#in conclusion: missed opportunity dear author | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

goingmorry · 3 years

Note

Hello! Can you write monster trio reaction to someone flirting with their crush? Please ☀💛

[One Piece Headcanons] Monster Trio -> when someone flirts with their crush

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji Tags: female reader, jealous boys Author's Note: Thank you for the request! I love me some jealous boys. There's something about it that just hits right with me. 💖

MONKEY D. LUFFY

One clueless boi.

Figures out that he has a crush on you when he explains how he feels about you to Usopp.

Doesn't quite know how to express his feelings for you in a way that you'll understand.

Interrupts the other person from flirting with you.

"Hey, I found you!"

Barging in from god knows where, Luffy interrupts the man's playful antics by sandwiching himself in the tight space between you and the stranger.

Caught off-guard, the flirtatious man begins to shove the pirate captain away from his face, resulting in Luffy's muscular torso squeezing against your much softer one. The feel of his solid body against yours is enough to cause you to blush, prompting you to create some distance by pushing him away to the side.

"Listen, pal—" the man begins, about to give the straw hat pirate a piece of his mind for violating your personal space, but not before getting rudely interrupted again.

"Who's this guy?"

"An acquaintance," you pipe up instantly in response to your captain's inquiry, omitting the piece of information where this stranger spent the last twenty minutes hitting on you.

Apologizing for your captain's childish behavior, you give him a brief rundown of who precisely the straw hat-wearing pirate is.

"I'll call him porcupine from now on," Luffy says, pleased with the nickname given to the man sitting across from you, "Since he has spiky brown hair that reminds me of a porcupine!"

"I appreciate you taking the time to ask me out," you address the stranger, grabbing hold of Luffy's stretchy arm in the process, "But I don't think this is gonna work."

Pleased with the way events were unfolding, Luffy flashes you a toothy grin to which you cock an eyebrow in response.

"You did that on purpose, didn't you?"

"I-I don't know what you mean," he says, puckering his lips to the side. A telltale sign of an obvious lie.

You can't help but feel ridiculous for having a crush on the most insufferable pirate captain in all of existence, hoping that he, too, feels the same way as you do.

RORONOA ZORO

Only recently comes to terms with his feelings for you.

Hasn't figured out how he'll confess.

After all, romantic love is uncharted territory for him.

Won't really do anything unless he feels that you're in danger.

Pretends to be preoccupied with something else; ends up eavesdropping on your conversation with the flirtatious individual.

Inwardly though, he's more bothered than he lets on.

"Hey, I was wondering if you'd like to grab a coffee with me? I'd love to show you around town," the man says to you earnestly.

The sound of steel clashing against metal echoes loudly enough to startle people, their heads swiveling toward the origin of the noise.

In the corner of the room, the one-eyed swordsman sits upright, body tense in concentration while meticulously polishing Wado Ichimonji, one of his three signature blades.

Zoro ignores the curious looks thrown his way, focused instead on your interaction with the man in front of you.

The stranger's proposal was genuine enough. Objectively, he was undoubtedly an attractive man. Friendly and polite too from your conversations with him throughout the night.

He just... wasn't your type.

You were more interested in rougher-looking men. Someone who was strong but would never abuse their strength to harm the weak. Someone who was stoic but also had a heart of gold. Someone like—

Zoro glances in your direction, seeing the hesitation on your face in accepting the man's offer.

"Sorry, I don't think I can make it. I promised to do something with a friend," you explain, settling with a half-assed excuse for fear of confrontation.

It wasn't exactly a lie, not really. You did have plans to retrieve some supplies with a certain green-haired swordsman, though they weren't until much later in the day. But this man didn't need to know that.

Zoro wouldn't mind if you used him as an excuse.

The Pirate Hunter's shoulders relax considerably at your statement, switching his attention from you back to his current task.

Face expressing his disappointment at your rejection, the man's posture visibly deflates. "Maybe the next day then?" he adds as an afterthought.

Biting your lip guiltily, you shake your head, stray hair falling across your forehead. "Sorry, I can't. Our crew is leaving tomorrow night."

"Damn," the man says, scratching the back of his head in awkwardness before adopting a fake smile — one you choose to let slide. "I'm gonna miss you. After all, it's not every day that I get to meet such a fine young lady with the guts to traverse the terrors of the Grand Line. You take care of yourself, all right?"

"You flatter me," you giggle, cheeks tinged pink at the man's sincere compliment, "And likewise."

At the sound of your unrestrained laughter, Zoro pauses, deeply craving for the moment that he, too, becomes the recipient of your happiness.

SANJI

The person who flirts with you, his precious lady, better prepare for some ass-whooping.

Technically, Sanji can't call you his — not yet — though he has been thinking of the perfect way to confess to you.

Still, even though you're not officially together, he'll never not be feral when you're involved.

Deliberating for a few seconds before gesturing toward you, the stranger places his order with the barkeep and says, "And anything the pretty lady desires."

Pointer finger circling the rim of your shot glass in consideration, you smile at the stranger in gratitude. "In that case, I'll take another round then."

Exchanging a round of pleasantries and small talk, you and the stranger become reasonably familiar with one another.

Familiar enough to know that this man would rather whisk you away to a more private setting than converse with you under the public's watchful eye.

"I know of a better way we can spend the night together," he murmurs suggestively, low enough for you to hear despite the idle chatter in the background.

"Do you now?"

You weren't returning his flirtatious words, but you weren't exactly declining them either until you spot a tuft of blond hair in the corner of your vision, striding toward you with purpose.

When Sanji arrives, he's gushing praise and amorous advances, all for you. Ignored and uncomfortable with watching another man proclaim his underlying love and devotion to you, your newfound drinking buddy clears his throat to get your attention, earning a scornful glare from the cook.

"Who's this shitty and rude bastard?"

Unsurprising to you, Sanji doesn't even try to act civil. Your drinking buddy, however, is astonished by the cook's open hostility, holding up his hands in mock surrender.

Sanji doesn't buy the man's innocent charade, one eye squinting in distrust as he presses on, "I asked you a question."

Leaving out his invitation to you for more lewd nightly activities, your drinking buddy settles for a half-truth, "Just a guy she met at the bar."

Amused with the blond's jealous streak, you decide to cut in before things escalate beyond your control, "Any particular reason you're here, Sanji?"

At the sweet lull of your voice calling his name, the cook resumes his lovestruck behavior with a hint of seriousness when he whispers the sobering news to you, "Marines were recently spotted in town. We're leaving, my dear."

Seizing the opportunity, Sanji offers his hand, palm up, for you to take, and the significance of his action is not lost to you.

You recall his strict policy for only using his hands for cooking — how, as a child, Sanji found solace from abuse by preparing meals for his sickly mother, sparking his lifelong interest in the culinary arts.

Touched, you place your hand in his, a picture-perfect rendition of a prince charming whisking away his lovely bride-to-be. You tell him exactly that, and he graces you with an amused chuckle and a soft smile.

If only people knew the real reason you and him were fleeing the scene.

"Let me be your Mr. Prince then."

Your delicate hand dwarfs in comparison to his larger one, but that doesn't stop you from interlocking your fingers together like two intimate lovers.

Neither one of you says anything else, coming to the same silent conclusion that your growing feelings for each other would have to be addressed sometime soon.

#one piece #monkey d. luffy x reader #roronoa zoro x reader #sanji x reader #monster trio #one piece x reader #one piece headcanons #one piece imagines #one piece writing #mywriting

765 notes · View notes

readerinsertfanfiction · 3 years

Text

Love Deduction

Fandom: Ikemen Vampire

Character: Arthur Conan Doyle

Prompt: Arthur is smart, but also a giant dumbass, case #93478123238. Written for the birthday of a certain @tsubaki3192. WERE YOU EXPECTING A HIDEYOSHI FROM ME? HAH. Happy birthday, I’m not that predictable.

Warnings: Mentions of coffee, a lot of coffee. Some of his general insecurity and some mansion bullying.

Length: +1K

If Arthur were to be a superhero his superpower would be: deduction; the distillation of a conclusion, an answer, based on the facts presented and observations made. It was quite a handy little power, he would assume. The glance of an eye of interest, the press of a pair of lips seduced. If one opened their eyes and read a lot there was little the world had to hide, he found. All answers were presented one way or another if one just sees it. And so Arthur Conan Doyle found himself to be quite the hero at figuring out the lusts and wiles of a person, picking up those attacked by the enemy named boredom.

This was no story of a superhero, however. Arthur was far from a superhero, or even anything as interesting as a villain. No, Arthur found himself to be much more boring than that; a mere presence in the world with too many dreams and ideals and a fragile heart on top. He just happened to possess a good amount of logic and some wit, but nothing to make his deductions appear as a superpower, nor with the ability to make out what you were thinking. In fact, if Arthur Conan Doyle had to call himself anything, he would name himself a side-character. Which was perhaps why he related to Watson so well rather than Sherlock.

“Now, I predict that there will be cake tomorrow,” he had casually announced, a not-so subtle hint to what tomorrow was going to be. The house had been in a bustle, with everyone buzzing around to ensure that the preparations for such a special day were all set into place. It was not everyday that a mortal they had grown so attached to was to celebrate growing older. With the amount of personalities housed within the mansion it was also quite hard for any of them to keep their secrets their own and so Arthur found little reason in discretion.

“Cake, what cake?” Sebastian had repeated after him, playing the fool when all in the room knew that to be fruitless. The author left the butler to be, not missing the signs of fatigue lining the ever-busy man’s face, or that of anyone else, and he knew that his showed as well.

“Apple or caramel, perhaps both, Toshiko?” Dazai was ever so quick to distract you, making sure that he was within hearing distance of a certain scientist who scoffed and mocked the man scornfully for the apple caramel joke.

It did indeed distract you, but with the attention turned towards the wrong individuals rather than his who was looking for yours so intently.

“Just so you know, there won’t be a dog. Having one of you is more than enough,” Theo had followed up with a smirk, this time earning a huff and puff from your side as you tried to argue that you were not a ‘hondje’ as the Dutchman liked to call you. A dreadful nickname, Arthur could tell, knowing full well that it was in bad taste in several ways.

But still your eyes never turned to him, not even addressing him in the room. The author felt quite ignored by now, as he wondered if you were avoiding him or just not interested in him in the way you interested him.

So Arthur started to deduce, sipping his umpteenth cup of coffee that day as he tried to make eye contact with you, counting the times that you broke it off, or tried to break it off, or maintained it.

Unfortunately, all he counted were missed opportunities, for your eyes were occupied by anything but him.

“Cara, I found the pigments you were looking for,” Leonardo had said, sweeping in when you had a bit of a breather between your job and the other men vying for your attention.

“Do you prefer the white accent, or to mute it a bit more?” Comte questioned, busy in his own preparation for your birthday.

“Are you still working on that paper? I can help,” Isaac offered when he finally managed to declaw himself from the ever so cumbersome Dazai, followed by a quiet Jean and Mozart that tried to inquire to you about some other details about the various hobbies you maintained and the day to come.

“Do you want to come out with me?” Vincent asked you so sweetly at some point when you were finally done with work. And with the summer season fully blazing the sun was up longer as well, allowing for a beautiful sunset dyed in romantic colours that the artist loved to catch with you by his side.

All Arthur could conclude from that was the fact that he deduced plenty of missed chances whilst he was drinking away his cups of coffee and racking his brain for a pretty story to pen down for you. A time he spent observing without growing any the wiser about what he meant to you.

“Arthur?” You were suddenly in his face, eyes blinking and hand waving, earning a start from the author who realised that he had let himself be caught off guard. It was followed with a frown and your hands pulling the cup of coffee out of his hands before Arthur managed to press a ‘love’ out of his throat, his breath still caught and hitched while he watched you tug at him.

“Off to bed with you,” you had told him in slight annoyance and Arthur wondered if he had done something wrong, still trying to observe you, his deductions still whirring as he felt his mind fog up, the caffeine doing its job as his heart started to race when he was set in bed.

“I bet you haven’t slept a wink since you started preparing,” came your accusation and the author wondered how you had managed to figure out that he was working through the nights to work out one particular plothole in his story.

To this the man had an answer, his smile falling easy on his lips as he pulled you closer. “Are you offering yourself between my sheets?” he teases, earning a flush in your eyes as you peel yourself away from the man, “how bold of you,” he sings, but he allows you to move away nonetheless as another huff escapes you, adorably annoyed as much as you were flustered.

“Don’t mind this old chap, I’m fine once I figure out how I figure out the little confession scene.”

And there he shot away his own chance, handing out a golden opportunity as he let you go once more. For why would you want to spend more time with him if there were so many others whose love you could indulge upon? Arthur had long since made amends with the fact that you wouldn’t ever be his alone, not needing his deductions to know that he stood no chance.

“But I do,” you counter him, suddenly stubborn, or rather, you always had been. Stubborn in the most inopportune times as Arthur feels hope flare up while he watches you with his eyes, reading you, or trying to read you. It was a bad habit of his, he knew, but one he couldn’t stop as he continued to observe the way you moved, sitting down at his bedside as you pressed a hand onto his.

“I care, because I like you,” you bluntly state, earning a look of surprise from the man. Arthur wondered if you knew what your words meant, how they could be read, but you pressed on undaunted.

“Is it wrong of me to care?”

For once he had no answer for you, blue eyes wide as a flush of pink spread across his face. He knew what he looked like and Arthur cursed himself and his heart for actually blushing. Observation could be easily misunderstood, but logic told him that you were clueless as ever, whilst his heart was what betrayed him the most.

“My dear,” he forces a smile on his face instead as he muffles away his many thoughts and forces himself to deduce further, “how do you so easily solve all of my problems?”

And with that Arthur would have flown to the table, to write out the exact scene to solve his little problem in the logistics of a story, dismissing your flustered and surprised expression as something of overwhelm from his own passion and excitement if it wasn’t for that hand holding onto his rather firmly followed by the most surprising combination of words:

“You are an idiot.”

If Arthur was a superhero his highest stat would be intelligence, maxing out the bar of logic, to which the special ability of deduction came free. However, with that great strength there was a reasonable weakness. Arthur alway supposed that it was because he was the biggest ‘loser’, never meant to be a main character of sorts. But what he never deduced was that he might actually play the role of the clueless love interest instead, bad as he was in recognising or acknowledging your confession to him.

#ikevam arthur #ikevamp arthur #ikemen vampire arthur #ikemen vampire #ikevam #ikevamp #ikevam x reader #ikevamp x reader #ikemen vampire x reader

89 notes · View notes

utterlyhopeful-fics · 4 years

Text

Already Gone (SOA x Mayans Crossover)

A/N: Deep diving back into my roots. SOA will forever be near and dear to my angsty heart! This chapter primarily focuses on Y/N and Jax but following parts will include my Mayans. As always, feedback is GOLD!

SIDE NOTE: Huge shout out to @creativepromptsforwriting for motivating this story into fruition. Your blog is beyond inspirational!

If I keep tagging you and you’re not interested or you’d like to be tagged; please let me know!

MASTERLIST

Jax Teller x Reader (then we’re in Mayans territory :D )

Word Count: 2375k

Warnings: language, mention of biker gangs, slight female degradation, angst, sprinkles of heartbreak.

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

Daylight vanished drifting into another starless evening. Nightfall succumbed to a starless evening. Y/N wished to be anywhere else in the universe than where she currently found herself; the Sons clubhouse. In childish hopes, she stilled all movement adjusting her jacket nervously fidgeting with the hem. The door swung back under her touch; light reflected back harshly in the demurely lit bar. Smoke descended throughout the congested area; clouds of hazy fog engulfed her lungs. Here goes nothin.

The air wreaked of putrid obscenity and cheap tequila. First and foremost, Y/N met Chucky’s charismatic stare. She sent him an anxious grin impulsively pleading for uneasiness in her stomach to subdue. The one-handed man remained surrounded by countless liquor bottles engrossed in order after order shifting gears from her.

Every man and member leeched on to the closest thing in a short skirt, tits overflowing from too small blouses, and topped off in four-inch platforms. Any girl within proximity of the Sons all had a similar motto; barely-there skirts and perky tits. There was no doubt sex was the main attraction tonight.

And to this very day, she played nice with them so long as they abided by one rule in particular; Jax was untouchable. She was their queen bee. Glancing down at her outfit; she preferred a more comfortable approach. She paired tonight’s look with her favorite pair of worn out high-waisted jeans styled with a Ramones crop top finalized with suede black booties. Her body was a sacred temple and only those granted permission were able to worship her. She made sure of that. Loud conversations vibrated from table to table, voices lost in the chaos increasing with every passing decibel.

Y/n scanned the room peering for one particular member; Jax fucking Teller. In childhood, Mr. President and Y/N friendship blossomed as close friends before ultimately admitting their feelings five years ago. The wildest five years of her entire life. Her thoughts quickly darkened, if only someone would’ve warned her those three years ago. If only Y/N hadn’t welcomed him with welcoming, open arms. But sometimes life’s a bitch, and the hardest way is merely the only route.

Her clandestine orbs voraciously whipped back and forth jumping from person to person. In her search, Opie sat alone at a corner table secluding himself willing her his direction. The pitiful look in his eyes was enough to make her stomach flip. Long ago, she grew weary with the amount of messes that befell on Opie. Their relationship bordered along best friend status, always seeking the other out. Ranging from moments of clarity to cruelty, Opie Winston never once betrayed the trust instilled upon him.

She already knew what bullshit lay ahead; it was his shitty way of apologizing for Jax’s past, present, and future fuck-ups. In the back of her mind, Y/N convinced herself she was different to him, that she was his one. But nowadays, doubt replaced confidence as Y/N drifted farther out of reach/touch. Her feet clumped heavy against the wood suddenly weighing her down. Making her way through the crowd, Y/N plopped herself closest to Op.

Her palms dampened in sweat wishing the fall beneath her to open up swallowing her whole. “So, this was the big meeting Jax was in a rush to get to?”

His eyes bounced from side to side searching for any way out of the conversation; “Shit Y/N...”

Y/N collapsed next to the burly man nuzzling deeper into the warmth of his neck, quietly leaning in closer so he could hear her clearly; “I know it’s not your fault, Op. I just wish he respected me enough to be honest with me. I can’t keep living like this anymore, he’s breaking me… I’m sure going to miss you, big bear.”

Y/N waited patiently for the wheels to turn in his brain. “You’re a smart man. Connect the clues, buddy.”

“You—You’re leaving?”

Her heart plummeted into uncharted territory; her head bobbled too quickly, too excitedly almost as if she’d been rifling for a way out of this life, out of their lives. She glanced sadly at him, really appreciating his handsome appearance while trying to memorize the man who’d kept her insanely calm since middle school. There was no hiding the bemudding frown etching her lips. His lengthy, luscious hair and accompanying brawny beard was enough to make any woman swoon.

If only she’d chosen him to protect her heart but what ifs were a dangerous path to question. Add in his admirable qualities and he was the gleaming winner. The man Y/N should’ve pursued but she was a fool and fell for the Teller trick over and over again. Long ago, Opie came to the conclusion that Y/N would never leave his side, not even if the devil bribed her himself. Her departure was agitating, possibly selfish, but absolutely necessary. Jax breaks everything he touches…eventually.

“Some bitch is grinding against his junk and you expect me to be alright with it? Boy’s got another thing comin if he thinks I’ll always be waitin to greet him at the front door.”

Words jumbled on the tip of her palate; ‘I just wanted to talk to you first before shit goes down. I’m so thankful for you, always know that.”

Op stared down at his dirty boots unable to meet her dejected orbs.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. You deserve more than his half ass shit. Ya know, I was afraid Jax had sucked out all that rad awesomeness you possessed before you decided to get together. He’s my brother, don’t get me wrong. But, he’s kinda the biggest dick on the planet and not the good kind. I’m proud you found your backbone. Here I thought you’d softened up…”

“Haha, glad to see you think so highly of me still! Please take care of yourself.”

“I’m a phone call away if you need me. Any time, any day, I’ll be there.”

His arms draped around her exposed waist rubbing soothing circles on her lower back. Her chin rested atop of broad shoulder before she reluctantly pulled away from his embrace.

A few tables over Jax’s arms seductively draped his arm around the croweater’s exposed waist. Every few minutes the chick gyrated submissively against him cock arousal his member. Jax closed his eyes inhaling a puff of his cigarette thinking of the girl waiting at home for him. All he had to do was find the courage to get up and leave. But this was the life, his life and Y/N understood him better than anyone else. So, he accepted the Yaeger bomb from girl with the rose tattoo and smiled widely. Fuck ‘em. He leaned incredibly closer connecting his lips to her plump ones.

Her sultry tone echoed into his ear; “Mmm, you taste like sin…”

Jax chuckled in retort; Darling, you ain’t even taste the best part yet…”

Disgust and fury ran uncontrollable through her body radiating to an explosively dangerous level. She quietly whispered; “This fucking asshole…” as she compelled herself to clear the lump in her throat noisily.

Her annoyance was beginning to peak into seething eruption; “You’ve got some damn nerve, Jax. That I can give ya. Such a lady’s man.”

A shudder ran through his vertebrates forcing the hairs along his neck to stand painfully on the edge. Her words were impudently brash bouncing off her rosy plump lips.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn ya, doll.” His arched brow sprouted newfound madness as Y/N daydreamed of punching that shit grin off his idiotic face. But his eyes told another tale, his sapphire irises brimmed with tacit concern and uncertainty.

Her life with Jax was a never-ending roller coaster. Exhilaration awaited them at every corner until it didn’t. No matter how many wrongdoings Jax committed, Y/N dutifully stayed by his side never daring to question his authority. Gemma taught her of loyalty, of the importance of family eternally sticking together, and to never turn her back when the going gets rough because it was bound to cross a line if you survived long enough. The Sons checked their moral ambiguities when they patched in, sacrificing their soul for the benefit of the club.

So, Y/N’s skin thickened as time meandered on, and as Jax shacked up with Wendy, and again every time she watched some slut leave his dorm every night. Honestly, she should thank Jax for her turned her into the dominantly powerful woman she became that awakened Jax’s feelings. But now, now he was the reason her heart was breaking.

She cleared her throat attempting to draw his attention; “Wow, seems like you’ve got your hands full tonight. Didn’t realize I needed to make a reservation.” Her eyes penetrated his, he looked like a deer in blinding headlights at the recognizable voice in front of him.

The girl seating in Jax’s lap had the audacity to open her bright fuchsia painted lips; “He’s busy tonight. Shoo, buh-bye.” Motioning her hand in Y/N’s direction.

Y/N eyed the broad up judging her every spectacle of the way. She bit the corner of her lips in attempt to register what her mind couldn’t.

She clicked on tongue in vast disapproval at the idiot before her; “Listen here, bitch. I’m Y/N, his old lady and you’re going to get the fuck up and listen to the words leaving my mouth and find another lap to occupy, NOW.” She put on her fakest high pitched voice just to prove a point; “Got it? Good, now if you make me repeat myself, I’d love the opportunity to fuck up that plastic face of yours. Now, Shoo.”

The random girl gulped unwillingly to challenge the alpha female and meekly wagged her head in agreeance. Jax noticed the slight tremor as she removed herself from his grasp trudging in defeat. He sighed in extreme exasperation; “Congratulations, you’ve got my attention…now talk.”

“Ugh, I’m seriously starting to question what the hell I’ve been doing with an asshat like you for so long? Seriously Jax, what the shit?”

He remained irrationally irritated Y/N had chosen a party to air out their dirty laundry. She was undermining him in front of his brothers, nobody challenged him. This was yet another lesson he’d teach Y/N the difficult way.

“You’re makin a scene! Let’s talk this outside?” He seized her arm dragging Y/N behind him. Her heels dug into the surface fighting his weight with her own. Jax glanced back at her stubbornness on display and/snickered sinfully.

“No, I’m fine where I am.”

Jax invaded her space, his breath jostled against her peach fuzz. He hovered dangerously close to her, fury seeping from his freckled skin.

“Ah, the mighty heroine here to save herself. Classic, real good Y/N.”

Y/N huffed venting her building frustrations; “I can’t do this anymore, Jax.” Her voice wavered in confidence before erupted in sadness; I fucking won’t do this anymore.”

Jax Teller rolled his eyes before sighing annoyingly loud; “You always say this shit, Y/N. And you always keep comin back for more. This is a dance we memorized baby girl, our dance.”

Her fists ignited into internal rage; her breathing skyrocketed to unbridled anger. Typical biker to neglect the actual words leaving a woman’s mouth in this hell hole.

“So, I guess that makes me the fool and you the asshole, hmm? Yes, I might be a fucking glutton for punishment but at least I have a heart, some decency of a moral compass to abide by. But you, Jax? You would burn the world simply because you were bored. And right now, this is me telling you I quit. Go fuck one of your many other mindless wannabes. I bet they’re beggin for Jax Teller’s cock as we speak.”

His cockiness was beginning to push her past the point of no return as he growled his words from his venomous mouth; “I don’t doubt that darling. The question of the hour is if you’re really sure you wanna throw in the towel?”

Y/N’s head whipped around fast; her eyes blazed in pure hatred; “The biggest mistake you ever made was letting love come into your life. You fuck up everything you touch. Have a nice life, Teller.”

Heavy footsteps clonked against the wooden slats swiftly rushing towards the front doors of the clubhouse. She approached the entrance grazing her knuckles along the worn material. In the upper right-hand corner, the smallest of carvings adorned the walk away years later; their initials carved for the world to bear witness. Digging through her purse, Y/N located her car keys and stood on her tiptoes scratching at the etchings now nothing but mere wood indentions. Fuck happy endings. No wait, fuck this ending.

Finally, anger breached its imminent tipping point as his temper imploded. His arms gripped hers excruciatingly firm slamming her against the wall aligned of mugshots. A frame or two randomly dropped closer by. Jax was the Kurt Cobain to her Courtney Love; both destined and simultaneously cursed. Glass pierced the ground piece by piece. Her eyes fully dilated as fear crept into her smug demeanor. Her breath came out in short, timid, huffs as quaked in anxiousness.

“You’re my girl, Y/N. Don’t do this shit. You know I love you.”

Confliction cowered in her bones. His ragged and pathetic tone drew her in wrapping itself snugly around her. She knew that if she would have heard these words any other day, she would have declared it the best day of her life and would have started to call everyone to let them know that he finally said the words! But today was not that day and all she wanted to do right now was putting her hands over her ears and stop listening.

She spewed her virulent words once and for all; “You’re not the person I thought you were.”

Her body went rigid in his arms as sorrow clung to her like forgotten hope. She was losing him, sacrificing a piece of her heart for her own freedom. She loathed the man Jax evolved into but somewhere under his façade lived the gentle poet who stole her soul. Jax snickered obnoxiously before a murderous grin took ahold; “No. I’m just not the person you wanted me to be.”

Tags: @twistnet @ifoundmyhappythought @angelreyesgirl89 @carlaangel86 @summertimesadnesswithadashofsass @imagineredwood @gemini0410 @mayans-mc @reaperwalking @prospectfandom @emmaveale123 @peaky-marvel @kind-wolf @scorpio4dayzzz @starrynite7114 @penny4yourthot @breanime @whyisgmora @thegirlwhowritesfics @star017 @threeminutesoflife

210 notes · View notes

96thdayofrage · 3 years

Link

In the first five minutes of Raoul Peck’s docuseries, Exterminate All the Brutes, a subtitle appears on screen. “The Disturbing Confidence of Ignorance: 1836 Seminoles and Maroons.” A determined Seminole female chief (Casia Ankarsparre) appears on screen. Unblinking, she says, “This is the day we fight.” The next scene is a meeting between the chief and a male Maroon leader. In this scene we see a true story that the majority white gatekeepers who control Hollywood rarely include in their whitewashed stories about the history of what we now call “America” — Black and Brown living in integrated community, sharing resources, and resisting white supremacy. As they sit in a circle under a modest covering, the Maroon leader humbly offers to run in order to protect the community. The chief replies, “We’re family now. You stay.” The Maroon leader emphasizes that he doesn’t want to bring harm, to which the chief knowingly says, “They bring harm to our nation, not you.” The white man wants their land by any means necessary. They decide to fight together to protect one another and their land.

Exterminate All the Brutes is a documentary series that jumps time, brilliantly ripping off the facade of “the American Dream,” allowing the audience to face the reality that America was born as a colonial power and to this day operates as one. Peck wrote and narrates the docuseries, so he literally tells the thinly hidden truths of how America came to be. Exterminate All the Brutes holds no punches, defining white supremacy as a poisonous superiority complex that kills nations in order to thrive.

Peck is one of the most renowned storytellers of our time. After completing I Am Not Your Negro, he says that he felt called to make Exterminate All the Brutes, which deconstructs the origins of white supremacy. Now is the right time for this momentous series. Normally, the documentary filmmaker is “outside” of the film. Peck skillfully inserts himself into the story using home movie footage of his Haitian American immigrant family, grounding viewers in relatable reality as he guides us through over 400 years of imperialism and the impact of white dominance and fascism. We need that in order to bear witness to hard truths. Peck is familiar with dealing with dictators. His middle-class family was exiled during the reign of Haitian president/dictator Francois Duvalier and ended up living in Brooklyn when he was a child in the 1960s. Peck narrates, “We traveled a lot because of another dictator, but it doesn’t feel like an exile. I am with family. I am an immigrant from a ‘sh*thole country,’ like he said.”

ALSO READ‘The Falcon and the Winter Soldier,’ Season 1 Episode 3: “Power Broker” — RECAP

Three books are the foundation of this docuseries. Exterminate All the Brutes, by Sven Lindqvist, exposes the cruel impact of European imperialism on the African continent. An Indigenous People’s History of the United States, by Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz, details the Native American genocide. Silencing the Past, by Michel-Rolph Trouillot, is about how Haiti’s independence in 1804 changed the trajectory of the Western world. Peck unites this circle of intellectual healers to create the extraordinary HBO docuseries and credits these authors, who are also his dear friends, as co-creators of the film.

History is remembered by the victors. American history has been reinforced by Hollywood. The Civil War ended in 1865. Moving pictures were invented in 1893, and in 1915, The Birth of a Nation (a white supremacist propoganda film) was the first blockbuster film made in Hollywood. We have generations of Americans who believe in the big lie of Western expansion by Westerns that center one white man killing everyone with a gun.

Peck uses his superpowers as a filmmaker to tell the truths of history from the perspective of the colonized. The docuseries not only uses historical footage and newsreels but also Peck has created full narrative short stories within the documentary to add nuance, humanizing the history.

The white male lead of Exterminate All the Brutes is Josh Hartnett. The character Hartnett plays has no name, but I recognized him immediately. Josh Hartnett is deftly playing white superiority, a character every Black person in America has to endure a daily basis. I have to say, experiencing the way Peck wrote that character and how Hartnett deftly embodies that toxic energy was more frightening than any race-based horror film or series I’ve seen this year. Witnessing the impact of that white man dominating through time was a frightening truth we rarely see told openly. I’m just grateful that I’ve lived long enough to be able to see the truth of this country on screen.

The parts of the documentary that hit me hardest used animation to powerfully reflect the North Atlantic Slave Trade and the Trail of Tears. I will hold those images in my heart forever. Stories give us the opportunity to empathize. We can look past the superficial differences and see we are one people. White supremacy thrives on simplicity. Exterminate All the Brutes is a rich documentary that uses wise storytelling to clearly share the complexity of the system grounded in white dominance that we are all living under.

The documentary is broken up into four episodes, which are really short films.

Part 1: The Disturbing Confidence of Ignorance

Part 2: Who the F*** Is Columbus

Part 3: Killing at a Distance, or How I Thoroughly Enjoyed the Outing

Part 4: The Bright Colors of Fascism

When deciding to make this film, Peck was encouraged by his friend Sven Lindqvist, who said to him, “You already know enough. It’s not knowledge we lack. What is missing is the courage to understand what we know and to draw conclusions.” As I’ve been watching the Derek Chauvin trial for the murder of George Floyd, Exterminate All the Brutes was a form of catharsis for me. After viewing the entire series, I feel charged up and inspired to continue to do the daily work of dismantling white dominance as our ancestors need us all to do.

Don’t miss Exterminate All The Brutes, written, directed, produced, and narrated by Raoul Peck, now streaming on HBO/Max.

Episodes: https://www.hbo.com/exterminate-all-the-brutes/episodes

Additional films, books and resources:

https://www.hbo.com/exterminate-all-the-brutes/raoul-peck-essential-reading-films

19 notes · View notes

umbry-fic · 3 years

Text

Cobalt Memories

Summary: Colette, as Chosen, has never been allowed to play in the rain. Until now.

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Colette Brunel, Lloyd Irving, Frank Brunel, Noishe Relationships: Colette Brunel & Lloyd Irving, Colette Brunel & Frank Brunel Rating: G Word Count: 3372 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 25/06/2021

Notes: A fluffy gen fic involving the Noishe raincoat! Title from Harumaki Gohan's Cobalt Memories.

~~~

The first time Colette saw Lloyd, it was in the rain.

She was at home on that fateful day, as she always was on stormy days. Sitting by the window, listening to raindrops patter against it, she pressed her nose to the cold glass and watched the other children that were her age run around outside. She longed to join them, to know what it felt like to catch raindrops against her skin, to let water drip from her drenched fringe into her eyes, to laugh and dance despite the grey and dreary clouds and the cold that permeated even through the window, racking her with the occasional shiver.

But that was forbidden, for the Chosen wasn't to participate in such pointless merriment. "And what if you caught a cold?" was what the priests had used to dissuade her. "We cannot allow any harm to come to you, Chosen. Trust us, this is for your own good." And that marked the conclusion of that conversation. There was little point trying to resist, she knew, for it would all be futile in the end.

As for her father and grandmother, they were powerless to do anything, unable to defy the absolute authority of the Church. No one could stand up against the Church. Colette didn't want to consider whether or not her family wanted to help her, preferring to let that doubt sink into the back of her mind. Whenever they caught the pleading gaze she would turn on them once lightning began to split the sky in two, all they did was turn away, leaving her to drift towards her usual perch by the window. There she would watch with barely concealed envy, for that was all she was allowed to do. And so it was the case again today. She'd been here for the past ten minutes until her neck ached from craning it so much.

She supposed her mood very much matched the weather.

It was at that moment that a hulking dog with a strange green colouration that she'd never seen before burst out from the forest, causing all the children to scatter like leaves in the wind. They all stared at this new intruder with wide eyes, all chatter ceasing immediately. Following behind the dog was a boy with brown hair, struggling to keep up with his tiny stature and short legs. The dog and the boy began to run circles around each other in the mud, splattering it everywhere, the boy seemingly uncaring of the dog’s imposing size. Even as the dog's fur got more drenched, even as the boy's shorts got more dirtied with mud, rambunctious barks and laughter filled the air, the two looking like they were having the time of their lives. The other children were maintaining their distance, likely out of fear, but Colette only pressed closer to the window, splaying her fingers on it. It was at this moment more than any other that she prayed for the glass to magically disappear so that she could fall through, desiring to join the two and learn what it was like to be free.

She also really wanted to pet that dog!

The boy paused in his frantic motions, seemingly having caught sight of her, for he was staring right at her. How strange she must look, a girl in pure white robes undirtied by the rain, separated from all the rest of the children by a thick layer of glass. Almost like she was in an alternate world, one that couldn’t be touched by others. Most of the children understood that she was different, even if they didn't understand why. The boy must think her a weirdo too.

But instead of turning away and returning to his fun, the boy waved, a smile lighting up his face as he ran up to the window. He wasn't quite tall enough to reach it from the ground, so all he could do was jump up and down, his finger barely brushing the bottom of the window every time he reached the peak of his leap. Was he trying to put his hand on the window such that it was aligned with her palm on the other side? If so, he wasn't gaining enough height.

She moved her hand so that it was pressed flush against the windowsill, giggling as the boy outside laughed too. She knew they weren't actually touching and that it was unlikely for his warmth to be able to reach her through the glass, but she could still feel a phantom presence against her palm.

A particularly loud bark drew both of their attention. The dog ran up to the boy, tail wagging intensely. Up close, the dog appeared to be even fluffier than she’d thought, only intensifying her desire to bury her hands in its fur, maybe even her face. That would be heavenly. The dog barked again, inclining its head in the direction of the forest. The boy gave the dog a quick ruffle on the head before turning back to face her, a small frown on his face as he mouthed “I need to go”.

And in an instant, he and the dog had taken off and disappeared back into the forest. If not for the muddy footprints and pawprints littering the ground, and the tiny mark against the outside of her window, she might have thought she’d imagined the whole thing. But she hadn’t. All of it had happened.

She hadn't learned anything about the boy, of who he was - his name, his age, where he lived. She wasn’t sure she’d ever see him again. It was but an interaction with a stranger, a brief one that had ended and left her alone again. But what a kind stranger he was, actually bothering to come and cheer up a lonely girl he didn’t know. For he had left her with a smile on her face.

She would soon formally meet Lloyd at school, an insane event in-and-of-itself, whereafter he would become her first-ever friend, bringing with it the opportunity to meet Noishe and give him lots of pets. Genis would enter her life not much later, leaving her with two companions that expanded her world and brought so much joy with them. But she would always hold this memory dear, of a rainy day that was her true first meeting with Lloyd, where he’d shown her kindness that touched her heart. It was the kindness that he always extended to her, no matter what, for he was an inherently kind person.

It was the first rainy day she could recall where she had not been miserable, reminded of everything she couldn’t have, but rather smiling and laughing. The first of many.

~~~

Lloyd stopped playing in the rain once he learned she wasn't allowed to. He was adamantly against the restrictions placed on her, but learned rather quickly that all his protesting wouldn’t get anywhere. So he opted to stay indoors with her whenever it did rain, wanting to keep her company.

He claimed that getting drenched in the rain wasn’t all that fun and that he didn’t miss it, but she’d caught him looking out the window with a wistful expression more than once. She felt horrible for denying her friend something he clearly enjoyed, but he refused to budge whenever she told him that she’d be fine alone, even if just for a day. And, truth be told, his company helped immensely, for she could focus on his presence, instead of dwelling on what she was missing out on, her sky finally clear of storm clouds that blocked out the sun.

Most of the time, at least.

There were still moments when the longing hit her, when she looked at the raindrops running down the windowpane and desperately wished to be outside. Even Genis, the boy who seemed to hate admitting he was a child, had run around in the rain before. He had, of course, gotten the scolding of his life from Professor Raine once he’d gotten back in the schoolhouse, but watching the loving way Professor Raine had towelled Genis down, wringing water from his silver locks, filled Colette’s heart with stinging pain.

Today was yet another rainy day. Colette sat at the table, swinging her legs and waiting for a knock on the door. Lloyd had promised, earlier in the morning, to meet up with her in the afternoon, and he never broke his promises. Though the weather meant he was going to turn up at her doorstep with his hair falling into his eyes and his clothes dripping water - he never remembered to bring an umbrella with him when he left his home. They would likely need to wait a whole hour for him to dry out before they could do anything, but she didn’t mind. A quiet afternoon spent with Lloyd was just as enjoyable as one where they messed around.

Where was her father, though? Her grandmother wasn’t home right now, stuck at the Church because of the downpour, but her father wasn’t in the living room with a cup of coffee like he usually was at this time of day. Maybe he was working on that sewing project he’d been labouring over for the past week. She’d caught him bent over in his room in the dead of night, sewing needle held in hand, the room lit only by the flickering flame of a single candle. She doubted that her father knew that she’d peeked in on him from the doorway, for she was used to wandering around the house like a ghost on nights where she couldn’t sleep. She was an expert at making no noise, and hadn’t been caught once.

She didn’t know what her father was working on. He’d told her before that he’d learned how to sew from her mother, but he’d never put that skill to use. Not to her knowledge, anyway. Perhaps because it hurt too much, to do something that had once been a beloved hobby shared by two people who loved each other, but could no longer be together? In the same way that having fun with her friends stabbed at her heart, just a tiny bit, as she held the knowledge that it would all have to come to an end. Even then, she’d promised to herself that she would enjoy every bit she could grasp to its fullest.

She was curious as to what had reignited that passion, what was so important that he had to pull out the dusty sewing kit again, but she wasn’t going to ask. It wasn’t her place to pry.

Colette sighed, slumping over on the table. Lloyd was running a little late...

“Here.”

A familiar voice broke through the oppressing silence, Colette squeaking in alarm as something fuzzy and soft was thrown over her head, submerging her in darkness. She scrambled to get a grip on what she assumed was a blanket, pulling it off her head and holding it in her arms.

Now that she could see again, she spotted her father standing over her, arms crossed with a smile on his face. How had he snuck up on her?

“Father? What?” she sputtered in confusion. This was not expected behaviour. In fact, this was the furthest thing from expected behaviour. Her father had been nothing but kind and loving to her, but always with a sense of detachment, like he wasn’t really seeing her when he looked at her. She didn’t blame him for any of it, but it hurt, to realise the distance between them. “This is…”

She looked down and got a closer look, realising that what she was holding wasn’t a blanket. It looked like some sort of strange green top with long sleeves...? But it was far too long to be a top! If she put it on, it would reach the middle of her thighs! Turning it over revealed there was a tail poking out from the back, along with a hood attached. Stuck to the top of the hood were two beady blue eyes, a nose, and a familiar pair of ears with grooves that she couldn’t help but run her finger over.

It was absolutely adorable!

“It’s a raincoat. Something you wear to protect yourself from the rain. Your mother was making it for you before she… left. Why a raincoat, and why make it green, I’ll never know,” her father explained, placing a hand on her head. “Though I’ll never claim to understand Arielle,” her father muttered, looking away with a far-away expression.

“This was from Mother…?” she whispered in disbelief, rubbing at the material with her thumbs.

She didn’t have anything from her mother. The entire house seemed to be devoid of any of her mother’s belongings, perhaps because the reminder hurt her father too much. She couldn’t blame anyone for that, not really, even if she would have liked to have something, anything, to show her what her mother was like.

“I just put the finishing touches on it and added the accessories. After all, you love Noishe so much. I know I’m nowhere near as good as your mother, but… I thought you might like it.”

Colette could see that the majority of the seams were more masterfully done than the rest, the minority a little wobbly and less confident. One of the ears was crooked, and perhaps the eyes weren’t aligned on the same line.

It wasn’t perfectly made, nowhere near it, but she could feel the love poured into every inch from both of her parents, seeming to spill out of the fabric and into her heart.

“I… I do! Thank you so much, Father!” she exclaimed, hands shaking. She had never expected to receive a present that was from both her mother and her father. This was the best surprise ever! “C - can I put it on?”

“Stand up; I’ll help you,” her father offered. “Otherwise, knowing you, you’re probably going to get lost in the fabric.”

Colette did as her father told her to, standing up and raising her arms. Her father brought the raincoat down around her head, and she shimmied until her head popped out the top and her hands came out of the long sleeves. As she’d predicted, the raincoat covered her all the way down to her thighs.

She flipped the hood up, her hair spilling out of the opening, marvelling at how snugly it fit. And it was warm, too…

“I’m glad it fits. Now, why don’t you play out in the rain with Lloyd today?”

“But I thought I’m not allowed to!” Colette retorted, hardly able to believe her ears. Could this day get any better?

“You didn’t have a raincoat before,” her father replied, something of a mischievous shine to his eyes that Colette had never seen before. Whenever she looked at her father, he always seemed sad, his eyes dull. Grieving the woman he loved who’d died in childbirth, and having to take care of a child who was doomed to die anyway. Was this who he’d been before tragedy had struck, the man who her mother had fallen in love with? “If you’re protected from the rain, I don’t see why not.” He lowered his voice, leaning closer like he was about to whisper a secret into her ear, his lips lifting into a cheeky smile. “Besides, this can stay between us.”

Colette threw her arms around her father, thanking him profusely and trying her very best not to start sobbing. She didn’t want to wet her father’s shirt, and neither did she want to meet Lloyd with red eyes and a running nose. Her father patted her on the head between the Noishe ears, chuckling.

Knock. Knock.

“Oh! Lloyd! He’s here!” Colette perked up, racing over to the door and throwing it open. She couldn’t wait to tell him the good news!

Lloyd was standing on the porch, back facing her and dragging his feet across the wooden boards as he waited for her. Turning, he grinned, waving, his appearance fitting the one in her imagination exactly. “Hi, Col -”

That was when Lloyd choked, face flushing an incredible shade of red.

“Uh, Lloyd?” Colette asked hesitantly, pausing with one foot on the porch. She clasped her hands before her chest. “Is something… wrong?”

“No!” was what burst out of Lloyd’s mouth, five times louder than his previous, unfinished sentence, and loud enough to make her flinch back slightly. “Wait, sorry for yelling! Wait, I’m still yelling!” Lloyd groaned, shaking his head. “Nothing’s wrong. Nothing at all! Just... Um, nice new raincoat!”

“I love it!” she replied, spinning in a circle and giggling.

“Yeah, so do I. It’s… really cute… Is it supposed to be based on Noishe?”

“Yep! I’m glad you like it too!”

Lloyd laughed nervously, cheeks still containing a remnant of red. “Should we head in now?”

“Oh! Father permitted me to play in the rain! So can we do that instead?” Colette asked eagerly.

“Really?” Lloyd perked up too, eyes shining with excitement, nervousness forgotten instantly. “I’d love to do that with you!”

“But, uh…” Colette bowed her head, uncertain. “I’m not really sure what to do…”

“There’s no right way to do it! You just… Go! That’s what makes it fun!” Lloyd proclaimed, poking her right where the Noishe nose was and causing her to raise her head to meet his gaze again, eagerness and kindness there in equal measure that helped to melt away her doubts.

Lloyd took her hand, tugging her out of the shelter of the porch and into the ferocity of the storm - or rather, the gentleness of a drizzle, for the raindrops pelting against her bare hand were far gentler than she could have thought. It was almost ticklish, like when Lloyd’s fingers brushed her wrist.

She stumbled into a puddle, giggling at the splash of water and staring down at her reflection: her own happy face framed by her golden hair and the adorable Noishe face. She angled her face up, letting the raindrops fall against her skin and trickle down into her waiting tongue. They didn't particularly taste like anything, but they sure were cold!

She looked back at Lloyd to find him grinning, his already drenched self getting even more drenched with the rain falling on him, creating a halo above him.

He stretched out a hand to her and beckoned, a familiar smile on his face. The smile that was always able to make everything better, to chase away any amount of despair she might be trapped in.

“Come on!”

She laughed, feeling lighter than she had in months, and ran over to join him, ready to create another cherished memory - a first that she hoped would not be her last.

~~~

Frank sipped from his cup of coffee, watching from the window with a smile. Lloyd had started the chain of activities by jumping from puddle to puddle, Colette following behind and occasionally losing her balance, though Lloyd was always there to steady her. They were still going, having gone on to spin each other around in some crazy approximation of dancing, their laughter ringing through the air.

He watched as Colette tripped and fell into Lloyd, sending them both toppling into the mud like dominoes. Even with mud staining their faces and their clothes, they were both grinning, the smile on his daughter’s face more radiant than it had been in years.

There would be an incredible mess that he would have to clean up later, likely involving tubs of hot water, towels, and hours of scrubbing with the brush. Colette might even still catch a cold from being exposed to the elements. But Frank would keep his promise and hide the fact that this ever happened from the priests. Besides, an omission of information wasn’t a lie.

And the effort would all be worth it - the sleepless nights, all the times he'd pricked his finger on the needle because of how rusty he was - just to let his daughter have the experience of being a child, just to see her smiling and laughing with her best friend in the whole wide world.

#tales of symphonia #fanfiction #colette brunel #lloyd irving #frank brunel #noishe #one shot

1 note · View note

thecoleopterawithana · 4 years

Note

Your quote: "So perhaps, when in 1989 Paul asks “Did I ever take you in my arms, look you in the eye, tell you that I do” the part that he “never did” was the latter"( with John according to your perspective??)--I saw a video where Paul says he's talking about how the workaday life meant he sometimes took marriage and Linda for granted--like we all do our spouses at times--and that was why he wrote that song. Your take please? Respectfully inquiring--thanks!

Hello, anon dear. Thanks so much for your respectful request! Especially considering that every opportunity I get to talk about “This One” is a personal pleasure.

I believe the video you were referring to is this one (eheh), where correspondent Bernard Goldberg interviews Paul for the TV series 48 Hours. The episode follows part of The Paul McCartney World Tour, which marked not only his first major tour outing in ten years, but also the first time in his solo career that a substantial number of Beatles songs were included in the setlist.

Paul is asked about “This One” near the 8:30 mark of the first video and his answer continues in the second part.

youtube

Here is a transcription of the segment in question:

Q: Let me ask you about one of the new songs, “This One”. Is it about a marriage?

Paul: A relationship, yeah.

Q: And about, not expressing emotions and feelings?

[Paul performing “This One”]

Paul: You get those moments, sort of late at night or when you’re feeling good and you think, “Oh, you know, it’d be great to kind of— I hope I tell her I love her enough, and all that.” And then come the morning, when you’ve got to get off to the office and it’s [yawns] “Okay, goodbye, love you!”, and so on. And, you know, life’s like that. And there’s never kind of enough time to— If you like your parents for instance, to tell them, “God, just what you meant to me.”

[Paul performing “This One”]

Paul: You always think, “Well, I’m saving it up. I’ll tell ‘em one day.” And what happens with a lot of people is— Something like John, for instance, getting back to that subject. He died.

I was lucky. The last few wee— months that he was alive, we’d managed to get our relationship back on track. And we were talking and having real good conversations. Real nice and friendly. But George, actually, didn’t, I don’t think, get his relationship right. They were arguing right up to the end. Which I’m sure is a source of great sadness to him. And I’m sure, in the feeling of this song, that George was always planning to tell John he loved him. But time ran out. And that’s what the song is about. There never could be a better moment than this one, you know, now. Take this moment to say, [hesitates] “I love you.” [Laughs] It’s not quite the same.

Now, about your question. I take you were wondering why in the post you quoted me on I used an excerpt of this song to hypothesize about a facet of Paul and John’s relationship.

Allow me to begin by saying that, as the wonderful @amoralto pointed out in the aforementioned post, one should be cautious about what kind of information we’re extracting from an art form like songs. The sources of inspiration can be multiple, and the exact meaning of the piece elusive even to its author. So it’s probably best to be prudent about taking the lyrics too literally or extrapolating the entire song as to be about a single situation/person.

Nevertheless, there are still certain patterns and themes that keep emerging, and I am curious about examining those. And being songs one of the places where they more openly communicated and truly laid bare their feelings, I believe the tumble down the rabbit hole of speculation might be worth it, just to see what we may find there.

As Paul put it:

The idea is that what I’ll leave behind me will be music, and I may not be able to tell you everything I feel, but you’ll be able to feel it when you listen to my music. I won’t have the time or the articulation to be able to say it all, but if you enjoy composing you say it through the notes.

Of course, John also said:

When Paul and I write a song, we try and take hold of something we believe in – a truth. We can never communicate 100 per cent of what we feel, but if we can convey just a fraction, we have achieved something. We try to give people a feeling – they don’t have to understand the music if they can just feel the emotion. This is half the reason the fans don’t understand, but they experience what we are trying to tell them.

So maybe we can experience the emotion they infused the song with, but not always be able to understand the circumstances that gave rise to it in their own lives.

To find that last crucial piece of the puzzle, one has to truly contextualise the song. And that’s where all the other more tangible sources of information come in, such as quotes and timelines.

Of course, drawing conclusions from any kind of data is, in itself, an interpretation. And an inescapably personal one at that.

The only way to approximate objectivity is through critical thinking and emotional intelligence. Continuously question your own assumptions and those of others, and don’t be attached to any one answer. Be willing to change your views based on new information and be open to considering new perspectives. I find that input from others is invaluable in drawing my attention to an angle I’d previously missed. For if our personal experiences sometimes blind us to certain facets of the subject we’re examining, they also give us a more intimate understanding of other sides of it, as we’ve walked in those same shoes before and know precisely what it feels like.

What I essentially mean with this disclaimer is that this is my current interpretation of the information. And my answers are usually so slow and long (my apologies) because I try to provide the data so that you can draw your own conclusions.

That settled, here is how I interpret Paul’s explication of “This One”.

The interviewer begins by asking if the song is about a marriage and Paul sightly corrects him that it’s about a relationship.

Then Goldberg posits his theory regarding the theme: “not expressing emotions and feelings.” And Paul goes on to explain, in his usual inclusive and generalising fashion:

You get those moments, sort of late at night or when you’re feeling good and you think, “Oh, you know, it’d be great to kind of— I hope I tell her I love her enough, and all that.” And then come the morning, when you’ve got to get off to the office and it’s [yawns] “Okay, goodbye, love you!”, and so on.

He uses the second person to emphasize how the reporter must share his feelings — ‘you know what I mean, right?’ — thus making his experiences not only more relatable and perceivable, but it also slightly removes the focus from himself. You put it best when you said, “like we all do […] at times.”

He does start by giving the example of an apparently marital routine. And though it could have been chosen as something the interviewer would more quickly relate to, it may also be that he had difficulty “expressing emotions and feelings” in his marriage with Linda. He has spoken of such hurdles in his relationship with Nancy, which he expressed in his 2013 hidden track “Scared”.

Well, I’m just like anybody else, man! You know? You get those moments. I don’t normally write about them; but it’s a good thing to use. I was feeling it, as well. I was newly in love with Nancy, and I was finding it a little difficult to say, ‘I love you.’ Number one, I’m a guy, and that’s a big excuse, I know, but it is a bit true to form…

— Paul McCartney, interview with Miranda Sawyer for The Guardian (13 October 2013).

So I slightly disagree with your assessment that the song is about “how the workaday life meant he sometimes took marriage and Linda for granted”. I don’t think he took his relationship with Linda for granted as much as he was unable to openly express how much it meant to him. He got inundated by “those moments” of love and appreciation, but then kind of used the hustle and bustle of everyday life as an excuse not to dwell on the discomfort of having to confess them.

I think it’s perhaps more accurate to say that the matter of “expressing emotions and feelings”, particularly actually saying “I love you”, is something that Paul has struggled with all his life and pervaded most of his relationships.

He even goes on to give the example of his parents, and how he wished he’d tell them, “God, just what you meant to me.” Which is a similar phrasing to the one he uses in “Scared”, more than two decades later:

I’m scared to say I love you / Afraid to let you know / That the simplest of words won’t come out of my mouth / Though I’m dying to let them go / Trying to let you know […]I’m still too scared to tell you / Afraid to let you see / That the simplest of words won’t come out of my mouth / Though I’m dying to set them free / Trying to let you see, how much it means to me / How much you mean to me / How much you mean to me now

But the relationship in which this theme of not expressing emotions and feelings seems most stark, at least as Paul expressed it publicly and in his music, is in his relationship with John.

He puts it quite plainly in another quote about “Scared”:

Paul: You can actually say, “I love you,” to someone, but it’s quite hard. And so that’s why it’s usually easier when you’re a bit drunk. It’s like ‘Here Today’ [on 1982’s Tug of War], which was for John, and there is the line, (sings) “Du du du du du du du, I love you,” and it is a bit of a moment in the song. It would be a bit like Keith Richards saying to Mick, “I love you.” I mean he does, but I’m not sure he’s going to say it. I’m sure the Gallaghers love each other on some level, probably quite deeply, but that certainly isn’t going to get said soon. I think it’s quite an interesting subject and I felt it most recently with [wife] Nancy, I knew I loved her but to actually say, “I love you,” you know, it’s just not that easy.

— Paul McCartney, interview with Pat Gilbert for MOJO (November 2013).

Note that even here, in a quote about a song he wrote for Nancy, he harkens back to his experiences with having difficulty saying “I love you” to John.

Paul even mentions that it’s easier to do it “when you’re a bit drunk” — I want to tell her that I love her a lot / But I gotta get a bellyful of wine — which seems to be a reference to “the night we cried”. That night in Key West in 1964 was an “important emotional landmark”, not only because they exposed themselves emotionally by crying, but they also may have actually said the big ‘I Love You’.

One night, we got pretty drunk and argued and laughed, and it ended up us both crying, because it was, you know at the height of your drunkenness, when you’re all, “Hey man, I love you, man. No, I love you, man.” That was probably the only time we just got that kind of intimate with each other. It’s a male machismo embarrassment thing. I mean, you might say to a girl, “I love you”, but in my case, within the group, The Beatles, it would have been difficult, even though we all did love each other. You just all had to be guys to the full. We were all rough, tough cream puffs.

— Paul McCartney, interview with the Daily Mail (4 June 2016).

He attributes his difficulty to a “male machismo embarrassment thing”, and that he could say “I love you” to a girl but not to his mates. But in his 2013 interview for The Guardian, he also points to the fact that he is a guy to explain his difficulties verbally expressing his love Nancy.

But adding to the “stiff upper lip” imposed on northern lads, Paul himself is especially guarded about his feelings:

It’s funny because just in real life, I find that a challenge. I like to sort of, not give too much away. Like you said, I’m quite private. Why should people, know my innermost thoughts? That’s for me, they’re innermost. But in a song, that’s where you can do it. That’s the place to put them. You can start to reveal truths and feelings. You know, like in ‘Here Today’ where I’m saying to John “I love you”. I couldn’t have said that, really, to him. But you find, I think, that you can put these emotions and these deeper truths – and sometimes awkward truths; I was scared to say “I love you”. So that’s one of the things that I like about songs.

— Paul McCartney, on the challenge of giving too much of himself away when writing meaningful and truthful songs. Asked by Simon Pegg and interviewed by John Wilson for BBC 4’s Mastertapes (24 May 2016).

More than the pleasure associated with creating something out of nothing — “songwriting is like sex” — music also offers the utter relief of unburdening Paul of his feelings, which he finds great difficulty in exorcising in a more direct way:

Songwriting is like psychiatry; you sit down and dredge up something that’s inside, bring it out front. And I just had to be real and say, John, I love you. I think being able to say things like that in songs can keep you sane.

— Paul McCartney, interview with Robert Palmer for the New York Times (25 April 1982).

There was an inescapable need to come out, be real, and say to John, “I love you”; even if he has to “write it to the great record player in the sky”.

Because more than speaking of a fear of expressing emotions and feelings in Paul’s day to day life — like in “Scared” — “This One” is clearly about the regret of doing it too late:

[L]ife’s like that. And there’s never kind of enough time to— […] You always think, “Well, I’m saving it up. I’ll tell ‘em one day.” And what happens with a lot of people is— Something like John, for instance, getting back to that subject. He died. […] And I’m sure, in the feeling of this song, that George was always planning to tell John he loved him. But time ran out. And that’s what the song is about. There never could be a better moment than this one, you know, now. Take this moment to say, [hesitates] “I love you.” [Laughs] It’s not quite the same.

Even with his usual emotional distancing by projecting onto George and using “we” instead of “I”, Paul plainly explains the song is about cautioning people to take this moment to say “I love you”, at the risk of having time ran out on them as it happened with him and John.

And one can see how determined Paul is to get this message spread, as he often reiterates it when introducing “Here Today” in concerts — a song written in part out of his need to clearly say “I love you” to John — a frequent presence in his live performances for the last 20 year.

youtube

Paul McCartney’s One on One World Tour in Detroit, Michigan, at Little Caesars Arena on October 2, 2017.

Paul: One of the other things I say on our shows is that sometimes you want to say something really nice to someone, or pay them a compliment, or you feel a bit shy and a bit embarrassed, so you think, “Ah, I’ll say it tomorrow.” You put it off to another day. You know, you can put it off. And sometimes that’s too late; you’re too late. I wrote this next song after my dear friend John who passed away. Let’s hear it for John! And you know, when you’re kids, particularly — I mean, when we first started the Beatles we were in our early twenties, kind of thing — and you’re a bunch of guys, up in Liverpool at that time… There’s no way you’re gonna say to each other, “Hey, I love you, man.” It just didn’t happen, you know. You just didn’t say things. But you know, when [unintelligeable] we didn’t say it, so when John died, you know, I wanted to kind of say it somehow. So this next song is in the form of a conversation we didn’t get to have.

The fact that Paul has often connected the theme of not verbally expressing his feelings, and in particular of being too late to do it, to his relationship with John, is what led me use “This One”, in that post and in others, as an expression of that dynamic between them.

In the post you quoted me on in specific, I say that perhaps the part that they “never did” was outright “tell” each other “that I do [love you]”, given that they have embraced — “take you in my arms” — and made intense eye contact — “look you in the eye.”

The song is basically a love song – did I ever say I love you? And if I didn’t it’s because I was waiting for a better moment… ‘There could never be a better moment than this one…

— Paul McCartney, in “Club Sandwich 52, Summer 1989″.

Paul goes on to repeat this sentiment of emotional frankness in the rest of the verse: “Did I ever open up my heart / Let you look inside?” A phrase that, in my opinion, so aptly encapsulates the issues Paul brought to the relationship, that I use it as a title for Paul-centered posts in the Don’t Let Me Down | Trust Issues series.

But to be honest, the thing that really convinced me that song was about him and John, was a moment in this session:

youtube

After singing the lines “Did I ever touch you on the cheek / Say that you were mine, thank you for the smile”, Paul mimics one of John’s characteristic smiles, as the wonderful @vairemelde illustrated in this post.

With all that said, it appears that all there is to do is to appreciate this wonderful piece of music.

Did I ever take you in my arms, / Look you in the eye, tell you that I do, / Did I ever open up my heart / Let you look inside?

If I never did it, I was only waiting / For a better moment that didn’t come. / There never could be a better moment / Than this one, this one.

The swan is gliding above the ocean, / A god is riding upon his back, / How calm the water and bright the rainbow / Fade this one to black.

Did I ever touch you on the cheek / Say that you were mine, thank you for the smile, / Did I ever knock upon your door / And try to get inside?

If I never did it, I was only waiting / For a better moment that didn’t come. / There never could be a better moment / Than this one, this one.

The swan is gliding above the ocean, / A god is riding upon his back, / How calm the water and bright the rainbow / Fade this one to black.

What opportunities did we allow to flow by / Feeling like the time it wasn’t quite right? / What kind of magic might have worked if we had stayed calm, / Couldn’t I have given you a better life?

Did you ever take me in your arms / Look me in the eye tell me that you do? / Did I ever open up my heart, / Let you look inside?

If I never did it, I was only waiting / For a better moment that didn’t come. / There never could be a better moment / Than this one, this one.

The swan is gliding above the ocean, / A god is riding upon his back, / How calm the water and bright the rainbow / Fade this one to black.

Tangents

I’m Scared To Say I Love You

What About The Night We Cried

Did I Ever Take You In My Arms

The Surrealist

#asks me why #This One #For you were in my song #Did I Ever open up my heart and let you look inside?#look you in the eye #Scared #Here Today #her majesty #Songwriting is like psychiatry #'i love you'#what about the night we cried?#the person i actually picked as my partner #macca #johnny #Linda #Nancy #solo #meta #my stuff

82 notes · View notes

ofbloodandfaith · 3 years

Text

Tarot Card Ask Game

Part Three

Wands

(learning and experience, therefore ingenuity and intellectual application)

ACE - Do you have initiative?

2 - Tell me about an opportunity you missed out on ?

3 - Are you resourceful?

4 - Do you struggle with creating new ideas?

5 - What do you desire to learn about?

6 - Have you ever had a rival in school or at work?

7 - Do you respond well to challenges?

8 - Do you have second thoughts about things you have planned?

9 - Are you defensive about your interests?

10 - Tell me about a project you have finished lately

KNAVE - Tell me about a piece of gossip you have heard in the office/classroom lately?

KNIGHT - Have you had a recent job offer?

QUEEN - Have you ever been jealous of another's success?

KING - Tell me something you are ambiguous about?

Swords

(feelings and emotions that condition our behaviour, fears, regrets, and grievances)

ACE - Tell me about your latest achievement?

2 - Are you keeping any secrets for someone? If yes, how does keeping the secret make you feel?

3 - Are you grieving for someone? If yes, tell me about them?

4 - Are you able to analyze a situation before reacting?

5 - Have you ever been betrayed? Tell me how and why?

6 - Have you recently abandoned something previously dear to you?

7 - Have you ever been a victim of a shady deal?

8 - Has your family ever held you back from something?

9 - Have you stopped worrying about something recently that used to haunt you?

10 - Tell me about a drastic decision you made and its conclusion?

KNAVE - Tell me about a lie you told?

KNIGHT - What person or concept are you loyal to?

QUEEN - Would you carry out a revenge plot?

KING - Do you believe in legitimate authority?

#ask me questions #send me asks

2 notes · View notes

elven-oracle · 5 years

Text

under the rose: part 5|th

moodboard courtesy of @mcuspidey

SUMMARY: Would you do anything for the person you love?

Would you do anything for the person you lust?

PAIRING: Agent!Tom Holland x Agent!Reader

WORD COUNT: 2.2K

sub rosa: adjective and adverb. formal. happening or done in secret. directly translated from latin: “under the rose.”

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This will be the final chapter of Under the Rose! I’m so thrilled to have finished this story and that so many people enjoyed it. Thank you for your continuous support. If you want to find me, I’ll be writing my ongoing series “The Siren!”

Part 5: Bullet Straight Through My Brain

Everything was different when you returned to the evil lair. A certain special night would change your outlook on this mission for its remainder, but that wasn’t the only dissonance that rattled the metal walls. There was a certain way that the gang was looking at you that had you on edge. You ignored it for the time being, but each glare buried itself in your skin like a bullet.

While watching that afternoon’s football game, you sat sideways in your chair with your feet sitting in Tom’s lap, his arms loosely lounging atop your shins. Every so often he would run his rough hands over the smooth skin of your legs, and at one point he even removed your shoes to massage your feet. It was comforting, especially in the midst of men who seemed as if they wanted to harm you at any given second.

Boss was in his office, and he hadn’t shown any sign of coming out to join the others. When the cold stares got too much, you decided to busy yourself and hopefully get the tiniest amount of intel. For the past three weeks, you had been flirting with each of the men without any qualms, but as you approached the door to knock, you felt yourself turn back to Tom, wishing that you could apologize before being let in. His beautiful, deep brown eyes looked sad but knowing. He couldn’t blame you, the agency had told you to do whatever it took.

He was frowning when you entered into his space. You hadn’t seen the room before. There were no security cameras to hack into, and you hadn’t coughed up the bravery to try and enter before today. It was funny how fear of the other men had brought you face to face with the man that worried you the most.

“Can I help you, Miss Rose?”

You smiled, devilishly, tossing your faux hair behind you and sitting down on a chair across from his desk. He was typing furiously on his desktop computer, and you would give anything to lean over and take a look at what it was.

That would come later. For now, you needed to wear him out.

“I think you can, Mr. Bossman,” you still hated the way that the New Jersey accent sounded. You brought your voice to a higher pitch when you spoke with it, and if you were somebody else, you would have been annoyed with it.

He stopped typing, “How so, dear?” his chin was spotted with scruff, and he removed the sunglasses that shaded his eyes, revealing a set of baby blues that you had only just realized that this was your first time seeing.

Standing, you circled around the right side of the desk, sitting on it in front of him, “It was just...getting a little boring. Sports have never really been my thing.”

You leaned over, resting your elbow on your leg and your chin in your hand. Your low-cut shirt was revealing everything that you did and didn’t want the man to see. You were disgusted with yourself, but this had been the plan from the start. Men like Boss revealed the most when they were being seduced. Tom’s sad eyes were at the forefront of your mind, but you couldn’t stop now. This had been the plan from the start.

Boss smiled, pleased with the situation, and rolled his chair closer to his desk to where you were sitting, “I see.”

You had had plenty of meaningless kisses in your lifetime, especially when you were in high school. You had gone on numerous dates solely for the promise of a free meal. Boss’s lips on yours was the least meaningful interaction that you had ever encounter. His intention was full of sexual drive, while yours was just another part of the job. It was not Y/N who was cheating, it was Rose, and you needed to keep that distinction for your own sanity.

His hands were on your body, and you were separating yourself from the situation, viewing yourself as an outside source looking in. This wasn’t you, it was someone else. Eyes squeezed shut, too much fear to open them. You had gone from an exhilarating sexual experience to one that you knew you would want to forget as soon as it was over.

As he kissed your neck, as unwanted chills spilled down your spine, you took the opportunity to peak at the computer screen that thankfully hadn’t fallen asleep. You winced when you felt his teeth, knowing that his mark would be visible, but you squinted as he continued, attempting to see a name, a location, anything.

He was on your collarbone now, and you were memorizing an address that was labeled “Secondary Pickup Location.”

“What are you…” Boss had stopped, noticing your inactivity, but when your attention snapped back to him, it was too late. You had been caught focusing on the wrong thing. His eyes turned dark, the blue in them suddenly no longer charming, but terrifying. You were panicking now, ashamed of your stupidity. You could have waited. You could have done the deed and let him sleep. This was it. Mission blown. Cover destroyed.

Only your cover, though. Tom was still out there, unaware, and you weren’t going to let that change. He was smart, if Boss killed you in his office, he wouldn’t give himself up. He would wait until the day was done, and then report you killed in action. He may care about you, but you would do the same if you were him.

And you trusted him. You had to trust him.

It was almost mystical, the way everything had changed. You had never seen yourself trusting Tom Holland. It took being put in this life-or-death scenario to come to the conclusion that trust was essential to this mission. If none of this had happened, you might have already gotten yourselves killed a lot sooner.

Your mind wandered because it hadn’t accepted your fate.

“A nark. You’re a fucking nark,” he lunged for you, but you rolled out of his grip and took a swing to his jaw, making contact, feeling both the skin on his face and the skin on your knuckle break. You had a ring on, but that only did so much.

“Oh yeah. Definitely a fucking undercover cop. I should have known,” this time he was faster than you expected a man of his size to be, and he caught a clump of your wig in his fist. He had gone to yank your actual hair, but instead, this ripped both the wig and the pins keeping it in place off of your head, your natural hair color falling out of place and across your eyes.

“Bitch. You really thought you could fool us, huh?” he kicked his heel into your nose, the crack echoing in your head, blood spilling down the front of your mouth. Ouch.

“I had you fooled, bastard,” you tried to shake the dizziness away to stand, but this time he kicked your chest, knocking the wind out of you, and throwing you back another foot.

He gripped your real hair, pulling his face to you, “Is he in on it. Don’t you fucking lie to me, either, I’ll know if you’re lying.”

No, he really wouldn’t.

“He’s not! He’s not. He was a customer, he talked about his application for this job at the restaurant while we flirted. It was where we got the plan.”

“Who?”

“NYPD. I work for the SVU.”

Lies lies lies. He was eating up your lies like candy, thank goodness.

“Well then. Let’s see if he agrees.”

Picked up by your hair, again, the door was kicked open, a surprise flurry of heads jerking to the direction of the sound.

“Johnny, mate, it seems your little plaything has a problem.”

Tom’s eyes remained neutral, he looked to you, then to Boss, “She wasn’t coming onto you was she, sir? I promise she can be a bit of a flirt, but-”

“She’s a nark, Johnny.”

He feigned surprise, “What?”

“SVU cop. Sound familiar?”

“SV...what?”

“Special Victims Unit, trying to take us down. I thought you might be her partner but…” he tossed you down, forcing you to your hands and knees. You felt the impact of his foot on your stomach, but you had started to try and see all of the pain from the outside like you had when his hands had been begging for you. This was someone else’s pain, Rose’s pain, not your own.

“It looks like your the one who’s as dumb as a doornail. She had you hook, line, and sinker, Johnny Bruno. How’s that make you feel?”

“Pissed off, Boss.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Show this bitch who’s the doornail,” Tom stood and walked over to you, lifting you to your feet by your shirt, clutching your chin, inches away from having you in a chokehold, “We’ll be right back, boss.”

He threw you into Boss’s office for good measure, but when the door shut, you felt yourself running into his arms and melting into tears. You had been trained for situations like this, but now face to face with your worst nightmare, it was hard to recollect your training.

“Y/N, stop crying. Hey, Y/N, it’s okay,” there were strokes on your back, but they weren’t doing anything to stop the heaving sobs, the fear, your inevitable fate.

“Tom. I’m done. Stay in this. Take care of your next partner. Okay?”

“Y/N, we can get you out of this, I’m sure the agency has already sent backup-”

“This isn’t the police, Tom. They won’t compromise the mission to save my life. Don’t you remember everything we were briefed on?”

He cursed.

“Punch me, in the face. I can’t go back looking the same.”

“I’m not going to-”

“Yes, you are. Fucking punch me in the face, Tom.”

Impact, white, a sea of stars, and when you went to open your eyes, only one would open. He had caused it to swell shut, and while it wasn’t the most pleasant feeling, it was precisely what needed to happen, but it would menial compared to what was next.

“Tom, look at me,” you had stopped crying now, your training was starting to reinstate itself, and you did everything possible to clear your head. You took his face in your hands, wiping a short tear off his cheek, “it has to be you.”

“What?”

“You have to do it. It will keep your cover.”

“No!” he pulled you off him, looking insulted by your statement, “Y/N, we don’t kill our own.”

“Tom!” you wanted to yell, but his safety was too much at risk, so you stuck to a harsh whisper, “Please. Don’t let them take the most valuable thing I have from me. I don’t want it to be them. Insist on it being you. Please.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Yes, you can.”

With another hug and a kiss on the forehead, he cursed again, then shoved you back out for the rest of the boys to see, each of them looking pleased with his work. You took a few aching steps towards them, before buckling, letting your knees drop to the floor. There was no spot on you that didn’t hurt, but fortunately, that wouldn’t last too long.

“Execution style, nice choice, Narky,” Hardy approached you, then spat in your face, you wiped your eyes, disgusted, and spat right back at him, which only gained you a kick in the head.

Boss had his gun to your head as soon as you sat back up on your knees, “Ready for lights out?”

Silence. You waited. He had to. Goddamnit, he had to.

“Boss, let me.”

Finally.

“Bruno? Not going to lie, not what I expected. You ever kill someone before?”

He didn’t say anything as he pulled the gun from Boss’s hand, giving him a dark look, then refocusing it on you.

“I love you, Johnny.”

“Don’t say another word to me.”

“My lies were only for your own good.”

“I’m not a fan of games, Nark.”

He was speaking to you, in code. Your final conversation.

“I know you aren’t,” you spoke softly.

The gun was pressed into your temple now, Tom standing tall above you. Time was slowing, and all you saw was everything flashing ahead of you. The glass breaking in your childhood home. Then, going to the hospital for a detox you hadn’t known you needed, a result of the meth lingering in that same childhood home. There you were, arresting the Magic Man, signing your contract with the agency, being assigned to work with Tom Holland, something you had dreaded at the time. You saw your reflection in the mirror after trying on that red wig, Tom’s complaints about letting his hair fall naturally, the daily drives to the warehouse.

Your one and only night together, the fact that he wanted to see you again.

Did he want to, or were you just another woman for his repertoire? You would never know the answer no matter how much you craved it. The question that had been plaguing you since you started this mission. You had countlessly proved yourself to lay your life on the line for him. At this point, you would practically do anything for him. Now, you were even willing to die for him.

Was Tom Holland a good man?

Yes, I would die for you baby, but would you do the same?

UNDER THE ROSE

by SpideyPeach

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

M A S T E R L I S T

T A G L I S T

@plushparker @spideyboipete @starkstower @darlintom @bilkyrie @spideymood @saturn-aka-six @starlightfound @pvnk-bivch @gamoraisbi @xxtomxo @ophcelia @the-queen-procrastinator @trustfundparker @miraclesoflove @maybemona @aesthetic-png @galacticalstarcat @fame-works-quicker @honeymoonparker @loserhollandask @quillaluna @cheesecakebagels @misspepper07 @thelostverse @legendsofwholock @morbiddanvers @fangirl-trash-things @particularspider @applenter @the-lost-fairy-tale @mrskitchenboy @mintyoohoochapstick @newtimewriter @ohheyitsem @nixphomaniac @juuuless @emilymarie0422 @dreamyyholland @gioandreolli @kendrama-of-the-woodland-realm @littlebookbengal @pineapplwz @i-read-too-much-fanfiction @starksparker @stuckonspidey @lostinspidey @laureharrier @hollandroos @wazzupmrstark @tominhoodies @spider-babes @inthe-gardenofevil @softspideyboy @mcuparkers @hillsnholland @hawkinsholland @poetrypeter @screamholland @natalia-rushman @sillyscissorsnerdsoul @officialbig-mo @spidxrparkxr @athenastaar @iloveyou3000morgan @cravingmusic

#allie writes under the rose #tom holland #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fic #tom holland x reader #tom holland x yn #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #agent!tom holland #agent!reader #agent au #th #tom holland au #spy!tom

94 notes · View notes

nice-neck-by-the-way · 5 years

Note

Hiii i got a prompt: "you always look beautiful" I know it's bad but i just need some soft and fluff parrlyn

Author’s note: Back to the regular schedule of posting nice six stuff instead of how my country is being oppressed by the government instead of giving solutions to the problems we’ve been having for years

I just really want to say thank you to everyone who sent me a message or prompt, i really appreciate it :)

Anyways, here you go, more Parrlyn content, hope this met your expectations dear anon

As always, feedback is welcomed

“You Always Look Beautiful”

It was a Saturday night, which meant that it was date night for Cathy and Anne, they started that tradition since the fourth month of dating and haven’t stop ever since, even now five years later and married, they still carried that tradition, they just thought that it was important to have some time just to themselves where they could be able to catch up, considering that the both of them had very hectic lives.

After the show ended, they each decided to pursue their own passions, Catherine Parr of course became a writer, becoming really famous and well known in the literature community and then the whole world after publishing just her first book, now three books later she was always busy between writing and going to meetings.

To the surprise of the other queens, Anne decided to become a kindergarten teacher, surprisingly after Jane, Anne was the most obsessed with children, so after getting over the shock, the queens thought that it actually made sense. Although, the combination of little children, and Anne childish ways of acting always made Cathy scared to go visit her at work (she always imagined the place as chaotic), but she was pleasantly surprised after the first time she went to visit her, she realized that Anne was really calm and good with children overall, she remembered how in that moment the only thing she could think about was how Anne was going to be a great mother one day.

Fast forward a couple of years later, now married they decided that they were ready to expand the family, it was a long and hard discussion, considering their experience with motherhood in the past. They knew they had options at this period of time, and they were grateful for that. After spending a whole day in their room talking they finally reached a conclusion that Catherine was not ready to be pregnant, it was too scary due to the fact that the last time she had a child she died. Anne in the other hand, felt like she was ready to be pregnant again, never forgetting about her little Elizabeth of course, but she felt ready, more than anything she wanted to start a family with her wife, so after some tries, they finally got the good news that they were expecting their first child.

…

So now that takes us to Parr sitting on their bed reading, and Anne trying to find something to wear for their weekly date, which judging by the exasperating sounds that Anne was giving, it was not going great.

Anne had been looking at her reflection in the mirror for the past half hour, Cathy didn’t need to look up from her book to know exactly what the girl was thinking about, but she didn’t dare say a word, ever since Anne got pregnant, she has been having constant mood swings.

“Cathy”

Anne turned around to look at her wife on the bed, who was still reading her book

“Mmmm?”

Parr finally looked up just to see Anne looking at her with a pout on her lips, she had to admit that now that the girl was pregnant, she has turned into the softest person she knows, well actually that was just when they were together in private, for the rest of the world she was still the chaotic ‘I don’t care about anything’ Anne Boleyn

“Do you think I look ugly?”

Cathy blinked a couple of times, not because she was surprised that Anne was thinking that, lately it was normal for her to feel insecure, she blamed everything on the hormones, but Cathy couldn’t help but think that it was the most senseless thing she had ever heard

“What? Babe no”

But that answer wasn’t enough for the other girl

“You are lying” she crossed her arms and her lip quivered

Parr slowly closed her book and stood up from their bed to stand right in front of Anne

“Why would I be lying”

“I don’t know, but you are” Anne turned around and stomped her way back to the closet to keep trying to find something decent to wear for the night

Parr just took the opportunity to lay in bed once again and started reading from where she left off, sadly it didn’t last long

“Ugh this is all your fault” Anne said coming out of the walking closet while throwing yet another skirt to the pile of clothe that had formed through the transit of the half hour that Anne has been trying to get ready

Taking a deep breath and bracing herself for what was to come, Cathy closed her book again and looked up to her very annoyed wife

“What is it darling?”

Anne rolled her eyes, making more irritated sounds by the second

“Don’t ‘darling’ me, thanks to you none of my favorite clothes fit anymore”

“And how is that my fault?” Parr made sure to use a calmed tone, not wanting to make Anne cry for the sixth time that day

“Well for starters if you weren’t so charming, beautiful, intelligent and kind, I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you, and if that hadn’t happened I wouldn’t have asked you to marry me, and if that hadn’t happened, well I wouldn’t want to start a family with you so I wouldn’t be in this position in the first place”

Cathy couldn’t help but smile at her wife’s rant

“I think that’s the sweetest thing you have ever said to me”

“I’m being serious, I miss not being able to wear my favorite outfits”

“I know love, if you want we can go shopping first thing tomorrow, okay?”

“Doesn’t matter, I’m still going to look hideous”

“We both know that is not true”

“But i don’t feel comfortable in my clothes anymore”

“I don’t care about what you wear, I’ll always think that you are the most gorgeous woman in the world”

Anne let a sniff out, a tear slipping through her cheek

“You really think that?”

“Of course Annie”

“Even if I was wearing a trash bag?”

“Love, it really doesn’t matter what you wear, you always look beautiful to me”

“Okay” Anne pouted feeling tears coming to her eyes, it was the hormones and the fact that Catherine Parr was the best wife she could have ever ask for, she didn’t even want to deal with her pregnant self, but Cathy was always there for her, and she loved her more every day, if that was even possible.

She couldn’t wait to raise this child with her.

#six #six the musical #six the musical fanfic #parrlyn #anne boleyn #catherine parr #anne boleyn x catherine parr #parrleyn #fanfic #parrlyn fanfic

32 notes · View notes

seymoourr · 4 years

Text

Doppelganger

part one- TWIN SWAP

Female!Reader x Bill Denbrough

_________________________________________

Warning: au were IT doesn't exist, swearing, angst, implied parental abuse, age gap relationships?, angst, violence, mob! Au.

Author's note: so this will be my first fix, so hope whoever will read this enjoys and disclaimer this was inspired by a fantastic group chat.

_______________________

Everyone who was someone in the world of mobsters knew of Y/n's parents. The public revered them as King and queen they had a snake-like grip on the game and known for the brutality of their kills and almost public executions of those who betrayed them and opposed them. The snake's nest was the other name for y/n's mob because your parents had a code; like snakes, we will wait, we will attack. Entailing your parents didn't ever do anything outside of anything unless it was in self-defence or proving a point. Letting lesser mobs squabble for meaningless power while they lounged back sipping blood coloured wine from diamond-encrusted glasses.

She saw it all and was taught it all to seize control when the day comes that her parents died. While y/n had a twin sister, but she showed less potential than y/n did, so she was left to live as an average child who was left unaware of what her parents did to keep their wealth. Y/n didn't mind the treatment because she saw it as keeping her beloved twin safe and never loved her any less.

Spending her time studying other mobs and point out the 'Losers Club.' She found the name underwhelming name, but her parents drilled it in that this mob were dangerous and not to underestimate them. 'My dear girl think of them as newly-born snakes yes they may be small and look easy to put down, but my sweet girl one wrong move and they will kill you.' Nodding her head, y/n went to sleep fearing them even though she was at age twenty-two, the more y/n learn about them, the more fear filled her mind, and that was something y/n loathed feeling.

≈≈≈≈≈≈≈

Her sister went missing, and she felt lost being one of three people that y/n felt like she could genuinely confide in. She was her best friend fear turned into terror when y/n found out that her sister was with the Loser Club and with the brawl between going on between the two mobs her mind spiralled thinking of all the terrible things the Loser's Club might do to her.

From mild torture to maybe them forcing themselves upon her, there was no line to be drawn as her mind taunted her with all extremes of what could be happening to her. She wondered why she had not been taken instead of her lovely sunshine because no one would miss a star because they had a whole galaxy. She thought her sister was too innocent for what her mind taunted her with.

Thinking about y/n noticed her parents were not back from their trip to France and it had been a couple of months. Usually, they would tell the woman if they were stating longer.

≈≈≈≈

Fury clung to every fibre of y/n's being as news broke that her sister was staying with the Loser's Club willingly. Leading y/n to the conclusion that those two years she spent fearing what her twin could be suffering through were pointless. Y/n had also found out that her sister was staying and sleeping with the person responsible for their parent’s death.

It broke the mob to see their new leader this way — especially her boyfriend and first love and her somewhat friend Henry Bowers well he was no where near her friend but someone who was there so she could numb the loneliness that got worse when her boyfriend turned up dead at the doorstep a week after he decided to be a hero and try and take down the one and only Stanley Uris who for sad irony killed him with a bullet through the head and three weeks after that Henry's grave was filled.

After their death y/n had now where left to run from the loneliness so she decided to get angry and with that came an urge for revenge unlike anything of the sort y/n had felt before. It was also than that the woman decided get back at the loser’s for taking everything from her and she knew that victory was in her hands because she didn’t have anything to lose and she didn’t fear death because if she did die maybe y/n could see her parents and loved ones again.

≈≈≈≈

Eyeing the slash across her neck from a result of the first pretended y/n had pretended to be her sister. Stanley Uris had done it leaving her behind in an ally way to chock to death on her own blood and she would have if it wasn’t for a man teetering on the edge of homelessness. The woman rewarded his kindness by giving his daughter a place in her mob and given him enough money to last him and the entire family of his tenth descendant their whole life time. Feeling the bumps of scarred skin as a hand slowly travelled over wound.

Hearing the pattering of shoes; Y/n new it was her sister turning around to face her once beloved sister with a sickeningly sweet smile. "Long time no see dove, that is what Stan calls you right?" her sister did nothing which made the situation more amusing for y/n.

"Y/N I-I thought that S-stan, That he, Stan told me that he."

"Oh spit it out Avery you thought he killed me didn't you."

"oh, baby girl, I did not mean to scare you." Y/n smirked circling her sister laying a finger on her shoulder. Avery shivered at the feeling, feeling y/n push back a lock of hair it made the younger twin feel like she was a prey and that y/n was blood thirsty lion. Avery’s clothing needed improvement was a note that y/n made as she judged her sister’s outfit. Avery was dressed in white and silk the only item of clothing y/n would willingly wear from the outfit would be the white leather jacket, it was so clear to the woman that the loser’s had an innocence kink.

Avery watched her sister judge her. But she also took in her appearance her, she seemed darker not only in clothing but also in her aura and y/n even felt colder and her eyes showed that her eyes were so dark, cold and sparkling with a sinister mischief. It made Avery feel like she was staring at a stranger and not her twin. Some she was once so close that it caused her heart to clench; she felt incredibly guilty for associating with the people mainly responsible for the person standing in front of her now but like her sister, Avery knew that she has dug her grave.

"Bug you don't have to do this." Avery begged as a man and woman grabbed her arms, making her movements more frantic as she tried to remove their grip on her.

"do.. what exactly doll Richie calls you that right, nonetheless what do you think I am going to do for all you know I could be taking you forcefully to a five-star restaurant. Where we can chat and catch up on how for three whole years I went out of my mind thinking you kidnapped by these people only to find out that you were but then choose you, kidnappers, over your family our parents."

"they were monsters y/n." Avery yelled finally shaking off the grip the two mob members had on her and walked towards y/n. Looking at her twin now Avery never wanted this wedge between herself and y/n. It made her feel like you were miles away but Avery was in front of her desperately wanting to comfort y/n like she should have the minute Avery found out about the death of their parents, Chad and surprisingly Henry. Although by that time Stan had announced that y/n was dead and now she hated herself more for never bothering to at least find her twin’s grave or have a funeral for her.

"monsters, they cared for you, loved you and sheltered you all to keep you safe and out of harm's way, and this is how you repay them by siding and fucking their killers," the woman yelled back, eyes stinging with unshed tears.

Y/n froze when she was suddenly hugged only then realising that it had been a long time since she had felt the comforting warmth of a hug it was so tender and soft that it almost made y/n melt into her sister and seek comfort in her twin’s arms for every time that opportunity was taken from her.

"I'm so sorry Bug, for not being there but whatever you are planning to do please don't it yes you may have wit and cunning but the Loser's are smart and will find out and I don’t want you to actually die." she pleaded into the curve of y/n’s neck.

Sucking in a breath to rein in her feelings, y/n whispered. "I am not," The next thing your sister heard was a loud thud before everything went blurry then black. Pushing her into the arms of ferocity a female mob member and swapping clothes. Taking her phone and looking through the images as ferocity made y/n look more like her twin from lightning your hair to doing her make up.

Stopping her mindless scrolling when Avery’s phone started ringing staring at it for a moment than answering the phone call and all ready knowing who it is by the dubbing of the id caller ‘Stanny.’ Looking up at woman who was doing her hair and silently telling her to pause her movements.

"Not that I mind but what’s with the call?" y/n asked mimicking her sister’s voice

"Just wondering where you have been for a while did you forget that we are celebrating tonight." Stan voiced

"oh darn it must have slipped my mind and also what are we celebrating again god I am so sorry Stanny, for forgetting it was probably something important wasn’t it?” Y/n said pitifully

"dove don’t apologise, you have been through so you are allowed to forget." ‘oh Stan you have no idea’ she thought stared at Avery’s unmoving body before tuning back into the conversation. "We are celebrating the fall of your horrific family and their mob."

Swallowing back the anger choosing to clench her free hand so it made a fist . "I will be there soon. I am at the hair salons getting my hair darkened."

There was a pause, "why are you getting your hair darkened?"

"Well I only lightened hair because I couldn't stand looking like my psychotic sister, but since she is dead, I want to change my hair back to the original colour." she paused "is that not okay?"

Almost frantically Stan answered, "no, no it's fine really it is I was just wondering. Love you, my dove." the woman waited for the peep singling that the call ended, she stood to looked at herself in the full-length mirror.

"Hi, I'm Avery l/n." Y/n mimicked

An amused huff left lips that smirked as y/n walked away from the mirror and passing her mob and headed towards her sister's car.

#it imagines angst #richie tozier #bill denbrough angst #loser's club #adult losers #adult bill denbrough #adult richie #bill denbrough imagines #losers club imagines #doppelganger #it 2019 imagine #adult losers club

10 notes · View notes

ivyveil · 5 years

Text

Feeling Spirited

the one where it's a throwback to when Harry and Y/N were just friends and Y/N's drink helps her forget

A/N: A Continuation of LITP (masterlist here) TW: alcohol

The sky was dark. Had been for weeks now, the clouds clustering together to formulate something thicker than the water making up their essence. A fog was settling, clouding up your thoughts or ability to rationalize any of your actions. Acting with blind impulsiveness didn’t align with the rest of your usual characteristics; even your wildest nights generally took prior planning, but bottles had been a source of solace against the bitterness of confusion, the anxiety of life.

It hadn’t been an issue, not really, because you knew how to handle yourself when drunk, and knew the reaches of your limitations with alcohol. But trouble started brewing when your 5:30 pm started when everyone else began their 9:30 am. And when you thought you were only going for one more drink, but ended up with four glasses in your sink.

The drinks in the morning were simply to calm your nerves, settle the anxiety bubbling in your lungs. And the one at lunch was to offset the chance you would freak out in the middle of your presentation, and the second was because the restaurant offered you a free one.

Was only polite to accept.

It had spiraled into drinks at sporadic times throughout the day, never so many as to make you stumble while walking back to your desk, but certainly enough to only need one or two more when you went home, to slip over the edge. Even looking at a bottle seemed to get your mind in a safe place.

Nestled between the space of your wall and the bedroom bookcase, was a plastic bottle of Smirnoff, half-empty and pitifully groaning as it was tugged out. The books watched silently, probably feeling much superior because they were considered a more refined pastime.

The vodka didn’t seem to give a fuck.

You winced considerably when it popped out of its hiding spot, the familiar panic gripping your bones that you were a teenager again. Hiding alcohol from parents, keeping it in safe spots so any stranger’s eyes would only spot a pristine home, a girl who respected cleanliness and experienced minimal, if any, breakdowns.

The truth was always nestled somewhere deeper, whether it was beneath clothing in drawers, behind bookshelves, in the back of your bathroom cabinet, or underneath your bed. The truth usually tasted like shit, too.

That you were in your 20s and continuing the practice of secret drinking, of playing pretend to appease some authority that wouldn’t give a damn, now that your license said you were of age - it both amused and disgusted you. A restricted sense of adulthood, surely, a lack of freedom to openly be the drunken mess you felt inside. Perhaps it was acceptable to turn a blind eye to it in adolescence, but when you had become a regular at the liquor store, it felt more like a ruse.

Suppose it replaced your blood, you wondered, holding your arm up to the lamplight and inspecting the hint of veins against your skin. Suppose it congealed in the veins, a substrate for your demons to thrive on. Perhaps it could be better than the life of intangible anxiety that crept against each wall, became every shadow, lurked in everyone’s unsuspecting glance.

The nerves were rattling in your teeth, you could feel the invisible bugs of anxiety nipping at your chest and legs. If this was what it took to become calm, maybe it wasn’t so bad. Only a few drinks, more people probably did it than they would confess to.

“It was another shit work day,” you divulged to your cactus, padding back from the bedroom, to the living room, only to shlump against the couch. The cactus only watched, perhaps having come to the conclusion its advice would never be properly considered and it was only a waste of breath. Or photosynthesis. You weren’t sure on the particulars of horticultural language.

“I can’t scratch off how fuckin’ lonely everything feels,” you continued, mindlessly itching at your legs, not needing to be prompted by anything in particular.

Your apartment felt hollow, exasperated by the emptiness in both mind and soul. Curling up on the couch with some bottle had become a ritual, of sorts, yet you weren’t sure what good could come of it.

A shrine of glass and plastic bottles decorated the spaces above the kitchen cabinets, around the corner from where you were presently cuddled. Each one tallied a few night’s of shame, but cumulatively you supposed it was a nice Pinterest trick. Show the nonexistent guests how bougie you were, buying cheap whiskey and vodka. Make them think you had parties all the time, when they were only parties of one.

Your glass was ready, waiting patiently on the table, as you filled it to the brim with the nasty clear liquid.

“I think you’re my true love,” you cocked your head at the glass, taking it in for all its perks and limitations. Regardless, it was still there with you. All that mattered, to an extent.

You couldn’t really stand the shit, had to stick your tongue out like a fucking cat after each shot to bear the taste down your throat. But drinking wasn’t particularly for enjoyment, not these days. It was like a medicine to keep yourself calm; it felt like your whole life revolved around it, because to an extent, it did. But your sanity was on the brink of collapsing, and you were determined to do whatever you could to keep yourself calm.

It was at that moment, with your eyes squished shut and your tongue smacking against the roof of your mouth to distract from the sensation, that your phone buzzed. It was also on the table, next to the stack of marbled coasters and the multitude of TV remotes (why did services give you three remotes for one machine, you still didn’t understand).

I’ve missed you. Wanna come out tonight? x.

Harry and his mates, the group you loved and hated equally, would gather for beers at the Ale Tavern each Thursday evening, a letting-off-steam of sorts before the glorious Friday blessed their workload. Harry had met them through various means, photoshoots, interviews, or just networking events, and had hodge-podged the group together so you two would have a social setting to hang out when he was in town.

Which was, you reminded yourself, mostly because your friends list was lacking at the moment. Most of them, dear to your heart, had received promotions or were traveling around the world for the majority of their work, while you waited at home for nothing to happen. And for nothing to happen again. And maybe once more, for the heck of it.

Some of the group’s members, the ones teetering on the outskirts like leeches, looking for a better opportunity, often treated you like you were off, a bit. A screw loose in the mind, an instability in your essence.

When words came out of your mouth, their eyes would instinctively widen, as if your breath was mixed with unregulated insanity and electric nonsense, so you’d typically keep to yourself. Was the only way to survive the brutal bar nights, with small talk and curious glances at your best friend, who would spend the whole night dodging questions and smiling for photos.

Harry found your silence weird, every time, since you were often the life of the party within his other social groups. You felt his other pals were more genuine, allowing you to exist unapologetically. Plus, small talk was practically banned at those hang-outs, which was another reason you felt you got along well with them.

With your Ale Tavern group, though, Harry had the tendency to nudge you gently, when you were in the corner of the booth stirring a Long Island, and ask you what was wrong. Which would, in turn, increase your unwillingness to be engage with more people -- because why were you well-known for being strange, why couldn’t you simply be a dilution of yourself and pass as OK?

Another buzz, another text.

You poured another shot.

I’m proud of you btw, you’re doing really well. x. :)

Another buzz, another text.

You winced before knocking the shot back, your tongue shooting out on instinct after.

Speaking of, should I come over? If you don’t want to be around drinks…

Giggling to yourself at the unfortunate timing, you swayed a bit on your couch and repositioned your legs to tuck under your ass. One of the green blankets draped over the couch fell to the floor during your transition, and your eyes trained on that spot, waiting to see if it returned.

It didn’t. Gravity was a fucker, only headed one way.

Harry was sweet to care, truly, but if he saw you in this state you knew how it would go. The disappointment would swell in his eyes, he would gently try to pry the bottle out of your hands. Thinking about the situation, even as a possibility, made your fingers curl against the plastic a bit more stubbornly.

“It’s too late, I’m nothin to be proud of,” you informed your phone, frowning as you attempted to scroll up further in your texts with him. There was nothing, though, but it didn’t register until it buzzed once more, and your scrolling resulted in a new text appearing.

I’m just gonna come over. Is that okay? xx.

“Okie dokie,” you mumbled, poking each letter with your index finger until the message was spelled. You sent it.

The cactus groaned in the back, whispering to the lamp, “He is going to be so fucking pissed when he sees her like this.”

Harry was the one who consistently found you passed out at the bar a few streets away from your home. The bartender had found your phone the first time, when Harry was calling (and the ringtone was an obnoxious version of What Makes You Beautiful that you had stumbled upon once, not an important detail but once that made him blush at the time) and had informed Harry that his friend would probably need help leaving, given your state. His number became a regular one to call.

So Harry would help you home, rub over your face gently with a washcloth in a hearty attempt to get off your makeup, and hold your hair back when you came to and felt the drinks for a second time.

Quiet pity and a particular sort of confused hurt would reflect in his eyes, when you had the guts and stability to look at them. He was usually under the impression you were staying home, getting over a cold, busy with work, etc. - and that was why you weren’t able to make it to some mutual friend’s birthday party. After all, that was what you had told him, anyway.

Neither you nor Harry spoke about those nights, when it was the morning after, or even any night after.

You had sent him a text, weeks ago, after guilt had rusted away the stubbornness in your bones. You informed him you were going to try and stay sober for a bit, not liking the way it had made you feel. He was happy about it, it seemed, because the worry was absent from his smile the next time you ran into each other. His hug was a bit tighter, but then again, that was just Harry being Harry.

Your soberness lasted four days. Then you were back, standing in front of the cabinet, with that pathetic acceptance you loathed about yourself. How one aspect of your soul could so resiliently rule the rest, made no sense. You didn’t know how to fight it, though, and so the glasses and bottles came out once more.

You gave your cactus the most awful side-eye you could muster, before extending yourself fully out on the couch. Your fingertips felt like they were touching clouds, clouds intermingled with the deep current of black waters, which meant you had drunk a bit more than you had meant to. An accident, surely, but it didn’t stop you from rolling over on your side (and almost off the couch), huffing at the bottle.

It glugged like a drunk whale trying to drown, pouring out another shot.

Someone was stroking your hair. It felt nice, the rhythm of their fingertips against the curls, stopping at the edges of your forehead, before moving back and gently starting again. The motion was kept on one spot of your head, as well, which was a personal favorite of yours. The movement throughout the whole head was just craziness. Everything had a greater chance of messing up when it came to full-head-hair-strokes. And only one person had heard that drunken rant before (except for your cactus, but that usually kept to itself about your rants. As most cacti do.)

“Yeh up?” someone mumbled, throat thick. They sounded half-asleep, and their fingers slowed as they waited for an answer.

Your head was still smashed against a wave of Smirnoff, too blurred to put two and two together and recognize the need for a response. Anyway, you didn’t appreciate the fingers stopping, so you grunted softly to signal that.

They didn’t continue, this person seemed really fucking set on getting you speaking. Your mouth felt glued, in a thicker, denser sense of the word. Your tongue felt perfectly content resting against the back of your teeth, your lips staying shut.

It was when you became steadily more aware of your surroundings, how it wasn’t a pillow under your head but denim, smooshed against your cheek. How your head was sloped up from the rest of your body, how a blanket was tucked around your person and even your toes were covered by the tassles on the end. You were on someone’s lap, surely, and in the depths of your mind you wondered, with a slight giggle, how scandalous a drunken night alone, in the comforts of your home, could get?

“Who’s asking?” you managed to croak, your fingers reaching outwards from the confines of the cozy blanket, seeking the bottle you knew would’ve been hidden at this point. The question was pointless, you knew him by his cologne. Hell, you knew him from how he stroked your hair, for Christ’s sake.

It was the improbable sense in your gut that hoped it was someone like Chris Evans who had you cuddled up against them. Maybe he was in the midst of robbing your home (Marvel might’ve gone through budget cuts, it happened to the best) before stumbling across your sleeping body. Maybe he found your Chinese takeout, too, because you were awful at remembering to eat leftovers. Although it would be disturbing on most levels of sanity, you could find the loveliness in the situation.

If it were Chris Evans, that is.

“Harry. ‘Ve got long hair, ‘m yeh best friend. Yeh told me I could come ove’’,” Harry teased quietly. It was sort of unsettling, how humor was in the words but his actual voice was void of emotion. He was worried.

You were quiet, unsure if this was a situation in which Harry would take over the conversation if you stayed silent long enough. There weren’t many words you had to say, anyway, your present situation must have been clear enough when he walked in. Plus, his knee was nice to rest your head against. Speaking would just lead to eventual motion, which was already turning your stomach at the thought.

The two of you listened to the distant hum of your freezer kicking into place from the kitchen, the soft rattling of ice cubes tumbling into the tray you had set out. Harry seemed content on waiting for a response, of any type, or maybe to see if you fell asleep. It was entirely possible this entire conversation had happened earlier since Harry’s arrival, and you had passed out again.

If you were to move your head, you felt, something really unfortunate would happen. Like vomiting. Or the world ending. Or having to look Harry in the eyes.

His fingers stopped fully, just resting against your cheek. They were embers, most definitely, and you wondered if you could start a trend for Harry Styles Cheek Burns. Probably wouldn’t catch on. Bit of a health hazard, perhaps. It was difficult to know for sure, because once a thought formulated in your mind it seemed to expand outwards into the galaxy, becoming so diffused in the stars you weren’t able to piece it back together again.

“What’s been goin’ on, Y/N?”

His eyes were on the back of your neck, trailing up to your cheek. It wasn’t unsettling, how you could feel his gaze with your mind – or, at least, it didn’t feel so, at that moment, with him. It was just natural, how you understood him.

He sounded tired. He sounded like he had been working on asking, for a while, and the slight strangled noise that twisted the softness of his voice signaled that you had really fucked up. This wasn’t a joke, anymore, it wasn’t for shits and giggles like it was when you would out-drink his Irish friends at the bar.

All Harry wanted was an answer, a few words so he could just know what to do. Alcohol was an issue with a few other friends, ranging from binge drinkers to alcoholics, and Harry was comfortable enough spending nights dry with them. Essentially, he was comfortable because they told him where their boundaries were, and he could navigate those easily.

Yours, on the other hand, were completely blank. How it felt, to watch you slip out of your daily self, into some shell that no one else seemed to notice, it drove him crazy. How was he supposed to ask why his best friend was leaving, how he could stop it?

There was no way Harry could order you to quit drinking. To be honest, he didn’t know if it was just alcohol, and some subconscious level of his mind was on alert for that phone-call. Another one, with you shlumped in some dim-lit bar with seedy men clinging on the walls with tongues snaking out, sniffing the vulnerability in the air. Or an even worse phone call.

Shudders erupted from the base of his neck, down to his spine. He didn’t even want to think about it.

He didn’t know how to save someone who didn’t want to be saved. Someone who wouldn’t even open up to him about it. He wasn’t sure how to respond with you not talking to him about it. You two were best friends, he told you things his own mother didn’t know about. What could be so bad, you couldn’t tell him?

Entering your home to find you, initially unresponsive, on the couch with a hand dangled against the carpet, a bottle clutched in your fingertips, was nothing short of terrifying. His heart had plummeted through his stomach, his chest felt tight and he wondered, with the worst case scenario always coming first, if you were alive.

“Fuck, fuck, shit, fuck. C’mon Y/N...this isn’t funny, c’mon wake the fuck up - oh my god, c’mon don’t leave me here, wake up.”

Helplessness could only sharpen its hold on his throat with time, his voice growing steadily higher-pitched, when he didn’t know what had happened. After gently (and then roughly) shaking your shoulders, and finding that you weren’t unconscious but simply napping (“I thought yeh were dead, Jesus Y/N, don’t do that again”) and he had chuckled a bit when your eyebrows came together, not quite stirring enough to register his panic, and you had dipped again in the haze of dreams.

The smile on his face seemed maddening, the swelling tears in his vision seeming more appropriate for the situation, but he supposed it was simply a reaction to overwhelming ‘what the fuck’ feelings. This wasn’t one of your stupid jokes, the type where he would laugh without realizing because you had laughed at yourself, which just triggered him to laugh more and – no, this was something beyond the scope of seriousness that he knew how to deal with.

You were fine. You were fine. You were okay. It was just a little too much to drink, the coldness of your hands was just normal. You were fine.

He had lowered himself onto the couch, moving your head to rest on his lap, so his fingertips could feel your pulse as he stroked your hair with the other. Authorities weren’t needed, he had felt, you were just napping. (He had still texted his family doctor, though, just to make sure.)

“Just had a drink o’ two,” you whispered, staring at the wall.

He hummed, his fingers resuming the strokes against your cheek. Harry could tell it calmed you down, how your breath evened out and your eyebrows relaxed. Even as you were coming out of the safe space of intoxicated padding, even when the glimmer of soberness clung to your eyes, he needed to feel you physically there.

His heart hadn’t stopped feeling tight.

“Wanna tell me why?”

“I don’t know.”

The words left you in short gasps, as your fingers curled against the denim of his jeans. Your eyes stayed open, glazed over slightly, somewhat with tears and somewhat with that emptiness that had been ripping you apart lately. How was something so non-existent so prevalent in your existence? And why was it that all you had nowadays, was a bunch of ‘how’s and not much else?

Harry nodded slowly, sniffling quietly. Maybe you didn’t know the words, you couldn’t explain what you were feeling. Maybe he was beginning to understand that he couldn’t understand. That the spaces of your world were compressing in so many angles, it was dizzying the amount, the walls were closing and you were the only one in the room. He couldn’t enter it, he couldn’t pull you out.

“Do yeh need to throw up?”

The familiarity in the question, it pulled from his lips without hesitation or urgency. He was used to this, you realized, guilt flooding your senses and kicking some of the haze away. Harry’s nights with you were, nowadays, commonly associated with toilets and toothbrushes, with him gently prying a bottle out of your hand and listening to your rambles that mainly consisted of the various alcohol brands you could think of.

You nodded, knowing the nausea hadn’t gripped your eyes shut yet, but it would soon.

“’Kay,” he sighed, raising his arms so you could scoot out, “let’s go on, then.”

Once more, it felt too much like a routine. Like a horror movie where you were lost as to how you got here - in a schedule that felt both so normal and incredibly wrong.

He shouldn’t have to do this, he shouldn’t have to be here.

It was all you could think of, a looped tape in your mind, with his broad hands carefully holding onto your hips to help you maintain your balance. (You had started refusing to be carried to the bathroom, after Harry hadn’t made it in time. Wasn’t one of your better nights, that was for sure.)

Harry had even gotten in the loose habit of braiding your hair as you were bent over the toilet, your legs immediately going around and him sitting close behind. It was reminiscent of those massage trains girls used to do at sleepovers, but more ‘adult’ and trashy.

“C’mon, feel like that one was the last?...No, ‘kay, that’s fine, yeh just gotta get it all out, hm?” Once your hair was plaited, his hands would softly rub against your back until you nodded, signaling it was over for the night. He would normally be quiet for it all, having spent the night clubbing with you and attempting to switch out your drinks with waters, but this time was different.

“I want yeh to do what makes yeh happiest.”

You had rested your cheek against the cool lid, not feeling the next wave of nausea. It seemed like you were in the clear, your head’s pounding had substantially lessened, but you didn’t move. Harry had more to say.

“And this, this isn’t it. You’re the best friend I could ask for, Y/N...I can’t watch yeh like this, anymore.”

You sniffled, nodding bleakly and with a shaky hand, you wiped underneath your eyes, reaching up blindly to pull at a few tissues to mop up the mess on your face. Harry’s hands drew to a still, before gently resting on your shoulder.

“Let’s go to bed, yeah? Talk ‘bout it in the mornin...yeh can call off work, and we can figure it out,” he promised. Harry made a mental note to email his therapist for some recommendations for alcohol abuse therapists, just for resource options.

When you had the courage to look behind you, the voice in your mind faintly recognizing you hadn’t looked at him directly that night, the first thing that caught your attention was the tear streaks down his reddened cheeks. His eyes seemed bigger than normal, looking at you cautiously.

Harry gave you an attempt at a smile, the wells only overspilling with the action. He gave a little shrug with his shoulders, as if saying ‘what can be done about it?’ before patting your shoulder twice.

Hastily wiping at his cheeks, Harry slowly rose to his feet, sniffling, all while you were still curled against the toilet. You watched him silently, the disgust that typically followed your night’s routine finally catching up and settling in your bones. If you could crawl out of your skin, you would’ve, no second thought.

Harry held out a hand for you to hold onto, carefully helping you up, waiting as you wearily brushed your teeth and gargled some Listerine, and led you over to your bedroom. No words were exchanged between either of you, but as the covers were pulled back, you pulled your arm out from Harry’s light grip, staring at him.

“You shouldn’t have to do this,” you shook your head, “I’m sorry I’m like this. You shouldn’t have to do this.”

Harry had moved over, settling in on his side of the bed, pushing one of the pillows over to your side (he only liked having one, for some reason). When you spoke though, he immediately started shaking his head.

“Stop it, won’t hear it. I’m here ‘cause I wanna be...if I didn’t wanna be, I wouldn’t. I care about yeh, want you safe.” It was clipped, not unkind, but to the point.

You didn’t respond, letting the night cover over the conversation like a drape, a thick blanket taking over your eyelids. Nestling under the covers, feeling the warmth of another human being to your left...hearing the rustling of the covers as Harry got comfortable beneath them…

You felt the cover lift from your body as Harry moved underneath it, his arm securing around your waist and pulling you comfortably closer to his chest. His head tucked against your shoulder, his lips pressed familiarly against your back. You smelled like alcohol, as if it stained your pores, but he didn’t mind too much. Just liked knowing where you were, that you were safe.

“Harry?”

Words felt different in the complete dark, more confessional. It was safer, to say these sorts of things. As if they could be more easily written off, than it spoken during the day. Your mind was shutting down for the night, you could see the swirling storms of dreams out against the grey horizon. But you just needed to say...

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. For not leaving me.”

“’Course. ’M forever yours,” he mumbled, holding you tighter.

“Goodnight, Haz.”

“Night, love.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: Check the masterlist of LITP here, and let me know your thoughts if you would like!

#harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #archive of our own #mine #one direction fanfic #one direction fanfiction #one direction fic #harry styles fluff #harry styles drabble #harry styles blurb #harry styles fic

36 notes · View notes

aworldoffandoms · 5 years

Text

Runaway - Chapter 6

Chapter 6 – Suprises

Authors Note: This chapter might be a little filler-y as it was gonna be really long if I didn’t stop lol. Hope you like this chapter nonetheless. A special, special thanks to @am-i-invisible777 for your mood board/collage and @pixieferry for the awesome banner! You both did an amazing job! Thank you!! <3

Pairing: Liam x MC [Ariel]

Word Count: 2, 878 (+/-)

Rating: T

Warnings: No warnings

Summary: The gang wonders what to do next in the wake of Liam’s anonymous delivery. Ariel reflects on the choices she has had to make while someone arrives at her workplace which shifts her world into dangerous territory.

MASTERLIST

Tag list: @hopefulmoonobject @blackcoffee85 @blznbaby @super-secret-fandom-blog @am-i-invisible777 @lauradowning29 @khakie4 @captain-kingliamsqueen @moneyfordiamonds @jovialyouthmusic @zaffrenotes @ao719 @umccall71 @carabeth @furiousherringoperatortoad @pixieferry @pixelpenny @jlouise88 @thequeenofcronuts

Please let me know if you’d like to be tagged :)

Drake, Olivia, and Maxwell were seated in Liam's suite, faces open in shock as they pore over the contents of the anonymous delivery that Liam had received. All of them were just as perplexed as the king himself, his own face downcast to the floor, unwilling to even make eye contact as he tried to make sense of it himself.

Who could possibly know he was here? Were there people spying on him? Maybe he wasn't being as inconspicuous as he first thought?

“What are we going to do, Liam?” Drake says, his voice sounding far-away and muffled like he was underwater. The subsequent silence hinted of the king’s exhaustion.

After a long moment, they exchange a tense glance when they find his face devoid of all emotion, his eyes just as blank.

“At this point in time, Drake? No. I am half expecting this to be a complete ruse.”

At this time he was admittedly astonished he could feel anything at all. It was a complete miracle he had some semblance of a heart left. Ariel had all but destroyed it.

After all this leeway he was still a broken man, pining for his wife that he wasn't even certain would return to him.

Liam had gathered his entourage in his room as soon as he read the message. Bastien had appeared a few minutes after Liam had texted him and the others following shortly thereafter.

“Your Majesty…” Bastien starts, his posture and expression, for once, not that of his bodyguard, but that of a man who had seen his charge grow up into a respected and well-loved monarch, to a forlorn, man who had suffered through two years of a hellish nightmare.

“Yes, Bastien?”

Although Bastien’s posture was calmer and personal, his words still held respect and rectitude. “Permission to speak freely, sir?”

Liam gives a curt nod, waving at him in a casual gesture to continue.

“Over the course of your life I have seen you at your best but also your worst and over the past two years, the latter has been the most dominant. The cipher only gave us Moscow...it certainly didn’t give us anything else. Pardon my language, my king, but I’ll be damned if I see you spiral into yet another dark hole which I’m afraid you won’t recover from.”

Drake gives a long exhale as he sits down, levelling his gaze at Liam’s bodyguard.

“Bastien...aren't you worried that this is a trap?”

“In all my years of protecting King Father Constantine there was always the threat of correspondence being a trap, however, my gut is telling me that if we do not follow this lead we will be missing out on a chance to find the queen.”

Drake’s eye’s shift to his best friend, reading Liam’s expression and his heart clenches when he sees Liam flinch at the name of his wife. It amazed him how a few simple syllables could make the almost-always cool, indomitable King of Cordonia react as if he’d been punched in the stomach and shot in the chest all at once.

It’s quiet in the room, the last of Bastien’s words echoing in their ears until Olivia huffs, the sound of her fist connecting with the desk almost deafening in the thick silence.

“Enough of this nonsense! I’ve had to witness Liam become a shell of a man because of all this mess. He might not know what to do but I’ll be damned if I’m going to watch him slowly retreat into himself once more.”

Olivia pauses, taking a deep breath, shoulders heaving in exertion. Her face set in resolve, the corners of her lips lift up in a visceral smile.

“I will not sit idly by when the one clue we have been searching for three days appears right in front of us. This is our chance. You'll be a fool not to take it. I'll drag you there with my bare hands if it’s so inclined for me to do so.”

Liam glances up at Olivia, her slender form exhuming that fire he so admired about her. Her steely eyes pierce through him, almost as if she was trying to exchange some of that fire to him herself, to give him that push he needed.

For all intents and purposes, Olivia was right. This was solid evidence. Liam would only be an imbecile if he didn’t seize this opportunity. He would be quite an idiot if he didn’t take this information and grab onto it for dear life.

A few beats pass of stretched silence, the king’s fingers fiddling with his wedding band, his mind running a mile a minute.

The silence is almost too thick, the urge to fill the silence almost too unbearable. That is until Liam squares his shoulders, his posture settles into the regal, poised well-practiced disposition as if he was gearing himself up to enter into a room full of press and dignitaries.

Liam clears his throat as he stands, his expression set into a renewed vigor. The earlier despair nowhere to be seen. His eyes alight with the fire Olivia spurred in him moments before.

He glances around to all his friends, the numb ache his chest that was a common occurrence most days transitions into gratitude for each of them.

“I think you might be right, Olivia. Bastien.” Liam nods to each as he gives them each a smile of thanks.

Despite the verbal kick to the backside both rightly given by two of the people he trusted, Liam feels the fatigue settle in after the shock of the delivery and the resounding adrenaline stemming from that slowly ebbing away.

That too fades away as the clock chimes with its nightly reminder. “As much as I would love to go right now - it’s late. I believe we should all retire to bed and pick this up in the morning.”

It was a sore thing to admit, but the clear-mindedness a few hours of rest would grant everyone an advantage in the days ahead. They would need it.

He could not afford to lose focus now. He was so close. Years of training and trusting his instincts either with a tax reform put forth by the Royal Council told him that he was close. He had to believe that if nothing else.

Small, conciliary smiles slip onto his colleague’s faces as they slip silently out of the door, Bastien following behind and closing the door to leave Liam to his thoughts.

Once the door was securely shut, Liam’s face fell and he sighs heavily, slowly sinking to the bed, his hands moving up to his face to cover it as his shoulders sag in his growing exhaustion.

The burn behind his closed lids enlightening him into the ever-present pain that he hid from most public and private eyes. Had it always been there, or had it come just now? He suspected that it was the former. Perhaps he just didn’t notice it as much these days, so long he had gotten used to it.

Unable to bear it, Liam jumps up from his bed and begins pacing, his footsteps creating a soft thud against the carpet. Liam’s pulse races as he tries to make sense of the message that was delivered and the conclusion that was drawn. He could not fault his friends for pushing him to follow this. This lead could potentially change the course of how he proceeds with finding Ariel.

Liam rolls his shoulders, pushing his arms back and forth and cracking his neck, the tension in them almost too uncomfortable to bear. He rubs at the spots along his neck that are tight and as he closes his eyes, a smile lifts his lips as he imagines a much smaller pair of hands kneading the back of his neck, the lithe fingers easing the tension after a long day of meetings, diplomacy and trade deals.

If he envisioned hard enough, he could acutely feel her fingers on his skin, her soft lips on his neck as she kneads the knots away as Liam sighs in contentment, his chest warming with love for his wife.

Liam allows himself to stay in that vision for a few ticks of the clock until his exhaustion starts to overcome him and the smile of Ariel snaps away. Liam takes a deep breath as he settles into the bed, his eyes already heavy from the emotions swimming inside his gut.

Even with the sweet blackness of sleep dragging him under, Liam can only hope that the message he had gotten was the answer to all his questions.

He at least had to try.

And maybe . . . just maybe . . .

He’d be able to breathe easy once again.

***

Three days had passed and she hadn’t heard from Marguerite since she instructed the princess to hand off that message to Liam. The worry was starting to gnaw at her insides.

Marguerite had been born into the world of crowns and charity derbies and the heavyweights of the monarchy. She’d all been bred for the role, punctuality and resiliency included. It was unusual for her to be this late with information.

Maybe this was just paranoia. That didn’t surprise her really. She’d been on the run for nearly three years, what’s a little paranoia to add to growing list of more bad karma to happen to her?

If she could be sure about anything, it was that the message was delivered. She had to. It was the only thing that was tethering her down at that point.

Liam might be doing this on his own but Ariel could breathe a sigh of relief to know that he had a bit of help.

It was the only thing she was capable of doing even when she was in hiding. The contacts she had made over the past few years served her well.

It still astounded her that most of the European royals were falling to the tricks of The Sons of Earth. They weren’t to blame. The Sons of Earth were the puppeteers, and they, the marionettes. How easily she and the others had danced into their trap, one by one. The ultimatum they sprung on her all those years ago sending a shiver down her spine at the memory.

The amount of royals, though, was a surprising number. They had planted the root of their plan inside her crown, and from there, it had ensnared so many. Belgium, Monaco, Sweden - how many would mourn in front of television cameras and the harsh scrutinies of family expectations because of her?

Oh, the Sons were clever, she had to admit. She had been so naive, believing in the goodness of people to ensnare them in their own deviations. How wrong she had been, and now she was paying the price. It was little comfort knowing her fellow royals were undergoing the same thing. No, it was a tinge of guilt.

An all too familiar flare of anger closed its fingers on her chest, and Ariel bit down on her cheek, keeping quiet lest she shout in anger.

Anton Severus…

How dare he return.

Anton hadn’t wasted any time in making sure that he had power over Ariel. Liam was her weakness. Her only weakness and Anton carelessly toying with both their lives too many times.

All the lives balanced so precariously in her hands was too much. And the Sons had known it, shaking her so much her knees gave out from under her and she cried herself to sleep countless nights.

“After everything . . . and I’m still here,” she muses, dejected, shoulders slumping.

After conquering Anton at her wedding...she and Liam could finally relax. They felt free. Free to live, laugh and love.

Liam’s reign was no longer chained by these threats. They were free from further plots against them.

Ariel scoffs, shaking her head in bitter resignation.

Who was she to think that she was finally rid of that complete asshat?

The time that she had with Liam felt like a distant memory and something that was slowly slipping out of her grasp like sand on a hot summer's day. The time without him was breaking her, if not already. It would be easy to leave, max out her credit card to reserve a ticket on the library computer, then jet away. That little slip of paper would be her salvation and her downfall.

She had a purpose. She had a duty.

If she took flight, her feathers would only fall on the other royals. Whose lives would be at risk now? Marguerite? That prince of Belgium who disappeared just a bit ago? Another royal with no idea of his or her fate?

Anton Severus knew how to play her. How to play all of them. Either disappear or let the lives of all royals to fall into the hands of the Sons of Earth and let the monarchies of Europe falter and crumble. The worst part? Essentially giving Anton Severus the control to do as he pleases without any remorse for the consequences. Trying to kill Liam and herself was simply not enough in his case, apparently. For everyone's sake, Ariel chose the former.

That was the exact reason why Liam was in danger. Anton had close eyes on him and if Anton caught a whiff of what Liam was doing Anton had the means to make sure Liam would stop. Ariel had faith that he’d be doing the investigating discreetly. Ariel knew her husband enough that she knew he’d be doing everything in his power to find her. If the roles were reversed -- she would not stop until her last breath.

Ariel exhales heavily as she leans back against the couch, pulling the soft fleece blanket over her as the chilly apartment bites into her skin. The low drones of the television distract her from the impending realisation that no matter what she did...those she loved would be in danger and she could not do a thing to stop it.

The last remnants of sound eased in and out of the tiny room as her eyes closed.

“Officials report no further leads on the disappearance of European royals . . . here to speak on the matter, is geopolitical expert, Thomas Marin. Thomas, tell us . . .”

***

“Order up!”

It had been four hours already, delivering orders, pouring beer and spirits to those who asked, their eyes glazed over in an alcohol haze she saw on a daily basis.

When did her life become this mundane, never-ending cycle?

Her heart aches at the longing she feels for the diplomatic meetings, international and national trade deals and economic summits she accompanied with Liam. She would give anything for her to be in one of those now. Who would have thought she’d take those meetings for granted?

She chuckles at the irony. “Figures. Such a twist of fate that is.”

More duties come as Ariel takes a plastic bussing bucket and begins to empty the tables of the half-eaten food, her mind drifting to the rolling hills and calm blue waters of Cordonia and the deep running valleys of her duchy. She wondered how Valtoria was doing without her.

Ariel's stomach twists in regret because she left a duchy, her duchy without anyone to guide them. She had failed them all. Even more tragic, she had failed Cordonia.

“Honey, you’ve got two at table twelve,” Tania yelled over the din of a cracking plate, and the drunken slurs of a young man nearby. Hurriedly brushing a tiny bead of sweat from her brow, Ariel whisked over to the table, sidestepping a grease stain that the busboy had failed to clean. She’d have a word with him later.

“Hi! Welcome to the Mountain Tavern, what can I get you guys?”

A deep chuckle resounds in her ears and she glances up. The smile she has on slips from her face, the breath in her lungs jarring to a stop as the blood in her veins runs cold when she recognises the face.

Her eyes dart to the unfamiliar brunette beside him as panic rises to her chest, the overwhelming urge to run pounding through her whole being.

This is bad. This is so bad.

The next words out of Ariel's mouth are choked, short, all of them stringing into an incoherent sentence. “What--I don't--How--Where--?”

The man with the familiar face stares her down. His eyes are kind yet had a hint of suppressed anger.

“Well, this a shock. What are you doing here, Your Majesty?” he says, the smirk on his face evident. That mischievousness she so delighted in seeing appearing even in this tense atmosphere.

The brunette beside him gives her companion a quizzical look. Her face blanks and then flashes in recognition as she meets Ariel’s blue eyes. The stunning brunette gasps.

“Oh my gosh. This isn't--?”

Leo nods, his blue eyes piercing through Ariel like he could see through to her soul where all her secrets lie. She flinches as her stomach rolls violently. Her skin prickles in the telltale sign of a fainting spell, herself already feeling lightheaded.

“The one and only. My brother’s wife and the missing Queen of Cordonia.”

#liam x mc #the royal romance #the royal romance fanfic #the royal romance fanfiction #trr fanfic #trr #king liam x mc #mc x liam #choices fanfiction #trr fanfiction #aworldoffandoms

58 notes · View notes