bounce around the living room and play Christmas music loudly from the TV speakers. Russia smiles.
'What a place to be.'
He'd also be lying if he had said he didn't love the pajamas that he'd gotten.
"Christmas Eve tradition," America had said.
Russia wasn't about to argue with him. After the states are sent upstairs, Russia and America gather gifts and set them up under the tree. Though he could've sworn that he saw a few of them with his name on them clearly not written or wrapped by America, but he decides against asking any questions.
The next morning comes quickly and Russia finds his lap full of boxes and wrapping paper.
Opening the first one, he finds a jacket reading "Papa Bear" across a patch on the front. He decides it's his new favorite jacket.
~
Russia decides he really should've been more careful with his wardrobe choice when visiting his family. He had worn the jacket, forgetting what it actually said, and his siblings didn't wait to pounce on him for it.
"Papa Bear?! I-" Kasakstan exclaims, laughing into his hands.
"I think you stole my name," Soviet teases.
Ukraine just laughs and points. Russia tries his best to hide his reddening face.
"Well, who are you looking after? Do I have a niece or nephew?" Belarus asks.
"More like 50," Russia mumbles, looking away.
His family stops talking and he turns to see them staring at him with jaws dropped.
"What?" Russia asks innocently.
"50 children aND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME?!" Soviet exclaims.
~
"Is this really how we want to introduce our engagement? At the world meeting?" Russia asks, throwing on the, now, well-worn jacket.
"Yes! It would also let us introduce the states too. I know some of them have been dying to meet the countries."
"We'll have to watch Massachusetts."
"Yeah. But the rest of them will just be coming along for the show," America says, hands on his hips.
Russia sighs and shakes his head, but decides not to argue.
"Besides, Cali's already gotten all of the kids to play along," America says, pulling on a sweatshirt with "Mama Bear" written in black text across the front, "no backing out now. Does your family know?"
"No, they don't know the whole story. Though I believe my father has already put it together."
"Yeah, the commie's known about the states since West talked to him during the Cold War. That kid is gonna give me a heart attack one day, I swear."
Russia hums in understanding and helps put a hairband in Alaska's hair, the fuzzy bear ears standing up adorably. Russia smiles.
'The kids agreed, and it will make America happy. I can deal with it.'
They arrive just as the meeting is starting and walk in with the kids trailing behind them. Russia notes that New York really doesn't seem too pleased with his arrangement, but most of the other kids are trading smiles and shushing the giggling of the siblings around them.
America takes Russia's hand with a smile.
"You ready?" America asks.
Russia nods.
"Make sure you guys stay out of sight until we open the door again, okay?" America asks over his shoulder.
The states nod in agreement and stand against the walls to avoid being seen when the door is opened.
America nods and pushes open the door. The nations who had been talking in the room all go quiet and stare at America.
"America, is this a bloody joke?" UK asks, despite England's protests.
America looks UK dead in the eye before lifting up their intertwined hands, a smirk on his face.
"What's with the bear thing?" France asks, sounding mildly curious.
"It's the message," America says with a smirk, reaching back for the doors, "Papa bear is my partner and you don't mess with Mama bear's cubs."
America shoves the doors open and the states come streaming in, laughing and cheering. UN stares on with absolute disbelief. Most of the other countries do the same. Canada and Australia just laugh. New Zealand looks dumbfounded.
"What? They wanted to meet you and Russ and I got together, so we figured we'd kill two birds with one stone and just do it all at once," America says loudly, drowning out the sea of little voices.
"HAH!" Texas laughs, "I'm not dead, fuckers!"
America lets go of Russia's hand and pulls Texas by the ear to the back of the room, scolding him the entire way. Russia just smiles.
'I love him.'
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Carry On Countdown - Day 8
Hello! Here’s my fic for the @carryon-countdown.
It’s longer than what I’d usually post on tumblr, but I haven’t really decided if I want to continue it or not and I don’t really have the time to decide since uni is kicking my butt this week.
It’s un-beta’d so sorry for any grammar mistakes or just general messiness of it
Prompt: Rain
Word count: 1669
Rating: Teens and up
Summary:
Baz drags Simon out to play football, despite the stormy clouds looming above them.
SIMON
Baz insists that I play football with him. He says it’s so that he doesn’t get out of practice, but I know it’s because he’s trying to assure I get enough exercise. Apparently, it’s good for depression.
I do usually feel a bit better after our games, so I haven’t said no yet. (Even though he beats me every time.) Plus, sometimes it’s easier to compete with him than it is to be soft and do all that romance stuff, so I think it actually helps us. A bit.
I mean, it’s still hard sometimes. Being touched. Being kissed. But football is almost like fighting and we all know fighting makes things easier for me. Besides, Baz looks beautiful on the pitch. And he’s brilliant at football. And when he gets sweaty, he wipes his face in his shirt and I’m usually left staring at the faint trace of muscles in his stomach. (This must be a vampire thing – I’ve never seen him do crunches.) (Maybe he does them in secret.)
I think he’s noticed me staring and he does more of that on purpose now. I’m not complaining. I’ve stopped complaining about our football matches too.
Well, except today. The sky is grey and heavy with clouds and this is England, so it’s definitely going to rain. Baz knows this, yet he’s still dragged me out to the football field. Honestly, when I see him in shorts and a tight, Under Amour turtleneck under his t-shirt, I nearly stop complaining.
Nearly.
“We’re going to get soaked,” I announce as we get out of the car. Somehow, the sky has gotten even darker on our way from my flat to the football field.
“You’re not made of sugar, are you?” Baz says, grabbing his football ball.
“I’m going to leave puddles in your car. You wouldn’t like that.”
“I’ll spell you dry. Or I’ll make you sit on a towel.”
Damn, it was worth a try.
“Look, we have the whole field for ourselves,” Baz says as we pass the squeaky metal door onto the football field. It really is completely empty – usually, there are multiple groups playing at once on one field and it drives Baz up the wall. He says half of the blokes who come here don’t even have a basic grasp of ball control.
“Yeah, because everyone else is reasonable and can see that it’s going to start pouring any minute now,” I huff.
“Listen, if it starts raining, we can always go back. Now come on, warm-up.”
He makes me do warm-ups too. Five laps around the pitch and then some quick stretches. The first time we went, I was near death by the third lap, which is ridiculous, considering I used to fight monsters. (I guess a year of lying on the sofa will do that to you.)
The first time we went, I nearly doubled over at the sight of Baz stretching his calves. That hasn’t changed. My ability to run has. I can now almost keep up with Baz’s human speed, although he does sometimes tap into his vampire powers just taunt me. (As if his long legs weren’t enough.)
Getting better at running makes me feel slightly better about myself. Like my life is moving forward – like I’m actually improving at something. (I’m not. I used to be faster, stronger – I’m merely getting some of myself back.) And it usually helps me sleep.
Once Baz deems us sufficiently warmed up, he passes me the ball.
“What do you say, Snow, do we play across the whole field?” he asks. Sometimes he’ll teach me some technique after warm-up, but today, we’re apparently going straight to the game.
“Okay, but you can’t use your vampire strength.”
“When have I ever used my vampire strength?” Baz feigns being offended. I roll my eyes.
“I could think of a few instances.”
“I can beat you even without the vampire strength, love,” he smiles. “Come on. You can start.”
Playing across the whole field is exhausting. I finally manage to steal the ball from Baz, but it feels like it takes me forever to sprint across the pitch and towards my goal. Baz tries to steal the ball back, but the tip of my tail is pressed against his chest, holding him at distance. Huh. This has never happened before. Usually, I tie my tail around my waist when we play, but that’s uncomfortable so I just untied it when I saw nobody was on the pitch.
Still, it’s helping me. If it wasn’t for my tail, Baz would’ve stolen the ball from me already.
“If I can’t use my vampire strength, you can’t use your dragon parts either,” he calls just as I send the ball flying towards the goal. The net shakes. Score!
“I’m going to let you have that one, just because I know I’ll still beat you,” Baz says, jogging to get the ball.
“I wouldn’t be so sure, darling!” I call after him, even though I am pretty sure he’s going to beat me. He always has.
The first raindrops fall just as we get back into the game.
“Do you want to keep going?” Baz asks as he dribbles the ball, effortlessly avoiding all my attempts of stealing it from him.
“Yes,” I say, trying once again to snatch the ball from him. It’s hard work, especially when I’m also trying to keep my tail in check.
Not even a minute later, it’s full on pouring. My shirt is clinging to me, cooling me down, and Baz’s hair is falling around his face in wet strands. He must be cold, but he keeps playing, confidently leading the ball towards his goal.
I chase behind him, trying to block him, or whatever it is that I should be doing, but the grass is wet and I don’t have posh wanker football shoes like he does, so I end up slipping, knocking both of us over in the process.
He ends up on his back, with me half on top of him.
“Ouch, Snow! This isn’t American football, you’re not supposed to tackle people, you know?” Baz immediately starts complaining.
“It was an accident!” I say, rolling off of him, so that I’m also on my back.
“Troll’s arse, it was. This deserves a penalty kick at least. Maybe two because you got my shirt all muddy,” he laments. I roll my eyes at his theatrics.
“Nobody’s stopping you from getting up and spelling your shirt clean,” I say.
“I am severely injured. I might die any second.”
“Oh, come off it, you’re a bloody vampire,” I laugh.
“So this is how it ends; a Chosen One straight to the chest.”
I’m beginning to get worried, but he lets his head fall in my direction and I see a teasing smile stretched across his face. The tosser is just messing with me. Of course he is.
“You’re a git, you know that?” I growl, grabbing him by his waist and pulling him closer to me. He barely has the time to react before I kiss him.
I’ve kissed Baz before, many times, but snogging on a football field in the middle of a downpour is new. He’s cold – too cold – and I pull him on top of me. Baz makes a sound of surprise against my lips at that and I think he might pull away, so I tangle my hands in his hair, holding him closer. I’ve never touched his hair when it’s wet before. It slips through my fingers with ease and clings to his face.
I think Baz has worked through his surprise now, because he catches my lower lip between his teeth and tugs at it, his hand travelling down my side and settling on my hip. My shirt is so wet there’s almost no friction to his movement and it feels amazing.
I try running my own hands up and down his back and it makes his breath hitch. Moments later, his lips are by my ear, kissing and nipping at my earlobe.
“Is this okay?” Baz whispers, his breath so close to my ear that I can hear him despite the rain. Usually, this is the point where I’d start feeling panicky and uncomfortable, but today is different, for some reason. Maybe it’s the thrill of it all – I mean, kissing in a rainstorm is proper hot. I nod feverishly and I can hear him smirk against my ear before he starts kissing down my neck.
I take the opportunity to slip my hands under his shirt because if I’m feeling confident today, I might as well use it. Baz loves it when I run my hands up and down his stomach, so I do just that. (I don’t do it often enough. Usually, I’m scared.)
His reaction makes me forget why I was ever scared to do so in the first place. He practically melts against me, a small gasp escaping his throat before he comes back up and starts kissing me with even more vigour. It’s so good, it’s so good, it’s so good.
Thunder rumbles in the background and Baz pulls away. I look at him with a puzzled expression.
“Come on, let’s go,” he says, scrambling to his feet.
“What?” I sit up, still trying to comprehend his sudden change of pace, anxiety rising up in my chest. Did I do something wrong?
“Thunder, Snow. We’re in an open field. It’s not safe.”
“Oh.”
He offers me his hand and I let him pull me up. Then he kisses me again, like he can’t resist himself. (He probably can’t.)
“Can we…” I fumble, trying to find my words. I expect Baz to jab at me, but he just waits while I compose my thoughts. (I should snog him more often if it makes him stop being a prick.) “Can we, uh… continue this at home?”
His lips curl into a smirk and he takes my hand.
“You know we can.”
#carry on countdown 2020#coc 2020#carry on#wayward son#any way the wind blows#simon snow#tyrannus basilton grimm pitch#baz pitch#snowbaz#snowbaz fic#snowbaz fanfiction#my writing
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Howdyyy! How about six countries of your choosing with an S/O who loves kissing their country boyfriend? Especially leaving them all covered in kiss marks from their red lipstick in sort of a claiming way? Please and thank you very much mam ^J^
Not gonna lie, I see that Russia emoticon, and you know he's one of them, especially because this is me. And I would be lying if this isn't something I find absolutely attractive. I'm even upping the ante and going "What if they managed to get the lipstick on their own lips when kissing S/O, and then leaving just as many marks on them as well.
I'm drooling anon. Why have you done this to me? /Playful joke
S/O leaves their country boyfriend in kiss marks!
(Russia, England, Japan, Greece, Denmark and Italy!)
Russia:
This is a scenerio that happens multiple times. It was a little game between them, which started out by accident. Naturally Ivan wanted to return the favor, not feeling embarrassed in the slightest. Part of him liked the idea that others knew exactly who belonged to him, and who he belonged too. He also enjoyed the thought of people's minds filling in the blanks, and seeing their own faces turning red at the possibilities. The thought no one else was allowed to be marked like this swallows him whole. So He kissed their lips, and then their forehead, laughing at how they matched.
That's when things got a little heated, and they took turns meeting their lips, and leaving smears and playfully bites across each other's face and neck. However, Russia was truly no match and was the one left love struck by a certain series of kisses to the nose and cheeks. The red lipstick making his blush twice as noticeable.
The next day he spent most of his time avoiding getting too close to people so they didn't notice the slight lipstick stains that never fully came off.
England:
His heart leap out of his throat as he was immediately attacked with kisses, just then walking through the door. He melted immediately, returning every kiss. He only stopped when he notices the bright red lipstick on his S/O's blushing pilgrims.
He furrowed his thick brow and wiped off the excess stains, giving his lover a rather dark laugh. Then the chase began. Two could play this game. Eventually he had them trapped to a chair, his own lips shaded in leftover red, peppering his S/O's cheek. And with every leftover mark, his S/O would sneak in another kiss, claiming his jaw line, then his cheeks, and his neck.
By the time they were done, England had run off to clean up, leaving his lover in a mushy mess in the chair. Little did he know he missed the one lipstick stain on his neck. Visible for the world to see. Though in truth, he didn't care. It was all fun and games, and he felt like he was on cloud nine. Least someone does point it out, his face will become the most brightest shades of red. Only then will the kiss mark be hidden.
Japan:
It's been a year or so since they became official, and he's finally gotten use to the attention his S/O gives him. That includes the onslaught of kisses he received as they played Mario Kart. They knew it distracted him, but seeing the kiss marks painting his jaw and cheek made it impossible not to kiss him. Kiku on the other hand, was getting less and less interested in Mario Kart, and more into a different kind of game.
He wasn't fully aware of the stains I'm his skin, or the feeling of his S/O lipstick coating his plush lips. He was feeling the mood, and didn't care enough to stop.
Red marks and smears decorated both of their faces, a small moment of heated passion played out, and try as he might, the red stains would not come off easily. His heart beat in his chest as he realized how evident his recent activities would become to anyone who got close enough. Going off to ask his S/O for help, they were not where he left them. The only note he had to their disappearance was the sound of the front door closing.
Taking one last look at his body in the mirror he decided to leave the one kiss mark on his chest alone. Wanting it to be a permanent reminder of how close they've gotten.
Greece:
He loved lazy days, and lazy kisses were even better! So when his S/O started leaving long drawn out pecks to his face, he was not one to complain. Completely unaware of his S/O's true intent. Marking him as theirs.
Now this was something that happened before, except the light pink stick they used showed up poorly against his flesh, but this time it would be different. It made it even easier seeing as he had fallen asleep. Leaving himself even more vulnerable.
Kisses to the cheeks, lips, ears, and the back of his hands all left small reminders of his lover's tenderness. He loved the affection, and by the time he woke up and they both walked back towards the city, he was already fully aware of the marks. He pretended to not notice, enjoying the small giggles coming from his partner. Even the confused looks of strangers couldn't shake him. He was completely wrapped around their finger, and he loved it.
Denmark:
The amount of laughter and giggling made it very hard for his S/O to keep a straight face, and cover him with lipstick kisses. It was only supposed to be one, but once he realized the mark on his cheek, he felt a warm glow take him over, and asked for more. The feeling became ticklish as his S/O's lips grew tacky from the quickly fading coat of red. Every time their lips stuck to his skin, it sent a tiny little shock to his face, making him giddy.
Oh but the best part was getting to show off these little rewards of his. He didn't care about anyone seeing them, and it felt amazing! Even if the other Nordics saw him, and called him weird, or said he was whipped, he did not care.
These are his marks, and everyone else is just jealous they didn't, and won't ever, get any! The best part is, when he gets back home, he plans on rubbing these marks all over his S/O's face, getting them back equal fold!
Italy:
Italy was very happy getting kisses from his S/O, even if they left stains. He thought it was adorable that they wanted to leave him with little 'I Love You' marks. And he counted ever single one. Eventually he had enough and caught their lips in a real kiss, the lipstick painting across their cheeks and mouth, maybe even on the tip of their nose.
By the time Italy had to leave for a job, the kiss marks had mostly been wiped off from the small make out session. Though on Italy, there was still one or two on his cheek. He found it odd that the girls in his hometown didn't try and flock to him, and it was rather nice. He didn't feel like he have to entertain anyone by flirting back. Them it dawned on him. Touching his cheek and looking down at his fingers, he spotted the faint red lipstick.
The smile that carved itself to his face never left that day, even when he was scolded by Germany about the importance of representing himself to the public like that could cause issues for him. Even Germany knew that Feli was more than In love with his S/O at that rate.
Ta-da! I hope you all don't mind that I gave Ivan a little more love than I was supposed to OJO ♥️ I did add in Greece and Italy since I feel like they get left out more than the others. Especially Greece. He's a cutie, and is an underrated Character! And Denmark. There's so many Characters who need more love!!!
#Hetalia russia#hetalia england#hetalia japan#hetalia greece#hetalia denmark#hetalia italy#hetalia#hws#aph#hetalia world stars
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OS - Papa Bear
Russia sits back on the couch in the living room, surrounded by chaos. He smiles.
America had a private meeting and the states are staying for the holidays and had asked Russia to watch them. Russia had, of course, agreed. He'd grown close to the states, after all, and would do anything for Ame.
He hears the start of an argument in the dining room and stands up to separate it.
"Oklahoma! Give it back!" Arizona shrieks.
"NO!"
"My teddy bear!" Alaska cries.
Russia walks in and sees Oklahoma standing on the table with a small bear in hand. Arizona is screaming at her, standing on a nearby stool with her hair smoking. Alaska is trying to climb on the table, crying.
"Well, maybe Alaska shouldn't have drawn in my book!" Oklahoma shouts.
"Enough!" Russia shouts.
The three freeze and Alaska sniffles before running forward.
"She stole Miska!" Alaska cries, pointing at Oklahoma.
"Get off the table," Russia demands.
Oklahoma scrambles down and quickly hands the stuffed toy back to Alaska, who hugs it to her chest and scampers off. Russia gives Arizona and Oklahoma steely looks.
"Why were you screaming?" Russia asks.
"Oklahoma wasn't listening," Arizona says with crossed arms.
"I only took it because Alaska drew in my sketchbook that dad got for me and ruined it!" Oklahoma cries, tears in her eyes.
"Calm down," Russia soothes, "I'm sure you can fix it or ask your father for a new one. I will talk to Alaska."
"Sorry, Papa," Oklahoma mutters before her head whips up, fear in her eyes, and her face turns pink. She lowers her gaze.
Russia stares at where she had been, her words repeating in his mind.
'"Sorry, Papa."'
'"Papa"'
Russia feels his face burn and he covers it with his hands. His mind blue screens.
'Do they see me as a father figure??'
"...Russ?" Oklahoma asks experimentally,
"YORK!" Arizona shouts, "Oklahoma broke Russia!"
New York walks in and Russia's head snaps up, his head swimming with questions.
'Do they see me as a father?'
'Does America know?'
'How many of them do?'
"What the f*** just happened?"
"I may have called him 'Papa' by accident," Oklahoma admits, looking away and rubbing her arm.
New York scoffs before turning to look at Russia with a smirk.
"Jersey's going to love this," New York says before walking out and calling over his shoulder, "also, Dad's pulling up. He'll help."
~
Russia knocks on the door. The upcoming meeting would be the next day and America offered to house him, though warned him that the states are staying for the holidays. He tugs the extra luggage in behind him with a wide smile.
"Hi, Papa!"
"Dad! Papa's here!"
Russia blushes.
'I don't think I will get used to that.'
"Hi!" America exclaims, poking his head out from the kitchen.
Russia grins.
"Join me once you get your luggage up to your room. I'm sure the states would love to help," America calls before disappearing back behind the doorway.
Russia smiles and the states insist on helping bring the stuff upstairs. Russia scoops up a happily squealing Alaska and follows them up to make sure nothing got lost in the hallway and smiles.
Russia manages to get everything into his room with the states none the wiser of the gifts he'd brought with him. He smiles and walks back downstairs, Alaska in his arms. He walks into the kitchen to see America and Georgia coaching some of the younger states with cutting out sugar cookies and Louisiana mans the stove.
Alaska squirms out of his grip to go help and Russia walks up behind America, wrapping his arms around America's waist.
"Hello," Russia says.
America laughs and turns around, pecking him.
"Hey babe," America says, "Wanna help with the sugar cookies?"
Russia gives a shrug and sits down on the bench with the states, helping cut little snowflakes from the dough. The night is exciting, and the states bounce around the living room and play Christmas music loudly from the TV speakers. Russia smiles.
'What a place to be.'
He'd also be lying if he had said he didn't love the pajamas that he'd gotten.
"Christmas Eve tradition," America had said.
Russia wasn't about to argue with him. After the states are sent upstairs, Russia and America gather gifts and set them up under the tree. Though he could've sworn that he saw a few of them with his name on them clearly not written or wrapped by America, but he decides against asking any questions.
The next morning comes quickly and Russia finds his lap full of boxes and wrapping paper.
Opening the first one, he finds a jacket reading "Papa Bear" across a patch on the front. He decides it's his new favorite jacket.
~
Russia decides he really should've been more careful with his wardrobe choice when visiting his family. He had worn the jacket, forgetting what it actually said, and his siblings didn't wait to pounce on him for it.
"Papa Bear?! I-" Kasakstan exclaims, laughing into his hands.
"I think you stole my name," Soviet teases.
Ukraine just laughs and points. Russia tries his best to hide his reddening face.
"Well, who are you looking after? Do I have a niece or nephew?" Belarus asks.
"More like 50," Russia mumbles, looking away.
His family stops talking and he turns to see them staring at him with jaws dropped.
"What?" Russia asks innocently.
"50 children aND YOU DIDN'T TELL ME?!" Soviet exclaims.
~
"Is this really how we want to introduce our engagement? At the world meeting?" Russia asks, throwing on the, now, well-worn jacket.
"Yes! It would also let us introduce the states too. I know some of them have been dying to meet the countries."
"We'll have to watch Massachusetts."
"Yeah. But the rest of them will just be coming along for the show," America says, hands on his hips.
Russia sighs and shakes his head, but decides not to argue.
"Besides, Cali's already gotten all of the kids to play along," America says, pulling on a sweatshirt with "Mama Bear" written in black text across the front, "no backing out now. Does your family know?"
"No, they don't know the whole story. Though I believe my father has already put it together."
"Yeah, the commie's known about the states since West talked to him during the Cold War. That kid is gonna give me a heart attack one day, I swear."
Russia hums in understanding and helps put a hairband in Alaska's hair, the fuzzy bear ears standing up adorably. Russia smiles.
'The kids agreed, and it will make America happy. I can deal with it.'
They arrive just as the meeting is starting and walk in with the kids trailing behind them. Russia notes that New York really doesn't seem too pleased with his arrangement, but most of the other kids are trading smiles and shushing the giggling of the siblings around them.
America takes Russia's hand with a smile.
"You ready?" America asks.
Russia nods.
"Make sure you guys stay out of sight until we open the door again, okay?" America asks over his shoulder.
The states nod in agreement and stand against the walls to avoid being seen when the door is opened.
America nods and pushes open the door. The nations who had been talking in the room all go quiet and stare at America.
"America, is this a bloody joke?" UK asks, despite England's protests.
America looks UK dead in the eye before lifting up their intertwined hands, a smirk on his face.
"What's with the bear thing?" France asks, sounding mildly curious.
"It's the message," America says with a smirk, reaching back for the doors, "Papa bear is my partner and you don't mess with Mama bear's cubs."
America shoves the doors open and the states come streaming in, laughing and cheering. UN stares on with absolute disbelief. Most of the other countries do the same. Canada and Australia just laugh. New Zealand looks dumbfounded.
"What? They wanted to meet you and Russ and I got together, so we figured we'd kill two birds with one stone and just do it all at once," America says loudly, drowning out the sea of little voices.
"HAH!" Texas laughs, "I'm not dead, fuckers!"
America lets go of Russia's hand and pulls Texas by the ear to the back of the room, scolding him the entire way. Russia just smiles.
'I love him.'
~
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